Lan’ara began to feel uneasy. What was going on? Where was Need? Why didn’t she hear him? The secretary’s part of the conversation was audible, at least.
“…very glad you lot are willing to see reason,” he was saying. “A tainted bride is no good to the Senator, of course.”
There was a low, rumbling reply that Lan’ara couldn’t make out.
“Yes, indeed,” the secretary replied. “And it was good of you to offer an extra two thousand credits on top of the forty to make up for the Senator’s trouble. We’re glad you stand behind your business decisions.”
The low rumbling again.
“Yes, quite,” the secretary said.
Lan’ara began to feel fear—a deep, coldness that started at the base of her spine and spread through the rest of her body like ice spreading on the surface of a freezing lake. This was bad, she somehow knew. If Need wasn’t out there, ready to take her back to The Dark Star, then who was?
She got her answer all too soon when the secretary finally flung open the door of the harem. It wasn’t Need, standing there beside him, all ready to take her away.
It was Drung.
Fifty-Two
“Can’t sleep?” Psoas asked, his head coming around the corner on his long, stretchy neck, which was followed shortly by the rest of him.
“Just not tired, that’s all,” Need muttered, pouring himself another shot of fireflower juice. He was sitting at the dining table alone and would just as soon keep it that way. He started to get up but the engineer said,
“Stay awhile, old friend. I won’t bother you—except to ask for a drop of whatever it is you’re drinking.”
“Get yourself a glass, then,” Need growled, resuming his seat.
“Sure.”
Psoas’s long arm stretched to the cup cabinet and secured a shot glass even as his tall, thin body seated itself across from Need.
“Hell of a Last Meal tonight,” he remarked, as Need poured him a shot of the fireflower juice.
Need had to agree. It had been Laxah’s turn to cook and, though she was usually a very competent chef, tonight it was almost as though she had been making a point.
Her bista-beans had been dry and crumbly and almost flavorless and the flugel bread that went with them was hard as a rock and burned on one side. Need—and probably everyone else at the table—hadn’t been able to help thinking about how Lan’ara had made this exact same meal for them just a few days before and how delicious and flavorful it had been.
Laxah still wasn’t speaking a word to him and Kreeva and Krax weren’t saying much either—though that was nothing new since the Duplo pilot mostly talked to his/herself. Even Captain Glo’ll had been silent and morose, shedding brown leaves and withered flowers all over the table as he remarked that he missed the sweet soil treats Lan’ara used to make him. Only Drung seemed to be in high spirits, spitting and spraying his food as he laughed to himself over some private joke and asked for seconds and thirds of the awful food.
Nobody but Laxah had come right out and accused Need of being a bastard for selling the girl to Senator Pouncenblast, but he was sure he could see it in all their eyes when they looked at him. He felt accused by the entire crew and in truth, he also felt guilty.
Now that he’d had a night and a day to cool off, Need was beginning to think he had been too hasty in selling her. But of course, it was too late now. She was doubtless living in opulent splendor in the fancy harem he’d caught a glimpse of in Senator Pouncenblast’s palace.
He tried to tell himself the girl would be happy there—it was, after all, the life she had been raised and trained for. But he couldn’t forget the way she’d thrown herself at his feet and begged him not to let her go…couldn’t forget her anguished cry of, “Need, I love you!”
The tears in her eyes when she clung to him and cried…the sight of her sweet face twisted in misery, just wouldn’t leave his mind.
“…did you sell her?”
Psoas’ voice dragged Need out of the bitter memory and he looked up with a start.
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked, why did you sell her?” Psoas held up a hand when Need glowered at him. “Hang on, old friend—I’m not accusing you. I’m just honestly curious. It seemed to me the two of you were getting on really well and Lan’ara seemed really happy here. So why did you send her away? Was it the credit? I know forty thousand is a lot…”
“It wasn’t the credit, Gods damn you,” Need growled, shaking his head. “It was…some things I found out about her. Things I didn’t know because I hadn’t read her file.”
“Oh, so you finally got it away from Drung and read it, then?” Psoas lifted an eyebrow.
“No,” Need said unwillingly. “Lan’ara snuck out and read it herself. She found it in Drung’s room when he was out visiting that Trollox whorehouse while we picked up the shipment of yarrow root.”
“Oh, so she told you what was in the file, then,” Psoas said.
“Well…no,” Need admitted. “It was Drung himself, actually. He smelled her scent in his room and she’d dropped the file and broken it, so he knew that she’d trespassed.”
“What in the universe did he say, then?” Psoas seemed honestly confused. “And how could you even have a coherent conversation with him? Talking to that big idiot is like speaking to a plasti-steel wall. It’s kind of sad how he’s got three heads and the smartest one is still so damn stupid.”
“You mean the middle head, right?” Need growled and Psoas nodded.
“Of course. The left head is a drooling idiot and the right just giggles at everything. Of course, you know what they say about Trollox—‘beware the venom of the silent head.’”
“Who says that?” Need demanded, frowning. “What does it even mean?”
Psoas shrugged, his whole long body rippling with the motion.
“It’s just a saying my people have—our planet isn’t too far from the Trollox home world, you know. It means that sometimes the silent head—or heads—of a Trollox is the one you have to watch out for. You think they’re these big, dumb brutes but every once in a while the head that doesn’t say much turns out to be a master manipulator. It’s said they can twist the truth to suit their own ends in a way that fools anyone.”
“It…was actually the left head that spoke to me,” Need said, speaking through numb lips. He was beginning to feel ill—had Drung’s left head manipulated him? Surely not. “It told me what was in Lan’ara’s file and when I asked her about it, she corroborated what it said,” he told Psoas.
“Did she, though?” Psoas raised an eyebrow. “I mean, what exactly did he accuse her of that she admitted to?”
“He said that she’d been injected with a kind of Lust Bacterium that made her, uh, juices addictive.” Need coughed in embarrassment. “And she admitted she had been.”
“I see.” Psoas nodded. “And did she also say that she had asked to be injected with this stuff?”
“Well…no,” Need admitted. “But Drung’s left head also pointed out that she’d been manipulating me emotionally—you know the way she always called me ‘My Lord’? She was stroking my ego—that kind of thing.”
“And what did Lan’ara say to that?” Psoas asked quietly.
“She said she was following her training,” Need snapped. “Training in how to manipulate.”
“You said she came from some fancy big academy where they specialized in training brides for high roller males, right?” Psoas said.
“Right.” Need nodded.
“Well then, don’t you think that kind of male would expect to have his ego stroked and his every wish catered to?” Psoas asked reasonably. “I mean, if they’re paying top dollar for a bride, they expect to get one that’s both beautiful and submissive. Most of those guys are assholes—they expect everybody to bow down and kiss their feet. Why would they expect any less from a bride they paid thousands of credits for?”
“Your point being?” Need growled.
&nbs
p; “My point being that of course she was trained to make a male feel important and special and keep him happy. It’s the only way the poor girl can survive, right? Because what happens if she doesn’t please the guy who buys her? He sells her or tosses her aside and then what happens to her?”
“Nothing good, I’m sure,” Need muttered. He was trying not to imagine what might happen to Lan’ara if Senator Pouncenblast didn’t like her for some reason. Also, his friend’s words were making him very uncomfortable.
“So if I understand you right,” Psoas said, “You took Drung’s word for all these things he said were bad about Lan’ara and because she admitted to some of what he said, you decided to get rid of her. And you never actually read this infamous file yourself.”
“No, I didn’t, Gods damn me,” Need muttered. “I was just so angry. I felt like she’d been manipulating me from the start!”
“Wouldn’t you try to manipulate someone if it was a matter of life or death?” Psoas asked pointedly.
“Well…” Need shifted uncomfortably. “Manipulation isn’t the way of a warrior,” he said at last.
“Sure.” Psoas shrugged, his long body rippling. “Because a warrior is big and strong and he can generally get whatever he wants when he wants it, without having to depend on anyone else. But what if you were smaller, physically weaker, and you were in the hands of that very same warrior? A warrior you hoped to get to protect you and not hurt you?”
“All right, Gods damn you—you’ve made your point,” Need growled. “I should have given it some thought before I sold her. But you know my past—how I lost my mate. And the whole time I had Lan’ara, I was fighting against feeling for her. When I thought she’d made me feel for her anyway, on purpose, I just…” He shook his head. “I just lost it.”
“Nobody can make you fall in love, Need,” Psoas said softly. “It’s something that just happens. It’s nobody’s fault.”
“Well…” Need sighed morosely. “It’s too late for regrets now. She’s the property of another male and she’s living in a big, beautiful, luxurious house.”
“I hope she’ll be happy there.” Psoas didn’t sound at all convinced. “Though I know I sure as hell wouldn’t be.”
Need frowned at him.
“How the hell are you so good at putting yourself in a female’s place, anyway?”
“Because my people spend half our lives male and half female,” Psoas explained. “Ah,” he went on, smiling at Need’s look of surprise. “Didn’t know that about me, did you? In my species, either you’re born male and become female around the age of twenty-five cycles or vice versa—you’re born female and become male. I’d already lived out the female part of my life before I became the engineer for The Dark Star and met you, old friend. I never told you because I thought you might look at me differently—like you are now.”
“I’m not offended or disgusted,” Need told him quickly. “Just surprised. I never would have thought…I mean, the way you visit whorehouses…”
“I only go to the ones where the sex workers are willing participants and make their own money without a pimp,” Psoas remarked, frowning. “A male has needs, after all. And it’s not like there are many of my kind around, so I make do.”
“I just—” Need began.
“Well, I guess we’ll be searching for a new Second Mate.”
They both looked up, surprised, as Captain Glo’ll entered the room. The Cytovian was looking rather worse for the wear lately, Need thought. Most of his leaves were brown and withered and he moved like an old man as he sat down at the head of the table, in his customary spot.
“What do you mean?” Psoas asked, frowning.
“I mean that Drung just gave me his notice.” Glo’ll frowned. “Didn’t he tell either of you on his way out?”
“Oh his way out? What are you talking about?” Need was getting a bad feeling in his gut, though he didn’t know why, exactly. It ought to be happy news that the disgusting Trollox was leaving. But somehow he didn’t feel relieved—only anxious.
“And why did he leave?” Psoas asked.
“Well, we got a call from Genu Six. I was going to answer it myself since Need was off duty, but Drung offered to do it. He said he was expecting a personal communication.” Glo’ll shrugged, his dry brown leaves rustling with the movement. “So I let him take it. The call took less than a minute but when he got off, he came and gave me his notice and asked for his share of the profits from the sale of the yarrow root.”
“That was a lot of money,” Psoas pointed out. “What was he planning to do with it?”
“I don’t know.” Glo’ll shook is head. “He just said something about taking time off to have an heir and then he cleaned out his room and left. Well…” He made a face and some thorns grew from his cheekbones. “When I say ‘cleaned’ I’m speaking figuratively. The place is a complete sty. I’m afraid I’ll have to hire a cleaning service the next time we make port. Serves me right for hiring a Trollox in the first place, I suppose.”
He went on in that vein, but Need hadn’t heard much of anything after the captain had said Drung was taking time off to have an heir.
“Did he say who he was having the heir with?” he demanded, turning to the Cytovian with anxiety twisting his gut. “And who was calling from Genu Six?”
“I’m afraid he didn’t—” Glo’ll started but Need was already up and running to the viewscreen. When he checked the call log, his gut fisted tight.
“Pouncenblast’s palace,” he muttered to himself. “Goddess damn it!”
Quickly he punched in the number and waited impatiently for someone to pick up. After what seemed like forever, the Senator’s secretary came on-screen. He frowned when he saw Need.
“What do you want?” he demanded rudely. “Our business is done now that we’ve paid you for the yarrow root and your colleague has taken back the tainted female you tried to sell us.”
Need thought he was going to be sick.
“Tainted female?” he asked hoarsely. “Are you talking about Lan’ara?”
The secretary made an irritated movement with one hand.
“If that was her name, yes I suppose.”
“But what do you mean she was tainted?” Need demanded.
“Look, I’ve already been over this with your colleague,” the secretary snapped. “She had already formed her bond with another male—you presumably. Which meant that when the Senator tried to breed her, she threw up all over him.”
“She what? But I never bonded her to me!” Need protested.
“You might not have thought so but she had formed the bond—the one that all graduates of the Twyleth Tigg Academy form with the first male who touches them intimately.” The secretary rolled his bulging eyes impatiently. “How she managed to pass our virginity verification test, I’ll never know!”
“So she’s gone? Who came and got her? Was it Drung?” Need demanded.
“Need, look at this.”
It was Psoas, standing right behind him. He was holding the cracked file in one hand. But to Need’s surprise, it was functioning.
“Drung said that was broken,” he said, frowning.
“Apparently he lied. Look what it says.” Psoas pointed at the cracked screen with one long, bendy finger.
“That’s right—you need never worry about your Twyleth Tigg bride cheating on you because the touch of another male’s hand upon her skin will trigger an attack of nausea so strong, she will eject the contents of her stomach upon him the moment he attempts to violate her. Rest assured, that your Twyleth Tigg bride is only for YOU and you alone,” Need read. He had to read it twice before the full meaning registered.
“Oh Gods damn me to all the Seven Hells!” he groaned. “I did bond her to me—even if it wasn’t the way we Kindred think of bonding!”
“Hello? Are you listening to me or should I hang up?” demanded the voice of the secretary from the viewscreen.
“What?” Need focused on the fish-faced
man again. “What did you say? Who came and got her?”
“Your Trollox colleague,” the secretary said impatiently. “He even paid an extra two thousand credits to reimburse the Senator for having sold him a tainted bride. Well, technically you sold her to us,” he added, glaring at Need. “But the Senator isn’t angry, since he got his money back and got the girl off his hands.”
“You sold her to Drung?” Need gripped the sides of the viewscreen, feeling like he wanted to rip the damn thing out of the wall and smash it. “You gave an innocent female to a Goddess-damned Trollox?”
“I thought he was very well-spoken for one of his kind,” the secretary sniffed. “The left head was, anyway. The other two, I wasn’t so sure about.” He shrugged.
That Goddess damned left head again! Need felt like he was going to explode. First it fools me into thinking Lan’ara was a manipulative little bitch and now it talks this idiot of a secretary into selling her to Drung!
“Where did he take her?” he asked, holding onto his temper with both hands. “Tell me now—where did he go?”
“I really don’t know,” the secretary said airily. “He said something about finding a nice private place on Genu Six to settle down, but that could be any one of the little islands we have in the archipelago. So many of them are uninhabited or only sparsely inhabited, you know. The natural beauty of Genu Six—”
But Need slapped the end button, causing the viewscreen to go black.
“Goddess,” he groaned, putting his head in his hands. “He’s got her—Drung’s got Lan’ara and I have no fucking clue where he’s taken her!”
“But the file says she’ll get sick on any male who tries to, er, have his way with her,” Psoas pointed out.
Need rounded on him.
“You think Drung is going to give a flying fuck about that?” he growled. “The male’s a pig—you’ve seen his room and the way he eats. He won’t give a damn if she throws up on him while he’s raping her!”
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