Текст книги "Trickster"

Автор книги: Стивен Харпер

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Kendi suppressed a sigh. Now you know how it feels, said the memory of Ara's voice, and he could almost hear her laughing at him, wherever she was. In that moment, Kendi would have given up everything-his promotion, this mission, even his limited ability to enter the Dream-to have her back in the captain's chair again while he flew the ship.

The view on the screen brightened as Lucia guided the Poltergeist into Klimkinnar's atmosphere. Lucia's entry was smooth, with minimal turbulence, but Kendi still had to bite back words of advice. He remembered how much he had hated unsolicited suggestions when he was at the pilot's board.

As they touched down on their allotted section of the landing field, the door slid open and Ben entered the bridge. Kendi blinked. A red line scored Ben's cheek and several small cuts marked his hands. Ben took the communication station and, without a word, began tapping keys.

"Are you okay, Ben?" Kendi asked.

"I'm fine, Father," Ben said. "Give me a minute and I'll access Klimkinnar's network. I should have-"

"What happened to your hands?" Gretchen asked bluntly.

Ben's face reddened. "I had… an accident in the Dream. The cuts are just psychosomatic carryover. I'll be fine. They aren't even bleeding. Did you tell Harenn what Sejal found out?"

"She knows," Kendi said, wondering if he should press the point about Ben's hands or just let it drop. Let it drop, he decided. For now.

Ben's console chimed. "It's customs," he said, a little too briskly. "They said they'll inspect the ship in about an hour. No one can enter or leave until blah blah blah."

"Get the bribe money ready," Gretchen said. "Klimkinnar's on the unstable side right now. That means government officials don't know when-or if-their next paycheck will be coming, and they'll be looking for ways to supplement their income."

"What else did you learn?" Kendi asked.

"Klimkinnar's almost completely cut off from the Five Green Worlds," Gretchen said, glancing down at her screen. "Their local FGW ruler is called the Planetary Governor, and she's been trying to hold things together, but it's hard going. Some sectors-countries, if you like-are trying to assert their own sovereignty, and the Governor's working overtime to keep them in line. Klimkinnar also does a lot of farming and not much manufacturing, and their economy is dependent on selling food to the rest of the FGW. This means that a lot of imported manufactured goods-read, most of them-are going to get expensive until the shipping corps figure out how to operate without Silent communication. The local big corps are also taking advantage of the situation to consolidate some of their own power-surprise, surprise. It all adds up to recession, recession, recession."

"Jerry," Ben said.

"What?" Gretchen said blankly.

"Bedj-ka's name is Jerry," Ben explained as text crawled across his boards. "Names of slaves and their owners aren't privileged information on Klimkinnar after all. I found a slave boy, nine years old, named Jerry Markovi who's registered as belonging to a farm run by one Douglas Markovi. Jerry was a recent purchase, so the records were new and easy to find. Markovi's farm is about forty klicks away from the spaceport. Take us about half an hour to get there if we rent a groundcar."

"Praise be to Irfan," Lucia said. "Good job."

Ben shrugged. "A kid could've done it."

"Don't say it, Sister," Kendi said. Gretchen snapped her mouth shut. "It's still good work, Ben. If we play this right, Harenn'll have her son back after lunch and we'll be popping into slipspace before dinner."

"You want me to tell her?" Ben asked, reaching for his console.

"No," Kendi said quickly, and Ben halted. "Not one word. We still have an hour before customs arrive, and who-knows-how-much time for them to inspect. I'll try to speed things along with the magic of bribery, but it'll still be a while. No use making it worse for Harenn by telling her Bedj-ka's within shouting distance. Just say you're on the networks and have some high hopes."

"High hopes for what?" said Harenn, coming onto the bridge.

"For finding your kid," Gretchen said with utter blandness. "Red over there's already tracking leads while we wait for customs."

"I have money," Harenn said, "if you need to bribe them for more speed."

"There's plenty in the kitty," Kendi told her. "But I'll keep that in mind."

Harenn nodded. Her face, still hidden behind her customary blue veil, was unreadable, but her every movement was taut and filled with controlled tension. Kendi marveled at her discipline. If he had been this close to any member of his own family– He banished these thoughts. Right now they had to concentrate on helping Harenn. Then he could pursue his own agenda.

An hour later, the customs inspection team arrived. Because the Children of Irfan were known in some circles as slave-stealers and because the crew wasn't here to conduct official (read, "above-board") Child business, Kendi removed his medallion and ring, ordered Gretchen to do the same, and presented the inspector with carefully-forged documentation that identified him as a simple trader, the most common guise adopted by the Children of Irfan. He explained their lack of cargo by claiming they'd just finished a one-way delivery run to an outlying station. The customs inspector, a small, dark-haired man with a toothbrush mustache, lost interest in Kendi's story once a certain amount of freemarks found their way into his hands. The inspection itself-perfunctory in the extreme-only lasted twenty minutes. Once he was gone, everyone assembled in the galley, a tradition started by Ara. ("What better place for a briefing? Room to sit and close to the refreshments.")

Lucia, as was her habit, had put together a snack tray comprised of bite-sized vegetables, sweetened ruda nuts from Bellerophon, and crackers spread with mounded peaks of spiced cream cheese. A large pot of fruit tea sat among a set of cups. Kendi caught up a cheese cracker and raised it in thanks to Lucia, who smiled quietly at the unspoken praise.

"This is a good news briefing, troops," Kendi said. "Ben found Bedj-ka, or Jerry Markovi as he's called now."

Everyone pretended surprise and pleasure as Kendi finished explaining. Harenn gasped, then narrowed her eyes above her veil.

"You are a fine liar, Father Kendi," she said. "But only to those who do not know you. How long have you had this information?"

"Since about the time we landed," Kendi admitted sheepishly. "I didn't want you to have a freak, so I kept quiet. Sorry."

"If we only have to go to the farm and offer an outrageous sum to get my son back," Harenn hissed, "why are we sitting at this table?"

"Good point." Kendi rose. "I think Harenn and I can do this one alone. Ben, would you call a rental company and arrange a groundcar for us?" Ben nodded and Kendi continued. "The rest of you can stretch your legs or look around the city, but be ready to go the minute the two of us-the three of us-get back." He looked at all of them pointedly. "We've got other fish to fry after we catch this one."

"Nice metaphor," Gretchen murmured as Harenn all but yanked Kendi out of the room. He decided to pretend he hadn't heard, and Ara laughed in his memory again.

Tiq's spaceport was middle-sized and fairly well-appointed. The usual announcements blared from hidden speakers, and the smells of low-quality, high-cost food filled the air. People walked, rushed, strolled, or lounged everywhere. The vast majority of the crowd was human, but that was normal, in Kendi's experience. Most people preferred the company of their own kind, and it was rare for colony worlds to mix species.

Harenn strode through the crowds with single-minded determination, and Kendi had to hurry to keep up. He finally caught her by the sleeve.

"Slow down, Harenn," he warned. "I don't want to lose you in this crowd."

Harenn obeyed with obvious reluctance. "We are close, Kendi. I have been searching for nine years and it seems as if I can feel Bedj-ka's presence, even hear his voice. I want to push these idiots out of my way and run. I want to know if my baby is all right."

"He won't be a baby anymore," Kendi said.

"I know that. It is merely the way I think of him. It is not something I can help."

Kendi wet his lips uncertainly. He was afraid Harenn had pinned her hopes on a joyous reunion of mother and son and that she was setting herself up for disappointment-a position Kendi could empathize with. Kendi knew he should say something, but he didn't know what. An added complication was that Harenn was ten or fifteen years older than Kendi, not someone he would normally reproach or advise. Ara would have known how to handle the situation, and he felt an irrational flash of anger that she wasn't here to do so.

In the end, he decided to be direct.

"Harenn, please don't take this the wrong way, but I want you to be careful," he said as they approached the spaceport's main entrance. "We're going to get Bedj-ka back, I promise you, but don't think he's going to throw himself into your arms and cry 'Mama!' He won't. I hate to say this so bluntly, but Harenn-he won't even recognize you. He may not believe you when you tell him who you are."

"I am not a fool, Kendi," Harenn snapped. Then she closed her dark eyes for a moment. "All the things you have just said are the things I tell myself over and over. For every night since Sejal told me where Bedj-ka is, I have lain awake thinking about what it would be like to find him again. And I have thought long and hard about what I would do to Isaac Todd for taking Bedj-ka away from me."

"Is Isaac Todd your ex-husband?" Kendi said. "I don't think I've ever heard you mention his name."

"Whenever I say it, I want to wash my mouth and my body," Harenn growled.

Outside the port building, the golden sun of Klimkinnar shone with tropical warmth, and the air was heavy with humidity. For a moment, Kendi was transported back to the muggy frog farm where he had spent three years as a slave, and he forced himself to shake off the memories.

The streets were paved, if that was the word for it, with lush emerald grass. Tiny purple flowers and gray mushrooms peeked between the blades. Green shrubs lined the low buildings and gray sidewalks, and Kendi realized with a start he didn't know the name of the city. Steady streams of people moved up and down the walks, and groundcars buzzed over the grass, not quite touching the tender green blades. No flitcars crossed the sky-Klimkinnar didn't allow much private air traffic.

A series of empty groundcars queued up near the curb, each with a name printed on the side. Kendi moved down the line until he came to one marked "Weaver." He pressed his thumb to the lock of the vehicle and it popped open. The name erased itself.

"Here we go," Kendi said, and climbed into the driver's seat. Harenn, her blue veil fluttering slightly in the breeze, got in on the passenger's side. Directions to the Markovi farm flashed across the car's onboard computer-Kendi made a mental note to thank Ben later-and Kendi maneuvered carefully into the heavy traffic surrounding the spaceport terminal.

After a moment, Harenn said, "I must admit that I do not understand why we are here."

"Turn left at the next intersection," the computer said in a pleasant, friendly voice.

"Huh?" Kendi scooted around a cargo hauler and made the turn. "We're rescuing your son. What have we been talking about for the last-"

"I mean," Harenn said, "I do not understand why we are here instead of looking for your family."

"Oh." Kendi concentrated on driving for a moment. They reached the edge of the city, whatever its name was, and the buildings grew sparser, as did the traffic. "I didn't explain that?"

"No, and I was… I was afraid to press in case you changed your mind. Even on the bridge before we landed, I was afraid you would change your mind." Harenn tugged at her veil. "For many years when we were part of Mother Ara's team, I watched you jump every time you thought you had something that would lead you to your family. I know that you and they were sold because you were Silent, but-"

"That's not quite right," Kendi interjected. "My family and I were colonists on a ship that was captured by slavers. I was twelve. A woman named Giselle Blanc bought me and my mother, but someone else bought my dad and my sister and brother. I never saw them again. Three years later, Blanc found out that Mom and I were both Silent, and she decided to sell us for a hefty profit. My mom was sold, and I never saw her again, either. Then Ara bought me and set me free. After the Children of Irfan taught me how to use my Silence, I looked for my family everywhere in the Dream but no luck. Then the Despair hit, and Sejal touched almost every Silent mind in the universe. He told me he felt a man and a woman who are sure to be my relatives-though I don't know which relatives-and that he felt Bedj-ka, too. That's why we're here."

"This is not what I am asking, Kendi. You are a hero of the-"

"Stop saying that," Kendi said. Traffic cleared and he sped up.

"– of the Despair, and it is true whether you deny it or not. Padric Sufur's twisted children failed to destroy the Dream because of you-"

"And because of Ben and because of Sejal and Katsu and Vidya and Prasad and a whole mess of other people," Kendi pointed out.

"But you are the only one who took advantage of your status," Harenn continued, ruthlessly pursuing the point. "Vidya and Prasad and Katsu and Sejal were content to become a family again and settle among the Children of Irfan. Ben seems to be happy following you wherever you go. But you-well, I do have to say that I have never thought of you as a modest person-"

"Thanks."

"– but you went beyond mere immodesty. You bullied the Council of Irfan into giving you an expensive ship-"

" Loaning me an expensive ship."

"– something which usually only a Father Adept is granted, and then you staffed it with not one but two so very priceless Silent who can still reach the Dream-"

"Yeah, well Ben threatened to quit his consulting job, and the Council didn't want to lose him, especially since he's Silent now and they're hoping he'll become a Brother one day."

"– and then you took this expensive ship off to find not your family, but mine. So I am asking-why are you doing this?"

Kendi drove in silence for several moments. Then he said, "It's because of Ben."

"This you need to explain."

"When I go home at night-or back to my quarters, anyway-Ben is there. I have somebody, and you-" He stopped and felt his face turn hot.

"I have no one?"

Kendi cursed himself. There were a hundred other things he could have said, but he had to choose the one that would throw Harenn's broken family into her face.

"It's not just that," he hastened to add. "It's also because Bedj-ka is still a little kid. He isn't even ten years old yet. My brother would be over thirty now, and my sister's in her mid-twenties. They're adults. They don't… they don't need their family like Bedj-ka does. So I decided we should find him first."

Harenn looked at him. "That sounds like something Mother Ara would have said."

Kendi stiffened and stared straight ahead at the green road unwinding before him. Trees, fields, and scattered houses rushed quietly past the groundcar. Harenn's remark had pierced him like an arrow, and he didn't know how to feel. Pride mixed with sorrow mixed with… relief? To Kendi's horror, his eyes teared up. He firmed his jaw. Not in front of Harenn, not while he was in charge of the expedition and she was under his command, however casual that command might be.

Harenn lightly touched his hand. "Whatever the reason, I am glad you made this choice." Then she turned to stare out her own window, leaving Kendi free to rub his eyes without being observed.

They traveled for some time in companionable silence until the computer said, "Your destination is one hundred meters ahead of you on the right." Harenn sat up straight. Kendi turned down a short gravel driveway that ended in front of a tall, barred gate. From this vantage point, Kendi could see that the trees and brush lining the road actually concealed a high concrete wall that presumably ran around the perimeter of the farm. A sign on the gate read,

Sunnytree Farm

A Division of the L.L. Venus Corporation

Douglas J. Markovi, Manager

"L.L. Venus," Harenn said. "The chocolate company?"

"We carried a whole bunch of their stuff when we posed as merchants back on Rust," Kendi said, re-reading the sign. "All life-they use slaves?"

"So it would seem." Harenn's voice was tight, and her hands were clasped in her lap.

"But they're a candy company," Kendi said almost plaintively. "They buy children to work their farms?"

"It does not matter what a corporation produces," Harenn said. "It will always seek the cheapest method of production."

Kendi tried to estimate out how many pounds of L.L. Venus chocolate he had eaten over the years. The best answer he could come up with was "a lot." He felt slightly sick.

The dashboard screen chimed. He tapped it, and a smartly-dressed woman appeared.

"Welcome to Sunnytree Farm," she said. Her voice was impossibly low and smooth, and Kendi figured she was computer-generated. "How may I help you?"

"My name is Kendi Weaver. We need to talk to your manager, please," Kendi said, politely, just in case the woman was real.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"I'm afraid we don't, but it's very important. It's a personal matter about one of his-the farm's-slaves. Is Mr. Markovi available?" Always go straight to the top, Ara had taught.

The woman paused blankly, probably to let her program access a database. "Please drive through the gates to our main office. Please do not leave your vehicle. Please keep your vehicle on the road at all times. Thank you for visiting Sunnytree Farm."

The screen went blank and the gate swung open. Kendi guided the car through the opening and into what felt like another world-a dark and gloomy one. Slowly Kendi's eyes adjusted to the dim light. The gloom came from the oppressive shade of a forest of strange trees, each about twice as tall as a human. The trunks were thin, less than half a meter in diameter, and covered with star-shaped flowers that ranged from white to pink to yellow to red. Amid the flowers were clumps of lumpy seed pods that reminded Kendi of rugby balls. They were almost as varied in color as the flowers, appearing in green, orange, and brown. Large, flat leaves at the tops of the trees rustled in a faint breeze. Moss hung from everything, and the ground between the trees was covered in some kind of mulch. Water dripped from leaves and branches. Kendi cracked a window and sniffed. The air was thick and smelled heavily organic.

The screen beeped again. Harenn tapped it and the computer-generated woman re-appeared.

"Welcome to Sunnytree Farms," she said in an overly-friendly voice. "If you would like guided information about our family-owned operation, just touch the green button on your screen. Otherwise please proceed with caution to the main office building. Thank you!"

Harenn reached down to tap the screen's off button, but Kendi grabbed her wrist.

"Wait," he said. " 'The greater your knowledge, the lesser your risk,' remember?"

"Irfan Qasad," Harenn muttered. "Very well." She touched the green button. Kendi continued to drive. Among the trees, he could now make out people. They wore simple clothing, with silver bands around their left wrists and ankles. Slave bands. Memories welled again, and Kendi resisted the impulse to rub his own wrist in sympathy.

"The L.L. Venus Corporation was founded on Earth over a eleven hundred years ago, when Lawrence Venus opened a single candy kitchen in the city of Milwaukee," burbled the computer lady. "He eventually expanded this small family business into a global operation. When the chance came, his heirs took the Venus Corporation to the stars. The company has spanned two millennia and operates on twenty-eight different planets, creating delicious chocolates and candies for billions of consumers-the delight of children everywhere."

The workers-slaves-were engaged in a variety of tasks, and they scarcely glanced at the passing groundcar. Some of the adults used hooked knives on poles to cut down the brownest pods, which the children gathered and piled on floating gravity sleds. Other slaves spread mulch, trimmed branches, and performed other tasks Kendi didn't recognize. Harenn watched the children with sharp eyes, and Kendi knew she was wondering which of them was her son.

"The cacao trees you see here at Sunnytree Farm are only the very first step in producing the rich, sumptuous chocolate treats you buy at the store," continued the computer. "The trees are difficult to raise-they require very a specific climate, soil type, and daily weather pattern. Attempts to genegineer cacao trees to make them sturdier and easier to grow have invariably degraded the quality of the beans, so we raise them the old-fashioned way, by hand-exactly as was done on Earth for thousands of years."

The groundcar abruptly emerged into bright sunlight. Kendi blinked until the windshield darkened itself to compensate. Harenn continued to sit rigid. A line of slaves stood at an outdoor conveyer belt loaded with lumpy brown cacao pods.

"If you look to your left," said the computer cheerfully, "you will see the L.L. Venus hands processing the ripe seed pods. First the pods are split in two with a machete." As if on cue, several of the slaves chopped the pods neatly down the middle as they passed by on the belt. "Next, our hands scoop out the mucilage and cocoa beans inside and put it into wooden boxes, which are then covered with leaves." The car passed stacks of leaf-covered crates. "Once the beans have fermented, they are removed and spread in the sun to dry. Each pod will produce between forty and fifty cocoa beans, but it takes more than seven hundred beans to make a single kilogram of-"

Kendi tapped the screen's red button. When Harenn raised her eyebrows at him, he said, "I can't stand that syrupy tone anymore."

"What number of slaves do you suppose this farm owns?"

Kendi looked out at a group of slave children who were using long-handled hoes to spread cocoa beans on screen-bottomed drying racks in the hot sun. Several of them were barely tall enough to see over the racks.

"Lots," he muttered. "Suddenly the idea of having a candy bar makes me sick to my stomach."

The driveway ended at an enormous mansion, complete with cupolas and gingerbread trim. Beyond the house lay a series of low, metal-sided buildings. Kendi assumed they were warehouses, equipment storage areas, and slave quarters. He guided the car into a parking lot near the house. The sun hit him like a hammer when he exited the air-conditioned interior of the car. Harenn didn't seem to notice, and instead headed straight for the mansion's front porch. Before they had reached the top step, the door opened and a man in a red tunic and brown trousers emerged. The L.L. Venus logo was embroidered in gold on the shoulder of the tunic. Kendi took Harenn's arm.

"Let me do the talking," he muttered.

Harenn gave a curt nod of acquiescence.

"Welcome to Sunnytree Farm," the man said. "How may I help you?"

Kendi repeated his request to see Douglas Markovi. "It's extremely important, and I'm afraid we really can't talk to anyone but him."

"Mr. Markovi is very busy," the man said doubtfully.

"I realize that, and I apologize for dropping in with no notice, but it's very important."

"What company did you say you were with?"

"I didn't," was Kendi's only reply.

The man wasn't daunted. "What company are you with?"

"A large private concern," Kendi said. "I'm sorry, but I can't be more specific than that except with Mr. Markovi himself."

Kendi could almost feel the waves of controlled impatience radiating off Harenn. He ground his teeth. In the days before the Despair, another Child of Irfan would have entered the Dream to whisper into this man's mind. If the man had any inclination toward granting Kendi and Harenn an audience with his managerial majesty, the whisper would magnify it and make Kendi's job easy. But nowadays very few Silent could even enter the Dream, let alone reach out of from it. Even before the Despair, Kendi had never been good at reaching out or at whispering. Ben hadn't yet learned. Kendi would have to rely on his own powers of persuasion.

The man resisted, and Kendi continued to work at him. His instincts told him offering a bribe wouldn't be effective, so he continued with a non-stop flow of persuasive talk while Harenn looked on. Eventually the man reluctantly led them to a tastefully-furnished waiting room with the curt promise that he would check with Mr. Markovi.

They waited over an hour. Harenn sat like a statue the entire time. Kendi knew she was in agony, but he didn't dare speak to her-the waiting area was probably bugged. Finally the man returned.

"Mr. Markovi has agreed to see you," he said with a certain amount of surprise in his voice.

He ushered them into a large, airy office. A blond man with a prominent chin waited behind a castle-sized desk against a bank of windows. A potted cacao tree blocked some of the sunshine streaming in through the glass. The man's tunic was edged with silver, and he forced Harenn and Kendi to reach across the huge expanse of his desk to shake hands. His grip was iron-hard. Kendi gave a mental sigh. The negotiations were going to be rough.

"I'm Douglas Markovi," said the blond man. "What's this about? The computer said you were asking about one of my hands."

"My name is Kendi Weaver and this is my associate Harenn Mashib," he said. "We have a problem that I'm hoping you can help us solve."

Douglas Markovi sat in a tall leather chair behind his desk. He did not offer seats to Kendi and Harenn, though there were smaller chairs behind them. Kendi decided to remain standing for the moment. Although it made him look like an inferior, it did give him and Harenn a height advantage.

"What problem would that be?"

"You have a-a hand on your farm named Jerry," Kendi said. "According to public record, you bought him two weeks ago."

"I may have," Markovi said. "We acquired several hands recently, but I don't know all of them."

"He is my son," Harenn blurted out.

Markovi raised a single blond eyebrow, a trick Kendi hated-the few people he knew who could actually do it invariably used it for sarcastic effect.

"Jerry was kidnapped by his father as a baby and sold without Harenn's knowledge or permission," Kendi said. "This is a violation of Independence Confederation slave code and a violation of the slave codes set down by the Five Green Worlds."

"This isn't the Independence Confederation," Markovi said. "And the FGW doesn't seem to exist much anymore."

"You are correct, sir," Kendi said. He hadn't really expected a legal ploy to work. "However, I'm not asking you to hand Jerry over for free. I'm offering to buy him from you."

"I just acquired him," Markovi said. "And spent a fair amount of time having him trained. Why would I want to sell him?"

"Humanitarianism," Kendi said bluntly. "The chance to reunite a torn family. The chance to let a mother hold her own child again. And the chance to profit by it all. I'm willing to pay you twice Jerry's original purchase price, to reimburse you for your time and effort."

"Jerry, Jerry." Markovi tapped his desk and a holographic computer screen popped into being. "Oh yes-the damaged goods. Our regular slaver bought him from a small communications company. Little Jerry was just starting to sense the Dream when the Despair hit. None of the company's Silent slaves were able to reach the Dream afterward, and the company wasn't big enough to survive long without Silent revenue. They went bankrupt right quick, had to sell off their livestock. Looks like we got him for a song."

Harenn's hands were clenched so tightly Kendi was afraid her palms would start bleeding. "Triple price, then," he said, "to ensure it's worth your while. Hard currency."

"Well, here's the thing." Markovi leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "The boy's seen a lot of our operation by now, and security around here's pretty tight. We can't sell off hands who might blab secrets to Venus's competitors."

"How much could he have learned in two weeks?"

"The chocolate business is cutthroat. You'd be surprised," Markovi continued as if Kendi hadn't spoken. "For all I know, you two work for Wexford Chocolate and Jerry is your mole. Wexford would love to know exactly how we do things around here."

Harenn said, "I brought his birth certificate and genetic-"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you did," Markovi interrupted. "But I'm afraid that I couldn't sell the boy even if I wanted to. FGW law says only a slave dealer can sell hands less than a year after purchase. I sell you this Jerry boy now, and I'm in trouble for trafficking in slaves without a license. Sorry, but you understand where I'm coming from. No sale."

"You just said the FGW doesn't much exist anymore," he said aloud, trying to keep his temper. "They aren't in a position to uphold-"

"Sorry, Junior. Can't do it."

"Five times the price," Kendi said tightly. "I might even be able to come up with six."

"Wouldn't matter if you handed me a hundred and your associate here gave me a blow job," Markovi drawled. "Joe and Alex here will show you out now."

Kendi turned. He hadn't heard the office door open, nor had he sensed the two heavily-muscled goons glide into the room. Harenn's eyes went wild. She lunged across the desk and grabbed Markovi by the throat.

"You have to sell him to me," she hissed. "He is my son, you bastard! Give me my son! "

"Harenn!" Kendi shouted. He grabbed her shoulders and tried to pull her away. Markovi's eyes bulged and he made choking sounds. Joe appeared next to Markovi and pried Harenn's fingers away. The moment he broke her grip, Harenn balled up a fist and socked Markovi in the face. He stumbled backward with a yelp.