Planet Athion: The Complete Series by Angel Lawson

28

Mercy

My ankle twistswhen they toss me back in the cell.

“Careful,” Kane says harshly. “Don’t damage her.”

He bends and touches my foot. I flinch from the pain and his touch. I fight the bile rolling up my throat. “Get your hands off me.”

“Why? Because you prefer the touch of Athions?” he replies. “I got you out of there just in time. I didn’t realize how attached you’d become to them.”

“Don’t mention them.”

“What? Your beloved Custo? Too bad they have no idea where you are, who you’re with, or how to find you. Your behavior surprises me, Mercy, you were so gentle and docile back at the facility. I had no idea there was so much fight in you.”

He doesn’t know me any more than I know him. He’s unaware that after my sister found herself manipulated and pregnant, she killed herself. He doesn’t know that I vowed to never be in the same situation. That I took self-defense classes, boxing, kickboxing, and mixed-martial arts to ensure my personal safety.

What I didn’t realize is that I’d let my guard down that much in the transition facility. I’d allowed myself to become weak again.

“I like my girls a little feisty. So do the customers.” He stands and glances at the guard at the door. “No food or bath for twenty-four hours. If she wants to act like an animal, treat her like one.”

The guard grunts and the door slams behind them, bolts locking into place.

It doesn’t take long for the women in the shadows to come closer.

“Damn, chickadee, what the hell did you do?” the woman with the afro asks.

“They took me to some room. I tried to run.”

“Run where?” one of the women asks. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“You think this girl doesn’t know that? She fought back anyway.” The woman holds her hand out to me. “I’m Simone.”

“Mercy.”

She helps me off the ground and I try not to wince at the pain. The other girl rolls her eyes at us and vanishes back into the shadows. “That one asshole—he seems interested in you. What’s that about?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know exactly. He’s the one that kidnapped me. We—well, I thought I knew him. We worked together. I didn’t know it was just a trick.”

“He’s a Tradrych,” Simone says. “Being manipulative is the only thing they seem to know how to do.”

She gestures to an empty cot and we sit. I need to get off my ankle and she may have realized that. “Tell me—what really happens in this place?”

“Like I said, it’s a slave ship. They bring us here, inspect us, grade us, and put us up for sale. The highest bidder wins.”

“How long have you been here?”

She looks at her hands. “Weeks. I don’t know. I’ve been through a few auctions. Apparently my ‘attitude’ isn’t helping my marketability. After the last one, I got sent back down here to cool off.”

“What did you do?”

“I bit one of the assholes trying to buy me.”

My eyes widen. “Seriously?”

She nods. “Look, Mercy, I respect you fighting back out there, but understand it won’t make your time here any easier. Just harder. You have to decide what’s worth it.”

I think on this for a minute, knowing that the other women in the cell are probably listening. I don’t know these people. I certainly don’t trust them. “I came out here to escape the fear I had back home—to get away from these monsters that destroyed my family. I promised I’d come here and do something good—that I’d help the women from Earth.”

Simone studies me with dark, listless eyes. “I hope you find a way to do that.”

* * *

Over the nexttwenty-four hours I notice a pattern emerge. The women sharing my cell don’t speak much. They eat when food is brought (no one offers to share with me, not even Simone.) They sleep most of the day, and most noticeably, there’s a palpable tension when the guards come to the door and call for one of the prisoners. Sometimes they come back. Sometimes they don’t.

When they do return, they’re clean—freshly scrubbed—and wearing a new pair of cotton pants and a shirt. The scent of shampoo and perfume lingers on their hair and skin, but their eyes are lost and vacant. Sometimes angry. No one speaks.

After the twenty-four hours is up, I’m allowed food and a trip to the showers. We’re allowed three minutes of cold water. I don’t touch my hair, afraid it’ll never dry. We’re given toothbrushes and paste. I feel the eyes of the guards on me at all times.

Three more days pass before the door opens and the guard wearing a hood enters the room. He walks directly to the cot I’m sitting on and grips me by the upper arm.

“It’s time.”

For what?I want to ask, but I suspect I already know. I don’t look at any of the other women on the way out the door.

We travel six flights up via freight elevator and then through a maze of hallways I’d never be able to recall. Not that I want to go back to that cell anyway, but I’m discombobulated, unsure if we’ve moved up or down.

The person escorting me doesn’t speak again, merely grunting when it’s time to turn. Twice I go the wrong way and he grips me by the neck, tossing me the other direction. I desperately try not to spin on my heel and knee him between the legs.

The hallways are frigid and I’m still only wearing my medic uniform, leaving my arms exposed to the chilly air. I fight the urge to warm myself, to do anything, out of fear of the man’s wrath. Eventually we come to the end of a hall to a single door. The man pushes me aside and hits the door in a series of pounding bangs. A few moments later a latch slides and the door opens, revealing another hallway, this one dark and filled with damp warmth.

There are four other women in the narrow hallway, all perched on a bench attached to the wall. I’m shoved down, landing gracelessly.

“Sorry,” I say, ridiculously. The man that brought me in walks down the hall, opens the door, and slams it shut. The sound of the latch echoes.

We’re left in quiet, other than the sniffling of one woman on the bench and another who taps her foot nervously. The woman next to me has her arms wrapped around her waist—her skin pale and sallow.

God, what have I gotten into? What is this crazy world?

The door opens again and we all look up at once, I’m waiting for another masked man, another woman, god knows what, when I see Dr. Kane enter the narrow space. He smiles widely when he spots me.

“Oh, Mercy, thank goodness you arrived in one piece.”

I narrow my eyes at his false concern. “That happens? People not arriving in one piece?”

He shrugs. “The Trads are…for the lack of a better term, hungry. I gave them specific instructions to keep you pure.” He winks. “Increases the value. Why do you think I wanted to keep those Custos away from you? Couldn’t have spoiled goods.”

The sniffling woman wails and Kane rolls his eyes. My heart lurches at the word Custo. Just the thought of the men I’d been taken from brings a physical reaction. I’d alternatively spent the last few days dreaming of them and trying to forget them. I’d known I’d have to leave them soon, but not like this. Not without a goodbye. I want to believe they’ll come looking for me, but minute by minute, faith vanishes in this hell-hole.

“It’s not just that, of course, we need you of sound mind to work with the birthers.” He strokes my hair and I fight the urge to vomit. He frowns at my expression. “Are you angry about going back to the cell? You’re the one that caused that with your little escape tactic. I can’t play favorites around here, even if I have them.”

“You’re crazy.”

He laughs. “Stop flirting—you know I can’t sample the merchandise—and don’t worry dear, once we get you cleaned up, you’re going to go quickly. I’m betting at a record-breaking price.”

He runs a hand through my hair then wipes under my eyes with his thumbs. Rage boils under my skin. He’s a lunatic. I knew the Trad were deceitful, but until Kane I didn’t know they were so malicious. He walks off without another word, slamming the door shut.

“So, you’re what? A doctor? A nurse?” the girl next to me asks.

“A midwife. How did you know?”

She shrugs. “The thing about having a sound mind. Normally they don’t care. I think the more broken we are, the better. But a midwife? Definitely high commodity. He’s right, you’ll bring in a hefty price.”

“How can you talk about this so normally?”

She shrugs. “This is my tenth auction. If I don’t get bought tonight, I’ll probably be sold in a lot to one of the madams and put to work until I go to the birthing ring.”

Birthing ring. That was the second time I’d heard the term. “What’s that?”

“If you don’t get purchased, you go to a brothel where the customers pay with the intent of impregnating a woman. It’s for the Trads who don’t have the money to buy a slave or a female that’s not sellable. It gives them a chance to conceive a child. If you get pregnant, you get pulled from the brothel and put into the birthing ring until you have the baby.”

“What happens then?”

“You go back to the brothel and start it all over again.”

She’s so blasé about it, which can only mean one thing. They’ve beaten her down.

I don’t want to be that person that just accepts this fate. That’s not why I came here.

The latch slides and swings open. Kane appears. “Let’s go, Mercy, they’re waiting for you.”

I stand, glancing back at the women, who either don’t look at me at all or with pity in their eyes. I swallow and face the doorway, avoiding Kane’s eyes. I can’t believe I found them attractive. Found him attractive. Fucking Trads. This is what they do to you—they mess with your mind, your heart, and eventually steal your body.

The escort from my cell waits in the hall and silently follows Kane and I through the hallway. After a few moments I find the courage to ask, “Were you planning on taking me the whole time?”

He doesn’t turn. “I’m a…what’s the human term? Oh, thief. It’s what I do; before women arrived, I stole valuables. Now I steal your kind—priceless commodities, really. The clients at the auction house have different needs. Some sexual. Others procreative. Others more…functional.” He pauses near a door. “To answer your question, I infiltrated the transition center, assumed the role of the real Dr. Kane and waited until the perfect human arrived. I knew within moments that person was you.”

I shiver at the way he looks at me—like I’m an object, currency. He removes something from his pocket, a thin band, and loops it around my wrists before I have a chance to react. He flips some sort of switch and I’m instantly bound. “Those will keep you here until I come back.”

He opens the door and I get a brief look inside. The knot of fear had me thinking I was going straight to the block. That doesn’t seem to be the case. The interior of the next room is the opposite of everything I’ve seen before. Luxurious, soothing. There are couches and carpet on the floors. The door slams before I get a chance to see any more. I lean against the wall, aware that the escort is still nearby. I don’t look at him—I don’t want to encourage him in any way, instead waiting, heart pounding, stuck in place by some kind of magnetic force.

I have no idea how long I’m forced to wait, long enough for my feet to grow weary and fear to consume me. My wrists hurt and I hold them up at the guard. “Does he trust you so little that he had to bind me and keep me under watch?”

“I don’t think it’s me that he doesn’t trust.”

I can’t see the escort’s eyes or most of his face. His hood shadows his features. His voice is surprisingly soft for the sheer enormity of his body. He looks human but that’s not possible. Everything here is a trick. I decide to go back to ignoring him. Finally, the door creaks open, bathing the hall in the soft light from inside.

“Mercy?”

I look up, seeing the face of a man. Trad, I assume. The soft empathy in his eyes reminds me of their tricks and how I got here in the first place.

“I’m Mercy.”

“Come in, it’s time for your appointment.”

What kind of appointment is still unclear to me, but I don’t argue about being allowed entrance into the room. It’s heated, smells like lavender, and my wrist bands are removed.

To my relief, my hooded escort stays outside.

I scan the room and the man who’s wearing a well-fitting suit that shows the defined lines of his body. The fabric is slightly shiny, the buttons oval-shaped and clear. At the transitional facility everyone wore simple, utilitarian clothing. This is much more sophisticated.

I rub my wrists, soothing the pain, and scan the room, nearly jumping in surprise when I see the two women standing near the wall. Their expressions are passive, although they wear extreme makeup. Their clothing—dresses and uncomfortable-looking shoes—along the same lines as the man’s. The fabric looks expensive. Their accessories are unique.

“Mercy, your patron has asked us to prepare you for the auction,” the man says. “My name is Rhise and I’ll be assisting you.”

“Patron?”

“I believe you call him ‘Dr. Kane’.”

His name makes me ill. “Prepare me how?”

“Clean you up, style your hair, dress you in suitable, appealing clothes.” He glances at the data pad on his wrist. “Your patron wants you to get the highest credits. I’ve been told to spare no expense.”

I think about the other girls I’d seen. Filthy and unkempt. “Do not all the women placed on auction have this option?”

“Only if their patron pays for it. You lucked out—Dr. Kane, as you call him—runs a high-end trade. Others are in it for a quick sale.”

Tears fill my eyes. Trade. Sale. Credits. If there was ever any doubt what is happening to me, it’s now gone. I’m being referred to as an object to sell.

Rhise frowns. “Sweetheart, I know this seems terrible, but you’re in better shape than most.”

“Yeah, that does seem pretty terrible.”

He snaps his fingers and the two women walk over. “Scrub her. Sanitize. Dress and polish.”

“Yes sir,” they both say at the same time. Maybe they’re robots. I can’t fight robots. I glance at Rhise, who is fit and capable. I can’t fight him.

In the end I go where I’m directed, one step closer to the slaughterhouse, where Mercy Ladd will be no more.