The Valmont Contingency: Human Diaspora, #1

By Val Roberts

Tasha Ocasek is having the worst day of her life. First, her father forces her to meet the son of the ben Khalid ship-building cartel to secure a marriage contract. Then she gets stood up by ben Khalid, and sold off like a common whore to a psychopathic pharmaceutical magnate. Threatened with a life of drugged servitude, Tasha stows away on the first available ship.

Garrick ben Khalid has returned from chasing smugglers and information on the corbies, derelict ships with zombielike crews. Without question, the corbies trump dinner plans with some socialite geisha. But when Rick discovers the same geisha on his ship posing as medic Marie Valmont, he knows the sexy stowaway is nothing but trouble.

After she saves his life—and shares his quarters—Rick learns there's far more to Marie Valmont than the fact that she's also Tasha Ocasek. He needs her help, but will she agree once she learns his true identity?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wylde Hare Press
• Release date: Mar 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393622598

Val Roberts

Idaho native Val Roberts has been a historical re-enactor, typesetter, journalist, analytical chemist, Y2K consultant, electronics design technician, event planner and technical writer.She can herd cats and web programmers in the same day. She lives in her home town with a spooky disabled vet and a varied assortment of dogs and cats. She loves stories about human people in times and places that only exist in her head, where anything can happen and usually does.

Book preview

Chapter One

I was right about you. I will never again break bread with a port rat who learned how to steer a barge.

The oversized door slammed, echoing off the sandstone porte cochere holding the Ocasek armored groundcar.

Tasha adjusted the hem of her skimpy blue kimono, tugging it a few millimeters farther down her thigh, and concentrated on not biting the carefully painted red stain off her lips. She had kept the china doll—white maiko mask in place for over two years; it would be foolish to let it slip now. There were razzi outside the ben Khalid estate’s gates.

Baby-eating, mother-whoring stump of a camel do— Hiron Ocasek grunted as he hit the leather seat, cutting off the stream of invective, and reached to shut the door before the driver could get to it.

Tasha sat in silence, her ankles crossed and her hands folded in demure obedience, not even a tremor of her fury and shame leaking through. She couldn’t remember a more humiliating evening, but after going over the events again, she concluded that there really wasn’t any way her father could blame this on her. All of the other introductions had at least turned up to see if the stories about her were true.

He had reached too high for this one. The ben Khalids were the definition of Republic society. Ster ben Khalid had served in the cabinet years ago, and Madame ben Khalid had argued cases in front of the Supreme Court. Tasha’s stepmother hadn’t even been invited to the dinner, which implied that they had wanted the fewest Ocaseks under their roof as possible.

She kept her posture rigidly straight as the car started moving, its electric motors no competition for her father’s heavy breaths. It lurched as it exited the ben Khalid security perimeter and triggered a supernova of camera flashes and vidcam glows, allowing her to sneak a look at her father without being noticed. His expression was like a bad infection. Black and red, swollen with irritation and filled with metaphorical pus. It was obvious that he wasn’t happy, but not to what degree, and that was worrying.

Tasha looked out the nearest window at the passing scenery, mostly security walls and gated entrances. Marie Valmont had received her test scores that morning, with an accompanying text from the board congratulating her on achieving medical technologist certification. In two weeks, maybe three, she could lance the pustule and drain the Ocasek infection from her life. Then Tasha Ocasek, Ice Princess of the bloid media, would cease to exist and a medtech who never wore makeup or high heels and never even considered showing cleavage—let alone portions of her crotch—in public would come into being. If there was a god. She took a deep breath and let it out as slowly as possible, careful not to show anything on the outside.

She would be able to shed the icy persona with the makeup and stop guarding every breath. The freedom of just the thought was intoxicating.

Ripping aristocrats. Think their blood is purer than everybody else’s just because their credits are older, wafted across the passenger compartment with the acidic scent of nervous sweat. Her father often muttered politically incorrect statements when he was upset, and she often wondered if she should point out that it hurt business when he did so.

But if she did point anything out, her father’s weakness would be her fault.

His comm went off and she nearly jumped out of her skin. He’d left it turned on during a dinner party hosted by the ben Khalid of ben Khalid Industries? Was he insane?

He pulled it out of his jacket and frowned at the display, then answered with his characteristic bark. Ocasek.

Tasha tried to stop listening, but whoever was on the other end didn’t say whatever he wanted to hear, because the frown creased further, into a scowl.

Who is this, and how did you get this ident? His voice hadn’t gotten any louder, which could be good or bad. Several seconds of silence passed. And how did you know about that? Her father’s voice relaxed back to the oily conversational tone he used when trying to ingratiate himself. He must be talking to someone important, perhaps someone like Rafael ben Khalid.

Tasha bowed her head and bit her lip to control the sudden burst of apprehension. The man couldn’t have changed his mind after the argument, after her father stormed out in a snit. Could he? One thing she had learned in the last two years was that cartel people could overlook almost any kind of insult if the profit margin was high enough.

What, only shipping outside the Republic? Do you know how much administrative crap that entails? Of course not. What about Ocasek carrying a minimum percentage of all your product?

The ben Khalid cartel didn’t need anyone to ship their product; they built ships—military ships, pleasure yachts, freighters. If a transport carried people or goods from ground to vacuum or back, ben Khalid had a hand in it and a credit from its sale. The caller couldn’t be ben Khalid. She felt almost dizzy because it meant she still had a chance at freedom.

All right, I think we have a deal.

She looked up to find her father smiling at her. Hiron Ocasek didn’t look good when he smiled. In fact, he looked more than a little like a Terran toad. Her stomach cramped. Things always got worse when he smiled, much worse. I’ll send the transport just as soon as the contracts hit my In Docs queue. It’s a pleasure doing business with you. He ended the call and pursed his lips.

Tasha’s chest tightened until it was difficult to breathe without gasping. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Tasha, when we get home, pack your…shite. He waved vaguely at her torso. You’re moving in the morning at oh nine hundred.

She blinked at him, not quite able to comprehend what he meant. He couldn’t have sold her for a cartel contract—human trafficking was a felony. I beg your pardon?

The question earned her a glare. I said pack. As of tomorrow, you’re Ari Blaine’s problem.

Ari Blaine. Tasha bit the inside of her cheek to keep the hysterical giggle from getting out, her emotions ratcheted down too far for the full-throated scream that would be appropriate. She nodded a response and turned to look out the window, the picture of placid acceptance. Ari Blaine was not entirely sane. He liked to wear nail extensions that sliced people’s wrists when he shook hands with them. He always had at least two women on his arms at any social function, but everyone knew they were drugged to the roots of their hair. Tasha had personally seen him inject one of his companions in the carotid after she’d correctly pronounced a three-syllable word.

In short, Ari Blaine was her worst nightmare, worse than What’s-His-Name ben Khalid, spoiled and overprivileged engineering genius, who couldn’t even be bothered to show up. And Ari was always watching her, almost as if waiting for her to run, so he could pounce. If she ever ended up under his roof… That particular source of fear burned into anger almost immediately.

I see. Some kind of anthropological miracle kept the horror out of her voice. And what, exactly, comprises my ‘shite?’

The glare took on a confused cast. You know, clothes, makeup…shite. Like your samisen. I’ve been listening to you twang on that thing for twenty years too long.

As usual, he exaggerated. Tasha had been in his house for eighteen years, not twenty. And he had rarely heard her practice, since she’d been banished to the service wing the instant her stepmother had seen her.

Books? she asked, careful not to bring up jewelry. If it was worth anything, she knew the answer already, but her father had never cared about the visual word unless it was in contracts.

He snorted. You don’t have any books.

Actually she did, but he didn’t know about the reader she kept hidden under her menstrual supplies. She would need to take that. But not to Ari Blaine’s.

You didn’t go cheap, if that makes you feel better. Ocasek will be contracted for fifteen percent of Blaine pharmaceuticals both in and outside the Republic as soon as you take up residence in Ari’s bed. He didn’t even try to jex me around with a marriage contract.

She would need to get out of these ridiculous clothes, to wash off the Ice Princess mask. To make a plan. She frowned at the window glass, now dark since they had outpaced their razzi escort. An official identity change could take a couple of months, but she had to be off Dorrigan before 0900 in the morning. Before dawn would be better. That meant a hack for her wrist chip. Tasha wouldn’t be getting off-world in a legal berth, complete with ticket and exit visa. Her available credits simply wouldn’t cover both.

She could sell her earrings. Almost unconsciously, she fingered the fiery indigo stud in her left ear. They weren’t worth much, but her mother had given them to her and she didn’t want to part with even one of them unless she absolutely had to.

Neither she nor her father said another word until they got back to his house.

Tasha, her father called as she started toward her room.

She paused and turned obediently.

Don’t even think about trying to run away. This deal is worth a lot of credit. It could make us part of a cartel, which would set this family for generations. He glared at her. I will take steps to ensure that tomorrow goes as planned.

She smiled the maiko’s smile her mother had taught her how to perfect all those years ago and bowed to the man who had snatched her away from that mother for the purpose of using her to make life better for his real children, those born of a political marriage.

It was easy, because she knew things about his household he didn’t. Like which security sensors weren’t working and which ones the security staff routinely ignored. Who on his staff hated him almost as much as she did—the sort of things a useless shirttail relative learned from the staff who raised her. Things like how easy it had been to routinely sneak out to go to classes or work for the last year and a half, at least with her face blessedly normal looking.

Tomorrow was going to go as planned all right, but it wouldn’t be his plan.

* * *

Jerico, I need a favor, she murmured into the ear of the security shift leader. He jumped at least a centimeter out of his chair and pulled his weapon.

Rip, Miz Tasha, I told you not to sneak up on me that way. What can I fix for you tonight? He carefully thumbed the safety back on and reholstered the stunner.

I’m leaving. My father sold me for a cartel contract tonight, and he’s supposed to deliver me in the morning. She glanced up at the vid monitors in case she needed to blink back tears, but her eyes stayed dry. In fact, she felt happier than she had since sneaking out to enroll at MedStrike, because she was finally taking some kind of action to get out of the nightmare. After all the years of hiding behind the rice-flower, charcoal and bene.

Isn’t that overkill for an arranged marriage, miz? He paused to key in a command to one of the street sensors following a pedestrian strolling the next block.

It’s Ari Blaine, Jerico, and it’s not a marriage. I have to get off-planet before nine hour. She forced herself to relax. I need a hack to my chip. Who does the fake idents for the undocumented staff?

He snorted. You do not want a Smithson hack, Miz Tasha. They’re crap and they take three days. Or more.

Do you have any better ideas?

He went still for fifteen long seconds, then swore under his breath. Ster Ocasek would have me killed and my body spaced if he knew I even spoke to you about this.

She nodded. If it weren’t Ari, I wouldn’t have asked.

Okay. He picked up a stylus.

No. Tasha stopped him with a hand on his arm. Don’t write anything down or they might be able to trace it.

Jerico swallowed, but nodded back. There’s a bar called Donnybrook about two kliks away from the freighter side of the spaceport.

About a block off the main road, lots of broken neon on the sign? she asked, for the first time in her life grateful to be part of a shipping family.

Yeah. Tell the bartender you need to chat with Lilo. Those exact words, ‘I need to chat with Lilo.’ Got it?

She repeated it back and he gave her a thumb’s up.

It’s going to cost you. The Donnybrook crew doesn’t work cheap.

I have a card with five thousand on it, she admitted with a demure smile, and I’m sure it won’t be good after the sun comes up tomorrow, so I might as well blow it all tonight.

He nodded again, looking thoughtful. That should be enough. Then he turned away from the monitors. But it won’t leave you much money to buy passage, and you won’t have time to get an exit visa. You’d do better to change your ident and stay on Dorrigan.

She shook her head. Hiron can’t find me if I’m not here. Tasha leaned over and kissed his cheek. I won’t forget you, Jerico, or anyone on the staff who helped me. Maybe someday I’ll be able to say thank you.

You be careful, Miz Tasha. I can’t protect you out there. He turned back to his monitors, but not before she detected a faint rosiness across his bronze cheekbones.

Goodbye, Jerico. She settled the shoulder back with the strap across her body and slipped out of the monitor room.

The trip to the spaceport district was uneventful, other than the odd smell of burnt-something and strawberries on the pubtrans, and the scrolling news feed around the top of the passenger compartment that informed her the Stern Reich had called for a quarantine on all vessels from the Republic without stating why.

Donnybrook, on the other hand, was an event all by itself. She had to push through the crowd of obvious freighter crews to get to the bar, but, without the Ice Princess’s wardrobe and attitude, only a few of the men tried to grope her. And then she had to wave the fund card before the bartender would pay any attention.

Whaddayawant? he shouted over the crowd noise.

Beer. And I need to chat with Lilo, she yelled back. The people on either side of her edged away by a centimeter or so.

The bartender nodded, took her card and disappeared. Then he stayed disappeared. He didn’t even bring her a beer. After fifteen minutes of standing at a crowded bar in a rowdy club without a drink, she gave up her spot to a woman a foot taller than she was who looked thirsty and mean.

Suddenly exhausted, Tasha floated wherever the bar patrons pushed her until she was standing in a dim corner wondering what to do next. She hadn’t been able to get her ident changed, she no longer had any credit on her and she still didn’t know how she was getting off the planet—all while her time window closed with each passing second. She leaned against the wall and tried to think, scrubbing her hands over her face.

Miz Valmont? a small voice asked, somehow cutting through the roar.

Tasha opened her eyes, but she didn’t see anyone. She felt a tug on her pants and looked down, into the eyes of a person too small to be in a bar after local midnight.

Lilo would be happy to chat with you, a child said. No, not a child—the tiny woman had breasts but a child’s voice. She beckoned Tasha to follow, slipping through the crowd to the backdoor and into the alley. Wait here. she said, then disappeared.

Lovely, Tasha muttered to herself. They take my money card and then send me to the alley to be mugged. At least they could have given me the beer.

Miz Ocasek, how nice to meet you. Something clamped around her wrist, the one with her passport chip embedded in it. Please don’t turn around. It’s best if we don’t see each other’s face. The voice could have been male or female. It sounded as if it had been electronically altered.

Tasha bit her lip and willed her pulse to slow down. Are you Lilo?

She heard a noise that might have been an altered chuckle. In a manner of speaking. That is the code I gave to Jerico. I find it interesting that he would use it to help you. Keys clicked. I am assuming that you would like your passport identity to match that of your medical certification so that you can seek employment. Is this correct?

Yes. How did you know?

Again, she heard the strange laugh. It is my business to know the needs of my clients. But I do have a question. Is this related to the communicator call placed from Ari Blaine’s personal unit to the personal unit of Hiron Ocasek this evening?

Why do you want to know? Tasha had learned that personal data had a life of its own, and she was reluctant to share that particular information with someone she would never see.

My fee is dependent on the answer.

Take the whole balance. I’m certain the chip will be frozen by dawn.

The presence behind her paused. Then this is related to the comm call. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that my father forced me to abandon my careful plans and run, she confessed. But I figured out a long time ago that he doesn’t give a rip about me—I’m not one of his real children. I don’t lose sleep over it. Someday someone will care about me because I’m me, not because of what I can do for him.

Behind her, Lilo made a noise that might have been a Nippon grunt of agreement. The key tapping resumed. My apologies for the archaic reprogramming tools. This system has the best security when working in a public place.

I understand. Tasha turned her eyes skyward and waited.

That’s all, the voice said a minute or so later. You can remove the transceiver.

She carefully pulled apart the cuff around her wrist and held it up over her shoulder. Lilo took it, but replaced it with something else.

This is an anonymous credit chip with a high enough balance to pay the fine for exiting the planet without a visa.

I…thank you.

You earned it. The voice was fainter, as if its owner was moving away. There are three tramp freighters loading up tonight, with plans to depart before midmorning. Those will be your best bet for getting off the planet.

Why are you helping me?

For the same reason I gave Jerico the Lilo code. Tasha could barely make out the words. This node has been approaching for a long time, and you have chosen wisely. The thump of a closing door punctuated the last faint sentence.

Tasha turned around, but the alley was empty. She looked at the chip in her hand—a generic standard credit chip, available from a vending machine. Three freighters were loading, which meant three freighters would have cargo doors open. All she had to do was choose one and find a place to hide.

She walked the mile and a half to the spaceport’s freight entrance gate. Security was not as tight on the freight side as it was for commercial or military transports, and Tasha’s face, although painted, had been through the checkpoint many times. The computers could see through the camouflage of the maiko face, so she had no trouble getting into the freight terminal.

From there, she had a choice: she could walk through the Ocasek access zone, or she could sneak through the custodial access maze. The first would get her to the flight line a lot sooner, but it would leave a trace for her father to find. She didn’t want to give him any chance to track her down, so she went down the service corridor in the direction of the toilets.

Not many people knew about the flight line’s custodial access at the end of the corridor: by design it looked like a closet. The door led into the surprising warren of service corridors and cubbyholes behind the stark counter. Tasha took the turns almost automatically, only stopping when she reached the last door that would take her to the three freighters. And freedom.

Please, she whispered to whatever deities might be listening, trying to ignore the accelerated thumping in her chest. Then she stepped through the door and scanned the flight line for open