“Roi,” [Keishala] said, “it can’t be that bad. You’ve only been gone for a month. And Zhaim’s competent enough, even if you don’t like him.”

Emeraude, twenty years younger than Keishala, unwound her bitter-chocolate body from the exercise bars and pulled loose the scarf that had held her beige hair. “What happened?” she asked.

“Zhaim ‘solved’ the problem of Horizon’s not paying its dues by authorizing one of the big slaving companies to collect them—in people.”

I’d really appreciate comments on this.

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