Mercenary

by Piers Anthony

  I carried her out into the passage and down toward the groom’s quarters. Suddenly she perked up, remembering something. “I’m supposed to try one scream,” she whispered.

  Well, conventions differed on that. “Scream, and I’ll gut you!” I said through clenched teeth.

  “How?” she inquired, delicately chewing on the rubber blade.

  She had a point, literally. My error! “I should have gagged you,” I said sheepishly.

  “Too bad!” She inflated, getting ready to scream a good scream. I had to stop her, though well-nigh dazzled by the sight, for I was still in bride territory. Hastily I clenched her in to me and reached my head around to meet hers. She met me halfway, and we kissed, deeply and long. But meanwhile I kept moving down the hall.

  In due course she broke, having to expel her chestful of air. “That wasn’t fair,” she whispered.

  “All’s fair in love and war,” I reminded her smugly.

  She offered no further resistance, and in due course we made it to Heller’s checkpoint. His eyes rounded, then narrowed appreciatively as he spied Juana’s dishabille. “With that in your arms, what do you want with any pirate wench, sir?” he inquired.

  “Officers don’t rape enlisted personnel,” I answered gruffly, averting my eyes. “She’s just a stand-in, a dummy.”

  Juana forced a frown. “A dummy? I’ll have you know I’m just as smart as the next abducted pre-ravished innocent maiden!”

  Repro appeared. “Very good so far, sir,” he said. “But you made several errors—”

  “Damn it, no one told me she was going to be dressed like this!” I exploded, carefully setting her down. Gravely she returned my knife to me, while Repro frowned.

  “Roulette will be dressed like that,” he pointed out. “If you allow her body to distract you prematurely, you’re dead.”

  “Point taken,” I agreed grudgingly. “I’ll gag her.”

  “And tie her wrists and ankles,” he advised. “That pirate lass would use her legs to put you in a headlock.”

  “In this sort of outfit?” I demanded, indicating Juana.

  “I’d like to see that headlock!” Heller chortled. I glanced at him, and he added: “Sir.” Which hadn’t been the point, as he knew.

  Repro nodded. “She surely knows all the tricks, sir, and will use them.” He glanced on down the hall. “Very well, let’s get on to the hard part. According to the script, a female relative of the groom sneaks the bride a knife—”

  “That’s after the rape,” I said.

  “No, the Solomons do it the hard way. She has the knife during the rape.”

  “She’ll cut my heart out!”

  “Not your heart, precisely; there will be a more accessible target,” Repro said. That did not encourage me. “You must disarm her, of course, for the act. Afterward, you return the knife to her, and if she remains upset—”

  I changed the subject. “Which relative gives her the—”

  Spirit appeared. “I am the one. Hope, give me that weapon.”

  I handed the rubber knife to her. She turned. “Emerald, take over.”

  “Emerald?” I asked.

  Emerald appeared. “You didn’t think we’d let you rape a nice girl like Juana, did you? I’ll handle this chore.”

  “I think I’d be better off with the pirate wench,” I said.

  Spirit slipped the knife to Emerald. “You poor, innocent damsel,” she said in honey-drip tone. “I cannot stop my evil brother from this cruel assault, for I am only a woman, but at least I can give you some chance to defend your treasure.”

  “Bless you, sister,” Emerald said, smiling maliciously. “I’ll disembowel him!”

  “Hey!” I protested.

  “Roulette will,” Spirit reminded me. “Don’t trust her for a moment, Hope; that’s how she got her other two suitors. She’s

  your enemy—until you conquer her.”

  “And thereafter,” I muttered.

  “Not so,” Repro said. “She’ll love you, in her fashion, once you prove you’re worthy of her. That’s the pirate way. But you must indeed prove it, the hard way.”

  The hard way—in a double sense. But now I was soft, in the same sense. The reality behind this game was anathema.

  We went to the groom’s chamber. Emerald sat on the bunk— no hammock for this scene!—knife in hand. She was dressed in a tan wet suit, normally used for planetary water action. She might as well have been nude, for the suit cleaved to every intimate contour of her body; perhaps that was the point. She had been slender to the point of lankiness when I had first met her; in seven years she had fleshed out somewhat in breast and thigh and was, if anything, more seductive than before. She was a married woman, and the suit protected her sanctity; it was literally impossible to rape her without first removing it, and, of course, I would not do that. But she looked vulnerable. She was not as lush as Juana, but she was definitely healthy and female—and for her, too, I retained the masculine hankering, remembering the joys of her nocturnal athleticism. It is said in the Navy Book that sex and love are things apart, independent of each other, but for me the separation has never been perfect. I have loved no woman entirely since Helse; but I have loved each sexual partner a little, even those anonymous professionals of the Tail. I knew that Emerald, like Juana, had not forgotten our private shared experience and had perhaps not forgiven its termination.

  I shed my outer apparel and stood in brief trunks with an armored crotch. If Emerald scored there with knife or knee, I lost, but this was, after all, only a rehearsal. For the real event I would have to be naked. Perhaps it is fitting that a man bent on rape must leave himself vulnerable to this type of injury.

  “Remember,” Repro warned. “In the normal pirate course, the bride offers only token resistance, just enough to whet the groom’s appetite. But there are degrees, and sometimes she really does fight. Roulette is of the old school; she will be savage. So, to be safe, you will have to knock her out first. Make sure she isn’t faking unconsciousness, too. In fact, bind her arms together and her legs apart. But for this practice session—”

  “Faking will do,” Emerald finished. “Mondy will call the points.”

  Nothing like having her husband on hand for rape! “Let’s get it over,” I said, freshly disquieted.

  I came at her weaponless. Theoretically I was here for love, not war; this was the nuptial night. The bride was supposed to be attractively garbed, ready for the conclusion, but under her gown she carried the secret knife, her last defense against the indignity of rape. Theoretically the groom did not know this, but, of course, he did, because it was scripted. Still, some prospective grooms did die, and when that happened, the relative who had provided the knife was required to conduct the ex-bride safely back to her own people. There was no penalty for a woman defending herself from rape; the crime was the man’s, for failing to accomplish his mission.

  However, if through some mischance of violence the bride died, there could be war between clans. It was better to suffer the humiliation of an escaped bride than to kill her in the attempt.

  Actually, I could appreciate aspects of this system. It did have its checks and balances, and it was a fair compromise between violence and cooperation. Pirates needed to preserve their image of barbarism, even when they were half-way civilized. It seemed that the women supported this system as much as the men.

  “Stay away from me, you monster!” Emerald hissed with a fighting smile. She was enjoying this a good deal more than I was.

  “Remember,” Repro reminded me. “Don’t fool with her. First knock her out. It’s the only safe way. Pull your shot for this, of course; it will count.”

  “I don’t like striking women,” I said.

  “That’s a pirate with a knife aimed at your groin,” he said.

  “Think of her as a panther who has killed twice and is going for three. This is an arena, man! It’s you or her.”

  I understood all that, but still I hesitated. I came up
to the bunk, hoping to catch her and pin her to it.

  Emerald reacted the moment I touched her. One hand clawed at my face, and one knee came at my groin. I dodged aside, my military training serving me well, and she missed both shots. “No score,” Mondy murmured from the far side of the bed. A referee for a rape!

  I approached her again, more carefully. This time she brought out the rubber knife, making a vicious slash at my arm. It touched the skin as I jerked away. “First blood: bride,” Mondy reported.

  But already I was bringing my other hand about, catching her wrist. I exerted leverage, twisting her arm uncomfortably. Small leverage against a particular joint at the right angle can be immediately effective. She was at a disadvantage on the bed. In a moment I forced my wrist down, till she dropped the knife. “Bride disarmed,” Mondy announced.

  Emerald jackknifed, her feet coming up to strike at my face, but my continuing leverage on her arm prevented her from getting at me. I moved onto the bunk, getting on top of her, using my body to pin her upper body down. Her legs remained free but had no purchase; she could not escape. “Bride pinned,” Mondy said dispassionately.

  Pinned but not conquered. I could not rape her in this position. I tried to get my legs on hers but could not; I would have lost my leverage. It wasn’t all that easy to rape a resistant woman.

  Repro was right: I would have to knock her out. Half-measures just wouldn’t do. I closed my right fist and struck at her head, pulling the blow so it wouldn’t really hurt her. But she was ready for this and lifted her head as I moved, to fall inside my swing. My forearm touched her ear instead of my fist. “No score,” Mondy said.

  She bared her teeth. Her own left arm was free now. She grabbed a handful of my hair and hauled my head down to hers. I feared her teeth and resisted, and in that distraction she got a knee into my side and shoved me away. But this gave me an opening; I flung myself on her, pinning her knee under me, getting between her legs at last.

  “Oh, hell!” she whispered. Then she yanked my head down again, turning her face to meet mine; I no longer had the position to avoid her.

  But I didn’t need to. I had her in the rape position. I jammed my armored crotch against hers, to make the point.

  Her mouth met mine and merged with a savage kiss. She was trying to distract me, but I refused to let my victory go that readily. I jammed at her nether section again, determined to receive credit for the point.

  Her tongue came through our kiss to touch mine. Her hips moved against mine. Her hand let go of my hair and rested on my neck instead. I felt the softness of her breasts pressing against me as she breathed. Again I remembered how she had been in the days of our marriage. Often our lovemaking had been violent, like this, and always exciting.

  I am not sure by what stages our struggle converted from opposition to love, but the rest of the universe tuned out and we found ourselves thrusting desperately against each other, our tongues performing what our torsos could not. We rolled on the bunk, her legs twined about mine, our arms clasping each other. Our breathing became savage, but our lips did not separate. For a moment it was like mutual resuscitation: I breathed into her lungs, and she breathed into mine. Then we shifted; obviously, God gave man a nose so he would not have to break a kiss to breathe. Then my urgency overwhelmed me, and she shuddered in my embrace, and our mouths pressed together so hard there was sharp pain on our lips. For a timeless instant we remained in a tension of passion, saliva squeezing past our lips to smear our faces. Then, slowly, we relaxed.

  I realized that I had climaxed in my steel crotch-guard, and she in her wet suit. We had not touched, physically, technically, anywhere but at face and hands, but we had in fact made love.

  My recovering gaze traveled past Emerald’s head to spy Spirit and Mondy standing silently beside the bunk. Did they know? They had to.

  “I told you I’d get even,” Emerald said, and I realized she was addressing Spirit, not me. But I was too preoccupied with my own embarrassment to analyze that. I just wanted to get out of my trunks and take a shower.

  In this manner I trained for my wedding night. But though I perfected the mechanics of it, my mind and emotion did not proceed apace. “I’m just not constituted to rape anyone in reality,” I protested.

  They tried to reason with me. “It is necessary,” Phist pointed out. “We must have the resources of the Solomons, both human and material, if we are to conclude the Belt campaign successfully. I assure that without replacement for our supplies from Jupiter, we cannot prevail. With the money Straight is prepared to provide—”

  “Money?” I asked.

  “We need it to continue purchasing food from the colonists. Straight deals in money; he has huge amounts. What he lacks is legitimacy, and a formal alliance with us would give him that.”

  “It’s his daughter I’m raping!” I exclaimed. “How can he give us money?” I was talking foolishly, trying to cover my inadequacy, but Phist was answering seriously.

  “I have talked with him and with his Logistics officer. The understanding is as I have described. This is the way the Bands of the Belt make alliances: not by treaty but by marriage. This is his desire.”

  “Shoving his daughter at me!” I snapped.

  “It was necessary to show you what he had to offer, just as you did when you sent your sister to me. This is not so different from what our unit has been practicing, sir.”

  Damn his logic! Of course he was correct.

  “It’s a good offer, sir,” he continued. “She is esthetically desirable—I doubt there is a prettier woman in the Belt—and a good officer despite her age. You will have to appoint her S-3, of course-”

  “What?!”

  “Sir, we have a vacancy at Operations, and she is qualified. Sergeant Smith is competent, but an enlisted man can never officially assume the office. Straight saw immediately that the position was open.”

  I am so accustomed to my talent that I tend to forget that others have talents of their own. Obviously Straight had a fine eye for the exploitation of potentially profitable situations and was willing to gamble for gain. He had noted the authority of women in my unit, so had played his trump card early, and I, perhaps dazzled by the stunning body and fierce temperament of the girl, had not realized.

  “But she hates me,” I objected weakly, knowing that this argument would be shot down as effortlessly as before.

  It was. “Talk again with Repro. He says hate is akin to love. But you have to win her her way.”

  “How could I trust her as an officer?”

  “Marry her and she’s yours,” he assured me. “She will be as loyal to you as she has been to her father, even if she hates you. Accept the judgment of those of us whose talents are not blocked by private emotion: She can be trusted in this respect. She is well worth your effort.”

  “But rape—it’s just not my way! I saw—”

  “One moment, sir, while we switch specialty teams.” And in a moment Phist was gone and Repro was present. “You were saying?”

  “I saw my older sister Faith gang-raped,” I said. “At the time she was beautiful and just eighteen—” I broke off. “My God! Rue is beautiful and eighteen!”

  “Yes, of course,” he agreed smoothly. “Naturally you do not wish to put yourself in the position of raping your sister.”

  “Roulette isn’t my sister!” I protested.

  “But she is, as you pointed out, virtually the same—”

  “No! She’s entirely different! She’s Saxon!”

  “You have prejudice against Saxons?”

  “No! But Roulette’s fiery; Faith was quiet. And Faith was no—” “Go on,” he said calmly.

  “No pirate,” I finished somewhat lamely, realizing that I was wading into a quagmire.

  “So the situations are reversed,” Repro said. “The pirate is not raping the innocent; the innocent is raping the pirate.”

  “Damn you!” I exclaimed.

  “Why don’t we explore the implications?�
� he suggested in his best psychiatric manner. The bastard was competent! “Pirates wronged you by raping your sister. Isn’t it only fair that—”

  “No!”

  “But a long-standing grievance could be—”