Chapter 1

There are a number of things I don’t like about Mars: no open spaces, not many trees, no large bodies of water, but there is another aspect of Mars that I really don’t like. The sign on the door read “Department of Human Services” (also known as DHS); what it should have said was “Slave Market”. It’s really kind of ironic, that little bit of obfuscation; generally speaking, Marsmen (they really don’t like to be called Martians) have no problem calling a slave a slave; in fact, it’s written that way in a number of their laws. But for some reason, the government department used as the official clearinghouse for the buying and selling of human flesh had to be called HumanServices. No one ever said Marsmen were consistent, or even particularly sane for that matter.

So what am I doing about to fork over a ton of my hard-earned, mostly legit, cash on three women I don’t know and who everybody will assume will be used as my sex toys? Good question. Hang around for a bit longer, and we’ll get to that.

Anyway, I pushed open the door, entered, and was greeted by that annoying little beep announcing my arrival. God, I hate those things; but then so has every customer who ever entered a shop. Probably had little bells on the doors back in Babylon, and I’m sure it was just as annoying then as it is now. Anyway, there wasn’t much to see: just a bare room with the Mars Republic’s Department of Human Services seal painted on one wall with its two hands reaching out to the viewer. I’m surprised some dickhead didn’t have cuffs on them. Maybe that would have been a little too honest.

I guess the stupid bell did its job because before I could even get to the counter, the fattest, oiliest greaseball you could imagine oozed out from the back and slithered up to the counter. What is it about slavers that they all look like they crawled out from under the same rock? Them and aircar salesmen ... tax collectors, for that matter? I suppose it takes a certain kind to deal in human misery. I haven’t met one of them yet. I wouldn’t put in the “better off dead” category.

“May I be of service to you, Citizen?” he said, stretching out his greasy paw, obviously looking for a handshake. Well, he wasn’t going to get one from me. I looked at the offending appendage, sniffed, and turned up my nose like some snooty Domer. Hey, I can act like one of them upper-crust skanks if I have to; I even wore my best suit for this, and it isn’t a cheap one, let me tell you.

“I’m looking for, ah, domestic assistance,” I said in the crisp, brittle tones of one of the Old Dome scions. I was thirty-two standard years old, hopefully any of you Terrapors [That’s what Marsmen call an Earthman, and it’s not a derogatory term, not really, anyway. One of the scientists on the first Mars mission coined the phrase by combining Terran and Porcus: groundhog, get it? I don’t think it’s that funny either, but the term stuck. Being a transplant, I’m still considered a Terrapor also.] out there already know we follow the same calendar here that they do on Earth. Yeah, our sidereal day is actually about twenty-four hours and thirty-eight minutes, so it plays hell knowing whether it’s day or night outside, but since most of us spend 99 percent of our time inside and underground, it really doesn’t matter, and it makes dealing with the home world much easier.

How did I get off on this tangent anyway?

Where was I? Oh yeah, I was thirty-two but looked much younger: the proverbial baby-face and not terribly imposing in any respect at one hundred and seventy-seven centimeters and seventy-three kilos. So I looked like an old teen or young twenty-something, just about the perfect age for some do-nothing counselor’s son out buying his first toys without daddy. It’s handy since it explains why I wouldn’t use daddy’s name, (I’m a big boy now!) but infers that the old man is still there standing behind me. Hey, it’s not my problem if they come to the wrong conclusion.

Anyway, it seemed to work again since greaseball pulls his hand back without taking visible offense. Actually, I’m not really sure it’s possible to offend this kind of slime; maybe if you claimed they were nice to some widows and orphans, but that would be about it. They treat those below them like shit and expect the same from those above them, so unless they know differently, if you treat them like crap, they assume you’re one of their “betters”.

“What sort of, ah ... assistance might you be looking for?” he asks as if he hadn’t just been slighted.

“I have very definite and discriminating requirements,” I sniff.

“Of course, sir.” It’s amazing how that ‘sir’ pops up once they determine you’re the top dog. “I am sure we have what you require. All our ... merchandise is top quality and absolutely guaranteed.”

“Good, good. I was told you might be able to help me. My fa- I heard your office has the best quality.” Might as well throw the dog a bone; it did seem to puff up his fat little chest. “Here is what I require: three girls, young, older than seventeen but no older than twenty-one. One blonde: I want her to be of average height, about the same as me, I suppose. I’d also like a brunette, a tall brunette: yes, as tall as you can get. The third should be a redhead, short: I like short redheads. Do you have anything like that?” I knew he did, at least as of half an hour earlier. In my business, information is critical, and I don’t mind paying for the best and latest. He had them, and I also knew they were here on-site for the next day or two.

“Hmm, very specific, but not impossible,” he burbled as he typed the info into his console. “Do you have any preferences as to, shall we say, body types?”

“Well, I’m not that concerned with that,” I said slowly as if thinking about it. “They all pretty much come with the same accessories, as they say. Not too heavy and not too skinny, but other than that, I’d like to see what you have and see if there is anything I like.”

“Very good, sir. I think we have a number that would meet your requirements. Would you follow me to our viewing room?” He led me back behind the counter to a nicely appointed room with a couple of comfortable chairs facing a blank wall. “Would you please wait here while I bring in the first group of candidates?” After I waved my hand in confirmation, he left, and I sat down in one of the chairs to wait. It took about ten minutes, but finally, the door opened, and two guards carrying stun rods entered, herding three blondes and lined them up against the wall, followed by greaseball.

“I believe any one of these would meet your requirements, sir.”

He was correct. All three of them were quite attractive, and if I had been in the market for myself-my own pleasure that is-anyone of them would have been more than tempting. But I wasn’t looking for a bed partner willing or otherwise; I was looking for a payday, and the one that was going to give me that payoff was the one in the middle. My daddy always told me you never let the seller know just how much you want anything he’s selling, so I made a big production over inspecting each of the offerings, muttering, hemming, and hawing over each one. Two were obviously scared, not that I could blame them. After all, I was potentially someone who would be in complete control of their lives. I could make living a hell or maybe a not-quite hell; I doubt they even considered their lives would be anywhere close to being pleasant. Fuck, what a society we had!

The third wasn’t scared; she was pissed, really pissed! This was the first time I had ever seen Teresa Mari Athena Dubois in the flesh, and I’ll have to admit I was impressed. She was just about my height, maybe a centimeter or two shorter and massing maybe sixty kilos, give or take a couple. She wasn’t fat by any stretch of the imagination but curvy and well-padded; especially given she had huge tits that were well beyond what was fashionable for the day. Her hips were a bit wide also, not really a big ass, just wide hips- “birthing hips” is what my grandma would have said. Kind of surprising in this day where a sufficient amount of cash could buy you any kind of body you wanted, and she definitely had the cash, or at least Mommy did. The reports all said she was some kind of genius, at the very least a hell of a lot smarter than I am, but then again, maybe that isn’t a very high benchmark to measure by. Genius or not, it was obvious she didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about what her peers thought about her; my admiration moved up a notch. Her curves came with a pretty, heart-shaped face with full lips and piercing blue eyes.

It was the eyes that really grabbed me. I don’t think in all my years in the army and the war I have ever seen eyes hold that much hate. If the old saying “if looks could kill” were anywhere near accurate, I’d have been a walking corpse right then and there. I could tell she hadn’t made her time in captivity an easy one. There were the telltale signs of stunstick strikes visible on her neck and the exposed portions of her arms; Lord only know what you’d find under that plain gray tunic.

“This one looks interesting,” I muttered noncommittally.

“Ah yes, the gentleman has exquisite taste,” the greaseball crooned. “This one is a fine specimen; although in all fairness, I must admit she is as little, ah, high-spirited. Takes a firm hand, this one.”

“Well, I certainly have never flinched from a challenge,” I answered grudgingly. “Tell you what ... Why don’t we keep her here and see what you can do about my other requirements?”

“Very good, sir.” For some reason, I got the impression he would be more than happy to have this one off his hands. I had to control myself from chuckling out loud and gave her another point or two. The two guards grasped her arms and moved her over to a place behind the chairs and pointedly motioned for her to stay put. They, along with the greaseball, escorted the other two girls out of the room.

I moved over to her, but not too near, and whispered, “What’s your name?”

“Fuck off, asshole!” At least she whispered it back; not much chance we weren’t being monitored, and she knew it.

“Stand easy, Miss Dubois. You’re supposed to be pretty smart; start acting like it,” I hissed back. That one shut her up; actually, I thought her jaw was going to hit the floor. You could almost see the gears turning in her head and smoke coming out her ears.

“Who the hell are you?” But before she could say anything further, the door opened, and again a line of girls were trooped in for inspection. This time there were six of them, and obviously, greaseball’s idea of tall was fairly flexible since four of the girls were considerably shorter than I am. But the other two... Holy shit! I was in love! The other two were tall, over one hundred and eighty cm., at least. Both were slim, leggy, and stunningly beautiful. One with short, curly hair and the other with long, really long, wavy brown tresses. To tell the truth, I had to clear my throat and grab myself by the short and curlies, trying to remember exactly why I was there. These were the two I concentrated on, trying not to trip over my tongue as I approached them. One thing that really helped was catching the nasty smirk on greaseball’s face. I was really beginning to hate that son of a bitch; I started seeing his fat face framed in the crosshairs of a scope; a dangerous thought, but pleasant.

I’ll admit right here I would have sold what little soul I have left to be with the short-haired goddess, so I guess it was for the best the one I came for was the other; I’m not sure any amount of money would have persuaded me to give her up otherwise. So after giving Miss Short-Hair the once-over ― hopefully, I didn’t drool on her too much ― I made my way over to the long-haired beauty. Miss Eveta Marissa Delgado stared back at me from her pale gray eyes like an entomologist studying a specimen. I was a bug beneath her notice; I suppose she wasn’t far wrong at that. In any other lifetime, the likes of me wouldn’t have been allowed to be within a klick of her. But that was then, and this is now. Right now, she was credit on the hoof, and I was going to tap that stack of beautiful cash.

“I can’t decide,” I sighed. “Either one of these would do.”

“Why not take both?” greaseball prompted.

“Hum, tempting,” I sighed again. “But Fa- I mean my budget is not unlimited, and I really did have my heart set on a redhead to complete the set. Well, nothing for it; the one with the long hair, I’ll take her.” Quickly, one of the guards led her over to stand next to Dubois. She must have made some sign of recognition because Dubois subtly shook her head and lowered her eyes. I tried to ignore them. In fact, I stayed a few meters away until the next batch was led in.

There were four of them, and redheads they were. Shit, shit, and double shit! The one I was looking for wasn’t there! Where the fuck was she? I know that she was here just an hour earlier, and according to everything I’d been able to find out, they never transferred one of the slaves without all kinds of administrative bullshit and a few days’ lead time. She couldn’t have been sold already, could she? I have to admit I was a bit shaken, but still, I pulled it together enough to go over and pretend to study each of the ones brought in.

“No,” I sighed again. “These are very nice, but just not what I was looking for. Are these all the redheads you have?”

“I’m afraid so, sir,” greaseball oozed. “But any one of these is excellent, I assure you.”

“I’m sure they are,” I agreed. “But ― and I can’t really put a finger on it ― just not exactly what I want.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that; maybe we can bring back the other tall brunette? I noticed you were quite taken with her also.”

I paused, thinking furiously, “Tempting, but no. I really am set on a redhead.”

“Then I’m not sure we can help you...”

“Sir!” a voice interrupted us. I turned; it was Dubois. What the hell was she up to? “I know someone you may be interested in.”

“Be quiet, you!” greaseball ordered. “You will speak only when spoken to!”

“Wait,” I said, holding up my hand. “I’m interested in hearing what she has to say.” I walked over to Dubois and looked down at her. The hate was gone from her eyes, replaced with curiosity and something else: hope, maybe?

“Why would you help me?” I demanded.

“If I’m to be owned, go with you. It would be better off for me if you were happy. It sounds like getting a redhead would make you happy, so if I can find you a redhead, it would be better for me.”

“True,” I agreed. “Making me happy is in your best interest. Where is this mythical girl? The director here doesn’t seem to know of her.”

“I saw her just today,” she answered stubbornly. “But she isn’t in the best of shape. Maybe they don’t consider her to be a saleable product yet.” I winced at the sarcasm but controlled myself and looked over at greaseball questioningly.

“Well, there is one other,” he said, clearing his throat. “But she is a bit, ah, unstable. Not really suitable for a young man, ah, starting his household.”

“Maybe I should be the judge of that,” I responded. “She’s not physically damaged, is she?”

“Oh, no!” he said quickly. “No physical damage; it’s just that she’s not, really, all here.” He tapped the side of his head.

“I’d like to see her.”

“Okay,” he said with a shrug. With a wave of his hand, the other girls were marched out, and moments later, another was brought in.

“Not in the best of shape” was an understatement. She shuffled in slowly, her head hung down so far I couldn’t even tell if her eyes were open. She was definitely the one I was looking for: Keelin Orla Tiernay, but this girl only superficially resembled the bright, smiling young woman I’d seen in the videos. As much as Dubois hadn’t been broken, and probably never would be, if you want my opinion, this one had. When the guards stopped, she did also but never looked up.

“Lift your head, girl!” greaseball growled. “Let the man see you.” She did as ordered. Where Delgado had looked at me with utter detachment, this one’s eyes held nothing but terror. She looked more like a whipped and beaten puppy than a human being.

“Hmm, very pretty,” I said as I walked over to her. I lifted my hand to touch her cheek, and she flinched away, stifling a low moan of alarm. I dropped my hand before actually touching her.

“She’s just what I was looking for,” I announced. “Doesn’t seem to have much intelligence, but then that’s not really one of my requirements, I suppose. I’ll take her. I’m sure I can find some use for her.”

“Very good, sir,” the greaseball purred, and the haggling over price started even before she was led over to stand next to the other two. I noticed Dubois put her arm around Tiernay’s waist and pulled her in close as silent sobs sent tremors through her small frame.

I won’t bore you with the next half-hour of wrangling over price. I consider myself to be fairly sharp when it comes to negotiating and could probably have talked him down a few thousand, but that wouldn’t have been in character. Some rich punk spending daddy’s money for his first harem of house nookie isn’t going to quibble over centimes. I didn’t get taken too badly, I thought, pretty close to what I expected to spend, which wasn’t too bad considering I’d never bought or sold a slave before in my life and the gods willing never would again. I’ve had dealings with the scum of the earth ― and Mars ― for most of my life: drug dealers, pimps, reporters, politicians, and ― heaven forbid ― lawyers; but I’ll have lived a happy life if I never saw a living slaver again. Dead ones I can handle; in fact, I’d be more than happy to assist in the process.

Anyway, the haggling was done, the credit transferred, papers notarized, and the chips imbedded in the backs of their necks reprogrammed. It was time to finally get the fuck out of there.

Chapter 2

Initially, I planned to stop on the way home and let them shop for clothing and necessities. You bought a slave with nothing but the tunic on their backs and the little paper slippers they were given, but it was obvious to even an insensitive bastard like me that Tiernay was in no condition to go anywhere. All she did was cry, hold onto Dubois’ arm, and follow her like a dog on a leash when we moved. It was a decent tube ride back to my place, so I herded them into the first unoccupied car at the stop and sat them down.

“All right, so who are you?” Dubois demanded as soon as they sat down. I stayed up, holding onto one of the overhead straps. I could have sat down, but it was easier to look at all of them together this way.

“What do you mean?” I snorted. “I’m your new master, blondie.”

“True,” she responded after a pause. “But that’s not all you are. You may want us for your nice little fuck toys, but that’s not all you want us for. What are you up to? Ransom?” Tiernay shivered again and sobbed at the words “fuck toy.”

“Such a mouth! You kiss your mother with that mouth? What makes you so certain I want anything except your beautiful bodies?”

“Don’t be stupid! Okay, maybe you can’t help but be stupid, but try not to treat us as if we’re as dumb as you are,” she fired back. “You know who I am. You picked the three of us specifically and knew the specifications to ask for to get us.” Delgado actually looked at me with some curiosity this time. “Picking one of us? Possible, even probable if Eve had been first. Two of us? Also possible, although statistically unlikely. All three of us? Highly improbable, especially when you consider that right now Kee isn’t in what you bastards would consider prime condition. So, what’s your game, motherfucker? Ransom? Blackmail? Extortion?”

“I’ve fucked a mother,” I admitted, “just not mine.” The little witch was trying to goad me; I thought it was kind of amusing. Hell, I’d been worked over by the meanest, nastiest Master Sergeants the Greens had to offer, and she didn’t even place in the top ten.

“Ransom is such a harsh word. I prefer finder’s fee. I expect your families are going to be happy you aren’t dead and will suitably compensate the kind soul who brings you back to them.

“Yes, I know who you are,” I admitted. “It’s not often I get the chance to rescue three fair maidens in distress; especially when the three involved happen to be the only children of three of the richest families on Old Earth. You’re damn right I expect to be compensated. I plunked down a ton of cash for you three and I expect that back and a bit more on top.”

“Oh, our knight in shining armor,” she said, placing her free hand to her forehead in a pretend swoon. “How could we be so lucky? So what now? You fuck us until our families fork over the cash?”

“You’re funny,” I grinned. “I like that. Sorry to disappoint you, sweetie, but we aren’t going to be pounding the mattress together. I like my women a little older and a lot more willing. Besides, if I’d wanted that, I’d have taken the brunette with the short hair; she was seriously hot!” I think Delgado actually frowned a little at that; that was seriously funny! Okay, I admit it: I enjoy teasing the ladies almost as much as they enjoy teasing me. So sue me. It’s all in fun for the most part.

“Been a while then, hasn’t it?” Dubois shot back. Damn, this chick had brass ones, big brass ones. I could actually like having her around.

“Not so you’d notice,” I answered nonchalantly. “This is our stop. It’s time we get back to home sweet home and tell Mommy and Daddy their little lost sheep have been found.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” she said, sounding amused as the doors whooshed open and we walked out onto the platform. I started walking towards my place, Dubois at my side, Tiernay still attached, and Delgado strolling behind us, ignoring me completely. She could have been just out for a walk and just happened to be going in the same direction I was for all she acted. I had this one pegged already: a bitch. But what the hell, I wouldn’t be putting up with her for long, so what did I care?

The door opened to my palm print, and the lights came up as we entered. It was no palace, but not too bad if I say so myself. Five rooms, a kitchen, and an open living area. More room than I need, but it was a standard design, and it costs almost nothing to cut out a few more rooms, so when I had it dug, I went for the larger size. I lived alone most of the time, but there have been times when the extra room came in handy, like now.

“Rooms are down that hall,” I pointed. “Mine is the first one on the right. Pick any of the other ones for yourself. The toilet and ‘fresher’ are at the end. You share, but that’s just something you’ll have to deal with. This isn’t the Hilton. When you’re ready, we’ll order some clothes and anything else you need. Take a shower, get something to eat, and we’ll call the ‘rents and get the show on the road.”

“Honey, I’m home!” I said loudly.

“Welcome back, Toliver,” came a rich, feminine voice, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. “You have two messages, neither coded as critical. I see you have brought guests home with you.”

“Sharon, this is Teresa Dubois, Eveta Delgado, and Keelin Tiernay,” I said, pointing to each in turn. I know I’m strange, but I can’t help but treat my AI (artificial intelligence) as if she was a real person. Call me crazy, but I really believe I get better treatment from them than other people do; besides, most of the AIs I know are better people than most real people I deal with, and I treat them as such.

“Pleased to have you with us, Miss Dubois, Miss Delgado, Miss Tiernay. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”

Dubois’ eyebrows rose up as if surprised and said, “Thank you, Sharon. I hope we won’t cause you any problems.” She kept bumping herself up in my estimation; I like people who are nice to AIs. I think how someone treats an AI shows what they are truly like underneath the masks we all wear for the outside. Most people just think of them as things.

“No problem at all, Miss Dubois,” my AI answered.

“Sharon,” I broke in, “they’re going to need clothing soon, food sooner, and...” I looked over at Tiernay, “maybe a mild sedative for Miss Tiernay.”

“So, what’s your name, Sir Galahad?” Dubois asked me. “I can’t keep calling you a shithead, and you might as well break out your stunstick if you think I’m going to call you a master.”

“You haven’t called me a shithead yet,” I pointed out.

“Not out loud, shithead,” she grinned.

“Well, I’ve answered to worse,” I snorted. “But if you’re feeling magnanimous, you can call me Toliver, Toliver Nelson. Tol for short.”

“Okay, Tol-for-short. Since you mentioned you aren’t planning to rape us right away, what do we do first?”

“If you want to use the ‘fresher,’ I’d say go ahead. Then something to eat if you’re hungry. I’d suggest ordering the clothing first. If you do, it should be here in an hour or so.” I had to pause for a moment. “Ah, do you think Miss Tiernay is up to that? Maybe one of you can help her?”

“I’ll take care of her,” Dubois put an arm protectively around Tiernay’s shoulder. “Kee didn’t handle their ‘processing’ very well. After the first couple of rapes, she just seemed to come ... unhinged, I suppose is the best way to put it.”

“You were raped?” I suppose I sounded surprised and horrified. That was stupid. I should have expected it. I hate rape. it’s one of the reasons I got exiled here, but that’s another story. “What about you two? Do I need to take you to a doctor?”

“You mean a vet? Isn’t that what they have for slaves? Vets?” Dubois laughed, and damned if it didn’t sound evil. Delgado may have been a bitch, but Dubois was the one I was pretty sure you really didn’t want mad at you. “Never mind; I’m fine. I just told the needle-dicked bastards they’d have to do better than that if they wanted to make me cum.”

Somehow that didn’t surprise me. I looked at Delgado, “What about you?”

“Just another boyfriend sweating on top of me,” she said with a shrug. Her voice was emotionless, but her eyes held something else I couldn’t quite identify. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I wouldn’t want this one mad at me either.

“Christ on a crutch,” I muttered. “Good thing I didn’t know that then.”

“What was that?” Dubois asked.

“Never mind,” I answered quickly. “If both of you are all right, then we’ll leave it for now. After we settle in... Well, if you need anything, let me know, and I’ll see what I can do.” I could have told them I understood what they’d gone through, but that’d be a lie. Sure, I’ve seen the results more than I ever wanted to, but I can’t say I really understand it.

“Thanks, Tol-for-short,” Dubois said, cocking her head as if to look at me from a different angle. “I’ll be fine. Besides, from what I understand, the mental health facilities here on Mars are a bit primitive.”

“Nonexistent, you mean.” I had to snort again. Marsmen pride themselves on being the frontiersmen of the solar system and, as such, don’t cotton to fancy ways such as therapists or shrinks. “Cowboy up, Cupcake,” is about as close as you can get to a therapy session around here.

“Yes, thank you, Mister Nelson,” Delgado added. “I will also be fine. But I believe Keelin will need more help.” It was the longest string of words she’d fired my way since we met. “The best thing you can do for us is to get us out of this hellhole. I am sure my father will pay you handsomely for returning me.”

“That would be appreciated, Miss Delgado, much appreciated. And please don’t call me ‘Mister’. I work for a living. Tol or Toliver will do just fine.” She actually seemed to relax just a little. Maybe I was wrong about her being a bitch; I hadn’t really taken into account what she’d been through before. I don’t like people making snap judgments about me; I should refrain from doing the same myself.

“If you would help Miss Tiernay, Miss Dubois, I would appreciate it. My guess is the last person she wants around her right now is a man.”

“No problem, Tol-for-short. And besides, call me Terry. I don’t know how long it’s going to take to get us out of here, but too long to put up with this ‘Miss Dubois’ crap.”

“I can live with that, Terry.”

“Call me Eve,” Delgado said with a slight nod.

“My pleasure, Eve.”

“Kee,” came a soft voice from somewhere under Terry’s arm. I was surprised when Tiernay lifted her head and looked at me. I hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were the most beautiful green that I had ever seen; they had to be artificial. “I’d thought I’d lost my name along with everything else.”

“No, you haven’t,” I answered gently; at least I hoped it was gently. I didn’t get much practice with gentle. “You’re safe now, Kee, as safe as I can make you anyway. I’ll get you back to your family as soon as possible; that I promise.”

“Thank you,” came her whispered response.

“Toliver,” it was Sharon.

“Yes, darling?” Sometimes I think she was more my wife than any other woman I’d ever been with.

“I have access to traumatic therapy modules; might that help Miss Tiernay?”

“It couldn’t hurt,” I shrugged. “Buy ‘em and load ‘em up. I’ll let Miss Tiernay ― Kee ― decide if she wants to use them. Right now, she probably ought to have that sedative, though.”

“It is in the kitchen dispenser, Toliver.”

“Thanks, Sharon. You know I love you.” I walked quickly towards the kitchen to retrieve the mentioned medication.

“You say that to all the girls, Toliver.”

“No, I don’t, and you know it.” There was a small disposable cup in the dispenser. I picked it up and brought it back to the common area and handed it to the slight redhead.

“It won’t knock you out, just help settle you down,” I reassured her. She drank it still looking at me with those big green eyes.

“Now you’d better get to ordering some clothes unless you want to stay in those for the rest of your stay. Sharon?”

“I have already estimated our guests’ measurements and connected to the retail outlet. If you will turn your attention to the screen and tell me your preferences, we may begin. What monetary limit do you wish, Toliver?”

“Five-hundred uni each should be good enough for now,” I answered. I know: Mars uses the New Dollar instead of the Universal Credit Unit (uni for short), but the ND is pegged at the value of the uni, and I can’t seem to break the habit. Again, sue me. “I’m going to let you ladies do your shopping while I do the manly thing and run away. Besides, I have some messages to get out.”

Chapter 3

The closest Mars gets to Earth is about ninety million klicks (that’s kilometers for the non-military), and since we haven’t yet been able to circumvent that pesky speed limit that light travels, that means it takes at least ten minutes to get a message there and back, if the response is instantaneous. We were at about double that distance right then, so it would be at least a twenty-minute round trip for the radio beams to take the wonderful news there and back. It doesn’t make for an easy conversation ― more like leaving messages to each party ― but you get used to it.

Now, normally, there wouldn’t be a prayer in hell for someone like me to get a message through to these rich muckity-mucks, so I used the girls’ names in the From line in the header; that ought to draw some attention. I knew they had been declared lost and presumed dead when the shuttle they were on crashed, so I’d hoped it would draw some attention and be forwarded on to the appropriate people. I gave a brief explanation of how I found them and how to reach me and attached a short vid of them Sharon took for me of them sitting around the screen looking at clothing.

Oh, I forgot to mention that the girls were dead, didn’t I? Well, they were, officially anyway. The orbital shuttle they were on crashed about fifty klicks outside the shuttle port, and everybody aboard was presumed dead. At least that’s what the news vid said. I didn’t think anything about it until a day or two later when I heard a rumor from one of my more unsavory contacts that more than a few had survived and had been declared slaves and sent out into the general market.

You’re probably saying to yourself, that’s impossible. As nasty as slavery is, although legal on Mars, it’s still highly regulated. You can’t just be made a slave; it has to be a court order as punishment for a crime, and the process should take more than a few days. You’d be right ... and wrong. It should take quite a while and go through a whole lot of administrative hoops before it becomes effective; this time it didn’t. Shit, the fact that they’re filthy rich should have ensured them of a really long trial even if they’d murdered someone in cold blood in the central plaza in Old Dome. Come to think of it, murdering someone might not get slavery imposed even if you weren’t rich; not paying your taxes would, though.

The whole thing stunk and honestly scared the shit out of me. Something wasn’t right, but greed did me in; the payoff on this had the potential to set me up for life. I just hoped it wouldn’t be a really short life. Somehow, someone had gamed the system here, and that isn’t easy. As fucked up as Mars is, one thing they don’t tolerate is corruption in the government. Petty officials taking bribes may be condemned to slavery, but higher-ups found tapping the till or playing fast and loose with the laws are just set aside without a prosecution. It actually happened to the mayor of Old Dome a few years ago. They found out his expense account was padded more than an underage stripper in a bar, and they set him out for a walk. It took him about ten minutes before his lungs bled enough to choke him to death. I know because they put it on the videos for the public to watch.

So maybe Terry was correct when she said I was stupid. It was a good possibility there were people out there who really didn’t want to have this found out. If I’d done something like this, I sure wouldn’t. I figured the best chance I had was to make this as fast and as quiet as possible. Grab them, get them out of here, get my money, and maybe disappear to one of the newer colonies somewhere on the other side of the planet. It sounded good at the time.

It didn’t sound so good right then, but I was committed. You know what they say about commitment: the chicken is involved with breakfast, the pig is committed. I was that pig, and I was hoping like hell I could keep my bacon out of the fire.

Praying I hadn’t screwed the pooch for the final time, I encoded the messages and sent them as highly confidential to three separate corporate headquarters. The die was cast, and I got up and went out to see what the girls were up to.

They must have been done with their shopping since there was some silly holo-vid on the screen when I entered the room. They were sitting down, Terry with her legs propped up on a table, and Eve’s long, long legs crossed, just sitting there looking bored.

“What’s up?” I asked from behind them. Kee jumped up and promptly stumbled over the end of the couch and fell against me. I caught her and held her upright. She looked up at me and actually smiled. Her beautiful eyes were open but a little glazed.

“Looks like we need to get you to bed,” I said. Sighing, she leaned against me, her head on my chest, then she completely relaxed until only I was holding her up. I already had an arm around her shoulder, so I reached down and scooped her up into my arms. Terry had jumped up when Kee did the boneless act. “Terry, you want to help me get her tucked in?”

“Sure.”

As I said before, I’m no hulking brute of a man, but Kee felt featherlight in my arms as I carried her back to the first spare bedroom. I let Terry fold down the covers before I settled the now-sleeping form on the triple-wide mattress. I put triple-wides in all the rooms except mine; mine’s a little wider, but I like to stretch out when I sleep. During the war, I spent so much time wrapped up in a tight little bedroll or in a hammock that I swore I’d get the biggest bed I could find when it was over. So I did. We left Sleeping Beauty lying there, and I told Sharon to dim the lights but not turn them off entirely.

“That’s the first time I think she’s really been asleep since we got here,” Terry told me as we left the room.

“The sedative,” I commented.

“Hmm, partly,” she agreed. “But I think she finally feels safe for once.”

“She better not get used to it,” I said, shaking my head. “We need to talk.”

And talk we did, the three of us. I hadn’t heard the whole story before; the vids only said the three socialite debutantes (Do they still have debutantes? Not in the circles I run in.) had been taking a graduation tour of Mars before returning to Earth and entering university. What they told me didn’t do anything but increase the wrongness I felt about the whole situation.

“It was supposed to be a ‘growing experience’,” Terry said. “A once-in-a-lifetime trip to get a fuller understanding of what was really going on out here before I got my degree and started working for the company. Supposedly it would help me when it was my turn to take over.” Terry’s mother was actually the president of the corporation and held fifty-five percent of the stock either outright or by proxy.

“So your mother thought you should come out here?” I asked.

“Actually it was my stepfather; he recommended it and Mom went along.” Terry’s stepfather was the corporation’s CFO (Chief Financial Officer). They had been married two years after Terry’s real father died in an accident while inspecting a construction site.