Omnix

Chapter Seventeen

Xae stiffened, drawing her lip into a snarl. I prayed that she wouldn't say anything-thankfully, she stood still and silent. "I've come to secure my offering. With the ceremony tonight, I shouldn't report to my House or present a Fleshling to the gods. The timing isn't appropriate."

"I hope she's well enough," said Taurus, a starship's length compared to Xae as he appraised her. "Gods might still be hungry."

I made a face to show that I didn't appreciate his joke. His laugh was loud enough to echo across the whole yard. And just as fast, he became stoic, leading his hand. "You know the drill: slaves to the right of us."

Xae shifted next to me. I squeezed her arm as a warning. "I'd like to see the Landing first," I said, "I haven't seen it since I left. I would like to purchase a Fleshling servant to care for my quarters at the Cren colony, and I need one that's trained." I glanced at Xae, faking my disdain the best I could. "Would you mind? I have a few hours before the ceremony."

The line died with us; Taurus gazed over my shoulder and chuffed. He stood from his slump as if waiting for the chance to show somebody, anybody the Landing's operations. He levied his i'qod axe over a shoulder and scooped us up as company. "Very well." The shadow he cast was monstrous when the sun caught his back. "We must catch up. Who knows when I'd get another audience with Cren's finest daughter."

I suppressed a shudder; an awful musk loomed from him and seemed to sweat out from acrid pores. Taurus always had an odor about him, but when he walked ahead of us, Xae scrunched her nostrils in a way that told me she was familiar. Her lips matched.

Xae regressed her pace, catching my shoulder. "He smells like Almat."

"Xae-"

"No!" Her voice fell to a frantic whisper. "Like, dead Almat."

We crossed over the main operations where one of the massive Iron Boar tusks rounded off. An archway was shaven into the hull, leading across a molten quarry: the epicenter of slave labor. Quiet again; Taurus seemed to lead further away.

He said, "Apologies for the slim inventory, Xouqo's been-shall we say, picked over for Tetra's ascension." The Iron Boar churned dimly as we crossed. Either what Taurus said is true or the ore at Xouqo Landing had been mined dry. Or something worse.

"Take me to the stables." My throat seized, the words tasting bitter. "I don't have time to waste waiting for processing." I found Xae staring at me. She shot eyes like she was meeting me again for the first time-an M16 pointed at just another Almat. Her sudden disdain for me didn't make sense, she knew that we would be separated at some point during the mission. I hoped that she would get the message to search for Cade in whatever square Taurus sent her to, and that we'd be lucky enough to forego processing. I spared her a nod to keep her on track.

Taurus led the two of us out onto the yard and allowed us to walk ahead of him. Four interconnected barracks met between the foot of the bridge. They appeared scrapped together with corrugated metal sheets and frayed rebar for window slots, given as much care as Fleshlings. Many voices crooned from within; it sounded as though the slaves were already dead and packed in with not so much as inches to move. The walk through rattled me, but double that to Xae whose body language contorted, forgot for the briefest moment that she was playing a role and instead found permanence in her shackles.

We neared the stables; hooded slaves grazed an acre surrounded by barb wire fencing. Taurus, the bastard. His sigh then rose to a smile, then producing fangs. "It's a shame, really. Tis. So many converts left, and so little time." So little time. For what, I wondered.

"Yes. So little time." Xae was putting a puzzle together in her thousand-yard stare. She wouldn't even look me in the eye anymore.

"I wouldn't fret. Better they die quickly." He unhinged his axe like pulling a piece of himself out. "Hopefully, one of these lot will serve House Cren's purposes." He pointed out a clearing in the muck; a single child sat playing by himself facing away from us. That posture-no. Don't give me hope. He was leveraging his weight on one side like those with prosthetics. A Fleshling cape twice his size covered his face, its train ripped and filthy.