Slave Empire III - The Shrike

by Southwell, T C

  “I’m sorry. It’s not you he’s worried about.” She found the guards’ presence unwelcome too, and longed to order them out.

  “But it’s not you he’s protecting, is it? It’s his precious identity. Maybe they’re here to make sure you don’t run off to the Atlanteans to collect the reward.”

  She smiled. “What would I want with the reward? I have everything I could possibly wish for.”

  “Do you?” He studied her. “You don’t seem particularly happy. I didn’t want to say anything, but you’re pale and thin.”

  “That isn’t his fault. I was taking drugs. I couldn’t handle the empathy. It was driving me mad. And people didn’t want to be around me, not even you.”

  He looked away, frowning. “It’s difficult being around someone like you. When you came back from the Crystal Ship, you’d changed. I tried not to let it bother me, but...”

  “I know. I don’t blame you, or them. The drugs helped to dull my talent, but they were bad for me. He’s given me a more normal life. I don’t have to take drugs anymore.”

  “You call this normal?” Norva asked, her expression hard. “To be surrounded by guards wherever you go? It must be like being a prisoner.”

  Rayne sensed her jealousy like a foetid smell, and almost wrinkled her nose in disgust. Before, Norva had been jealous of Rayne’s fame and fortune, now she had even more to envy. She would have liked to be in Rayne’s position, with guards protecting her as if she was something precious. Rayne forced herself not to react to the emotions, and formulated her reply based on Norva’s words instead.

  “It’s better than hanging around in clubs, so full of drugs I didn’t know where I was half the time.”

  “I don’t like those men in my house.” Norva shot her husband a peevish frown.

  Rawn looked uncomfortable. “Do they have to be here, Ray?”

  Rayne hesitated, then ordered the guards to wait outside. The leader objected, but they obeyed when she insisted. Norva smiled, radiating a peculiar kind of satisfaction that puzzled Rayne. Was it because she had given in to Norva’s wishes, or something else? Rawn was clearly relieved that the brewing conflict had been averted, and offered her a plate of finger food. She selected an Emlinian cheese wedge, although the fare was too spicy for her liking.

  Norva changed the subject to her spring clothes-buying spree, and Rayne’s eyes drooped with fatigue. It had been late when she left Ironia, and her worries and unhappiness had kept her awake for the entire seven-hour journey to Darmon. In the comforting presence of her brother, her worries faded and lassitude took hold. Norva asked if she wanted to lie down, displaying unusual concern, and Rayne accepted the offer, going into the guest room to stretch out on the bed.

  Rayne opened her eyes and blinked at a blank white ceiling in confusion. Rawn’s house had pale yellow ceilings with wooden beams and warm illumination, while this was similar to a hospital’s. A vague antiseptic smell reminded her of Vengeance’s hospital, which had the same seamless white expanses of moulded plasteel.

  Sitting up, she swung her legs off the bed and gazed around at a circular white room. A clutch of machines stood next to the wall, and the bed was a narrow bunk. A peculiar buzzing inside her skull, which she now realised had woken her up, became irritating in its insistent prodding. Alarmed, she activated her implant and sent a call to Shadowen.

  The buzzing stopped, and his calm presence filled her mind. At last. I thought you’d never wake up.

  “What’s happened? Where am I?” she asked aloud.

  You have been taken to an Atlantean installation several kilometres to the south of your brother’s house. According to your escort, you were transferred while you slept, apparently drugged. There was a transfer plate under your bed, so it seems this was planned some time ago. I became aware that you were no longer in the house and alerted your escort, but it was too late. They tracked your transfer to your present location and tried to recover you, but a stress shield and a fluctuating, grounded energy shell surrounds the installation.

  Rayne shook her head, her numb brain overwhelmed by all the information. “My brother? Is he all right?”

  I don’t know.

  She rubbed her brow, trying to gather her wits. “It had to be that scheming wife of his, Norva. She’s after the reward. She must have co-operated with the Atlanteans without his knowledge. I hope he’s okay.” A frisson of dread went through her. “Does Tarke know?”

  The Shrike has been informed, yes.

  “Shit. What’s happening?”

  A great deal has taken place since you were kidnapped. Your escort, after failing to penetrate the facility, lodged an official complaint with the Yasmarian Government. They’ve threatened reprisals the Yasmarians know your husband can deliver. At the moment, the Yasmarians are negotiating with the Atlanteans, probably to have you removed. The Atlanteans are unwilling, knowing they might lose you if they try to move you. They’ll probably refuse, at which time the Yasmarians will claim that they’ve tried unsuccessfully to aid in your release, to mollify the Shrike.

  Rayne cursed and jumped up to pace around the room. “Bloody politics! What’s Tarke doing?”

  He’s en-route to Darmon, with several more ships. The Atlanteans have sent for reinforcements, and the Yasmarians have mobilised their fleet.

  “They’re going to start a damned war.”

  Horror rose within her in a nauseating tide, and the spectre of the Envoy’s emptiness loomed, threatening to spill over into her mind. She thrust it back, clinging to her reason by holding her awareness like a hot flame in the centre of her mind, scattering the shadows.

  “Tell Tarke he must destroy this facility. I know he can do it.” She remembered that Shadowen would self-destruct, and added, “Tell him to unlink you from my biorhythms first.” She spoke without thinking about the consequences. “Tell him to do it before they probe my mind.”

  He’ll find a way to free you.

  “How? Nothing can get me out of here. They’ve thought of everything, and they’ll do anything to learn his identity.”

  By taking you, the Atlanteans will start a war they’ve sought to avoid for decades. A conflict between the Atlantean Empire and the Shrike’s would cause massive loss of life and destruction of planets, and greatly weaken both sides. They won’t risk it.

  Rayne frowned, stopping beside the bed. “They won’t hand me back before they probe my mind.”

  If you block the telepath for long enough, they’ll be forced to hand you back before they start a war.

  “So they’ll probe me until he attacks, then give me back.”

  Probably. Once you’ve been returned, he’ll have no reason to continue his attacks, and they hope to have the information by then.

  She shook her head, dismayed. “This is crazy. They’d risk so much to catch one man?”

  A man they think trades in hundreds of thousands of slaves, and runs the greatest outlaw empire ever founded. They consider him a danger to them and their allies.

  “Why? He’s never attacked any of their allies, has he?”

  Not all of their allies are as law-abiding as they pretend to be. There have been a few incidents when the Shrike has destroyed drug-running ships that belonged to Atlan’s allies.

  Rayne sat on the bed as her legs shook. The information she had demanded from Tarke could doom him and millions of innocents as well. It seemed likely the Atlanteans would succeed. Tarke’s fleet was several hours from any Atlantean planets.

  Rayne had no faith in her weak mental shields. A powerful telepath would rifle through her memories at will. The door opened to admit three white-suited Atlanteans with grim, impassive faces.

  “Shadowen, destroy this facility, before it’s too late. Do it now.”

  I cannot obey that order.

  She kicked herself mentally. Of course he would not do it. “Tell the cruisers to do it, then. Hurry.”

  The telepath’s scrubbed, sterile psyche probed her mind. She threw up useless shie
lds and buried Tarke’s image in a jumble of childhood memories, mixing it with the faces of all the men she had ever seen. The ploy was almost successful, but she knew she could unravel it, and therefore so could the telepath, given time. She sensed his pity and scorn. He disliked empaths, and considered them inferior.

  Rayne agreed with him, but there was an important difference in their abilities. A telepath’s intrusion was blatant. His subject knew of his invasion and could guard against it, while an empath went unnoticed unless he gave himself away by reacting to what he sensed. Telepaths could be dangerous, while empaths were supposed to be harmless. Rayne knew what it was to harm another with empathy, however. The Envoy’s pleasure, used against him, had helped to destroy him, because he had also been an empath. He and the ship had been vastly more powerful than the most skilled person, even than the Shyanese, yet she had survived the battle of their minds, albeit not entirely intact.

  The telepath shot her a false smile and went over to the machines as the other two men approached her. One of them, a distinguished-looking man with black and white hair, smiled at her with genuine pity.

  “Hello my dear. I’m Endrin. Would you lie down and make yourself comfortable? This won’t take long, and it won’t hurt a bit.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t co-operate. I want to speak to Tallyn, or better still, Vargon. This is an outrage. Do you know who I am?”

  “Of course we do. But you’re also the Shrike’s wife, and that tends to dilute your religious importance to the Atlantean people. You should have stayed away from him. Now you’re considered tainted goods.”

  “I see.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve ordered my escort to destroy this facility, so I’d advise you to leave now. I’ll die before I reveal my husband’s identity. Don’t doubt me. He saved me on the Crystal Ship, so this will even the score.”

  The elderly doctor radiated concern. “My dear, we mean you no harm. Only the Shrike can order your escort to kill you. He will, of course, to save himself, as he has murdered many others. Allow us to carry out this small procedure before that happens, and you’ll be safe. We have no wish to put your life in danger. The Shrike is a mass murderer and slaver. He’s not worthy of your loyalty.”

  Endrin was genuine, she sensed, and committed to the cause of capturing the Shrike. He believed what he had just told her, which made him convincing. Her faith in her husband was unshakeable, however, and she was not afraid to die to protect him. Even if he did not care for her the way she did for him, and never would, she owed him her life. Her sacrifice would allow him to continue to save slaves, and nothing was more important than that. What kind of life would she have without him, anyway? The same one that had not been worth living before he had married her. Her hope that their marriage would become more than a friendly arrangement was shattered. It would only take a few minutes for the telepath to find Tarke’s image.

  “I won’t co-operate,” she repeated.

  “You don’t have to,” the telepath said in a cold voice, exuding scorn and impatience. “You have no shields. I’ll have what I want in a moment. Now, lie down, and let’s begin.”

  She folded her arms. “No. And if you touch me, I’ll show every bruise to the Council of Elders.”

  “The Council approved this procedure.”

  “My dear,” the elderly doctor said, “it’s useless to protest; this argument has already been through the Council, and all its objections were outweighed by the prospect of putting an end to the Shrike’s empire. I’m afraid you have no choice.”

  The younger doctor, who had sandy monotone hair and a bluff, ordinary face, came closer, and she slapped his hands away when he tried to take her arm.

  “You’re going to regret this,” she told the telepath. “My mind is not a place you want to go, after what the Envoy did to it.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “He thrived on the pain of others. Even I can barely live with what he did to me. You won’t survive it. That, I promise.”

  “I’m sure I’ll manage,” he assured her, oozing confidence again. “I have a far stronger mind than you ever possessed.”

  “Oh yeah? Then why weren’t you the one to do battle with that monster, huh?” She shook off the young doctor’s hands, but he persisted, and the older man joined in. “You know nothing, any of you. You’re making a big mistake, and you will pay!”

  Between them, they made her lie back with firm but gentle hands that patted and soothed. Allowing them to think they could subdue her so easily bought her a little time, but when the telepath tried to touch her, she rolled off the bunk and slipped out of reach.

  Tarke glared at the smug image on the space line screen, longing to reach into the crystal wafer and twist the Atlantean high commander’s head off. Triumph filled Tallyn’s black eyes, and Tarke was glad the mask hid his fury. With his high caste black and white hair, golden skin and stiff, gold-trimmed indigo uniform, Tallyn represented Atlan’s finest. He was now supreme commander of the fleet, a rank he had earned for finding the Golden Child. Tarke had been informed of Rayne’s abduction only a few minutes ago, and his first impulse had been to call his old enemy.

  “Shrike, you’re looking well,” Tallyn quipped. “You have a healthy glitter. Been polishing yourself lately?”

  Tarke ignored the jibe. “You’ve overstepped this time, Tallyn. I’ll give you one chance to consider your stupidity and return my wife to me, then I start blowing up planets. Do I make myself clear?”

  Tallyn smiled. “Well, now. From my information, all your ships are at least four hours from any Atlantean planets. Your wife will be returned to you before that time is up. Fair enough?”

  “No. I have two cruisers in orbit around Darmon, an ally of yours, I believe. I’ll start with that if she’s not returned to her ship within the next few minutes.”

  Tallyn shook his head. “The Yasmarians will be most upset if you attack them, and I have seven ships en-route to help defend them. All you’ll do is kill a lot of innocent Yasmarians, and lose your ships.”

  “They know you’ve caused this conflict by kidnapping my wife.”

  “But they’re not going to help you get her back. In fact, I heard that you snatched her from Arraman and mind-wiped her to be your particular toy. So, we’ve rescued her, and, considering her religious importance to so many people, they’ll be delighted that we did.”

  Tarke gritted his teeth, biting back hot words. Getting into a slanging match would achieve nothing, but he knew he had lost the round, and changed tactics. “You can’t set a telepath on her. You must not. If you care about her at all, don’t try to delve into her mind.”

  “Why not?”

  “She was hurt on the Crystal Ship. The Envoy did some terrible things inside her head. If you try to pry into her mind, you could push her over the edge. You could kill her.”

  Tallyn’s brows rose in patent disbelief. “That’s a good story. I saw her after she returned from the Crystal Ship, and she was perfectly normal, apart from being an empath.”

  “She’s not anymore. Listen to me, damn you. The Ship healed her before she left it, but when she was exposed to your uncaring society and took drugs to numb her empathy, she undid a lot of that. She won’t survive a telepath’s probe. She’ll try to fight him, which will be extremely dangerous for her.”

  “Even if I believed you, which I don’t,” Tallyn said, “I’m not in a position to bargain with you. The Council has decided to take this opportunity, and lying about her mental health won’t save you. Next you’ll expect me to believe she hasn’t seen your face.”

  Tarke sat back, staring at Tallyn’s mocking image. He had not been in such a dangerous predicament before, and found his lack of options frustrating. This was the situation he had always dreaded. All his people who had been captured had killed themselves before they could be interrogated, even though none of them had seen his face, and their names were inscribed on a wall of remembrance on Ironia. Their deaths had grieved him
, but their sacrifice had made him even more determined to save others who suffered as they had.

  The decoys who had been executed in his place would also have killed themselves before a telepath probed them. The Atlanteans had not bothered, since they had believed they had captured him. The fact that they had been ex-slaves had surprised the Atlanteans, and for those few hours before the execution, everyone had known the Shrike had once been a slave. The executions had always been rushed through to avoid reprisals or rescue attempts, since the Shrike’s empire had the potential to destroy Atlan’s if it chose. As soon as Tarke had been safe, he had informed the Atlanteans of their mistake, but they had executed the prisoner anyway, since receiving assurances that they had imprisoned the wrong masked man from another masked man did not convince them that the one they had captured was, in fact, the wrong one. It all got extremely confusing, and frustrating for the Atlanteans, he was sure.

  Afterwards, when they had realised that they had been duped, it had made perfect sense to his rivals, and the Atlanteans, that he would sacrifice a slave in his place. There was no way for the Atlanteans to know whether their prisoner’s collar was active or not, and most abused slaves were suicidal, so their willingness to die in his stead had not raised suspicions, either. Now his secrets were in danger of being revealed, and common sense dictated that Rayne must die like all the others.

  For the sake of the Empire, the millions of slaves he would save and tonnes of drugs he would destroy. Rayne’s death would keep him safe, as so many had done before, but he could not allow it.

  Tarke dragged himself from his thoughts, aware that he had been silent for several moments, and Tallyn looked a little impatient. Tarke said, “If you guarantee that she hasn’t been probed and send her back to her ship unharmed, I’ll give myself up.”

  Tallyn’s brows shot up. “You expect me to believe that? You’re just going to hand yourself over, to save a human girl?”

  “She’s my wife.”

  “She’s no use to you when you’re dead.”