Never mind that, now, Lan’ara told herself. You have it—you have your weapon.
Yes, she did. And she was going to use it—one way or another.
But let’s be honest, Lan’ara, whispered a little voice in her head. You can’t kill a nine-foot-tall Trollox with a two-inch-long razor blade—there’s just no way. The idea of using it as a weapon is ridiculous.
She picked it up and held it in her hand. It blinked like a little sliver of light—the sliver you see through a crack from a mostly closed door. And Lan’ara understood that, while it couldn’t be a weapon, it could be that for her—it could be a door. A way out of this situation once and for all.
She put the sharp tip to her wrist, poised over the blue bracelet of veins on the tender underside of her arm. Just a few swift moves—that was all it would take. Just a few painless slices and it would be all over.
“Wait, daughter,” a voice whispered in her ear. “Do not despair—not yet.”
Lan’ara jumped and nearly dropped the blade. Where had that voice come from? She didn’t know but instead of slicing her wrists, she tucked the sharp little blade into the tiny side pocket of her dress. There—now she knew where it was if she wanted to use it. Maybe she could use it as a weapon, after all. Maybe she could slash Drung’s throats—all three of them—if only she could get the chance.
As if thinking of him had called the huge Trollox, she suddenly heard him bellow for her.
“Girlie!” A heavy fist was hammering on the door. “Girlie, come out of there! You’ve had enough time to clean up, so you have!”
“All right,” Lan’ara called back, her heart pounding in her throat. “All right, give me one more minute. I’m almost done.”
“No more moments!” Drung roared. And with a crash, the door shattered inward.
Lan’ara gasped and backed away from the huge Trollox, but he had already lunged forward and grabbed her.
“You’re coming with me, so you are,” he snarled, dragging her into the bedroom. “It’s breeding time, girlie!”
Before she knew it, Lan’ara found herself sprawled on her back on the sagging bed with the Trollox pawing between her legs.
“Stop!” she begged, trying to roll away even as she gagged at his touch. “I can’t do this—can’t take your equipment! I thought you had to…had to use your, uh, spreaders on me first!”
The image of the Trollox periodical which had showed the miserable girl with a huge metal spreader shoved between her thighs flashed before her mind’s eye. It was awful to think about, but still better than having the Trollox’s shaft inside her.
But Drung was shaking his head.
“Nah, girlie,” he snarled, grinning fiercely at her. “If you’re able to take the Kindred’s shaft, you’re able to take mine, so you are!”
And then he was pushing up her dress and pulling a long, dirty shaft out of his trousers.
It looked like a thick, filthy fungus stalk to Lan’ara. It was gray—though if that was the actual color of the Trollox’s skin there, or if it was simply disgustingly dirty, she couldn’t tell. A ripe, cheesy odor accompanied its appearance, making her stomach roll with disgust.
“No!” she gasped as he took it in his hand and tried to shove it between her legs. “No, no!”
Then, suddenly, another face appeared above the three Trollox faces leering down at her. A familiar face with wild, bronze eyes.
It was Need and he had something in his hands—something long and silvery-green which was twisted around both fists to form a kind of garrotte.
With one swift move, he threw the silver-green garrotte around Drung’s middle neck and began to pull it tight.
Fifty-Six
The Trollox fought him from the first.
“Get the fuck OFF!” Drung roared with all three heads and bucked, nearly throwing him off as Need pulled the sword-grass tight around his dirty throat.
Need held on grimly and refused to be dislodged. He could see Lan’ara’s wide, frightened eyes staring up at him and he was determined to save her or die trying, just as he had promised the Goddess.
The sharp grass cut into his hands, making them slick with blood. But he had the long strand wound firmly many times around his palms, making certain it couldn’t slip. He barely noticed the pain and anyway, it was just part of the price he had to pay, he told himself. The price to rescue the woman he loved—the woman he no longer deserved.
Drung reached for him with both long arms, but Trollox—while huge—weren’t built for flexibility. Though he made snatching grabs at the assailant on his back, he couldn’t get hold of Need, who dodged this way and that, while doggedly hanging on to the ends of the sword-grass garrotte.
At last he felt the thick skin of the middle throat begin to give way. Great, oozing droplets of tar-black blood began to rain down on Lan’ara, who shrieked in fear and disgust and turned her head from side to side frantically.
Taking a deep breath, Need reared back, pulling at the garrotte with all his might. Drung reared back with him, his thick spine bowing in response to the pain and pressure on his primary windpipe.
“Get out,” Need rasped, jerking his head at the girl. “Get away now—while I’ve got him!”
Kicking and struggling, she managed to scramble out from underneath the Trollox’s bulk. She rolled off the bed and onto the floor just as the sword-grass garrotte did its work and sliced completely through the middle neck at last in one final stroke.
The ugly head, its jaws still working, its eyes still blinking, toppled down onto the dirty mattress where Lan’ara had been just a moment before.
The other two heads bellowed and snapped at Need, but the damage was done. Black blood pumped in gouts over the pillows and soaked the sagging bed. Slowly, the light died from first the eyes of the right head…and then the eyes of the left.
But before the left head completely expired, it turned to look at Need. The drooling idiot was gone, replaced by the cunning intelligence which had fooled him so easily earlier.
“Not mine, Kindred,” it said, black blood burbling at its thin lips. “She’s not mine but she’ll not be yours again, either. Never again.”
Then gave an evil laugh which ended in a choked gurgle and went limp.
The whole huge body shook once—a spasm so fierce it rocked the entire bed—and then Drung’s carcass sagged into death and the Trollox was no more.
Fifty-Seven
Need scrambled off the broad back, wincing as he unwound the sharp sword-grass from around his stiff fists. The makeshift garrotte had cut deeply into the meat of his palms and there were long streaks of crimson down both of his wrists and forearms.
It didn’t matter though—he would heal, he told himself. Right now, he was more worried about Lan’ara.
“It’s all right,” he said to her. She was crouched in the corner, her eyes wide and wild. “It’s all right now, sweetheart—he’s gone now. He’s dead.”
And he held out a hand and took a step towards her.
But to his surprise, something silver flashed in her fingers and she glared at him.
“Get back!” she snapped in a trembling voice. “Get back, Need—I mean it!”
“Sweetheart? Lan’ara?” He looked at her uncertainly.
“Oh, so now I’m your ‘sweetheart’ again, am I?” she demanded. “Why did you come, Need? To sell me again, to someone else? I don’t think so!”
The silver thing in her hand was a blade, he realized with horror—a sharp, silver razor blade which she was now holding against her own throat.
“I’ll die,” she said evenly, looking him straight in the eyes. “I’ll die before I’m owned by any man ever again! I swore that if I got out of this, my life would be my own and I would never bow and scrape and beg any man for anything for the rest of my days!”
“That’s completely understandable.” Need strove to keep his voice steady but he was filled with horror. Was she really prepared to kill herself, just to get away from him?
“You don’t understand anything!” Her gold-flecked eyes flashed and he thought that he had never seen her look so wild or so beautiful. Here was the true personality she’d been hiding beneath the subservient female who had wooed him and called him “my Lord.” Here was the free and fiery spirit she’d concealed—probably even from herself—in order to survive in bondage for so many years.
“I understand that I’ve been a fool,” Need told her heavily. “That I’ve done the unforgivable to you and that I don’t deserve your forgiveness for it.”
“You bonded me to you!” Lan’ara accused him. “You made me love you—you made me hope and then you sold me! All because of some lies that stupid Trollox told you!”
She jerked her head at the vast, limp carcass on the bed, which was still dribbling black ooze from the stump of its middle neck.
“I did.” Need bowed his head, accepting her anger—it was well deserved. “I was a fool and I hurt you. I can never say I’m sorry enough, Lan’ara.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Keep my name out of your mouth! Just call me ‘girl’ again, why don’t you, my Lord?” she spat.
“You can hate me all you want,” Need told her, ignoring the jab. “But please—don’t kill yourself. Come back with me to The Dark Heart.”
“And do what? Wait upon your pleasure and warm your bed as I was trained to do for so many years? I don’t think so!”
“You don’t have to have anything to do with me if you don’t want,” Need told her hoarsely. “Laxah told me she was going to train you as a med tech. Come back with me and you can train with her. After you have a skill, you can go anywhere in the universe you want and make your own way.” He leaned forward, wanting to go to her but not daring when the silver blade was still against the side of her throat. “You can have a life, Lan’ara—a real life. And I’ll never bother you again—I swear it.”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, clearly considering his offer.
“How do I know you’re not lying?” she demanded at last. “How can I ever trust you again after what you did to me?”
Need looked around the room, casting for a solution. At last, his eyes landed on the large blaster Drung had clipped to the back of his belt. Thank all the Gods and Goddess that ever were he hadn’t been able to reach it when Need started choking him! In the end, the deadly weapon had done the huge Trollox no good—but it might come in handy now.
“Here,” he said, leaning forward to unclip the blaster. He threw it to her with an underhand toss and Lan’ara dropped the razor blade to catch it.
“Why are you giving me this?” she demanded, staring suspiciously down at the sleek, silver weapon in her hands.
“You can hold it on me,” Need told her. “All the way back to the ship. Think of it as an insurance policy—if I try anything, you can shoot me.”
Her gold-flecked eyes widened.
“You’d trust me to do that?”
Need shrugged wearily.
“If you’ll trust me to take you back to The Dark Heart without hurting you.”
He could see her weighing the possibilities and it occurred to him that he might have made a bad situation exponentially worse. After all, he might have been able to lunge forward and catch her before she could slit her throat open with the razor blade. But if she put the muzzle of the blaster to her temple and pulled the trigger, there was no way he was fast enough to get to her before her pretty head evaporated in a rain of fine red mist.
His breath caught in his throat and he prayed silently, Please, Goddess…PLEASE!
But at last, to his infinite relief, Lan’ara nodded.
“All right,” she said coldly. “You can bring me up to The Dark Heart but I won’t be staying in your rooms anymore. In fact, I don’t want to have anything to do with you, ever again. Is that clear?”
“It’s clear.” Need’s heart felt like it was made of lead but he knew this was no more than he deserved. In the end, it seemed that Drung had had the last laugh—or his left head had, anyway.
As they walked from the cabin back to his shuttle, Lan’ara firmly pointing the blaster at his back, he remembered the head’s last words.
“Not mine, Kindred,” it had said, laughing at him. “She’s not mine but she’ll not be yours again, either. Never again.”
Fifty-Eight
“My dear, you have been sorely missed!” New green leaves suddenly sprouted all over Captain Glo’ll’s shoulders and a crop of lovely pink and white daisies burst into bloom on his forehead the moment he saw her.
“Thank you.” Lan’ara smiled at him. “I missed you too—and all the crew. Well, most of them,” she added, throwing a glance at Need, who was standing at the far end of the common living area where everyone was gathered.
“We are so glad to have you back among us,” the Captain declared. “Are you here to stay, I hope?”
“If you’ll have me,” Lan’ara said cautiously. “But this time I was hoping to take a position on my own, as a member of your crew—not just a piece of baggage.”
She saw the big Kindred wince at her words but she didn’t care.
“Of course!” Captain Glo’ll exclaimed. “I will offer you the position of Head Chef in charge of meals at once.”
“And I’m going to train her to be a med tech too,” Laxah said firmly, stepping forward. “I’ll be wanting to retire soon and you’ll need someone to take my place, Captain.”
“Excellent! I had dreaded losing you, Laxah.” Captain Glo’ll sighed. “You meat-based people live such dreadfully short lives! Have you even tried putting down some roots and living a few hundred cycles longer?”
Lan’ara felt a smile hovering around the corners of her mouth.
“I’m afraid we can’t take root as you can,” she said to the Captain. “But we can blossom, in a way, when we’re among friends.”
“Well, you most definitely are now, my dear.” He smiled at her affectionately and then sprouted some lovely roses, which he plucked and presented ceremoniously to her. “Welcome aboard, Lan’ara—I’m pleased to count you as a member of my crew.”
“Thank you. There’s one thing though…” Lan’ara cleared her throat. “I’ll be needing my own cabin,” she told him, carefully not looking at Need. “I’ll want my own space if I’m to be a real member of the crew.”
“Oh, well…of course.” Captain Glo’ll shot a look at Need, who was still looking down at his hands—which were bloody from the garrotte, Lan’ara saw with a sudden pang.
But she told herself to ignore the big Kindred’s pain, just as he had ignored hers when she begged him not to sell her. She looked back at Captain Glo’ll, who appeared to be thinking—if the tiny pink and yellow flowers sprouting all over his skull were any indication.
“There’s a free cabin beside Laxah’s that you can have,” he said meditatively. “It’s quite small, I’m afraid. Or you can have Drung’s old room once we have it cleaned out.” He looked at Need. “I take it he won’t ever be needing it again?”
“No,” Need said shortly. “Because he’s fucking dead. I killed him.”
At this revelation, the rest of the crew murmured among themselves but it was clear none of them mourned the loss of the big, dirty Trollox.
“Good riddance!” Krax and Kreeva said at the same time and Psoas and Laxah nodded agreement.
“I’ll take the cabin beside Laxah’s, please,” Lan’ara said. She shivered. “I don’t…don’t want anything to do with Drung, ever again. Not even his room, now that he’s gone.”
“A wise choice, I think, my dear.” Captain Glo’ll nodded thoughtfully. “I do believe it will take some extreme measures to get the smell completely out. And after this experience, I do not intend to hire a Trollox ever again.”
There was a cheer from everyone, which let Lan’ara know that she hadn’t been the only one on The Dark Star who had disliked the awful Drung. Then everyone went their separate ways, except for Laxah, who took her by the arm and said,
“Come on, let’s get your new room all ready to go.”
Lan’ara allowed herself to be led away, but she found herself casting a glance back over her shoulder at Need. The big Kindred was still looking down at his bloody hands. The expression on his face was unreadable.
Laxah saw where her gaze was directed and gave her arm another sharp tug.
“Let’s go. You don’t need to be looking over there.”
“But…his hands,” Lan’ara said reluctantly. “He hurt them when he was killing Drung to save me.”
“Let’s not forget why you needed to be saved in the first place,” Laxah snapped. “It was because that man chose to sell you like a piece of property! Besides,” she added. “Kindred are fast healers—especially for superficial wounds like that. Now let’s go.”
Lan’ara at last followed the other woman down the long corridor that led to the main crew cabins. She had what she wanted now, she told herself. She was her own person—she didn’t belong to anyone. She could make her own decisions and she had a job that didn’t involve being sexually submissive to any man or having anyone’s baby. She ought to be happy.
I am happy! she told herself firmly. This is what I want—to make my own way and not call anyone “my Lord” or have to beg for my very existence. I have a job and I have a life and I don’t need anyone else but me to make me content.
But if that was true, why did she still feel a tugging in her midsection when she looked at Need?
It could have been different, she thought sadly as she followed Laxah away from the big Kindred. If only he could have brought himself to love me back. If only he hadn’t gotten so mad at me and sold me. If only…
But she pushed the thought firmly away. She was determined not to mourn for the past. She had a new life now and she intended to look forward, to the future.
Fifty-Nine
Lan’ara’s new life aboard The Dark Star was wonderful.
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