Free Borderlands: The Fallen by John Shirley Page A

makes you worth a ransom, woman? We listen real damn close to all the orbital chatter. Far as I’ve heard, ain’t one’s looking for you. If you’re the kind to be ransomed, there’d be a damn search party out already.”
    Her heart sank at that but she lifted her chin defiantly. “My family is wealthy. They may believe I was killed when the ship exploded. But if we let them know I’m safe … they’ll pay to get me back.”
    All lies, of course. Her family wasn’t wealthy—her parents weren’t even alive, and she wasn’t sure her husband and son were either. Zac had barely scraped together the money to make the trip. But she figured if she could convince Vance that a ransom might be coming, she could stall him from selling her off to slavers.
    “
Marla
, hey?” Vance flashed his bright grin at her. “I like it! I’m Vance Sletch, and proud of it! Wanted on seven planets! I kill only when I have to, lady, and I’m no rapist. Don’t enjoy it the way the others might. I like a woman to open her legs to me because she wants to. So you can stop fretting for right now—only, if Grunj decides to sell you to the slavers, why, no way to know how you’ll be treated. Some owners might treat you decent—some might treat you like a skag pup treats a bone, and it could go harsh with you.”
    “But if you ransom me …”
    “Ah yes. Just how much you think we could get for ya?”
    She shrugged, tried to lie as casually and convincingly as possible. “A million or so.”
    “Is that right?” He rubbed his prominent chin. “Well well well. You might be overvaluing yourself, Marla m’dear. But we’ll just see. Come along to the den, and we’ll get something to eat, and talk it over …”
    Marla went along quietly—and gloomily. She was fairly sure that he hadn’t believed a word she’d said.
    “What the devil am I gonna do with you?” the big black man asked, slapping a pistol in the palm of one hand as he glowered at Cal.
    Cal was sitting on a low boulder at the stranger’s camp.The stranger holstered his gun—a relief to Cal until he saw the man crack his knuckles. Big knuckles in big hands—made a big sound.
    Cal gulped. “You could let me go. Then I’d just … be outta your hair. Gone.
Noooooo
problem.” He stood up. “In fact—now that I’ve apologized for sneaking around in your camp, I’ll just go …”
    That powerful hand clamped down on Cal’s shoulder, spun him easily around, and sat him down on the rock again. “Nah. You’re staying here. I don’t like X factors, mysteries, or riddles. I need to know who you are and what you’re up to. You say you crash landed in a lifeboat near here?”
    “Sure. Down the gulch there, a kilometer or so.” Cal pointed.
    “That way? Yeah right. That’s a hangout for spiderants and skags. You’d have been eaten alive.”
    “I almost was! I tricked the spiderants and the skags into fighting so I could get away! Got one bunch to follow me to another.”
    “Did you now.” The big man put a hand over his mouth to cover a smile. “Pretty smart. Or lucky. Did the same thing myself not long ago with some Psycho Midgets and a Nomad.” He frowned. “What’s that noise? That your stomach?”
    “Probably,” Cal admitted.
    “So you were after food, huh? Why didn’t you ask for it?”
    “I uh … didn’t want to disturb you.”
    “More likely you thought I was a bandit. Might mean you are pretty smart at that. I’m not a bandit—but that’smostly the kinda people you find out here. A few mercenaries, armed scavengers like me, take the occasional job. There’s a fair number of murderin’ lunatics too. The bandits, now, they belong to outfits, gangs, and they got certain styles about ’em—take fanatical pride in their crazy classifications. Bruisers, Badasses, what have you. You’ll learn to recognize ’em.”
    This encouraged Cal. It didn’t sound like he was about to be killed. “My name’s Cal—Cal Finn. You hear of anyone else