Page 3 of Claimed By the Orc

Vaher finished his business with the Baurans, and we left them to deal with the corpse. Ty’anii finished her examination by manacling my wrists to my belt, and the two of them flanked me, brushing away the various fans and journalists clustering around the exit.

I glared at them as we passed, parasites and sadists all. Vaher and Ty’anii, by contrast, were both all smiles, greeting the regulars as we passed. My angry snarls had no impact—anyone frightened off by them wouldn’t hang around to get a picture with me.

My main reason for glaring around was the hope I’d see that mysterious red-haired female again. There was no sign of her among the journalists, though, nor could I see her hanging back in the crowds. I snarled at myself—why was I even bothering? It wasn’t as though I’d be able to speak with her.

Journalists threw the usual array of questions at me, and got the usual lack of response in return. Fuck them. I wasn’t hereto help them make money. Ty’anii hung back to talk to them instead, as usual, and fending off the predictable questions with practiced ease. She had the right presence for the kinds of media that covered these events—pretty, petty, and cruel.

“You ever wonder if your monster there can talk?” one asked once we were through the crowd and heading back aboard theDarha’s Blessing.He probably thought I could no longer hear him, which told me everything I needed to know about his knowledge of my people. “Most Orcs can, right?”

Ty’anii laughed. “Some can, sure. Big green and stupid here? Doubt it. He’d have told us to go fuck ourselves by now if he could.”

With that, she waved and left them behind, rejoined Vaher and me, and closed the hatch behind her. Vaher grinned at her.

“Hey, don’t be too hard on Gragash,” he said. Arisrans, like Orcs, had good hearing. “He won us a lot of money today. Maybe we should get him a treat before the next bout.”

I shuddered to think what Vaher might have in mind. Hopefully, he’d forget about it just as he did most ‘promises’ he made to those he considered property.

4

ABIGAIL

The ship Gragash arrived on wasn’t hard to locate.Darha’s Blessingwas an old Akedian light hauler, a run-down ship that wouldn’t look out of place at one of Earth’s spaceports. Bulky and squat, it was mostly cargo space—one central hold running the length of the ship, surrounded by smaller spaces with independent environments for specialist cargo.

Perched on top, the crew quarters were relatively small. Space for a half-dozen cabins at most, with the rest of the space devoted to a pair of blaster cannon crudely welded on. It was too much firepower for any legitimate trader, making theBlessingan obvious pirate ship.

What made it obviously the right ship was the mural painted on the hull, an Orc warrior holding a thunderbolt in his raised fist. The likeness of Gragash wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough to recognize him.

Whoever had painted it hadn’t taken the chance to repaint the second engine, which was a bright yellow where the rest was a dull gray. That wasn’t the only sign of poor maintenance choices, either. The edges of its vents were crusted with rust, the hull had dents the size of cars, and someone had haphazardlywelded metal plates over the holes where something punched all the way through.

I lowered my gaze to the market that had sprung up on the cracked concrete surface of the spaceport. Like most ships, theBlessing’sloading ramp was down, and the crew were hawking their ill-gotten wares at its foot. They were busier than most, surrounded by a chaotic mix of aliens all shouting over each other. Fans of Gragash, slavers, traders, all wanted something from the ship’s crew, who only seemed interested in talking to the slavers—they had a few aliens in chains to sell, and I winced at the sight. Awful as slavery was, from the run-down look of theBlessing,these poor folks were likely to be safer here.

I eased my way through the crowd, careful not to attract attention. Growing up in the remnants of London had trained me well for that, and with the guards distracted, I had no trouble making it to the base of the ramp. That was the point of no return, and I paused to think my plan over one last time.

I’d rather have talked it over with someone, but Tony was the closest thing I had to a friend on the planet, and he hadn’t picked up when I called him. If he wondered where I’d gotten to, he’d shown no sign of concern. I wasn’t sure why that annoyed me. Did I want his support for my stupid idea, or for him to tell me not to go through with it?

Because the planwasstupid. I knew it, but I didn’t care. Doing what guys like Tony told me to wouldn’t get my career anywhere, and nor would playing it safe.If I think too long, I’ll talk myself out of this,I told myself. With one last glance to make sure the crew was busy, I ducked under the guardrail and scrambled up the ramp into theDarha’s Blessing’shold.

I’d half expected to find that the dilapidated outer hull was a cunning ruse, that inside I’d find a well-oiled piracy machine. It was both a relief and a disappointment to find the cargo decks were in even worse condition than I’d suspected. The fewworking lights flickered as though on the verge of failing, casting eerie shadows in the gloom. In the dim, inconstant light, I saw the sad remains of loot from pirate raids. Mostly luggage, and not high-end stuff. That was easy to sell, unlike this pile of bags stolen from ordinary folks. Rummaged through for anything worth selling, whatever remained they left here.

Somewhere, in amongst the heaps of stolen lives, I heard voices haggling over the cost per pound of the bags.How fucking desperate are these people?It seemed such a petty evil, but theBlessing’screw seemed determined to wring every cent from their crimes.

I snapped some pictures as I snuck past, on the principle that you never knew what might be important. Maybe, if I got caught, I could pretend to be an interested customer, though how I’d fake enthusiasm for suitcases full of worthless junk was beyond me.

Gragash wasn’t in the main hold, I knew that instantly. There would be fans shouting his name if he was that accessible. So either he had one of the crew cabins, or he was in one of the other cargo sections. On the basis that the latter were easier to search without attracting suspicion, I wound my way through the heaps of discarded belongings to the nearest hatch.

A viewer mounted beside it showed a collection of empty slave cages inside. I shuddered at the sight, snapped a few pics for context, and pressed on. All I needed was to find Gragash, grab some pictures, and get a quote out of him. An interview would be better, but I’d had second thoughts about pushing my luck by hanging around and chatting.

I found the next hatch, stopping to stare at the monitor. Where the last slave-hold had been empty, this one was full to bursting. Crowdedwith Orcs.

They looked like teenagers, though I wouldn’t have bet on my ability to tell an Orc’s age. Three adults led them in some kindof chanting ritual—a prayer, maybe?—but none of them were Gragash. One too old, one too skinny, and one too female.

The only furnishings I could see were heaps of ragged blankets, none of which could have hidden the champion. I cursed under my breath.

“Okay, so they aren’t keeping him with the other Orcs,” I muttered to myself. “And they’re not trying to sell them. What the fuck is this?”

“I’ve got a better question,” a rough voice said behind me, and a heavy hand fell on my shoulder. “Who the fuck are you?”

Instincts born in London alleys had me moving as soon as I knew he was there, but he’d had more experience than any of the lads I’d dodged back on Earth. Too quick for me to escape, his thick fingers clamped onto my shoulder with bruising strength. The elegant dodge-roll I had planned came to an abrupt, painful stop.

---