Page 22 of Crocodile Tears

Alexander glanced at her ID tag and gave a rueful smile. “I’m guessing the nature of your servitude is different to mine, Doctor. I was sold through the penal system, on an unlimited licence. I can therefore be used for any purpose my houder chooses, as long as it’s within the law.”

“Prostitution of an indentured servant is not within the law – it’s illegal,” Josiah told Baumann.

She looked from Josiah to Alexander, a puzzled expression on her face.

“But showing your IS at a big public event, as you would a dog or cat, isn’t,” Josiah continued. “If, whilst at that show, another houder takes a liking to your IS, and you to theirs… well, there’s nothing to stop you swapping them for the night, is there? Technically, it’s not quite prostitution.”

Baumann’s forehead wrinkled in disgust. “Shit, I had no idea… I mean, I’ve heard of those shows, but I just thought it was stupid, vain sponsors, with more money than sense, being ridiculous.”

“Sponsors?” Josiah raised an eyebrow. “Most people call them ‘houders’ – contract holders. You’re Dutch – you should know that.”

The term had somehow crept into the language when large numbers of refugees from the Netherlands had flooded into the country, and was now used by pretty much everyone.

“I do, but if we change the language, we can change the system. To you, ‘houder’ is just shorthand for ‘owner’ because you think of indentured servants as slaves,” she flared. “Isn’t that how you see me? As some kind of slave?”

He glanced at the identity necklace around her throat, and the microchip winking under the skin of her wrist.

“Can you leave this job if you want? No,” he told her tersely. “Can you travel freely without asking for permission? No. Are you obliged to wear personal items that mark you out as someone’s property? Yes. Will you be tracked down and returned if you try to abscond? Yes,” he rapped out. “The definition of a slave is ‘one bound in servitude as the property of a person, household, or organisation’. Explain to me thedifference between that and your situation. Or his.” He jerked his head at Alexander.

“My family came from a country that doesn’t even exist anymore,” she snapped. “But we aren’t being a burden to others, living in their houses, sponging off them – we’re giving something back. We’re earning our place.”

“And what about him?” Josiah gestured at Alexander. “Taken to a ‘show’, given by his ‘sponsor’ to someone he was obliged to service sexually, and abused. How would you class him?”

“He’s a prisoner, sold into indentured servitude in order to pay for the crime he committed. He’s clearly been mistreated, which isn’t right, but that’s not the fault of the IS system.”

“Maybe not, but he’s a good example of how the system works.”

“It’s a system that’s enabled me to get an education, a good job, and a roof over my head,” Baumann said heatedly. “It’s only people like you who tarnish it.”

“People like me?”

“Oh, everyone knows what you are, indiehunter.” She spat the nickname in his face. “You arrested this poor man without even considering if anyone else had killed Elliot Dacre, because in your world, if a sponsor is murdered, then of course it has to be the IS. Will you even bother investigating this murder further? No, why the hell would you, when the indie is such an easy target?”

“You’re new here, and you have no idea what my working methods are,” Josiah said tightly.

Alexander was watching them argue like a spectator at a tennis match, his head moving from side to side, captivated.

“I know enough! I’ve read about you. You hate indentured servants. You’re obsessive about tracking us down – if a crime could possibly have been committed by an IS, you’re all over it! You think we’re subhuman just because we wear an ID tag.”

“I didn’t invent the system.”

“No, but you’re poisoning it for the rest of us. It’s people like you who are turning us into outcasts with your scare stories and accusations.”

“My accusations?”

“Yes!” she raged. “First, there was that poor, scared runaway you chased all over the country in a manner that was frankly obscene. I could barely look at a screen without seeing you in some town or other telling us how dangerous he was and how you were so close to catching him. Then there was that politician’s IS you arrested. You made sure you got maximum press coverage for both those cases – that’s why they gave you that ridiculous nickname –indiehunter.” She said it with a sneer, which had him suspecting this speech had been festering for a long time.

“It’s clear you enjoy every minute of it,” she continued. “You love being the big bad indiehunter, chasing down servants and making a media circus of bringing them to justice. No wonder the press is whipping people into a frenzy of righteous indignation about how dangerous we all are. You and people like you have made us into the ‘other’, and now we’re being attacked for it.”

“No, I’m just doing my job – and I suggest you do yours,” Josiah said, with a glare so icy it seemed to defuse some of her heat.

She pursed her lips together, abruptly turned her back on him, and began preparing the room for her medical examination.

Josiah turned back to the IS. “Alexander – when was this show and where?”

“Last Saturday, at the Traveller’s Inn hotel on Eden Floating City,” Alexander replied, still looking hugely entertained by the argument that had just taken place.

“So, Dacre gave you to another houder for the night, and he or she beat you?”

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