{Gait}

Loaded down with her care package for Korac, Sagan stepped onto the streets of Gait. It snowed since she last left. Cold enough to accumulate in piles shoveled along the curbs. She thanked the Lyriks for her coat before scouring street vendors for food. Prison food sucked, right? Surely Korac would appreciate something from out here more.

The pack bounced on her back like a stuffed turtle shell. She recalled Lucas’ warning, “Don’t leave these in here too long or they’ll wrinkle.”

Sagan snickered in the middle of a prison planet. Korac faced two hundred years in a cell. He’d learn how to de-wrinkle his clothes.

The Seamswalker relied on her hood to hide her expression. She learned from her travels that smiles and “resting nice face” often led to sexual harassment by locals. No need to knock a Prisonborne’s face in the dirt unnecessarily.

Following the enticing scent of grilled mushrooms, Sagan turned the next corner. And stopped. Atramentous flashed in her blinding fury.

The street ended at a rectangular glass building with gilded accents, boasting a sign, Martyr Complex Bar & Lounge.

When she finished with it, the sign would read future site of construction.

It was warm inside. Plushy booths, an expansive glass-top bar, and strange twinkling lights made up the interior. No one called her out on the double axes at her hips. The place looked dead. Only one random at the bar and the tender behind it. Good. Fewer people to evacuate before she demolished it.

A flash caught her eye. Four projection screens in the corners of the room played an advertisement on loop. Sagan stepped closer to the nearest image, staring. Something about it was wrong. In a ten second loop, a giant of a man threw a woman against a rock chair. Enormous. A throne? As he took her clothes off, the girls’ face flashed for one terrifying second.

Rayne.

“One Million Credits” blinked over the looping footage.

Sagan clutched her stomach and cried out, but no sound came. She heaved and fought her buckling knees. It repeated, and tears squeezed from her eyes as she turned away.

“Yo, barkeep, can you turn this shit off? I think it drives the clientele away.”

The man at the bar stomped his glass on the counter and repeated his request. Sagan caught his gaze in the mirror behind the bar. Unusual eyes split vertically with orange on the inside and green on the outside. Bright red hair cut short.

He nodded to her as he continued chewing out the bartender, “King Rayne is a gracious and powerful woman. She must be lonely, as well.”

Sagan caught her breath.

The bartender looked up at the closest projection. “What makes you think she’s lonesome?”

The man scoffed in his glass. “Cause she can’t go anywhere without this tacky shit playing. Now, turn it off.” He threw back the rest of his drink. And his eyes sparkled as the bartender switched it off.

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Unsure what else to say or do, Sagan mouthed to his reflection, “Thank. You.” For ending the disgusting loop of Rayne’s torment.

“And get me two more of these.” When he received the drinks, the tan stranger held them up for Sagan and nodded toward a booth.

She didn’t know this man, and this place didn’t exactly reek of class. But if she let him talk a while, maybe she’d glean some information from the local scene. Besides, she was always armed. With that reassurance in mind, she sat across from him.

The man touched the pulse point on Sagan’s wrist with two fingers. Then pressed those two fingers to his own nacre. A greeting? Where were his fingernails?

After that, he wasted no time. “I know you’re not her. You’re the Seamswalker, right?”

“How did you know?”

Chuckling, he scratched his five o’clock shadow. The burgundy leather of his long coat protested with his movements. “Five young people from Earth take down the most badass race of elite warriors known to the galaxy—You’re a bunch of celebrities. Also, purple eyes are uncommon in the Vast Collective.”

Sagan stared into the warm blue liquid. “If only it ended there. It left us all… broken, you know?” She spared him a glance. The intensity in his gaze made her duck her own.

“You can tell me about it.” Such a soothing voice. And his eyes. Limitless.

Shaking her head, Sagan forced herself to stop staring at the handsome stranger. She bit her lip before answering, “The Tribunal sentenced my boyfriend here.”

He nodded, listening kindly. “Must be hard.”

The Progeny girl set the hood back and fluffed her hair idly. He absorbed every move she made, but not sexually. More predatory than that.

“It is. I’ve never felt so alone.” She chafed her arms as if chilled. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“I can ease your troubles.”

There was a weight in those five words, as if they held their own gravitational pull. They sought something from her.

Softly, Sagan confessed, “I miss our time together.” She looked anywhere but at him.

He leaned on the tabletop, smelling of vanilla and darker things. “I’m sure with someone like the Icarean General you can appreciate the desire for pain and other exotic experiences. Can you tell me what it was like with him—”

“How much were you planning on selling mine for, Razor?” Sagan turned back to him with ice in her veins. “Half a million?”

Those bizarre eyes flashed. It was his turn to ask, “How did you know?”

That greeting. Nox’s encounter described in his Verse helped her identify the Pain Curator, but the Icarus’ description varied from the man in front of her. Even so, she refused to give her source away.

The bastard held out his hands to placate her. “I’m not a bad guy. This is simply how I make a living on this hollow rock.”

“What about those ads for Rayne?”

“Rayne is a special case.” He leaned into the booth and spanned his arms along the back. “Her experience is the highest and fastest growing market. Ever. And while I was aiming for Nox’s death at her hands, I’d gladly settle for your near death experience at his.”

Sagan pressed her fingers to her temples. “I cannot believe I’m hearing this.”

“The people made the legend. I just built a franchise with it.”

She let her hands fall to the table and frowned incredulously. “What legend?”

Razor signaled with his hand, and the bartender ran the advertisement again. The “One Million Credit” sign barely censored the brief glimpses of the atrocity. “The epic love story. Tragedy, lust, revenge. Nox claiming Rayne to prevent the Tritans stealing her away as a broodmare. Rayne sparing Nox in their lone battle, so he can return for her once the Icari are migrated safely to Earth.”

“And people… believe this?” Sagan grimaced and swallowed the bile back down. She felt the chain around her neck as if heavier than before.

“How else would you describe the way he looked at her? The way they fought. There are songs and films. Written fiction. It’s beautiful really how their love united the Twelve Worlds.”

She glared at him, too shocked and too angry to speak.

“Come by the Emporium sometime.” Razor slid out of the booth and stood over Sagan. “We can discuss why you’re looking for me. And maybe you can satisfy your curiosity with Rayne’s experience.”

This monster held answers she needed to shut down Imminent. To understand the pain markets and the public’s obsession with it. But how could she withstand another second in his foul but oddly pleasant company?

Razor chuckled at Sagan’s silent censure. He waved to the bartender on his way out. “Have a good one, Puk!”

“G’night, boss.”

It was time for her to seek professional help.