I considered the question. After I'd spirited Menandi and her son Stefan away from the hands of their captors for the second time, I'd gone all the way to Gallente Prime and secured them a berth aboard a transport to a prosperous colony and enough ISK for them to start a new and more comfortable life. Sentimentality or perversity, call it what you want, somehow I thought she'd be safer among the hedonists of the Federation than even her own people, who seemed to have a knack for too often crossing paths (and swords) with the Amarrians they hated so much.
Now with less than an hour before departure time, I stood with her in a darkened cargo warehouse among crates and boxes while I thought about giving her a version of the truth that wouldn't sound like I was using her. Like so many others had.
As to my reasons for playing guardian angel, I decided honesty might get me a slap in the face, but it would also provoke a truthful answer. "I need information. I need to know what you know."
She cocked a sardonic eyebrow and pursed her full lips. "And that's all you need?"
"That's all."
"Then I'm over-priced." Her voice was tinged with gall, and I had a sick feeling I knew what her erstwhile owner had required of her. Even then I admit to an attraction that I couldn't explain, but despite what she'd been through, I had to know the answer to the one question that was scorching my soul.
"I know you're a smuggler," I said. "And I know your life was recently threatened over a shipment to the Chantrousse system. I want to know what was in that shipment."
Her eyes widened and she moved back half a pace while giving me a suspicious and sidelong glance. "How do you know about that?"
"It's not important. Just tell me. Do you know what you shipped out of Amarr space that day?"
I could almost feel her muscles tense, like a cat ready to spring. But bad memories or not, I wondered if I would have to threaten her to get what I needed. And I hoped it wouldn't come to that.
"I can't tell you," she said.
"Can't or won't?"
She turned away from me, her eyes downcast. "I don't expect you to understand. You've never been a slave, never had to sacrifice everything to a cause."
"You're right. I don't understand. You must have smuggled a lot of Minmatar across the border. Why should this shipment be any different?"
"Because Stefan is the cause! For him, I've lied, sold my body, let the whips fall on me when he stole food to keep his ribs from meeting his spine. I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of, Michael. I've degraded myself, hurt a lot of people. I've killed too. But I'll never apologize. Not to you, not to anyone. All I've done has been for my son. I need to protect him, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure he'll never suffer as I did."
She yanked at one sleeve and bared her arm to me. The crisscross pattern of livid scars was white even in this dim lighting.
I'd heard rumors of some of the tools the more creative imperial torturers used, both to extort information and for sheer sick amusement. Suddenly, somehow the idea of threatening this woman seemed both trite and futile, a useless sin I discarded without a second thought.
"I should have killed him," I said. She and I both knew who I meant. I regretted not reducing Vabdi's lair to cosmic dust.
"Maybe you should have." Menandi rolled her sleeve back into place and turned to fix me with an unreadable expression. "Regardless, I'm grateful for all you've done for us. But I can't give you what you asked for. I just can't."
"I can protect you," I said.
She shook her head. "Not from him."
This time it wasn't the slaver she meant. The fear in her eyes could only have been reserved for the mysterious and ruthless capsuleer that had forced his agenda on both her and me. I guess I couldn't really blame her. It was clear her life was still in danger, and if the powers arrayed against me could pod me and other immortals with impunity, it was clear I had precisely a snowball's chance in Hell of hiding her or Stefan from them. And for her and him, death would be forever. I was forced to admit to myself that I couldn't put them at risk.
Still, my own face must have betrayed the frustration I was feeling. Her words were a knife in my gut. I felt I'd come so close to the truth only to run up against a wall of silent terror.
But I decided I'd play one last desperate card.
"Can you at least tell me his name?"
She hugged herself and turned to look away, and the grimace marring her otherwise flawless face betrayed the struggle I knew had to be going on inside her. I hated to press her like this, but it was as if I could almost hear the death screams of the Jovians. I was the only voice they had left, their only advocate. I had to try.
"Listen to me," I said, daring to cup her chin in my hand and turning her to face me. "A lot of people have died senselessly, and this man is involved. I know he is. And I know you care about other people's lives or you wouldn't have risked your own to save so many of your countrymen. Please, I'm begging you: give me a name!"
When she fixed those fascinating eyes on me again, I saw fire behind them. She was a strong woman, worthy of admiration. For a moment, I thought about the blind, stupid injustice of it all: that people like her were cursed with death and pawns like me or, worse still, monsters like her abusers still clung to life after life after life.
"Sheng."
The name seemed to hang in the air. It took me a moment or two to realize I'd been holding my breath. I barely remembered thanking her.
But I do remember her squeezing my hand before she left for her shuttle.
Later, I watched her pull away through the eyes of my camera drones. My systems registered the redshift as she entered warp.
But all I was really experiencing was her. Her voice, her touch. Those eyes.
And through a pained haze of parting that I had no words for, I felt hope. A thin thread of data, but one I was going to seize and hold fast.
I prayed it would be strong enough. That I would be strong enough.
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