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  “Haven’t been hit with a tickler since training at the Academy,” he muttered, getting shakily to his feet with a hand up from his friend. “Forgot how much I hated it.” The sapphire eyes were like two chips of ice. Sadie’s stomach did a big flip-flop at the look on his chiseled features.

  “Hey now, she tried to warn you,” the dark-haired one reminded him. “Look, sweetheart,” he turned his attention to Sadie. “We’re gonna sit tight right here on the bed and not come anywhere near you so suppose you tell us your story? I bet we’re on the same side.” He pulled the blond man down on the rickety metal bed that was shoved to the far side of the room and sat looking at her expectantly. His partner allowed himself to be maneuvered but shrugged off the dark-haired man’s hand irritably once they were settled.

  “Please enlighten us,” he said sarcastically. “My partner and I are eager to hear your story.”

  “Well, first of all I’m not a prostie.” Sadie wanted to make that perfectly clear from the start. “And I’m sorry about the credit you spent; I’ll try to see you’re repaid, although you’ll have to give me some time because I’m flat broke right now…” She realized she was babbling. Now that the immediate danger of rape appeared to be over the cool blanket of ice had melted leaving her a bundle of nerves.

  “Calm down,” the blond man said, a little more gently. “My partner and I didn’t come here for sex.”

  “Y…you didn’t?” Sadie sank gratefully into the one chair in the room, which was bolted to the far wall. Really, the rooms were more like prison cells than pleasure cubicles, she thought. She cupped her elbows in her palms and crossed her legs tightly, covering herself as well as she could.

  “No. We’re after information and since you’re not a prostie maybe you can help us.” The dark-haired man looked at her hopefully. “I’m Detective Sergeant David Blakely and this here,” he pointed a thumb at the other man, “is Detective Sergeant Christian Holtstein. But he just goes by Holt. We’re a special unit assigned to Old Earth Vice to check into the prostie-borg racket.”

  “Tell her everything, why don’t you?” Holt muttered, giving the dark-haired detective a dirty look.

  “Hey, the lady needs a little reassurance, Holt. Quit bein’ such a sore-head just ’cause she got you with her tickler.” Blakely reached into the inner pocket of his black leather jacket and Sadie tensed but he shook his head. “’S all right, sweetheart, just goin’ for my badge,” he reassured her. He withdrew a worn leather wallet and tossed it to her. Sadie fumbled it at first but managed to catch it and flip open the leather. Inside was a dull, titanium badge with a small blue and green holo of Old Earth floating above it. On it were printed Blakely’s name and rank, Detective First Class.

  “Well.” Flipping the wallet closed she tossed it back. “It certainly looks genuine, although I’m sure you could fake that kind of thing.”

  “Great,” Holt muttered. “The lady’s a skeptic. You know who we are, so who are you?” he asked, a little frown on his full lips.

  “I’m undercover here,” Sadie evasively replied. If they really were cops they would probably be reluctant to deal with the press in any form.

  “Oh yeah, what agency?” Blakely looked genuinely interested.

  “None of your business. Just don’t blow my cover and I won’t blow yours.” She shivered and rubbed her palms over her bare arms. Did they really have to keep these cells so cold? Holt’s face was stony, but Blakely got a sympathetic look in his dark blue eyes. He removed his leather coat, revealing the butt of a deadly looking blaster hooked under his arm in a shoulder holster. Sadie wondered why he hadn’t drawn it earlier when she was threatening him with the tickler. Must not think I’m much of a threat. She frowned. Making sure the pockets were empty, the detective tossed the jacket across the room to her.

  “Here, kid. Warm up a little.”

  “Thank you.” It occurred to her to refuse the generous offer, but when she considered how cold she was and how much skin the mesh dress exposed, she decided the gesture wasn’t worth it. She slipped the oversized jacket around her shoulders and snuggled into the body heat still lingering from the dark-haired detective. The faint, comforting scent of sandalwood soap clung to the leather making her want to turn her face into the collar and deeply inhale. She restrained herself and settled more comfortably on the chair.

  “I’m collecting information about the prostie-borg industry, too.” She nodded at them. “I’ve been here two weeks and I was scheduled to ship out on the next ore transport but my Overlook-Me chip failed. That’s how you were able to see me during the line-up. I’ve got some inside information I’d be willing to share for the right price.”

  “What exactly would the price be?” Holt asked sourly. The dim overhead light glinted on his hair, changing it from silver to gold and back again.

  “I need a ride back to Io,” Sadie said coolly as though it was the simplest thing in the world. “As soon as possible, I might add. I don’t want to have to go through this…scenario again.” She gestured to the three of them sitting in the sordid little metal room and shuddered delicately.

  “Oh, just a ride back to Io. Hear that, Blake?” the blond detective snorted in derision.

  “Sure did,” the dark-haired man replied shortly. “Don’t want much, do ya, sweetheart?”

  “I am not your sweetheart.” She frowned as she snapped at them. “My name is Sadie Thomas, for your information.”

  “Well for your information, Sadie, we are not an interstellar taxi service,” Holt snapped back. “We’ve got a lot further to go before we’re done with this mess. Titan isn’t our last stop by a long shot.”

  “Why don’tcha call in your back-up?” Blakely asked more reasonably than his partner. “Can’t they get you home?”

  “I…I don’t have any back-up.” Her lips began to tremble. Resolutely she firmed her mouth. It wouldn’t do to show any weakness.

  “No back-up?” the blond-haired detective exploded. “What kind of agency sends in an agent without back-up?”

  “Well…I’m sort of freelance,” Sadie admitted. She sighed. “I’m with the Io Moon Times, all right?”

  “You’re a reporter?” Blakely groaned out loud. “Oh man, do I ever know how to pick ’em,” he muttered under his breath.

  “You said it, not me, partner,” Holt replied, rolling his eyes.

  “Yes, but I can help you.” Sadie leaned forward in the cold metal chair and tried to look them both in the eye at once. “It’s like you said, we’re on the same side. We both want to put an end to this kind of sexual servitude.” She gestured to the door, thinking of the thousands of prostie-borgs and the sick things they were forced to do on a daily basis. “Think of these poor prosties. Just because they’re grown in the flesh tanks and have synthetic brains doesn’t mean it’s right to enslave them, torture them—even kill them,” she said hotly, warming to the topic. “They feel pain the same way humans do.”

  “Ah…while I do agree with you, sweetheart, it’s not quite that simple.” The dark-haired detective sighed and ran a hand through his thick curls. “Ya see, some of these gals might be more human than you think.”

  “Blakely.” Holt gave him a warning look, the light blue eyes flashing. “She doesn’t need to know all that.”

  “Why not?” Dark blue eyes looked back at the blond man challengingly. “She said herself that she’s been livin’ here for the past two weeks. Maybe she can help us spot which prosties are synthetic and which are transplant. Besides, it’s not like the BRC can hush it up forever. It’ll be all over the news vids pretty soon.”

  “Transplant? As in illegal mind transplants? Black market brains? Mind rapes?” Sadie definitely smelled a story—a much bigger one than she had originally been after. There were always rumors about such things, but so far no one had been able to provide substantial evidence. “I thought the whole mind rape thing was just an urban legend,” She tipped her head to the side and raised her eyebrows with skepticism.