{Gait}

“Sold to Prince Iuo, expert on all Yun artifacts, for seven hundred thousand credits.”

The Reipon Lamia looked pleased with his new plate set. Matt couldn’t fathom it. He watched from behind the curtain where the curios were staged for bidding as ten elegantly dressed and masked clients flexed their wallets. All of them, high rollers in the Vast Collective. Dressed as a ringmaster in white, Razor personally oversaw the annual auction for that exclusive Pain Curator touch. He spared Matt the occasional glance, as if assessing how well the younger man processed this afternoon’s drama.

Razor glimpsed his bodyguard taking in the spectacle and smiled with the affection of an instructor to a pupil. After waving on a nacre glass fountain as next in line, he asked Matt, “What troubles you, tonight?”

The freckled human spared his boss their secret smile for reassurance. “Nothing. I’m learning the system. Everything makes sense to me but the actual merchandise. Why are plates so fucking expensive?”

Puk chuckled knowingly, as he toted the fountain by them and onto the stage.

Matt raised a brow at the humor.

“I explained this to the Seamswalker earlier. How familiar are you with the Brothers of Yu?”

Right. Nox’s Verse wasn’t legal, so best keep that a secret. Instead, Matt offered, “Legend has it they were slain by Nox. Legir’s sons, right?”

Razor gestured at the plates as more Mon3 drones returned with them backstage for packaging. “I searched the Vast Collective all over for their nacres. An unlikely circumstance led me to them. They’re illegal to possess or sell. To get around that, we collectors fashion them into everyday items. Iuo is an old business associate of mine. I practically made them for him.”

Some dots connected, and Matt didn’t necessarily like the pattern they made. “Celebrity takes on a different meaning in the Vast Collective from Earth.”

But the alien looked off elsewhere, as if listening to something the younger man couldn’t hear. His voice went super deep again. “Matt, grab Puk. Change into the gear from the basement. Wait five minutes and meet me in the first of the immersive Divine Booths. Go, now.”

“Sure, boss.”

The shift was intense. Matt kept his eye on Razor all night after the alien promised more trauma for the evening. Was it time, then? Matt clutched both chains around his neck and reminded himself to return one to Sagan the next time he saw her. He waved for Puk, and they headed to the basement.

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Fuck this place.

They both changed into black carbon fiber gear and a hood. He opened the door back into the kitchen, finding an unexpected sight. The Seamswalker was sprawled on top of the Pain Curator. Both crashed to the floor. She looked terrified.

Matt almost intervened, but Razor glanced his direction and waved him back. He stayed hidden and eavesdropped.

“Sorry. I—Just now. I couldn’t leave the Seam. I was so scared.” Her voice wavered and everything.

The redheaded human watched the masterful sociopath gently sit her up straight, pull her in for an innocent side hug, and chafe her arm. Careful around the twin axes. With much concern, he asked, “Has anything like this happened before?”

Damn. The most innocent Progeny looked up at him with those violet eyes big and fearful, appreciating his comfort. She shivered in her Lyriki coat. In his arms. “Yes. Recently.”

Razor helped Sagan stand. “Well, you need to eat. Keep your strength up. I have an auction going right now, but I can set up a spread for you once you finish the last experience.” He kissed both her hands before releasing them.

The girl blushed and followed the man to the booth. Matt shook his head. This was a mess.

As they entered, she mused, “How many colors does that outfit come in?”

He laughed charmingly and bowed for her with the top-hat off and everything. “You liked it at the gala. I wore it especially for you. I want our last experience to be special.”

“Oh, it’s always special with you, Razor.” The Seamswalker implied one thing, but the Pain Curator’s wink implied another.

Five minutes.

Matt waved for Puk to follow him, and they crossed the kitchens into the addition. Outside the booth, he heard Sagan ask, “So, I know you’ve been around a while.”

“Hah!”

She giggled at his burst of laughter. “Do you know much about the Tritans? Like how many there are?”

“Less than you think. But I believe they keep that number to themselves for an important reason. Here. The goggles. And I’ll connect your port.”

Puk cracked the door. Sagan set the axe holster aside and slipped the goggles over her head. Once on, Razor waved them inside. At his signal, they went in. Matt frowned at the polypropylene rope the boss produced from a hidden compartment in the floor. He tossed a bundle to both men and waved for them to start.

Start what?

Sagan froze as Puk drew closer. “Is there someone else in here with us?”

“Yes, Pain Kitten. But they’re here to help make the experience special.”

What…

Despite the warmth of how Razor said the unusual nickname, Sagan stiffened. “I didn’t think you’d call me that around anyone else. What’s going on?”

He whispered one word next to her ear.

She fell to her knees. Not screaming, but she shook her head as if disoriented.

“Now,” Razor ordered.

Puk took her arms and tied the rope around her wrists.

“No. No, don’t do this, Razor! What—why?! Stop touching me!” Despite her protests, Sagan put up no resistance, as if her body refused to respond to her.

Matt grit his teeth and tied her ankles around her boots. Without a struggle from her, they easily stretched the rope to the far sides of the booth and fastened it to the walls.

All the while, the most powerful being in the room kept still, as if rendered powerless. “Razor, you just crossed the line.”

“Much to my regret, but it is necessary.”

That’s when Matt noticed the feed projecting her captivity in the booth to the auction hall. Ten individuals watched enraptured as the events inside unfolded.

Sagan’s last experience was the finale of tonight’s circus.