Chapter 7, Jury

Sig wasn't sure how many hours he'd spent in Rayn's office, just listening to her talking to others. Sometimes he was obviously in place to look intimidating, and many times it ended with her sending him off with a group of thugs to hunt somebody down. But that didn't explain the times when she wanted him to just stand there with no apparent purpose, like when she was discussing business matters with Chilton.

Though he had a creeping suspicion that she took some pleasure in seeing him bored and uncomfortable.

Just a show of power.

It made him gnash his teeth.

Why she even needed such an ego boost was beyond him, when everything around her was falling into place so neatly – at least, everything was neat as far as she saw. She never got close to any of the dirty work she commanded others to do.

The last few weeks had been a buzz of planning, floating through Sig's ear like a grey flood of tediousness. He didn't care about, or have any input to give – even if he had been asked – for her city planning. And still she wouldn't let him not be there for it. All of it.

Even so, though he didn't listen much or care, he got the gist of the whole thing. Rayn set off long-term plans to tidy up and rebuild the most run-down parts of town, offering jobs and better living conditions for the poor. In doing so, she tightened her grip of the people's hearts with favors instead of threats. She already had the upper and middle class under her control thanks to terror. Those who were already living in fear would be controlled in another way.

It was just like her plans for sending talented youths abroad to study, offering them generous grants to make sure they could gather as much skill in economics, engineering and city planning as possible – with the condition that they returned to Kras to work for five years, or those grants would transform into loans to be repaid.

Every kindness had a stipulation. Rayn didn't do anything with the goal to improve people's lives, or solely to make the city better. When she gave people something, it was so that they would have something to lose. To the poor and put upon, who had known very little benevolence from above in their lives, it probably did not matter much if it was calculated or not. But even if they didn't realize it, it created a loyalty that bound them to Rayn.

But such huge projects required money, and right at the moment she and Chilton were putting the finishing touches on the plan to overhaul and overtake the most profitable business in Kras, second to racing.

"I want to see at least some of the prostitutes myself after the big meeting with their 'caretakers,' but there are simply too many to deal with all," Rayn told Chilton, studying a sheet of statistics. "Set up interviews with others as soon as you've gathered them all up."

Chilton mumbled his "certainly, Miss" mantra and his pen scratched against his notepad.

"And make sure we gather up all 'working' children," Rayn said, and a grim note came into her voice. "I don't want any of them in this business."

"I agree," Chilton commented. "But it is something some people pay a lot for…"

"No." Her tone made it clear that she would not be questioned. "Absolutely not."

Sig studied her, took in the glint of disgust in her eyes. She pushed the words out as if she did not even want to acknowledge it, but did anyway because she might be the only one in a position to put a stop to it.

Something inside him grudgingly relaxed.

And then she just had to go on.

"They can work as beggars until they're old enough to make better use of themselves."

"Of course." Chilton tapped his pencil against the notepad he held. "What about education?"

"Let them learn to read and write, and of course properly count. If there are any clever ones that might develop more useful skills than pick pocketing and prostitution when they get older, we'll review them as they come."

Sig held back a resigned growl. He didn't know why he was even surprised anymore.

"I'll begin looking into it, Miss," Chilton said. He tapped his pen down the note block, counting the list of instructions. "Anything else?"

"Book a barber for Sig," Rayn said. "His beard is coming along and should be trimmed."

"Certainly, Miss. What about his hair?"

"It's fine for now, but if the barber can even it out it wouldn't hurt. The way it's curling is distracting."

"Very true."

Neither one of them even looked at him as they spoke.

It was late in the afternoon when they had finished up the meeting, and Rayn sent Sig away. As the door closed behind him, she sat for a moment and stared at it.

"Revamping the prostitute organization under my care is going to make some people a little perturbed again," she mused aloud, thoughtfully balancing her chin on her fist.

Distracted as she was, she didn't see the eyebrow twitch momentarily that chipped Chilton's normally bland, businesslike expression. It was gone as quick as it had been there. When he made a vague agreeing sound, there was nothing to betray his thoughts.

"Perhaps we should improve security further," Rayn continued. "I should have Sig move in here. He could sleep in the guest room."

"If you are worried, we certainly should make sure you feel safer, Miss," Chilton said. "But…"

He coughed into his fist in a way that made Rayn sharply look at him, and politely avoided her gaze when he continued:

"I must inform you that the underlings, unsurprisingly, are already talking about why you keep that Wastelander around."

Rayn's eyes widened only a fraction, but even with her self-control she couldn't keep her cheeks from coloring. Luckily for her dignity, her makeup hid it. Chilton buried his nose in his notepad, pretending not to notice how the comment affected her.

"Make sure you quell any such talk where you find it," Rayn said, her voice shriller than usual.

"Yes, Miss," Chilton said.

He found it prudent to remove himself from the room, leaving Rayn to stew in embarrassment and fury that anybody would dare to think of her like that. Such feelings were hardly tempered by the humiliating conclusion that she should have seen it coming – and that she could hardly expect it to only be the boorish thugs under her command who were talking.

All thoughts of increased security were banished from her head.

Chilton worked as efficiently as always, and had everything ready in a few days. The day of reviewing prostitutes, if possible, even more trying for Sig than usual. Halfway through he was well and truly wondering what Rayn had meant with "at least some," because it soon became obvious that the whole day would be spend evaluating new employees. According to Chilton he'd rounded up the ones that he felt uncertain about for Rayn's assessment, and there seemed to be no end of them.

They were showed into the office one by one to be judged by Rayn's critical eye. There was a degree of unease and confusion in all of them, even in the ones whose eyes were dulled from a rough life where only alcohol and drugs dulled the daily misery.

More than ever, Sig wondered why he had to be there. Every single one of the scantily clad men and women gave Rayn and the men at her side a scan of their own. It was a businesslike check, out of habit trying to evaluate whether to approach a potential customer on the street or if it would be dangerous – if they were likely to be paid or be beaten up after the service.

After the fifth one had quickly glanced away from Sig with a frightened wince, he stopped looking back at them.

Rayn was as coldly efficient as ever.

"No, no, no, you won't do even in the low price range," she told the sixth 'applicant,' a weary-looking, plump woman with frizzled, amateurishly bleached hair. Her makeup couldn't hide that she was middle-aged.

The woman blinked like an owl, mute – certainly used to rougher language than that but still taken by surprise.

"Can you do anything practical?" Rayn went on, not even waiting for a comment. When the woman hesitated, Rayn leaned forwards with a scowl. "Well?"

"I… I used to clean…" the woman stuttered, awkwardly.

Rayn leaned back with a sigh.

"Alright, well enough. I'll set you up to clean up in a few of the houses instead." She gave a warning glare. "Be thankful I need some of those too. Just do not let us catch you trying to make money on the side by freelancing."

Mumbling a confused and uncertain thanks, the older woman retreated as Rayn waved her away. The humiliation of the insults would sink in only later, as right then she was just too baffled.

She would not be the only one suffering such verbal whip cracks. Rayn's efficiency had no pity.

It didn't take long for Sig to lose count on how many people went in and out of the office. It all became another buzz in his head, with a rising taste of bile in his mouth until it just became too much and he became numb.

He wasn't even sure how long it had been going on, when something different happened.

A young woman was shown in, and the only reason Sig awakened a little bit from his uneasy, bored stupor was how she moved and glanced about. She looked little different than the others – though some had clothes and appearances that showed that their "caretakers" at least had cared about how the product was presented, this woman had some of the worst looks about her. Her clothes were torn and worn, and her black hair dangled in unwashed strings clogged together by dirt and grease.

All of the earlier visitors had looked uneasy, but it was the awkwardness of being in an alien situation, not having a clue what to expect. This woman clutched at her arms like she was disgusted with real and imagined – remembered – filth on her tanned skin. But there was something in her eyes though, a desperate flicker of hope.

"Taraxa, is it?" Rayn said, glancing at her list.

"Yes, Miss," the woman said. She bit her red-painted lip and straightened up. "Miss, please, a moment, please."

The sheer gall of one of the prostitutes addressing her, a sudden shift in the smooth humdrum of the interviews, made Rayn look up with a start. Even Chilton tilted his head in surprise.

"I… I came from Haven," Taraxa said, "I'm an academic… I was promised a job, but— but when I came here—"

Sig lowered his head to hide his cringe, and even more when Rayn sighed. He could practically hear her roll her eyes at the woman's foolishness, even though people with a higher education weren't usually the targets for these kinds of things.

"Alright," Rayn said, "what is your field, then?"

Taraxa lit up, and Sig made a silent wish for her sake that she would be very, very careful.

"Suburban agriculture!" Taraxa blurted.

Rayn actually blinked.

"I beg your pardon?" she said. But she leaned forward just the slightest, and there was a hint of interest in her tone.

"It's a pretty new field, Miss," Taraxa said, pointing at the window. Her voice rose in excitement as she continued. "It's about trying to grow edible plants in cities where the farmland is limited. There's so much you could do with just a small area like the top of a building, like grow vegetables or even berry bushes! It's a field just started in Haven—"

Her passion was her fatal mistake. Had she phrased it as a suggestion, and not as a radical new idea, Rayn would not have felt questioned.

Then Rayn wouldn't have switched from vaguely intrigued to annoyed.

"It's nothing we need at the moment," she cut off the explanation.

Taraxa froze up, her mouth half open to form another word. The light in her eyes flickered.

"You were such a fool, too. I don't believe in your abilities to plan anything." Rayn gave her another curt look-over. "But you would be pretty enough with better makeup and clothing. I'll put you in the south part of town."

The light died. Taraxa's shoulders slumped and she turned when Rayn waved at her to leave, staggering out. The door had hardly closed behind her as Rayn looked at Chilton.

"Look into what she was talking about," she said. "I'm sure we can find somebody to work on that suburban agriculture idea. It was quite interesting."

"Certainly, Miss," Chilton said and made a note in his block. "It's a very clever idea, I must say."

Sig clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.

There were no more incidents like that. Even so, by the time Rayn finished the last appraisal and let him go as well, Sig had a thundering headache and he walked back to his apartment block with black spots dancing through his vision.

He climbed the stairs, feet feeling like lead. As he reached the corridor leading to his apartment door he stopped for a moment to catch his breath.

Then froze.

Gingerly he touched his chest with his fingertips, feeling his heart beat faster than it ought to as he drew shallow breaths. He glanced back, at the three flights of stairs he had just gone up. How could something so little make him so winded?

But thinking about it, he realized that it had crept up on him bit by bit. Just like the shaking of his hands.

Struggling to push down the feeling of dread, he unlocked his apartment and went inside. The unseen cleaning person had put everything back in place, even made the bed on the floor. Sig stepped over it into the kitchen and tried to find something that he could stomach to eat.

Five minutes later there was a half-eaten serving of microwaved beef and potatoes abandoned on the table, and Sig was heading for the bathroom. He'd wrestled down several bites of the dry, processed meat solely because he knew his body desperately needed it. Then again, he doubted it was worth the few remaining nutrients.

He didn't feel like showering either, but he couldn't stand listening to Rayn berate him about smelling bad. She found enough faults anyway.

Brushing his teeth was a trial in itself, because lately several tender ulcers had popped up on the insides of his cheeks and on the flesh of his lower lip, just in front of his teeth. He'd already bitten through one by mistake and it had flared and throbbed with pain for the whole day. They didn't make it any easier to eat, when he already struggled with a nonexistent appetite.

He was in a bad shape, in every possible way.

And he saw no end of it, either.

Sleep only crept up on him slowly, once his brain had stopped tumbling bitter thoughts around in his head for several hours. This night, though, they kept coming back to earlier in the day, to that one woman who had so desperately reached for hope and had it slapped away by Rayn.

There was nothing he could do, kept prisoner as he was.

He knew it was a mistake. Giving himself another weak point was the last thing he needed.

But Rayn already had him where she wanted him. As he stared into the darkness and felt the silent loneliness press down in a choking hold, he couldn't see what difference it would make – and if it might offer some comfort to another miserable person, perhaps it was a risk worth taking.

Precursors knew his courage was battered and broken in every other way.

Late next day, Razer entered Rayn's apartment to receive new instructions. Even as he and Chilton approached the office, they heard the raised voices from behind the closed door.

The argument halted when Chilton knocked.

"Yes?" came a snap from Rayn inside.

Chilton opened the door a crack.

"Razer, Miss," he said, carefully. "Is this a bad time?"

"No. Come right in."

"Miss—" That was Sig, in a low, barely controlled growl. The hair on the back of Razer's neck rose.

"Come in, Razer!" Rayn icily said.

Razer had never been scared of danger, and this was such a curious situation that he entered with interest. During all this time, despite all logic, Rayn had seemed able to keep Sig under control. Yet here was a sudden, obvious crack.

The former racer was intrigued.

Rayn and Sig both stood in the middle of the room, Rayn's arms crossed, Sig's fists balled at his sides. He glared murder at Razer, riled up further by the intrusion. There was only a mild, teasing smile to be had in return.

"Just a moment, we're almost done," Rayn coldly said as the door closed softly behind Razer.

She turned to Sig and dryly said:

"Why do I have the feeling that you're just going to have tea with her?"

"Does it matter, Miss Rayn?" Sig growled.

"Did we not discuss your tone twice already?" She held his gaze, unblinking.

No reply. Rayn's mouth twisted into a small, sardonic sneer.

"It's very tiring when you don't learn, Sig. You're not dumber than that you can understand that much. And despite that you get it into your head to make requests?"

"It's not like you're paying me," Sig said through his teeth.

Razer's eyebrows shot upwards.

"Enough!" Rayn snapped. She pointed at the door, and Razer quickly stepped aside. "Get out and don't come back until you've cooled off."

Sig needed no further push to leave, stomping out with his face reminiscent of a thunderstorm.

Closing the door, Razer took in a deep breath and looked back at Rayn, who stalked over to her desk and sat down. He approached her, trying to smoothen the line between his brows. Here was something that sat very ill with him.

"Miss, you're doing an amazing job with the city," he said, choosing his words very carefully. "But is it wise to not pay him?"

"He's a special case," Rayn said in a steely tone.

"Yes, of course. But even prostitutes get paid."

"Sig isn't a prostitute, Razer."

"Miss—"

"Not another word!" She glared at him, perfect little eyebrows creeping low above her eyes as her finely manicured nails rapped against her desk. "Sig works for me, but he's not employed. Besides, what would he do with money?"

Razer watched her in silence for a moment.

"What indeed…" he finally murmured and bowed his head as if submitting to her wisdom.

But in reality, he was only amazed at how she, who seemed to have such an insight into how everything else could be made to work as smoothly as possible, could be so ignorant about the fact that no human is ever completely owned. It seemed to him like she was purposefully playing with a bomb when it came to Sig.

"Considering his bad moods, he'd probably just start drinking if he had the means to pay for it," Rayn absently added as she started looking through another one of her never-ending supply of paper heaps.

Razer had too much dignity and sense of self-preservation to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"One thing, if you please," he said, holding up his hands in a pacifying manner. "Perhaps you should consider that being idle is bad for his usefulness."

"How so?" Rayn shot back, eyebrows still dangerously low.

"Oh, he simply seems more sluggish than he was when he first arrived," Razer said with a shrug. "He led a very athletic life before this, didn't he?"

Rayn snorted, but despite that she grudgingly nodded and turned back to her desk.

"I'll have Chilton get him a gym subscription. It may do something for his attitude if he gets to work out a little, I suppose."

With that, that line of conversation was clearly over. Razer took his new orders from her and left, unable to shake the unease. He'd seen from day one that Rayn was pushing Sig's limits, but he hadn't realized it was to such an extent.

The meltdown wasn't going to be pretty. Taking some small safety precautions without the Princess's knowledge was definitely a good idea, because throwing Sig into a gym and believing that would fix his growing rage was just wishful thinking.

Chilton stuck his head out of the kitchen as Razer left. Returning back inside, the aide continued his work to prepare a tray of tea and biscuits for Rayn, which he carried into her office a few minutes later. He found her sitting at her desk trying to look like she was working, but really just glaring at a report without reading it.

"There are no more meetings booked today, I noted," Chilton said as he poured her a cup of tea. "Do you wish to work alone for the rest of the day?"

"Yes," Rayn said through her teeth. "I have a lot of things to do, and I don't want any disturbances."

"As you wish, Miss."

He walked out, a small smile playing at his lips.

Once left alone, Rayn opened her notebook and started looking through the economic calculations she had been doing earlier that day. Halfway down the page she realized that she couldn't remember what she'd read, and started over only to find herself distracted again.

Sig's grim, steady expression floated in her mind and she slapped the block down, mouth forming a disgusted twist.

How dared he even think to demand something? Oh yes, he had worded it like a request, but the gall of it made the underlying tone clear to her. She had provided him with everything practical he might want and he still thought to be unsatisfied.

All the little things he did to just vex her were slight enough, yet lately he had seemed to finally mellow out and accept his situation. But now this?

She rapped her nails against the desk, slow at first, then at an increasing speed as her eyebrows lowered. Her fingertips all hit the wood with a muffled thud and she stood up, the chair rolling away several feet from the force.

Walking over to the window she tried to calm herself with the comforting familiarity of the busy, neon lit street. Here was life, here was enjoyment, luxuries and technology to make life easy.

The races in Spargus had been days spent in Hell. Even recalling it made her cringe. Not even the most basic comforts to be had. They didn't even have running water. Hot as an oven, dusty, dirty, smelly. Animals running wild in the streets. Constant marauder and metal head disturbances to worry about.

Anybody ought to be grateful to be rescued from that place, and brought to civilization. Yet Sig acted as if she and her father had offended him.

Standing there, quietly fuming, the silence fell heavy around her. The noise from outside was just a soft, familiar hum filtered away by her brain. She would only notice if it suddenly stopped.

Instead she heard something else. Barely audible from where she was, but the floor creaked at a distance, and she heard a click of the apartment door opening. Frowning, she crossed the floor and leaned towards the peephole in the office door.

She saw only blackness, as if the hole was covered.

Frowning, premonition sprouting a tendril deep within her, she hunched down and peeked through a second, far less obvious peephole she had made herself. Her father had always said that it was best to be extra careful.

She could only see ground level from there, but she saw Chilton's feet and lower legs by the door, and that two more people entered. Men, clearly, wearing heavy boots that they kicked off before starting to follow Chilton carefully up the corridor, walking softly to not disturb the creaky planks.

Ice poured through Rayn and she shot up, turning the lock on the door as carefully as her shaking hand allowed. It slipped into place without a sound.

She couldn't believe it, but she had to. This was very, very wrong.

Rushing over, she unlocked one of the drawers in the desk and pulled it out with a hard jerk, her heartbeat rattling louder and louder in her ears.

She had kept a gun in there. Chilton had known she did.

It was gone.

Snapping for breath she shot up and fumbled for her communicator, sending pens and papers tumbling onto the floor in her haste. Somehow she managed to dial the number she wanted. A soft creak of footsteps over the floor was heard from outside, the sound tearing into her ears.

"What, Miss Rayn?" came a low growl from the communicator.

In any other situation Rayn would have snapped at him to mind his tone, but she wasn't in the right mind to care at the moment.

"Sig!" she hissed, frantically glancing between the door and the face on the small screen. "Sig, come back—!"

A key turned in the lock.