Junebug had taken more blows to the head in her career than most and either hard experience, or her recent Terran enhancements bought her back to consciousness more awake and alert than might otherwise have been the case. She kept her eyes closed shaming unconsciousness until she could figure out just what the hell was going on. A man was carrying her and her hands had been bound behind her back, likely with binders of improvised plastic tie downs judging by the way the bit into her wrist.

“I swear I do not know her!” the turbaned official was bleating, “she is a starship captain, that is all, I did not hire her!” They were ascending a steep set of stairs, twisting up the spiral every few feet or so.

“If you are trying to double cross me, Acmed, I swear by the suns I will decorate the city with your entrails.” The voice was unfamiliar to Sayeeda but gravelly and authoritative. She peered through slitted eyes, though all she saw was the back of a staircase, her head throbbed painfully but the fog of booze was gone, burned off by the adrenaline that pumped through her.

“We should kill her, just to be safe,” the man carrying her declared in an oily accent that Junebug thought was probably local. She tried not to tense but she was ready to kick off the wall and try to break the man's neck while they tumbled down the stairs rather than be executed without a fight.

“It would raise suspicion, plus look at her, she will fetch a pretty price in the slave market at Dal Shem,” the leader replied. They passed through a door and the hot desert wind told her that they were on the roof of the building. Through slitted eyes she could see a small rooftop garden. An aircar sat parked in the center of a paved square, presumably provided for the purpose. It was an industrial model without frills and open topped. Without ceremony she was slung into the back seat and the security harness was locked around her chest. If her hands were free it would have been simple to release, but bound as she was it was as secure as anything her captors might have used. Both men climbed into the car.

“You have twelve hours to get me what I want,” the leader called to the bureaucrat, Achmed she presumed. The air cars fans spun to life.

“After that you can discuss things with the Pasha, I’m sure his torturers will believe your side of the story.”

With that the fans roared to full power and the aircar lifted away into the hot desert night.