lashes, their delicate fingers, ready to please you in all the ways you’ve imagined and many you’ve never dared to ponder.”
His face splits in a wide grin as we head past him for the entrance.
“Ah, my good sirs, please come inside. You will not be disappointed. I promise you.”
“I’m sure we won’t.” Solair grins at him and then speaks in a low tone to the rest of us. “I don’t see many soldiers about at all.”
“Indeed.” Grantian grins and pats his concealed punch dagger. “If it comes down to a fight, I like our chances very much.”
We head inside the slaver building—a squat, cube like structure with cells lining the outer walls. Many sad-looking women stare out the bars down at us, and I feel a swell of pity for them. Perhaps there is a silver lining in our being forced to mount a rescue for Fiona.
And Varia as well, who allowed herself to be sold ahead of time so she could find Fiona. How Solair is remaining as calm as he is seems to be a testament both to his nerves of steel and the confidence he has in his fated mate. Varia is one tough customer. A former soldier, she can take care of herself.
Inside the building, we’re informed that the next round of auctions will commence shortly. In the meantime, we are shown to a cantina conveniently located in the center of the square structure with a high arched ceiling and elegant décor, which has fallen into somewhat of a state of disrepair. Sapients of various species, mostly League races but some from the Alliance and Coalition worlds as well, sit about the cantina, some of them attended by their recent purchases.
We seat ourselves at a table in the corner so we may watch the entire room with ease. Thrase starts to pull out one of the chairs for herself, but Zander slaps her across her cheek—very, very gently, I might add. Barely more than a light touch, but it looks good.
“Do not presume to seat yourself with the free people, wench.” He offers her a wink to let her know he’s only playing in character. Thrase seemed shocked by the slap—though I know it didn’t hurt—but quickly plays along. I almost think she’s enjoying playing Zander’s toy on a string. She quickly kneels on the floor next to Lamira, quivering with faux fright.
They bring us wine—weak, watered-down wine that I wouldn’t serve to my worst enemy, but at least it’s chilled—and we drink while taking in the room.
“Solair.” Grantian leans on his elbows and puts his hooded face close to our captain’s. “Have you received word from Varia yet?”
“Not yet, no.” He shakes his head.
“Perhaps they have discovered her hidden transmitter?”
“No, it has a failsafe that would have notified me of such.” Solair grins. “Try to look like you’re having a good time, Montier. You’re making us stick out like a sore toe.”
“Thumb, you ignoramus.”
Zander glares down at Thrase and yanks on her leash firmly.
“What was that, slave?”
“Nothing, master.” Thrase puts her head on top of his boot. “Please don’t punish me, master. I’ll be a good girl. I promise.”
Poor Zander. He shifts in his seat, no doubt battling the dual bulges in his trousers.
“I don’t see any of the mercs we encountered before. Do you, Solair?”
He shakes his head, sipping lightly at his weak wine.
“No. I suppose a bunch of armed, pretend IHC marines and Kraaj mercenaries would draw too much attention to what Blue Dawn is really up to on this planet.”
“The League should be informed of this travesty.” Grantian glares about the room. “This world is far too close to our borders for my comfort.”
“Mine as well, old friend.” Solair nods in his direction. “But one thing at a time.”
We pause in our conversation as two burly, ridge-faced Vakutans saunter up to our table. One of them leans over and puts his arms on the surface, coincidentally on purpose spilling my drink onto my lap.
“We don’t like your kind…”
The poor fool. I’ve been looking for an excuse. My hands, which had been folded on the table before me, suddenly snap out to either side, connecting with his wrists and making him lose his balance. His face slams down onto the table with shuddering force, and then I grab the back of his neck and pound it several more times for good measure.
As he slips, bloodied and dazed, to the stone floor, his fellow goes for the hooked knife at his belt. But I