Arianne Simons sipped her tea delicately and avoided making eye contact. Her thick, brown hair was tied tightly back and her soft, silk business suit whispered as she shifted in her chair. At long last she answered, her voice as smooth as the clothes she wore, “I do not recall owning a hand-maiden, Mr Evans,” she said, quickly moving her cup to her lips to hide her trembling. “And I’m not sure I appreciate the inference you’re making.”
Iskrin looked at her easily, his usual jeans replaced by a suit of equal craftsmanship. He flashed his best smile, “Come now, Miss Simons, I’m not suggesting you did wrong by the girl. I’m asking only whether you might recall someone like that in your employ. It is rather important that I find her. My father is soon to leave this world and I’d so like him to meet his daughter one last time.” This lie had slid all too easily off his tongue when he’d introduced himself over the cortex. Arianne Simons was a woman of refinement and respectability. She wouldn’t give out information to some freighter captain; but to a wealthy Sihnon merchant’s son looking for his long lost sister – perhaps.
Arianne drained her teacup and set it firmly back in its saucer. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said finally, the word somehow indicating she suspected Iskrin was no noble, “but I cannot help you. Good day.” With that she rose in a hush of silk and strode from the tea palour.
Iskrin sighed and set his own teacup down, drawing the attention of a waitress and handing over enough credits to cover the bill for them both. He glanced around the room carefully, looking for anyone suspicious and dismissed the other customers as rich dandies and the spoiled offspring of wealthy businesspeople. Satisfied that the meeting had been as innocuous as he’d hoped and that no one was likely to remember that Arianne Simons had had lunch with a nondescript, well-dressed man, he made his way out of the tea house and down the alley to its side where Sam was standing with the now-unconscious Miss Simons in his arms.
“Don’t feel right,” Sam grumbled. “She’s respectable.”
Iskrin flashed him a cold glance. “We ain’t gonna harm her, Sam.” He reassured his friend. “But she has to talk.” He could see in Sam’s eyes the memories of making Joriquos Bos talk. “The nice way.” He affirmed. “Well, nice-ish.”
***
Arianne Simons came to in a small bunk, her head resting on a hard plasfoam pillow and her back sore. She could hear the thrum of ship engines and recognized immediately from her many spaceflights the uneven artificial gravity generated by ill-tuned gravity systems and inertial dampers. She sighed. The fool. Why had he not just let her be?
Sitting up slowly and holding the side of her spinning head, she reached down inside her shirt and drew out the necklace that she always wore: a chain of simple gold links carrying a ruby set in micro-platinum. She lifted the ruby from its setting and depressed the button underneath, activating the SOS beacon. A moment later she was on her feet, leaning against the bulkhead and getting her bearings. Once she felt steady, she pulled the door access lever and, to her surprise, the door rumbled open with a groan.
The hallway outside was dimly lit in soft yellow light. Small markings on the walls indicated the direction of the bridge, engine room and mess, so she headed for the last of these. Her footsteps rang out on the metal gantry beneath her, almost certainly alerting the crew that she was up and about, but she didn’t much care who knew. If they’d planned to kill her she’d be dead. If not then her people would be here soon anyhow.
