"Madam, take a look at these fine specimens! Excellent bodyguards! Short-term contracts anywhere from a week to three months, with an annual extension if you're satisfied after the trial period."
I swept my gaze across the lineup: young men of every shape, color, and race. Tall, broad-shouldered, with skin tones ranging from classic beige to swamp green, some sporting horns, others tails, fangs, or wings. Every one of them looked fit, strong, and brimming with life… or at least tried to, standing before a wealthy customer.
The moment word spread that a lady had come to the Maestro's house in search of a trained fighter, a few of them stripped to the waist, proudly putting their sculpted muscles on display. Bare chests gleamed in the sunlight.
I frowned. Would it kill them to wear a shirt? Even a T-shirt? I will never get used to the bazaar on this planet. Pull yourself together, Celesta. Just imagine you're at the beach…
My gaze slid to the one at the far end of the line; lean but wiry. Probably deadly in close combat. And at least he wouldn't loom over my shoulder like a walking mountain of muscle. His skin had a warm olive tone, handsome, that color was practically fashionable on this planet, and no horns or spiked tail, which meant he definitely wasn't from my homeworld.
Catching my assessing look, the stranger broke into a wide smile, dropped to one knee right there on the fresh grass, bowed his head, and reached for my hand. Unfortunately, the gesture was so unmistakably Zwargian that I'd shoved both hands into my pockets before he got anywhere near them.
"Shhh! Now look what you've done! Scared the rich lady off!" His neighbors hissed and elbowed him in the ribs. They assumed I couldn't hear. With my sharp hearing, I caught every word and then some.
"So, have you picked anyone? Want to test their skills? Blaster shooting? Plasma blade work, so you don't slice through your own hull mid-flight? I've even got fighters trained with pre-space weapons!"
The round-faced dealer raised his thick copper brows, studying the hesitant woman before him, and something cold dropped into my stomach.
Damn. This was not how I'd imagined meeting the Maestro of Souls and Desires. Not even close. Far too many witnesses.
My fingers found the items in my pocket almost on their own: the short pearl chain and the incredibly expensive moissanite necklace. How was I even supposed to pay for a fighter? That single necklace would buy me every bodyguard in this lineup and trigger exactly the kind of questions I couldn't afford. There was only one planet where moissanites of that size and clarity were found, and exporting gems from Zwarg was strictly forbidden. Show the necklace, and the questions would come faster than I could answer them. Do it in front of this crowd, and my cover was blown to hell.
"So how much for a contract with that one over there?" I nodded toward the fighter at the end of the line and did the mental math. "Let's say… one astronomical quarter?"
"Ninety seckers, madam. But for you, we can do eighty."
I ran the seckers-to-credits conversion in my head and thought back to what the jeweler at the local pawnshop had given me for my last pair of pearl earrings. Sure, a whole bracelet was worth more, but it still wasn't enough! And using my personal account at the Intergalactic Bank was way too risky… So now what?
"Perhaps you're looking for something… special?" The dealer leaned toward my ear and gave me a sly wink.
I was in no mood for hints. Yudes's threat—I will find you—was still playing on loop in my head. Fear dug its icy little claws into my chest and put down roots, the stubborn kind you can never quite pull out.
I'd like something affordable, please was what I meant to say. What actually came out was just "I'd like…" The Maestro's eyes lit up like moissanite mountain peaks on Zwarg under a full moon. With impressive speed, he hooked his arm through mine and steered me toward the building with cheerful, clucking enthusiasm.
"Why didn't you just say so from the start, instead of all that bodyguard, bodyguard business! I have boys for every taste, skin tone, and species. Every kind you can think of. don't you worry, we'll find exactly what you need."
Steps, a porch, doors. I took in the interior with mild bewilderment: clashing colorful fabrics draped over the walls instead of paint or smart wallpaper, thick shag rugs layered over woven ones, sleek high-tech furniture, and a blueberry bush floating in a fancy anti-gravity planter. Local interior design; truly a gift to fans of psychedelia.
"I understand, women on Orren'Tal come from all walks of life. Lots of visitors here, and not everyone feels comfortable saying what they really want out loud. Different cultures, different customs; though I always assumed humans were fairly open-minded…" He gave me a thorough once-over. "No need to worry. Complete anonymity, guaranteed!"
Just when I'd convinced myself we were finally alone and I could bring up the awkward little matter of payment, the dealer cut himself off mid-sentence and gave me a cheerful nudge. One of the fabrics I'd assumed was wall decor gave way like a curtain, and suddenly we were somewhere else entirely. Well; same house, same roof, same rug. That's where the resemblance to the previous rooms and the back courtyard full of professional mercenaries ended.
Instead of bright fabric hangings, the walls were covered in paintings and holograms of the kind that would probably make most women back home pass out cold. The holovision on the far wall was broadcasting equally questionable content. Along the walls stood strange metal and wooden contraptions, from the ceiling hung a rather creative set of crimson ribbon swings, to the right floated an inflatable wave-shaped couch and a chair that was missing its seat. But all of that faded into the background compared to the centerpiece of the room.
Sprawled across an enormous king-sized bed was quite possibly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her long raspberry hair fanned out across the pillows, tiny gold caps connected by a delicate chain covered the tips of her bare chest, and her expression was one of pure, unambiguous bliss. A slender, fine-boned young man at the head of the bed was feeding her grapes one by one, dropping them directly into her mouth. A second man worked a massive feathered fan over her neck and stomach. Two more, the biggest of the bunch, were massaging her legs. And those two were wearing considerably less than the bodyguards outside. If there was that little fabric in the back… what exactly was happening in the front?!
The shock of what I was seeing pulled me into a mild hypnotic daze and made me forget, for a few seconds, exactly why I'd come to see the Maestro in the first place.
"That's it… harder… no, softer," the woman was directing the two men kneeling at her ankles.
"Amerenta, my soul, which of the boys are available right now?" my escort began, and I finally snapped out of it.
I need to stop this whole circus. Right now. Orren'Tal, I swear…
"Actually, I was referring to a different range of services," I said, clearing my throat loudly.
"Then what exactly?!" The dealer spun around and furrowed his copper brows. "Lady, make up your mind! First you say you need a bodyguard, then you start dropping hints that you want something else entirely! I have other clients, you know! I can't keep everyone waiting! Or are you trying to ruin the reputation of the finest Maestro of Souls and Desires on this whole bazaar?! I carry only the highest quality! An eye for excellence! The most competitive rates around! I even offer installment plans for regulars!"
Great. Just what I needed; a scene in the middle of the bazaar.
The man was working himself into a full frenzy, his voice climbing toward a piercing falsetto, and I, throwing manners right out the window, grabbed him by the elbow myself and physically dragged him through a cascade of hanging curtains into the next room. The stout little man clearly hadn't expected that kind of initiative from a woman who looked like she'd snap in a breeze, so he shut up. I quickly pulled out the pearl bracelet and held it up for him to see.
"This is all I have. No cash for a top-tier bodyguard, but I really, really need someone watching my back. You understand? Maybe you have someone… I don't know… a little rough around the edges? Retired? Old injuries that knocked their market value down a bit?"
The Maestro took the bracelet, studied it in silence for a few seconds, then turned to me with a look of pure offense. "A freshwater pearl bracelet? Are you serious?! This isn't even from Mittaria!"
I could partly understand his indignation. Only well-off clients could afford the Maestro's services. Walking in here without real money was, objectively, a spectacular lapse in judgment. And the dress I was wearing, a blend of natural and synthetic fabrics, was worth considerably more than that sad little bracelet. But unlike clothes, jewelry was easy to resell. Try finding another woman with the same figure who actually wanted this exact cut and color.
My brain was spinning, trying to figure out how to explain the situation. By this point I'd already mentally kicked myself several times for giving in to that moment of panic. And I was now one hundred percent certain that showing this man the moissanites would be the single dumbest thing I could do; I might as well hang a sign around my neck: Lady Celesta Gyu-El is hiding right here.
Then a bright voice from the holovision cut through the room.
"We interrupt your program for breaking news! An attack on a private intergalactic cruise liner has been reported in Sector N-63. Identities are yet to be confirmed, but the attackers are believed to be the notorious pirate gang known as the Retribution Group…"
The redhead clicked his tongue in irritation.
"Disgusting. Attacking people in broad daylight like that. We really should've made a deal with the Space Fleet when we had the chance…"
I snorted mentally at that one. If Orren'Tal had actually signed an agreement with the Federation of United Worlds and Space Fleet officers showed up here on regular patrol, I wouldn't be caught dead on this planet. But sure; let the Maestro think I was afraid of space pirates. Before I could finish that thought, the dealer let out a loud sigh.
"So you actually need a guard. Not a… companion."
I nodded and spread my hands, well aware of exactly what I looked like. A floaty pale-blue dress with sweetly bare shoulders, light hair, and the bangs I'd cut myself to look as little like Celesta Gyu-El as possible. That Celesta was supposed to bow to Zwarg's ridiculous laws and marry some high-ranking member of the Planetary Management Apparatus; the respectable and distinguished Yudes Lacoste. But the girl standing in this bazaar was someone else entirely: Lesta El. A human girl from Zahran. Younger, prettier, simpler, and… easier to overlook.
"Yes, Maestro. A guard. Times are unsettled, as you well know. And a handyman wouldn't hurt either; there's a fence that needs straightening, a rain awning to put up, a router to configure for the local infonet," I started listing, digging through my memory for every reason a woman might need a man around the house. The last thing I needed was gossip. "Maybe you have contractors who can handle domestic work and still hold a weapon if it comes to that?"
The Maestro of Souls and Desires (that was the full official title for local labor brokers on this planet) was watching me with open suspicion. Out of old habit, deeply hardwired by now, I tracked his body language as I spoke. While I talked, the redhead had unconsciously crossed his pudgy arms over his chest, drawn his brows together, and jutted out his chin in that particular way that meant I don't buy a word of this.
Honestly? I didn't actually believe space pirates were about to descend on Orren'Tal; a perfectly settled, populated planet with at least some kind of military presence. And if Yudes came for me himself, one bodyguard or ten wouldn't save me from being forcibly shipped back to Zwarg. He'd see through my disguise in about thirty seconds flat. Besides, I couldn't afford that kind of luxury anyway. Well, technically I could, but the only thing I could actually spend was the pearl bracelet.
I noted with quiet despair that the little wrinkle between his copper brows hadn't budged. It seemed that the moment the man realized I wasn't quite as wealthy as I'd first appeared, he'd quietly decided not to sell me a contract with anyone at all.
"And since you don't seem to have anyone suitable, I'll just be on my way," I wrapped up my little speech as gently as I could.
Coming here was a mistake. Not only did I leave without a bodyguard, I managed to draw exactly the kind of attention I was trying to avoid.
Except, not quite.
"Wait, what was it—Lady Lesta? If you walk out of here right now, the rumor going around this bazaar will be that I failed to satisfy a customer. That I couldn't find what she was looking for. That is very bad for my reputation."
"Oh, no no no, I won't tell a soul I even came to you." I shook my head quickly.
Perfect. What was I thinking going here?
"The humanoids outside saw you come into my yard," the dealer pressed on, "and they'll see you leave empty-handed."
"Then just assign me any guard to walk me home. Problem solved!"
"That won't do." The stubborn little businessman shook his head, and then, unexpectedly, dropped his voice to just above a whisper: "But I think we can help each other."
I tensed. I did not like the sound of that. Not even a little. Growing up as a pureblooded Zwargian, I'd been trained from childhood to read the finest shifts in a person's mood; when the men of your species can sense emotions like an open book, you either develop that skill or you suffer for it. And when someone lowers their voice, it never means anything good. Either they're angry, or they're cooking something up.
"Help each other?" I echoed, already knowing I'd say no to whatever came next.
The redhead glanced around, as if anyone could possibly be eavesdropping in a completely empty room, and started talking fast.
"My nephew, after watching me run my business all these years, decided he wanted to be a Maestro, too. The problem is… he's not very bright. Young. No experience. He wandered into the gray sector, made deals with clients he hadn't vetted, they paid him for the service he rendered… in live cargo."
"Live cargo?!"
A vague sense of dread pricked somewhere under my ribs. Technically, slavery was illegal on Orren'Tal; but I'd still seen what were very clearly slaves from time to time. Well-fed ones, clean ones, but… humanoids who definitely didn't have the same rights as citizens of the Federation of United Worlds. In this sector of space, they were called "semi-contractors." On paper, they had documents, and local law required their owner to provide shelter and three meals a day. But unlike hired mercenaries, they weren't paid, and they couldn't change owners unless the current one chose to resell the contract. Legalized slavery, in other words.
"Yes. Cargo," the short Maestro muttered quietly, clearly not thrilled that his nephew had gotten himself into this mess. "Thankfully, most of them have been placed already… Ayur is a fool, but even he understands that if anything goes wrong, his little operation is the first one that gets shut down. Except…"
"One's left, isn't he," I said, more tired than surprised.
I didn't know for certain, but it followed naturally enough from everything he'd told me.
"Mm. A semi-contractor," my companion said, raising his brows pointedly, refusing on principle to use the word slave. "I'll let my nephew know a lady is coming for a special acquisition. He'll hand him over, no haggling."
The stout man pulled off his little cotton cap, revealing a sweaty bald head, wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and jammed the cap back on. Then he looked at me again, waiting. Already hating myself for asking, I asked, "What's wrong with him?"
"Why would anything be wrong with him?" the Maestro said, with exaggerated innocence.
A pause stretched between us for several very long seconds. Did I look like an idiot? If one person hadn't been placed, something was obviously wrong with him. Finally the man spat bitterly on the floor.
"Everything is wrong with him!" he burst out. "The little wretch wants to die. Getting food into him is a whole ordeal. He either does nothing, or when you ask him to do something, he goes at it like he's trying to kill himself; and then you have to redo the whole thing anyway! A month ago, Ayur asked him to move some foundation posts, and this… idiot… instead of waiting for the grav-platform and work gloves they were bringing in the morning, spent the entire night hauling reinforced concrete by hand. Collapsed by morning, threw out his back, wore his hands down to bloody pulp… and we're not about to pay for a doctor for a semi-contractor! Especially when it's pretty clear the man isn't exactly… invested in his own survival."
I flinched. I felt genuinely sorry for him; deeply, simply, humanly sorry. And the worst part was that I understood, all too well, the kind of hopelessness and despair that would make a person do something like that and not care one bit about the damage. But… get it together, Celesta.
"You want to offload him onto me like defective merchandise, so that when he dies, the trail doesn't lead back to your nephew. You want his problems to become my problems?!"
"Oh, what problems could you possibly have…" He looked me over again, head to toe. "Even if anyone takes an interest, one look and it'll be obvious that you, a small, defenseless little human girl, were just looking for a handyman. Three months, like you said. Plenty of time. He'll fix your fence and whatever else you mentioned… And if he doesn't make it, well, clearly that's not on you. So?"
I shook my head. The thought of some unknown, suffering humanoid made everything inside me twist and ache; but the last thing I needed was trouble with local authorities. If anyone figured out who I really was… it would be a disaster. I was trying to do the exact opposite: blend quietly into Orren'Tal society and get myself a permanent residency permit. A half-dead man with a death wish did not fit anywhere into that plan.
"Thank you, but… no. I'll be going," I said quietly, but without any room for argument.
I turned toward the exit and felt the brazen little redhead slip something tiny into my dress pocket.
"That's a card with the address. In case you change your mind," he added quickly.