Slave Empire - Prophecy (22 page)

Rayne sat
numbly, disturbed and dismayed by what she had witnessed. The scene
had displayed the Shrike’s cruelty and dashed her supposition that
he was a gentle man. Whatever the slave had been begging for,
freedom or life, he had not granted it. Her naive notion that he
might be good man, even if he was a slaver, was reduced to ashes,
and just as well, she thought. His gentle treatment of her was
doubtless an oddity, perhaps to win her co-operation in his bid to
sell her at a profit.

Certainly
prospective buyers would pay more for a tame, sweet-tempered slave
than a frightened, defiant hell cat. Now she longed to rip off the
traitorous dress, but the prospect of being sold in the nude, as he
had threatened, prevented her. Not only would it be cold, but
nothing was more humiliating than being naked when others were
clad.

A perceptible
reduction in gravity told her that they had left the planet and
were on their way to the ship. Within minutes, the shuttle door
opened and her guards led her into a smooth room. From there, they
took her to a small, but comfortable room, and left her alone. She
paced its confines for a while, then settled down to wait. When the
door opened again, the same guards escorted her back down the short
corridor to the shuttle bay. They led her to a circular sheet of
shiny metal, made her stand in the middle of it, and stepped
back.

The golden
shimmer of an energy shell engulfed her, and when it dispersed, she
gazed around at her bizarre surroundings with a twinge of fear. She
stood within a glass cube at the centre of a vast dark room.
Spotlights shone down on her, trapping her in a pool of light and
making the rest of the room darker. She peered into the gloom,
shading her eyes against the glare, and made out an approaching
shape.

Its alien form
became clear as it approached the light, and she swallowed bile.
The creature stood on a single rippling foot, like a snail's, its
skin a mottled grey and green, a metallic robe hiding its middle
portion. From the top of the robe, a sinuous neck protruded, topped
with a round head with a parrot-like beak and four antennae tipped
with tiny, intensely blue eyes.

It did not
appear to have arms, and stopped close to the glass to study her
with two eyes. Apparently satisfied, it turned as another alien
approached, this one a humanoid with slate-grey skin and tusks
protruding from an undershot jaw. He stopped beside the first alien
and examined her with close-set dark eyes above a flattened nose
and a wattled neck. His garb matched his skin almost exactly,
giving him the rather revolting appearance of being naked. He
possessed disproportionately large hands and feet, and claw-tipped
fingers.

The second
alien walked around her glass box, his eyes roving over her with
what she interpreted as a greedy glint. He spoke to the first alien
in a gargling language, and she concentrated on placing their
species. The first had to be a Rentarian, a race that had left its
swampy home world centuries ago and made their homes now on other
worlds. The second appeared to be a Mar'Ashan, native to a hot,
humid world colonised by a hostile, but advanced race that had
raised them up to a civilised level, then died out from a
mysterious disease.

Many blamed
the Mar'Ashan for the demise of the warlike Agrebe people, but few
considered it a punishable offense, since it could be seen as an
act of self-defence, for the Mar'Ashan had been the Agrebe's
slaves. The Mar'Ashan had taken over the Agrebe's technology, but
lacked the intelligence to add to it, and some thought their
society was slipping back into savagery as the machines broke down
and no one could fix them. Fortunately for them, the Mar'Ashan's
home world was rich in rare, valuable minerals, which allowed them
to purchase new machines and hire technicians.

Slaves, too,
Rayne thought as she watched her prospective buyer sizing her up.
He gargled to the Rentarian again, then made a peculiar gesture and
pulled what looked like a communications device from his pocket,
tapping buttons. The Rentarian gargled back, weaving its neck, and
turned away. As it slithered off, she glimpsed movement in the
darkness, the faintest hint of something there, and her eyes were
jerked towards it. The Mar'Ashan studied his device, frowning.
Rayne gasped as a familiar figure stepped into the light and
stopped. The Mar'Ashan became aware of the Shrike and swung around,
his jaw dropping.

"You!" he said
in Atlantean.

"Hello,
Jamdar. Welcome to my trap," the Shrike spoke in a soft, dangerous
tone.

Jamdar glanced
around, but the Rentarian had vanished into the gloom. "Urquat
helped you? He betrayed me?"

"I would have
thought that was obvious, but then, you Mar'Ashan aren't very
bright, are you?"

Jamdar held up
his hands, one of which still clutched the device. "I want no
trouble with you, Shrike. If you want the female, take her. I'll
cancel the sale."

"No deal,
Jamdar. This is my trap, and she's my bait. Haven't you even
figured that out? You've been surprisingly difficult to corner, but
then, you don't have to be clever to be cunning. Now you're outside
your territory, with nowhere to run."

"This isn't
your territory either! You're breaking the laws!"

"Laws!” Tarke
snorted. “There are no laws in outlaw territory. That’s what
‘outlaw’ means, you stupid shit. Just because you and a few other
idiots have come up with some rules, you think everyone abides by
them? Even your cronies don’t, and who will you tell, once you're
dead?"

"You can't do
this!"

"Sue me."

Jamdar dropped
the communications device and reached for the sleek weapon clipped
to his belt. A flash of laser light illuminated the room and
pierced his chest with a vicious buzz. It seemed to originate from
thin air, but then Tarke lowered his arm and returned his weapon to
his belt, studying his fallen foe. The Mar'Ashan had a neat hole
burnt through the right side of his chest, and purple blood oozed
from the wound as his skin turned white and started to flake off.
Rayne swung away, fighting a wave of dizziness and nausea.

Urquat emerged
from the gloom on his rippling foot. Two of his eyes examined the
corpse, while the other two turned to Tarke. Urquat pulled a
cone-shaped crystal from his robe with a thin, vine-like tentacle
and held it to the side of his head. A halting, hollow voice spoke
Atlantean in a nasal whine.

"A
satisfactory outcome, although I might have profited more from your
demise, Grey Shrike."

"You know you
wouldn't, Urquat."

"I curse your
ships. You have far too many of them. I'll still buy as many as
you'll sell."

"No deal.
Build your own."

"Well, in that
case, kindly clean up this mess and get off my station. I've done
my part, and I didn't like it. Now you do yours and make sure his
death can't be blamed on me."

The Shrike
said, "His body will be found on Trystate, with witnesses to swear
that he was killed in a drunken brawl. His crew stole his ship, and
will never be heard from again."

"You'll kill
them all?"

"No, I have a
buyer looking for a dozen Mar'Ashan males, one who doesn't listen
to their stories."

Urquat turned
all four eyes on Rayne, who leant against the glass, wondering if
she was going to be able to prevent herself from vomiting.

"I'll buy the
girl, if you're still interested in selling her."

"I have other
plans for her."

Urquat lowered
the crystal cone, turned and slithered off. Tarke approached the
glass cube and touched a pane, which swung outwards. He held out a
hand, but she shied away from it, stepping around him as if he had
developed a bad smell. He ignored her rejection and gripped her
arm, guiding her over to the Mar'Ashan's body. An energy shell
engulfed all three of them before she could protest, and dispersed
to reveal the interior of the shuttle bay. Tarke led her away as
several of his men moved towards the corpse. Clearly they had their
orders, and his part in the process was over, so nothing remained
but to relax.

Rayne yanked
her arm free as they entered the cream and blue suite in which they
had travelled from Gergonia. Shivering, she rubbed her arms to try
to stop the unwelcome trembling that had invaded her. She had just
seen a man, albeit an alien and a slaver, murdered in cold blood,
and his murderer stood behind her. The horror of the situation
chilled her, and her churning stomach would not settle down. She
jumped when a gloved hand touched her arm, swinging around to find
Tarke offering her a glass of something pale pink and fizzy. He
pressed it into her shaking hands, and she was unable to resist
when he pushed her into a chair and sat beside her. The strong
alcohol burnt her throat, and she coughed, her shivers increasing.
She was horribly aware of him beside her, this man she had thought
gentle, who was in fact a monster.

The Shrike
stood up, removed his coat and settled it around her shoulders,
enveloping her in the lingering warmth and a slight masculine
scent. She shuddered, longing to throw it off, and clutched the
glass, staring into its pink depths. The silence grew tense, and
when he sank back down with a sigh, it seemed loud.

"You're angry
with me now, is that it? Not scared, surely?"

"Why not?" she
bit out through tight lips. "Don't you have to get rid of the
witness too?"

"No. Tell
anyone you want that I killed Jamdar. No one will believe you,
because his body will be found on a distant planet, with a dozen
eye witnesses to swear that he was killed in a drunken brawl.
Didn't you hear me tell Urquat?"

She nodded,
scowling at her drink. "I should be angry, I suppose, if I'm as
safe as you say. I'm more disgusted and shocked, I guess."

"What, you
didn't expect that from me? I suppose I should be flattered, but
actually I'm disappointed by your lack of judgement."

"That makes
two of us. I'm disappointed by your lack of moral character."

"Ah. Now we
come to the crux of the matter." He rose and went to pour himself
another drink. "You had started to imagine I'm some sort of outlaw
prince, a sort of Robin Hood, to refer to your Earth legends, which
I've been studying, by the way."

Rayne looked
up at him, startled. Without the coat, he was more slender than she
had thought, and her eyes flicked over him. The coat lent him bulk
and breadth he did not possess, although he still cut a powerful
figure. She revised her previous opinion. He was not as broad or
muscular as Rawn, but possessed a more graceful build. She lowered
her eyes, realising that she was staring, and sensed his amusement
at her scrutiny. He wandered back and settled beside her again.

"In case
you're wondering, your expressions are as easy to read as a space
line screen." His soft voice mocked her, increasing her ire.

"You're
certainly no Robin Hood," she gritted. "Just a damned slaver and a
murderer."

"And a thief,
don't forget."

"What are you
going to do with me now?"

He shrugged.
"You've served your purpose, so now I'll really sell you, I
suppose. I'll tell Tallyn where to find you, to get him off my
trail, as I had planned."

"You
bastard."

"You should be
grateful. You get to go home."

"Only because
Tallyn's looking for me. He's the one who deserves my
gratitude."

He cocked his
head, the mask glittering. "True. Good old Tallyn, guardian of the
Golden Child, defender of the weak and enemy of the wicked. He
might not be so zealous when you've served your purpose."

"I still have
my brother." She remembered her abduction with a grimace. "If he's
still alive."

He sipped his
drink, and she jumped up, shrugging off the coat. "Why did you kill
him?"

"Jamdar? He
was a rival slaver, and a slimy bastard. Slavers kill each other
all the time. It's how we stay in business. Kill or be killed, and
grab as much of what the other guy's got as you can."

Rayne put down
her drink, her stomach still in a tight, queasy knot. A strong
sense of betrayal filled her, and she did not understand why she
was so upset. With herself and him, not because she had misjudged
him, but because he had deceived her, and she had not realised it.
Mindra had said that she was able to sense people's moods and
emotions as well as when they were lying, yet she had been
convinced that he had been himself before, and now she knew it had
been an act. His gentleness and wry generosity had been the façade
she had dreaded, and her pain at his deception ran so deep it
sickened her. A touch on her arm made her start, and she swung
around to find him standing beside her again.

"You look ill.
Perhaps you should lie down."

Rayne glared
at the mask, longing to rip it off and look into his eyes, to see
the truth in them, where he could not hide it. How could a
cold-blooded killer be kind and considerate, his soft voice filled
with concern? She moved out of his reach.

"I'd like to
be left alone, if you don't mind. In fact, I'd rather not see you
again."

He sighed,
putting his drink down. "All right."

Rayne listened
to his footsteps leave the room, and the swish of the door closing
behind him, then sank down on the chair, covered her face, and
wept.

Chapter Thirteen

Tallyn glared at his second-in-command with glinting black
eyes as he stood over Marcon's console. "It's moved?
Now
it's moved? We're a
few light minutes from one of the Shrike's fortified bases, and now
you tell me the signal's moved?"

"Yes, sir,"
Marcon said, unfazed by his commander's ire.