The Lily on the Wall

By Nancy Hand

Mark Caldera has lost his partner, and lover, and is on the verge of losing his ship when he accepts a job he doesn't want, transporting cargo he's not ready to handle. When the agent accompanying the cargo leaves something behind Mark is required to make hard choices with an uncertain outcome. When the result of his choice seems to lead to even greater difficulties, the entire ship is put at risk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nancy Hand
• Release date: Feb 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458059093

Nancy Hand

In the course of years I've held a number of jobs (bookkeeper, sales clerk, computer network engineer) while trying to launch a career (jeweler, sculptor, knitter). In the process I've heard a lot of stories, read a lot of stories, and discovered I like to tell stories. My books were written "for fun". I hope you enjoy them

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The Lily on the Wall

by Nancy Hand

Copyright 2011

Published by Nancy Hand at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

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Chapter 1

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Jay, I don't care. The ship isn't set up for live cargo. I don't want to carry live cargo. I have no interest in carrying live cargo. End of argument. The glass on the table in front of him held a pale yellow liquid. It was cold and almost flavorless but Jay always insisted on ordering alcoholic drinks for them, today it was something called beer.

But Mark, you haven't had a job in months. You need the job. I need you to take the job. The customer is at his wit's end trying to get the merchandise to its destination. The noise from other tables was making it hard to carry on a conversation and Jay was afraid Mark would take the excuse of not understanding him to squelch the deal. He saw it as a bad sign that Mark didn't drink the beer.

Jay. I repeat. I am not set up to carry live cargo. The customer won't be any more pleased to have me say yes, if his cargo doesn't survive the trip, then he will to have me say no, and his cargo lives. Now, what exactly do you need from me to stop this nonsense?

An argument on the other side of the bar briefly moved to their side as someone slid into the base of their table. Mark and Jay absently picked up their glasses before the impact caused them to spill. Neither of them paid attention as the man picked himself off the floor and rejoined the fight.

Mark, please. The customer really, really needs to get his cargo to Velgat. He's been looking for a carrier for some time. He's running late. He's willing to pay a premium.

Mark considered the offer as he stared into the beer in front of him. As Jay had reminded him, it had been several months since his last job. He did need cash. His crew was beginning to desert. Jay. Please. I don't do live cargo.

Mark. Let me turn this around. You've been doing what, six runs a year for the last five years?

Mark nodded. About that, yeah.

And in the last year, you've done three runs?

Yeah.

Who have you lost in the last six months?

Fred Atterly, Sharon Kahn, Isaac Means.

That's all?

I lost Trina too. But that was different.

Alright. Yeah. Trina died. The others just left. Jay considered where to go with his arguments. How are you doing? Losing Trina was a blow.

Mark stared over Jay's shoulder for what seemed a long time, Better.

Jay watched Mark for a while. Look. You need some jobs before you lose more of your crew and maybe your ship. I haven't had a lot of jobs come through recently. The few things I've seen haven't been anything you could handle. This is something designed for a ship and crew of your size. This pays better than most jobs I see during an average year. Like I said, the guy is desperate. He's willing to pay a premium. It's a short run. And your crew gets some perks.

Mark watched the expectant expression on Jay's face as he watched the other patrons in the bar and wondered what he'd done wrong over the last year. Trina Balch was dead, probably because of something dumb Mark had done. The other three were gone because Mark hadn't been able to collect himself enough to get back to work to find the jobs they needed. Other members of the crew were threatening to leave because there hadn't been enough work, or enough pay, to keep them interested. They'd been sitting in harbor at Kohl for three months now. What docking fees hadn't eaten up, bar tabs had.

How many are we talking about?

Jay smiled. Ten. Just ten. Eight would be standard. Two are special handling.

Who's doing the special handling?

The owner is sending along an agent. The agent is in charge of care for the lot of them.

How much care will my crew need to provide?

Medical, if it becomes necessary. Life support. Food. Standard scenario, the agent brings it aboard for the cargo, your people mix it up for him to dispense.

Except for the two?

Except for the two and maybe the agent. Jay took a risk. There are the perks. The same perks generally associated with this type of cargo.

Mark scowled. Yeah. I've heard. The price is generally included in a reduced delivery fee.

Not on this run.

Why is this run so different?

Because of the buyer at the other end. Apparently, this cargo is really special.

It must be. But Mark wasn't impressed. He still didn't like the idea.

Cameron is still on your crew?

Yeah. Cam hasn't left, yet. We still have medical. As near as I can figure, Cam's not planning on leaving until I ship his hide off.

Jay grinned. There were any number of stories about Cameron Whitfield floating around the fleet, some of which might even be close to the truth. How he came to be on Mark Caldera's crew was one of those stories. Okay. What do I need to say to get you to take this job?

Are you really that desperate to have someone take this cargo? Or are you just desperate to get me out of Kohl?

Jay raised his eyebrows in an effort to encourage Mark. Both?

Mark stared back. Fine. Sure. What accommodations do I need to make? How long before we have to be going?

Excellent! You do have life support in the hold?

It should only take Adrian a few hours to get that switched over. What else?

The agent is supposed to be bringing aboard some stuff. Do you have extra bedding?

Not really, no. Like I said, I'm not set up for live cargo.

Okay. Fine. Get the ship ready. Be prepared to take on cargo and extras within the next twenty-four hours.

Sure. Let me get people moving. Mark stood up to leave. Jay. Don't go making a habit of this.

Jay feigned surprise, Who? Me! Never. I wouldn't dream of it.

Mark simply stared back. "Sure. Whatever you say.

~~~

Chapter 2

~~~

As displeased as he was with the type of job, Mark was glad to have it. After months of inactivity it was good to have something to do. The crew seemed pleased, though whether any of their anticipation had to do with the nature of the cargo was hard to tell. At least people were pitching in to get things ready.

Twenty hours after accepting the job, the extra items began arriving for the trip. From Kohl to Velgat was a twenty day run. There were enough extra items coming aboard for a forty day run for an extra twenty people instead of the eleven they expected.

At twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes, just as everyone was ready to give up on the job and return to the bars, the agent arrived with the cargo. Crew members came out of the depths of the ship to stare as Mark fought down his revulsion.

The agent was large, fat as well as tall, imperious and yet, somehow, simpering. His clothing was elegant and expensive, more suited to traveling aboard a royal yacht than a simple cargo ship. Behind him stood a tiny woman in a simple uniform of dark green. She seemed young and pretty as she waited quietly in the agent's shadow.

Captain Caldera? The agent scanned the people arrayed in front of him expectantly.

Mark stepped forward. I'm Mark Caldera. You are?

Edwin Pataxi, procurer of tasty morsels for discerning palates. He waved bejeweled fingers in the direction of the small woman. This is my assistant, Alana.

Alana stared at the crew with the same blank expression as her charges. Mark wanted to cancel the job before they got any further. This was not the kind of thing he wanted to get involved with. Instead he scanned the cargo.

There were ten of them. All were dressed in simple green shifts and basic foot coverings. All wore the usual metal collars and had leashes attached to belts at their waists. Alana held the leashes for the eight lesser-quality items. Edwin Pataxi held those for the two special items.

The special items, a male and a female, would have been stunningly beautiful, if there had been any expression to their faces. As implanted slaves, wired for giving pleasure, there was nothing to see. In their current, quiet, state they responded to nothing but the tug of their leashes. Left alone in their current state, with no one to care for them, they would sit quietly and starve to death. Left alone in their other, more excited, state and they would exhaust themselves trying to give pleasure to whatever fell within their grasp. Even under the careful supervision of skilled handlers, their lives would be short. Few such slaves survived more than ten years after implantation.

The other eight slaves were more ordinary looking, perhaps not having been subjected to the surgical expense of the special items. While physically young and attractive, the lack of expression on their faces was even more telling. All of the arguments Mark had ever heard about the slave trade ran through his head, leaving him slightly ill as he considered those in front of him.

Okay. Since I'm told there's a tight schedule. Get them aboard and let's get moving.

Of course Captain Caldera. You will, please, direct Alana to the cargo hold and I would like assistance to my cabin.

Mark turned to his crew, Corry? You and Jewell help Alana get her charges to the cargo hold. Make sure they're settled in. Payson? Help Mr. Pataxi to his cabin. If you'll excuse me Mr. Pataxi, I have some business with the port before we can leave.

Mr. Pataxi inclined his head in Mark's direction as he gave a gentle tug on the leashes he held.

Mark growled at the crew members still gawking at their cargo. Hey! Back to work. We have a ship to get under way. Now! He looked around, daring anyone to challenge his authority. The only challenger was Cameron Whitfield. Cam! That includes you. I'm sure you have something more important to do than wipe the deck with your tongue.

I probably have. But I have been wondering what kind of medical problems we might run into with these.

You can discuss it with Mr. Pataxi once we're started.

I intend to, indeed I do. But Cameron wandered away from the entryway without looking back.

Mark continued to the bridge close on the heels of his crew. People settled into their positions quickly and started final preparations for departure, much to his relief.

Sir? Port is requesting a departure schedule.

Tell them we're out of here in five minutes.

Yes sir. Barbi was the newest member of the crew. Having come from a larger ship she was accustomed to addressing senior crew members as sir much to everyone's amusement. Mark had heard bets being placed as to how long her habit would last.

Excuse me, Captain?

Mark looked down at the communication screen next to him as he tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. Yes Mr. Pataxi.

I realize you're busy right now, but at your earliest convenience, I do need to discuss my accommodations with you.

Yes Mr. Pataxi. I am busy right now. I will get back to you, later.

Thank you Captain.

The snickering sounds from the direction of the navigation console caught Mark's attention. Flip? Do you have something useful to say?

Me? No, just wondering what kind of a pain this Mr. Pataxi is going to be.

I'm sure we're all aware of what we're dealing with. Now. Let's get this ship underway. The sooner we reach Velgat the sooner we can be rid of Mr. Pataxi.

There was no further chatter as the crew finished their checklists and engaged the engines for departure. Departure was clean and uneventful. Mark stayed on the bridge longer than he needed to because he didn't want to face Mr. Pataxi. He wondered, idly, if it would be possible to add some speed and finish this trip in less than the standard twenty days.

When the ship was fully under way, when everything that needed his attention on the bridge was complete, and when he couldn't avoid the issue any longer, Mark knocked on Mr. Pataxi's door.

Who is it?

Captain Caldera. You wanted to see me?

The door slid open, Captain. Yes. Please come in.

Mark stepped through the doorway and looked around. What had been a fairly ordinary cabin had been transformed into an elegant pleasure palace. Embroidered cloths were draped artfully over the furniture. There was a fur rug on the floor and another fur thrown across the bed. Pillows, large and small, were strewn everywhere and the air reeked of a sweet, heavy perfume.

The two slaves sat, docilely, on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.

Yes, Mr. Pataxi. How may I help you? You said something about your accommodations?

Yes. Yes. I notice there is a door. A connecting door to another cabin. Is the cabin in use?

Mark tried to remember which door, which cabin, Mr. Pataxi was talking about. No. The cabin is not in use right now. Do you need additional space?

Mr. Pataxi's eyes glinted. You would offer more?

I'd not been told to expect your assistant. Does she need a cabin or does she stay with her charges?

A bejeweled hand waved the question away, Alana stays with her charges. They are not fully trained yet. She has work to do just as I have work to do to finish these for their new owner. No. I was... concerned. These... he indicated the pair on the bed, are very valuable. A great deal of expense has been put into them. I cannot afford to have them ruined before they are delivered.

Ruined?

Yes. Ruined. They have not been used before. That is part of their value.

I see. Mark looked at the slaves again and wondered how much of what he was seeing was the result of careful surgery. Then your concern is security? What assurances do you want from me?

Can this door be locked against all but me?

Mark looked at the door behind him, the one into the corridor. Yes. If you wish. There are some safety concerns if you lock it against me or the ship's doctor, but it can be done.

And the cabin next door? Who has access to it?

I have. The engineering staff has access in case of problems with life support.

And the door?

I'm the only one with the access codes right now.

Mr. Pataxi seemed to be mulling over the problem very carefully before he answered. That will be acceptable. Thank you Captain Caldera.

~~~

Chapter 3

~~~

Mark's next stop was the cargo bay. If Mr. Pataxi was already complaining Mark suspected the assistant would join the chorus before long. The flat, gray walls with hooks, cleats, and cages for securing cargo did nothing to make the hold look like a pleasure-palace. Mark expected the assistant to request something more elegant. Instead, what greeted him was a scene straight out of a comedy. Except this time it wasn't very funny.

Adrian hadn't finished activating life support in the cargo bay as quickly as Mark had anticipated. He'd finally dragged Corry down to help and still they hadn't been ready to receive live cargo. Now that the cargo was aboard and they were launched, the temperature in the hold was a problem. Eight nearly-naked slaves, who didn't have the capacity to complain, might well freeze to death before anyone noticed.

The temperature in the hold was slightly above freezing. Alana had bundled her charges into the beds and piled blankets on top of them to keep them warm. In her haste she'd simply put two to a bed without regard to anything else. Due to her haste some of them had been roused from their quiet state and were now engaged in various sex acts with each other, and the furniture, and had thrown off the blankets. Alana raced from bed to bed trying to quiet her charges and cover them with blankets while Adrian and Corry fought to maintain their concentration as they worked to stabilize life support.

Mark strode across the hold to ask Alana how he could help her quiet her charges. She didn't look up at Mark as she tried to fight off the attentions of an aggressive slave. Alana kept trying to get a hand onto the back of the slave's neck as if to pull his hair. Not fully understanding what was happening, Mark grabbed the slave by his arms to pull him away from Alana. As soon as she could free her hand from the slave's grasp she reached around his neck and ran her fingers into his hair. Mark suddenly found himself holding a limp rag instead of the thrusting, straining slave he'd held only seconds before.

Alana looked up and, with an unexpectedly heavy accent, gave Mark some directions. In bed. Back to back. Don't touch. Then she dashed to the next bed.

Not sure how to translate her comments, Mark put the slave in the bed, being careful not to have this male come in contact with the other slave in the bed. He tossed a couple of blankets over the now-quiet pair before following Alana to the next bed.