“We’re not buying slaves,” Mathiras continues. “We’re looking for someone in particular that might be selling a lot of slaves with the same faces. We want to talk to him.”
That gets his attention. “Same faces, huh?” His gaze slides to me again. “How is it that I’ve met the other two before and no one’s ever mentioned an ooli female to me? You two don’t seem like the type of mesakkah into her sort, if you don’t mind me saying. I can see Zebah working with you, but the ooli is throwing me off.” His gaze goes to my gloved hands on Mathiras’s arm. “Or is she one of the humans with the same face you’re looking for?”
“Yes and no,” Mathiras admits. “Maybe you’d better show him, love.”
Oh good. The mask is hurting my ears. I pull it off and throw back my hood, beaming. “Surprise! It’s a qura’aki bodyguard.”
To my vast disappointment, the big metal mesakkah doesn’t look all that surprised to see me. He just looks thoughtful and his gaze goes back to Mathiras. He taps a button on his desk. “Tikosa, we’re going to be here a bit. Tell Tessa she can head home if she’s tired, but I have work to do and I’ll make it up to her later.”
“Of course, sir,” Tikosa’s voice comes over the comm and then winks out.
Behind the desk, Zakoar of the Broken Back steeples his fingers and studies me thoughtfully. “I was wondering when I might see another in this place.”
Another?
CHAPTER 56
MATHIRAS
My protective instincts are kicking in. I know Zakoar is a decent sort, and I know he’s sympathetic to slaves because he’s got a human mate. Even so, I don’t like the feeling of vulnerability. It’s not even for myself—it’s for Helen. The more people that know what she is, the more in danger she is. Zebah can’t be trusted. Someone might be spying on Zakoar or watching our ship.
And now I’m finding out that Zakoar has seen more of the excessively rare qura’aki come through Three Nebulas?
I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.
“You mind explaining?” I say to him. “What do you mean, ‘another’?”
Zakoar glances over at me. He straightens behind his desk, his gaze carefully on my face and not on Helen’s. “3N gets a lot of strange requests. We have a bit of a reputation amongst other stations, and that’s one reason why I’m able to run my business so efficiently.” His mouth pulls into a strange metal grimace that might be a smile, might be a snarl. “I get the usual riff-raff in here. I do business in limbs and prosthetics for those that can’t afford Homeworld’s prices. Of course that means I also get other requests. Someone wanting a pleasure bot. Someone wanting additional limbs to add to their existing ones. Body modifications of all kinds. And of course, I get asked about cloning.”
Of course. He says it as naturally as he breathes, but I still want to put my hand on Helen’s leg and hold on to her tightly.
“A lot of the time, they just ask about my connections. They see Tessa and want to know how they can ‘make’ a human of their own. Human slaves are getting more expensive all the time, you know. Scarcity.” He shrugs. “I know how to deal with those. But last year, someone brought me an ear and asked if I could clone the entire being from the ear. And the ear he gave me was red and had an iridescent frill on it.”
Helen touches her ear. “It was like mine?”
Zakoar nods. “I’d never seen anything like it but I knew it belonged to a qura’aki. He wouldn’t say how he’d acquired it or where the rest of the owner was, just insisted that he wanted me to clone the full being from what he had. I declined, and I never saw him again.”
“Did you alert anyone?” I ask. “Tell the authorities?”
Zakoar stares at me. “How long do you think I would operate if I ran to the authorities every time I had a strange request?”
Right. Foolish question. “Do you recall the name? Anything about him?”
The cyborg shakes his head. “No one gives me their real names. But I knew it was a matter of time before another qura’aki surfaced. It’s clear that someone’s cloning. There’s been complaints in the lower belly of the station that some of the flesh peddlers have cheap wares. That too many of the females look alike. Whoever it is, they’re not being careful. They’re getting sloppy chasing down credits.”
“Names?” I ask. “Can you give me names?”
He shakes his head. “No one keeps the same stock for long, and I suspect those that are selling their humans on the cheap aren’t selling them for savory purposes. They’re selling them to be disposable, is my guess.”