Slave Empire III - The Shrike (23 page)

“Where they’re
all untouchables.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve
been untouchable for...?”

“Fifty-eight
years.”

Rayne shook her
head. “No wonder...”

“I find it hard
to be touched, yes.”

“So it’s not
just because of what happened to you as a slave. That was the start
of it, but now it’s a part of who you are.”

“No.” Tarke
fiddled with the eye patch. “It’s a result of what happened to me
as a slave. Being untouchable just makes it easier.”

She jumped up
and walked away before turning to face him again. “Can you change
that, after all this time?”

Tarke sighed,
putting the eye patch on the table. “I don’t know.”

She returned to
sit beside him, her eyes roaming over his face. After a moment’s
hesitation, she ran her fingers down his cheek. “So if someone else
did this...”

“They would
already have a broken head.”

“So I have the
rare privilege of being able to touch an untouchable.”

“Yes.” He met
her gaze. “And I have the strange wish to be touched by you.”

“And I do so
want to touch you.”

Tarke took her
hand and clasped it to his cheek, closing his eyes. Rayne wound her
arms around his neck and hugged him with all her strength.

He chuckled.
“Okay, don’t strangle me.”

She clung to
him for as long as she dared, then released him and sat back. “Was
that so bad?”

“It’s only
bearable because it’s you. I am trying to get used to it,
though.”

“After what I
saw tonight, I think you’re doing very well.”

“A few
untouchables have been known to recover sufficiently to become
almost normal again, but they weren’t extreme cases.”

“And you’re an
extreme case?”

He nodded. “One
of the worst.”

She looked at
the scars on his wrists. “Those aren’t only from when you were a
fighter, are they?”

“No.” He rose
and headed for the bathroom, pulling off his jacket. “I’m going to
shower.”

Soon the hiss
of water came from the shower cubicle, and she thought about what
she had learnt, disliking it. After ten minutes, he emerged clad in
a robe, his hair damp. “Your turn.”

When she came
out of the bathroom, fifteen minutes later, Tarke sat on the sofa,
sipping a drink.

She said, “You
do realise there’s only one bed.”

“I’ll sleep on
the sofa. Or we could transfer to a ship.” Rayne looked away to
hide her disappointment, and he rose and approached her. “You must
accept things the way they are for now. Longing for more will only
bring you sorrow, and I don’t want to do that to you.”

“I wish I could
sleep with you all night, and wake up beside you in the
morning.”

He hesitated,
then inclined his head. “Perhaps we can do that.”

“I don’t want
you to use drugs.”

“No. Not drugs.
I asked my technicians to make something, and they did, although
I’ve been reluctant to try it. But now I will, if it will make you
happy.”

“What is
it?”

Tarke went over
to the table, dug in the box the slave collar had come in and took
out a wafer-thin silver oblong with tiny lights on it, holding it
out.

“It’s a neural
dampener; a sort of semi-sleep inducer. It will make me very
groggy.”

She examined
it. “When did you have this made?”

“When I woke up
with you beside me after the assassination attempt, it was
pleasant, and you obviously enjoyed it, too. It’s a simple matter
to dull my reactions like this, and then we can sleep
together.”

Rayne grinned.
“This is wonderful! Can we try it tonight?”

“If you
like.”

She gazed at
the silver instrument, biting her lip. “Won’t it remind you
of...?”

“Yes. I’ll get
used to it.”

“And you’ll get
used to me being with you, so this will only be temporary. Maybe it
will only take a few days.”

He shook his
head with a sad smile. “I think it might take a bit longer than
that, considering.”

“Right, of
course.” She grinned. “This is best thing you could ever have given
me.”

“Having a
groggy husband snoring beside you?”

“You don’t
snore. But yes, being able to sleep beside you.” She looked down at
the instrument again. “And this will relax you, won’t it?”

“That’s what
it’s designed to do, so yes, then you’ll be able to have your way
with me, for the most part.” He looked away. “That’s why I was
reluctant to try it. It’ll bring back memories. But perhaps it’s
time I faced them.”

“It’s time you
made some good ones.”

“Yes. It won’t
put me completely to sleep. If that was an option, I’d have used a
sleep inducer. They have to have timers, so I wake up. With this,
I’ll still wake up; it will just prevent me from lashing out if you
wake me.”

“Perfect.” She
bounced over to the bed. “Come on, let’s try it.”

Tarke followed,
looking a little reluctant, but she slid into the bed and pulled
back the covers, patting the sheet. Smiling at her enthusiasm, he
lay down beside her, and she placed the instrument on his brow. The
little lights flashed, then turned green, and his eyes grew dull
and sleepy.

“How does it
feel?” she asked.

“Kind of like
my head is stuffed with cotton wool.”

Rayne snuggled
up to him, causing only a slight ripple of tension to go through
him, and she rejoiced when he held her close and closed his eyes.
Finally she was able to share this most precious time with him, and
would wake beside him in the morning, safe and warm in his
arms.

Rayne marvelled
at how normal the pleasure park seemed. Although Rimon was a
semi-hostile world, it had a good atmosphere and pleasant weather.
Only its lack of water spoilt it, but deep boreholes tapped
underground rivers to irrigate the flora-formed inhabited areas. A
green expanse of lawn stretched away to borders of tall trees, and
flowerbeds encircled sparkling ponds. Children ran and played,
shrieking, while parents watched over them. Uniformed patrolmen
kept watch for miscreants, and young couples sat on benches or
strolled together in the greenery. Occasionally, an untouchable
wandered past. Most often they were women, sometimes in pairs or
groups.

Rayne had not
seen any sign of anyone paying for anything in all the time they
had been on Rimon. Patrons at the clubs and shops were given
anything they asked for. Perhaps they used cybernetic implants to
make financial transactions, as Atlanteans did, but she wondered
about that, since it was a weekday and so many people seemed to
have no jobs.

Tarke faced her
across the table of a
najab
house where they sat under an
umbrella outside, and she asked him, “How do people pay for stuff
here?”

“They don’t.
Everything is free on Rimon. Those who want to work do so, and
whatever they produce is distributed to the rest.”

“But… what
about things you need to buy from outside your territory?”

“There’s not
much of that. I have mines, farms, factories… everything. I also
charge slavers to cross my territory, and I rent out a few moons
and asteroids for mining. And I’m a thief, remember? I steal ships
from slavers and sell the cargo, unless it’s harmful drugs or
slaves, and I sell most of the ships, too. That’s what the Shadow
Wing does most of the time, and sometimes we raid slaver bases.
They share in the spoils.” He smiled. “We’re a big band of
bandits.”

“Pirates.”

He cocked his
head. “What’s the difference?”

“Well, pirates
sail ships, don’t they? They did on Earth, anyway. It sounds
better.”

“You’re trying
to romanticise me again.”

“I don’t have
to.” She giggled. “You even wear a patch sometimes. You just need a
wooden leg and a parrot.”

He smiled.
“You’ve lost me.”

“I know. Earth
joke.”

“I’ll have to
check that in my data files about Earth.”

She giggled
again, wondering what he would think of the crusty medieval seamen
who had once sailed Earth’s seven seas. “But why would people work
when they don’t have to?”

“They want to.
They do as much as they’re happy with.” He shrugged. “The factories
are automated and the farms are communal. The Shadow Wing could
support all my people if necessary, and they really enjoy their
work.”

A band of
pimply youths emerged from a throbbing music market, their skins
bright with tattoos and their hair stiff with coloured gel. They
hooted and cat-called at a passing
rasheer
, who made a rude
gesture at them. The youths followed her, jeering. Tarke watched
the boys with a narrowed eye. The youths moved closer to the
rasheer
, imitating her feminine walk and calling crude
remarks. Tarke tensed, and Rayne wondered how long he would be able
to stop himself intervening. Just then a
rashone
with a
two-thirds mark stepped out of the shadow of a wall and into the
boys’ path. Instantly their bravado evaporated and they sidled
away, sneering as soon as he turned his back.

Tarke relaxed
and faced her again. “That’s not allowed. Their parents are
supposed to teach them to respect ex-slaves. Perhaps I should make
it part of their schooling. This generation, I think, are the
children of freemen.”

“They’re just
boys.”

“They’re rude
and uncouth. I could have them resettled on a freeman colony.”

Her brows rose.
“How many of those do you have?”

“None.” He
grimaced. “I had no need of them before, but now my people are
breeding freemen. Perhaps one of the new planets should be
colonised by the freemen in Rimon society, which would make room on
this world. The freemen should learn what it is to struggle.”

“You hate
freemen, don’t you? Even if they’re not slavers.”

“They don’t
know how lucky they are. They take their freedom for granted, and
now they don’t even have respect. That sort of thing needs to be
stamped out quickly, before it takes root. I won’t have my people
abused further here. This is their refuge.”

The boys idled
beside a fence that bordered a shrubbery. She said, “They’re the
children and grandchildren of ex-slaves.”

“And their
grandparents would be angry if they saw them doing that.”

“They just need
to be educated. Perhaps one day they’ll push their luck too far and
get clobbered.”

Tarke snorted.
“If they don’t know the danger of touching an untouchable by now,
they soon will. But their verbal abuse is intolerable.”

“When was the
last time the Shrike visited Rimon?”

“Not for many
years.”

“Perhaps he
should.”

“What for?” he
enquired.

“To let the
people see him. He’s just a legend to most of them now, isn’t
he?”

“Not to the
mertaan
.”

“But to them he
is.” She nodded at the boys.

“I doubt it.
They’re freemen.” He frowned. “No, the best thing is to get rid of
them, and their parents. Those who offend, I think. Maybe the rest
will learn to behave rather than be shipped out. Their grandparents
won’t like it, but they wouldn’t want this kind of abuse to
continue, either.”

“That’s
harsh.”

“This world
belongs to ex-slaves. Freemen don’t belong on it. I must protect my
people.” He watched the boys, and she followed his gaze when it
sharpened.

A pair of women
in baggy grey shifts strolled towards the youths, who sneered and
nudged each other, sniggering. She sensed trouble brewing when the
women hesitated, glaring at the boys. They turned and walked away,
but the youths followed, hooting.

Tarke scowled,
and his nostrils flared, then he shot her a quick glance. “Wait
here.”

As she opened
her mouth to protest, he rose and wandered towards the group,
detouring around them to confront the
rasheer
. The women
stopped when he stepped in front of them, their eyes wide.

Tarke bowed,
and his words carried to Rayne. “Greetings,
Rasheer
.
Apologies for detaining you.”

They appeared
uncertain. “Greetings,
Rashone
. Why do you delay us?” one
asked.

“It appeared
that you were going that way, and now you go this way. Does
something trouble you?”

One woman
glared at the boys, who had stopped several paces away, and
fidgeted. “They do.”

“Ah.” Tarke
nodded. “Freemen scum. Walk the way you wish,
Rasheer
. This
is Rimon.”

“They spit,”
she snapped.

“Do they? Allow
me the honour of escorting you, then.”

“They will spit
at you too.”

“Not for
long.”

The women
glanced at each other, clearly nervous and a little suspicious,
but, after shooting a quick look at his mark, walked back towards
the youths. Tarke followed, his hands clasped behind his back. The
boys shuffled aside, casting Tarke dark glances, then one
apparently could not resist the temptation and spat in front of the
rasheer
. Tarke reached him in a few swift strides and
gripped his ear, twisting it until the boy wailed and bent over.
The Shrike forced the youth to his knees, and the rest retreated,
muttering.

“You will
apologise to the
rasheer
,” Tarke said.

“Let me
go!”

“When you
apologise.”

“Sorry!” the
boy cried.

“No. You will
beg their forgiveness, and show respect.”

The boy’s face
twisted. “I beg your forgiveness, honoured
Rasheer
.”

Tarke looked at
the women, who inclined their heads. Rayne had the impression that
they were
mertaan
, and timid ones at that, hence their
priestess garb. Nevertheless, Tarke released the youth and sent him
staggering away with a shove. His cronies gathered around him in a
scowling bunch. The
rasheer
hurried away, but now the
youths’ anger was focussed on Tarke, and, since he no longer had
one at his mercy, their bravado returned.