of them—at least not peacefully.
He shrugged and frowned at the spot where the cable disappeared. Once the brides arrived, Mofitan could keep busy wooing his future queen. At least then, he’d be out of the way. In the meantime he’d just have to dodge the son of a bitch. His lips twitched into a grin. Mof was too big and too loud to dodge for long. There’d be no avoiding a conflict in the confines of the base. He caught a glint of silver as the car’s bottom broke through the Shroud. The nearest guards watched along with him. The supply crates waiting for the elevator had long since been prepped. They’d have it loaded in minutes. He wasn’t waiting for Mof—that was certain. The thorn in his side could catch the next lift. After that, he just prayed the brides would arrive soon and keep the man out of his way.
A s soon as the cargo doors slammed shut, the coordinator started apologizing. He didn’t stop once they’d been un-cuffed, or even after they’d strapped into the padded harnesses lining the bay that would secure them against a rough liftoff. He drifted down the line, checking straps and offering his assurances until Vashia almost decided she liked the slaver better.
“How did you get the buckle in?” Murrel struggled with her harness, trying to fit the clasp in the wrong side.
“Here.” She reached out and clipped it, then demonstrated how to adjust the fit. “Haven’t you been off-planet before?”
“Of course!” Murrel answered just a little too quickly. “My father used to take me off-world with him all the time.”
From the way she had said, “my father,” Vashia guessed she’d never seen the inside of a spaceport, let alone traveled on a ship. “That must have been nice.” Vashia smiled despite the lie. Her father had taken her along on business more times than she cared to count. She’d been paraded and positioned in front of his colleagues in his efforts to fake some semblance of legitimacy. “What does your father do?”
“He was a merchant trader.” Murrel looked at her feet. “He died last month.”
The ship’s engines roared, cutting off Murrel’s grief and pushing them both firmly back against the bulkhead. For a slave ship, Vashia noted, someone had gone through a great deal of trouble to install padding, to make the passengers comfortable, even if they were being shipped as cargo.
That part was brilliant. Their manifest read to the port authorities exactly like a shipment of crates would. Fourteen slaves and no questions. They hadn’t even scanned her. How many people had gone missing like that? How many had slipped in or out of Wraith as cargo? She didn’t want to think about it, but as the force of their departure pressed her against the padding other unfortunates were not so lucky to have, what else could she think of?
She could hear Murrel’s teeth chattering. The woman’s green eyes stretched wide open and her already pale skin shone practically translucent.
“It’ll be all right.” Vashia tried to ease some of her fears. “It’s always like this at takeoff.” Though a nice comfy passenger couch would ease some of the rattling.
“I know.” Murrel managed to snap at her, but a big tear had formed in the corner of the girl’s eye. She played it tough, but Vashia had seen her don a clean, fashionable jumpsuit at the screening. She’d seen the neatly plaited red hair and the fingernails that had never seen work. Whoever Murrel’s father was, his daughter hadn’t lived on the streets any more than she’d traveled off planet.
He could even have been one of her father’s associates. Vashia’s brain shuffled through a series of faces. If any of them had family, they’d never spoken of it. She’d have to leave it a mystery. Hell, she had her own secrets as well. All she could say for sure about Murrel was that the poor woman was scared to death despite her snarl and her tough-shit façade.
The ship’s engines settled into a steady rumble
He shrugged and frowned at the spot where the cable disappeared. Once the brides arrived, Mofitan could keep busy wooing his future queen. At least then, he’d be out of the way. In the meantime he’d just have to dodge the son of a bitch. His lips twitched into a grin. Mof was too big and too loud to dodge for long. There’d be no avoiding a conflict in the confines of the base. He caught a glint of silver as the car’s bottom broke through the Shroud. The nearest guards watched along with him. The supply crates waiting for the elevator had long since been prepped. They’d have it loaded in minutes. He wasn’t waiting for Mof—that was certain. The thorn in his side could catch the next lift. After that, he just prayed the brides would arrive soon and keep the man out of his way.
A s soon as the cargo doors slammed shut, the coordinator started apologizing. He didn’t stop once they’d been un-cuffed, or even after they’d strapped into the padded harnesses lining the bay that would secure them against a rough liftoff. He drifted down the line, checking straps and offering his assurances until Vashia almost decided she liked the slaver better.
“How did you get the buckle in?” Murrel struggled with her harness, trying to fit the clasp in the wrong side.
“Here.” She reached out and clipped it, then demonstrated how to adjust the fit. “Haven’t you been off-planet before?”
“Of course!” Murrel answered just a little too quickly. “My father used to take me off-world with him all the time.”
From the way she had said, “my father,” Vashia guessed she’d never seen the inside of a spaceport, let alone traveled on a ship. “That must have been nice.” Vashia smiled despite the lie. Her father had taken her along on business more times than she cared to count. She’d been paraded and positioned in front of his colleagues in his efforts to fake some semblance of legitimacy. “What does your father do?”
“He was a merchant trader.” Murrel looked at her feet. “He died last month.”
The ship’s engines roared, cutting off Murrel’s grief and pushing them both firmly back against the bulkhead. For a slave ship, Vashia noted, someone had gone through a great deal of trouble to install padding, to make the passengers comfortable, even if they were being shipped as cargo.
That part was brilliant. Their manifest read to the port authorities exactly like a shipment of crates would. Fourteen slaves and no questions. They hadn’t even scanned her. How many people had gone missing like that? How many had slipped in or out of Wraith as cargo? She didn’t want to think about it, but as the force of their departure pressed her against the padding other unfortunates were not so lucky to have, what else could she think of?
She could hear Murrel’s teeth chattering. The woman’s green eyes stretched wide open and her already pale skin shone practically translucent.
“It’ll be all right.” Vashia tried to ease some of her fears. “It’s always like this at takeoff.” Though a nice comfy passenger couch would ease some of the rattling.
“I know.” Murrel managed to snap at her, but a big tear had formed in the corner of the girl’s eye. She played it tough, but Vashia had seen her don a clean, fashionable jumpsuit at the screening. She’d seen the neatly plaited red hair and the fingernails that had never seen work. Whoever Murrel’s father was, his daughter hadn’t lived on the streets any more than she’d traveled off planet.
He could even have been one of her father’s associates. Vashia’s brain shuffled through a series of faces. If any of them had family, they’d never spoken of it. She’d have to leave it a mystery. Hell, she had her own secrets as well. All she could say for sure about Murrel was that the poor woman was scared to death despite her snarl and her tough-shit façade.
The ship’s engines settled into a steady rumble
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