Temperature 28 ° C, humidity 30% , atmospheric saturation 25%, solar wind speeds 45 terranotts.

"Mmm windy for traveling. Thank you, Reflector." Macbeth fiddled with her ties, smoothing the knots at her neck. Looking professional for the trade market was vital. As a representative of Pembrook Farm, her attire would draw merchants from surrounding territories looking for a respectable trader. Her gender would catch the eye of free merchants from nearby planets.

"Mac! By Vostros' Rings, are you finished?" Horatio stood at the door, splotches of grease from fingertips to elbows. Macbeth stared at her brother in the mirror, appalled by his coating of grime.

"You were supposed to come with me today!" She snapped, running her fingers through dark blond hair. "Reflection off." The mirror reverted to the window, overlooking the western vegetable crops.

Horatio shrugged. "One of the engines blew. I had to fix it to carry your pristine self to market."

She pinched her nose, a migraine born of irritation rooting in the back of her skull. "Paris was supposed to fix that days ago."

"Aw, Mac, ease off, he did. The bloody thing is just old." Her brother rolled a shoulder, gesturing to her outfit. "You look good today. Sell enough crops, maybe we can convince the old man to squeeze out enough trics for a new one."

"And chickens bark." Macbeth slipped on her long coat.

Horatio grinned at her. "I hear they can do that in New Tokyo."

She snorted, giving him a shove on her way out the door and immediately wheeled back, narrowly dodging the herd of Horatio's brats as they flew by.

"Slow down before you knock someone over!" Their father shouted after their retreating giggles.

Macbeth ignored them, emerging into the general chaos of Pembrook Farm. Her father's voice carried over the hum of machinery, arguing with one of the many farm hands. Heading in that direction, she spotted her brother, Paris, leaning against a fence to watch the spectacle. Like Horatio, he was covered in grease. Noticing her, he nodded.

"Portia went to pry Ariel off whichever lady stable hand he's 'fallen' on now." Paris winked. Macbeth sighed. Ariel was the second eldest, and a complete womanizer, working his way through female staff with the voracity of a Pathosian in his prime.

Despite his unsavory reputation, Ariel did have a salesmen's charm and a knack for making deals that were a necessary advantage, provided Macbeth could keep him from chasing down female company long enough to do so. Fresh shouting silenced her father. The group turned, bursting into laughter at the sight of Portia dragging a half dressed Ariel by the ear from the stables.

Her father laid a hand on the farmhand's shoulder. She narrowed her eyes at the gesture, one he used whenever he postponed an argument he didn't want his children to hear. Usually it concerned the dire financial situation of their farm. As if his grown children didn't notice how much the farm struggled. She huffed a breath through her nostrils, marching over to the flailing Ariel.

Shooing Portia off, she dragged him upright, straightening his clothes as she scolded him.

"I need you on point today. You know it's been tight around here for three seasons now, so do us a favor and keep your pants firmly fastened until we get back." She finished with a final yank on his ties. Ariel rolled his eyes, rubbing his abused ear.

"You're no fun at all, Mac." He smirked. The female staff called that smile the 'knicker twister'.

"True enough." She shoved him towards the transport as her father came up behind her. He gave her a hug around her shoulders, smoothing her hair.

"I know you'll keep a firm eye on him. Today's important. Try to move as much stock as you can. Wholesale if you have to, but we need--"

"I know Da, I know." Macbeth placed a hand on his weathered cheek. "Ariel and I can do this. You know we always find a way."

Climbing into the transport, she glared at her brother who blew kisses to the shy stable hand peeking her face around the side of the building.

"My brother's a whore." Macbeth muttered, starting the engines with practiced movements. Ariel leaned back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face.

"It was worth a dive between those sweet--"

"Gah! Enough, enough. I really don't need those images in my head, thank you."

He fell silent. Macbeth entered the coordinates in the transport computer, impressed her brothers got the old clunker running so smooth. In minutes, Pembrook Farm retreated into the distance. Ariel had a leg jigging up and down by the time she finished setting up the auto drive.

"Are you done fiddling yet?"

"Patience is a virtue." She set up the proximity alert. There were rumors of raiding parties from the dregs of New Amsterdam. Though trouble out this far was rare, it was foolish not to be cautious.

"Pfft, from which data chip did you pull that gem?"

"Don't pick on my library."

Ariel leaned forward, drumming the back of her seat. "My dear sister, when am I going to catch you with a handsome farmhand.?"

Sneering in disdain, Macbeth grabbed a data pad and headed toward the hold to recount their inventory. To her great annoyance, Ariel bounced along after her, determined to gossip like a Fey noblewoman.

"Someone should really stay up front to keep an eye on things."

"Oh please, this is our bonding time!" Ariel waved a hand toward the front. "Besides you set up all that gadgetry, nothing to do but stare at the passing fields." Ariel perched on a parcel of grains, crossing his legs, propping a hand under his chin.

"You know, even our little Portia's snagged herself a big handsome lad and squeezed out a couple of brats. She's what, five years younger than you?"

"If I wanted to discuss my lack of love life, you are the last person I would do so with." She ignored her brother's appraising stare. His eyes followed her, causing a twitch in her shoulders. "What!"

"I worry about you, Mac. You might not talk to me, but you don't talk to anyone else either. All that time in your room, buried in data chips. You're not hideous, so what's dragging you down?"

She slammed down the pad, turning on him. "Determined as you are to have a heart to heart, I'm not a miserable spinster, Ariel. I simply have higher aspirations than being a matron of Pembrook Farm."

Ariel raised a brow. "Planning to run off to New Tokyo to be a doctor?"

"Please, like I would aim so low." Macbeth snatched up her data pad, heading for the far end of the room, as far as she could get from nosy siblings. Her brother looked amused.

"You have stars in your eyes, girl."

"Attempting poetry again?" She concentrated on the movement of her fingers, tapping the screen.

"No, I'm saying--." Alarms blasted through the ship. The siblings looked at each other before scrambling for the front of the transport.

Macbeth beat him there, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

"What is it?" Ariel yelled over the blaring alarm.

"Proximity alert, but there's nothing out there!"

He grabbed her, eyes wide. "Above."

"Nisseri!" She gasped.

The transport blew apart.

Fire and jagged metal surrounded her. Smoke filled her mouth. Warmth dripped down her face, across her neck. Ariel screamed her name, but she could barely hear him over the high pitched ringing in her ears.

Then, nothing.

Light stabbed at her eyelids. She woke to a nightmare. Blurred faces loomed around her. Faces, but not faces, parts of faces, pieced together. One figure reached out, prodding her scalp. Pain shot from her head to her stomach. Bile rose in her throat.

"Easy, human." A voice spoke near her right ear. She heard nothing but ringing in her left. Something pinched her neck, coolness seeped through her veins. The nausea and pain ebbed. The two figures standing over her went in and out of focus. Distant conversation reached her good ear. They chattered in unispeak, the trade language off world merchants spoke, one Macbeth learned as a child.

"These extractions are a mess. We'll be fortunate to salvage this one for parts."

"Don't you dare. You're just eyeing those strong legs. Snicket gave the order, patch'em and batch'em."

A metal collar snapped around her neck, releasing a small electric jolt through her. She jerked, feeling the restraints on her wrists and waist, but not her legs. She couldn't feel her legs at all.

Adrenaline surged through her system. Macbeth thrashed against her bonds, her vision coming into sharp focus.

A Nisseri flesh shop. Body parts hung, suspended in containers of preservation gel. People moaned and struggled on tables around her. There were no screams, but the Nisseri did not leave donors awake. Her gaze darted, searching for her brother, but she couldn't see the table occupants. One of the Nisseri shoved it's face into hers.

"Awake this one, good stamina. She'll sell high."

Macbeth stilled. Sell? Slavery was illegal in even the seediest territories of New Earth 6, but not on all worlds in this system. These two were biomechanics, Nisseri medics, not salvagers.

"Where are you taking me?" She asked in unispeak. Her throat burnt by smoke, her voice hoarse. The taller one, the one who discouraged the other from salvaging her, raised it's brow. Macbeth realized it was a woman.

"You must be a merchant to know unispeak." The Nisseri said, returning to her work. Her hands hovered at the corner of Macbeath's vision, by her left ear. "A merchant would already know the destination."

Macbeth felt a tugging sensation. The Nisseri pulled back with a large chunk of bloody shrapnel, dropping it in a silver bucket. Another surge of nausea made her gulp air, glancing down at the shorter Nisseri. She immediately wished she hadn't

This one was reattaching her leg.

"I-I--," A shiver started in the base of her spine. The female laid a hand on her forehead. Macbeth couldn't read the expression on her patchwork face.

"You are for market, not salvage, human. Kit and I must make you functional."

Kit continued sealing her leg back to her body; the laser tipped instrument filled her nose with the smell of her own burning flesh. It sent her over the edge. She vomited.

The Nisseri woman was ready for it, catching the bile neatly in the silver shrapnel bucket. Kit didn't even take his eyes off his task. "She yarked. You owe me five trics, Laze."

Laze rolled an eye. Her other was a biomechanical implant that spun to focus on Macbeth. She tapped the girl's forehead. "I still think this one is strong." Her eye whirled around. "I'm going to activate the implant now, human."

The Nisseri reached in, snapping something into place. Pain vibrated through Macbeth's sinuses, a hard pinch. The sensation made her eyes water. Her ringing left ear came alive, sounds pouring in. She grit her teeth through the onslaught of noise. Laze continued to tug and prod until the noise leveled out.

"There. Can you hear this human?"

She nodded, trying to breathe.

"Do you understand my speech now?"

Eyes wide, Macbeth frowned at the echo in Laze's voice. Two languages at once.

"What did you do to me?"

Laze grinned, revealing two rows of tiny triangular teeth, likely harvested from some unlucky Barlok. "No worries, human, just a small bio implant. Metal bits did too much damage for a simple seal up."

Kit finished, hoisting himself up on two mechanical legs, which screeched at the knees joints. "A ready made translator brings in a higher price." He left them, heading for another table. Macbeth turned away when she saw the occupant's arms lay beside it.

"Laze?" Her raw voice was quiet. "Suppose I wasn't a merchant class. Where am I going?"

The Nisseri blinked at her, peaking over her shoulder before bringing her mouth to Macbeth's ear .

"The Pathosian slave market of Anaon, human. To Hell."