FRENCHY II : Having a Blast

by George Olney

  He gave Alesos a hard look. The guy would probably fold at twenty five percent of the net and he was becoming tired of his antics. Take three or four women, make a quick delivery, then he could fade into the Barrens for a month or so to let the heat die down. Let Alesos worry about what happened next.

  "Twenty five percent of the net," he growled, "and that's it. Give me a place to deliver them as soon as they're taken."

  Alesos placed his hand over his heart to show dismay - and avoid showing satisfaction. This fool would never see the books anyhow. "I reluctantly concede to your demands. Twenty five percent of the net. I have intermediaries procuring a warehouse that should prove satisfactory. Once I have it, you will be notified and can begin deliveries."

  Baltan nodded with another scowl, turned it on Alesos's men, then got up and left without another word. Watching him go, Alesos allowed a flatter, more dangerous expression to cross his face for a moment then gave his own nod. With that barbarian doing procurement, his organization ought to have a steady supply of women for as long as it took for the Arm to take notice. Once they did, a trail could be laid straight to Baltan's door to keep attention focused in his direction long enough for tents to be folded and a quiet departure.

  That was quite satisfactory.

  Back in Locar's reception room, Dallas was leafing through one of several magazines found on a side table next to her chair. She found the subjects and pictures fascinating. Another thing she found very interesting was the magazines themselves. Back home, digital readers were becoming ever more popular and some folks predicted the end of print books and magazines. Personally, she found plain old paper - well, these magazines didn't really feel like paper but whatever it was did the job - magazines and books convenient and more satisfying to read. It tickled her that super advanced galactic cultures apparently felt the same way. Even for a girl that once made a fortune on the Internet, the idea was comforting.

  After a little while, the thought of the cafeteria intruded. Frenchy'd said she could go get a drink if she wanted, and she decided she wanted. Something cool in a tall glass. No telling what it would be yet. She was still figuring out what was what out here.

  A short conversation with Locar's secretary to establish the fact that the cafeteria was where she was going to be and she was off. Once through the wall (still an unusual feeling) and she was out on the gallery with the whole interesting building to enjoy doing a little gawking at. She wasn't in any hurry. Besides, gawking was fun.

  Not quite at the same time but close, Alesos left his office, accompanied by the requisite muscle/new personal assistant, Boraz by name. After such a successful meeting, Alesos felt a relaxing stroll was warranted. "I feel we're well on the way to recovery," Alesos proclaimed as he walked, "despite some highly unwarranted setbacks. Relocating our operations to the source of our product was a stroke of genius on my part."

  "Yeah, boss." Boraz, definitely not in the genius category himself, wasn't too sure of the business angle or efficiency, but he was smart enough to come up with the right answer to a non-question.

  "In fact..." Right about then, Alesos caught sight of the little redhead headed his way and recognized just who she was. "Shit!"

  The woman from his office back on Seelah! She mustn't see him! Instinct said it was time to get out of sight and Alesos knew instinct was right. He dived into the first doorway he saw.

  "Boss! Uh..." Boraz wasn't all that bright and he wasn't sure of why Alesos ran off, but he knew enough to know jumping into the women's public restroom just wasn't done by a guy.

  There were a few moments of silence, during which Dallas strolled casually past, then all hell broke loose behind the static field. Feminine squeals and yells of anger were followed by the sound of heavy thumps and sharp blows. Alesos came tumbling back out of the restroom to land at Boraz's feet, a good bit worse for wear. Tribal women were sleek and catlike, but they were also just as physically combative as their male counterparts.

  As Boraz looked down at the crumpled figure of his boss at his feet, two tribal women stalked out, snarled at the men, said a few pungent words, then marched off, noses in the air.

  Despite showing the signs of highly unsuccessful battle, Alesos staggered to his feet and glared around him. Fixing said glare at the casually retreating - if attractive - back of Dallas, he snarled, "We've got to get rid of that bitch!

  "Back to the office!" he continued, breaking into a run. "Call Baltan! Tell the bastard we have his first capture right here and waiting for him to gather her up!"

  Grae still had a few things to work out, so Frenchy left him to it and headed off to find Dallas. Outside the office, she noticed Dallas about a third of the way around the gallery, still gawking at everything around her. Frenchy could understand the feeling. She quickened her pace to join her best friend.

  "Hey, babe!" Dallas turned around, saw Frenchy, and halted to wait for her. Once they were together, Frenchy waved her hand around. "Like this office building?"

  Dallas shook her head as they began strolling on together. "If this is an office building, I really want to see a shopping mall."

  Frenchy grinned back at her bemused expression. "That's just how I felt the first time I was here. Grae told me this was considered plain and I didn't believe him, but boy, was I wrong! After that bum of mine joins up, we'll go over to a shopping mall. Just mind your money, babe. You won't believe what they have in the stores."

  Happily chatting, they continued on around the gallery.

  On the other side of the gallery, Baltan pointed out the pair to four of his men. "Those two. That little redhead and the big blonde with her. Take them both. Just be sure you don't create a furor when do it. No telling who's here in the building. Don't worry about Custom or subtlety. Just grab, subdue, and be gone in a hurry. There are a couple of empty offices over on that side, so take them in there and one of you get back to me. We'll have them in storage before anyone can react."

  As it happened, Baltan & Co. were blissfully ignorant of the fact they were trying to grab women in the same building where the Arm kept its local headquarters. The four men doing the snatch nodded confidently and split up. Two headed in one direction around the gallery to come at the women from the front. The other two went the opposite way to approach from the rear.

  In addition to the fact that the building held the unwanted (by slavers, one and sundry) presence of a very tough law enforcement organization, the four were also blissfully ignorant of several other salient points. First, both women were armed with a couple of rather effective close quarter weapons, i.e. Frenchy's ax and Dallas's club. Second, and more important, Frenchy's psi sense performed a number of different functions, among them the ability to detect trouble coming.

  Frenchy suddenly got a very alert look. Swiftly, she scanned the sparse scattering of people in front of her on the gallery. "Babe, you see those two tribal guys headed our way?"

  Dallas smiled. "Mm, yep. Big barbarians. I like that type, babe."

  Arm training took over and Frenchy simply smiled back at Dallas as though she hadn't a care in the world. "Well, those two big barbarians are bringing trouble. Remember I keep saying the boys play rough here? Well, get ready for a fight."

  Dallas didn't ask questions, she simply let her right hand slide down to the war club holstered at her side.

  Frenchy took on a thoughtful look for a moment. "There are two more just like them coming up behind us. They ought to arrive a little behind these guys, though. We have to finish off the ones in front first."

  Unobtrusively, she pushed a certain stud on her miso's left wrist band. It was a panic signal to alert Grae. He and a couple of the boys ought to get here quickly, but it looked like she and Dallas were going to have to handle the first few minutes of the upcoming confrontation by themselves. Okay, someone was about to get some lumps. They were in an office building, so slicing and cutting was kind of frowned on. Ergo, Dallas could use her club but she herself was going to have to do this by ha
nd. Or foot. Or elbow. No problem, she was already in unarmed combat mode, her normally graceful dancer's stride becoming even more fluid.

  Grae was already aware of trouble. Given Frenchy's psi and the fact Yelen linked them both, he was able to sense her emotions and surrounding situation, enough to know when there was trouble. That started him moving and picking up several other agents. Frenchy's panic signal was simply confirmation things were bad. Out on the gallery, he took in the situation at a glance. To him, the four slavers were obvious, as were their intentions. He didn't stop to wonder why they were trying to make a grab here in the Port. He, plus backup, simply took off at a trot.

  At the same time, Frenchy, smiling and apparently chatting with Dallas, was issuing instructions. "Babe, we better not let these guys get too close before we do something. Get ready. When I say so, we're going to jump them before they jump us. I'll take the one on the left."

  Dallas simply nodded with a carefree smile at her friend. It was her first real fight and she was scared, but the feel of the club's thick head under her hand was a comfort. A real comfort, actually. With an obviously casual look, she began to measure her designated target for a bashing.

  Ten feet or so separated the girls from the two slavers before them, who were now grinning in anticipation. The other two were still a ways behind. Frenchy pulled it out of the air a moment before the front two made their move. "Now!"

  A number of things happened almost simultaneously, unfortunately unanticipated by the slavers. Frenchy dived forward, her left forearm slapping her target's right arm out of the way while her right forearm smashed said target in the throat. At the same time, in the same sort of perfect coordination she shared with Frenchy when dancing, Dallas had her club out and its head bashed forcibly into her own target's midriff, bending the guy over. With both hands, Dallas brought the club head straight up and into the guy's nicely presented chin.

  In both cases, game over.

  As Frenchy was spinning to meet the threat from behind, she heard a heavy loud THUNK.

  The first thing she saw as she completed her spin was a gorilla-big and hairy ugly guy, Jongular - JONGULAR! - holding up two unconscious slavers by a large hand wrapped around each neck. Said slavers were limp and out of it. Jongular was grinning.

  "Ah, ladies," he proclaimed, "I hope that I've been of assistance here. If so, I'm pleased."

  Dallas blossomed into a huge smile. "Jongular!"

  Frenchy's reaction was the opposite. That bastard was back! She growled and reached for her ax. Time to go to cutting.

  Hurriedly, Dallas reached across in front of Frenchy and put a restraining hand on her forearm. "No, babe! The guy was helping!"

  By that time, Grae and friends were there. "Was there a problem here?" he asked in his calm dry voice.

  Neither woman noticed Alesos and Baltan at separate spots along the gallery quietly turn and walk casually away, intent on removing their respective selves from the scene.

  Serious discussion was held in abeyance while Arm agents collected the four unconscious slavers with their various broken jaws, cracked skulls, etc. After the trash had been removed, Frenchy turned to Jongular and snarled, "What the hell are you doing here?"

  Dallas had meanwhile been regarding the subject of Frenchy's ire with a starry eyed smile. "He's helping us out of a jam, babe."

  She also murmured softly. "I've never had a guy do that."

  Frenchy overheard and her scowl at Jongular got darker. Knowing his wife, Grae put a hand on her shoulder and commented calmly, "Relax, girl. Nobody's going to be carrying anybody off and Jongular did help out."

  Frenchy took a deep breath, then said in a more relaxed voice, "Okay, Jongular, thanks for the assist. My original question still stands. How come you're here?"

  Jongular broke into a broad grin and bowed, turning it subtly into a salute to Dallas. She perked up even further. "Ah, I'm sure it was fate."

  He held up a chip dug from his belt pouch. "Here is the text of something that presages my further success. I was in the office of a recording company. They wish to offer me a contract... and here it is! I had simply stepped out onto the gallery for a moment to consider it before signing and saw two of the finest dancers I've ever known in what could have been a bad situation. How could I not step in?"

  Dallas was suddenly in her "business woman" mode. "Recording company? Back home, those guys were usually crooks when they dealt with artists. Have you had anyone that knows numbers or law look at it? How about your manager?"

  Jongular suddenly became a whole lot more subdued. "Ah, actually, I have no manager. I've never needed one. You don't think they'd try to cheat me?"

  "Like a used car salesman," Dallas said dryly. She turned firmly to Frenchy and Grae. "Let's go find someplace to sit down and look at this contract, if that's okay with you guys. I want to see what it says."

  Frenchy temporarily forgot her anger with Jongular in her bemusement with Dallas's suddenly all business attitude. "We can go where we were originally headed, the cafeteria, babe. Now you've got me curious."

  Once the four were seated around the table, Jongular activated the chip reading application on his vid-tex and Dallas, oblivious to a futuristic function she'd never seen, immersed herself in the contract. After a few moments, she said, "Damn, I wish I had a calculator."

  "Your vid-tex has that application, Dallas," Grae said. "Use the virtual menu button. You'll find the calculator."

  Dallas nodded absently and thumbed the vid-tex ring on her finger to bring up the video phone screen. Waving a finger in the air to activate the menu, she found the calculator. She studied it for a minute then scanned the contract for a little longer. After a few moments of pushing virtual buttons she stopped and studied the result. "You may not have a manager, Jongular, but you sure as hell need one for this. The way this thing is written, these guys have a ninety percent cut on anything you make for the next ten years. Oh, and they have exclusive rights to your music for the same period, meaning you can't sing in any paying venue without their permission. In effect, you are theirs, body and soul for the duration of the contract."

  To Frenchy, what Dallas described was slavery. That term immediately swung her support to the previously detested Jongular.

  Dallas gave the shocked and wide eyed musician a very level look. "You're a babe in the woods to these guys, Jongular." She thought for a moment then said in her same "business" tones. "You're too good a musician for me to let that happen."

  Dallas sat back in her chair. "Looks like I have something to do besides run a coffee business. As of now, big guy, I'm your manager. We're going to sit here and chat for a little while then you and I are going back to the recording company and give those predatory jerks a big surprise."

  She gave Jongular a hard look. "Agreed?"

  Jongular stammered for a second then got hold of himself. "Agreed? Of course, my dear, I agree! I place my musical future in your hands. There is no way I could resist such an offer!"

  He stopped dead when he caught the hard scowl on Frenchy's face. "If I ever see Dallas buck naked and wearing a name pendant," she said, "she's going to be honorably unbound about ten seconds later."

  Custom required a woman to stay in bondage to a man until being honorably unbound, either by an offer of marriage or something equivalent - among which somethings was included the death of the man.

  Jongular's face got pale. He knew which unbinding method Frenchy was talking about.

  #####

  They were in their hotel suite when the subject of their now formally approved ward came up. Locar's statement about Nos's age was bothering Frenchy. To her, the boy still looked like a slightly undernourished ten year old. Of course, good diet and exercise since they'd rescued him was building up and filling out the boy's frame, but she still thought of him as a little boy. Now her little boy.

  Grae, fiddling with their luggage, put down the bag he was unpacking and turned to her. "He really is twelve, Frenchy," he said without
preamble. "When we first rescued him, he'd been on that pirate for several weeks, underfed and maltreated. That made him look younger than he is."

  She thought for a moment, not even realizing he'd answered a question she was thinking about and hadn't asked. By now, such things were becoming routine enough that she'd stopped noticing them. "He still looks younger than twelve to me, even if he is gaining weight."

  Grae smiled, then stepped over and put his hands on her waist. "Longevity treatment, girl. He got his at birth. The treatment not only lets a person live longer, it has the side effect of slightly slowing the physical development rate. It slows emotional development in some ways also, but I can tell you I'm sure he's becoming interested in girls."

  He gave her a quick kiss then released her to go sit on a chair. For a moment, he looked at a picture on the suite's wall, thinking. "You know, one thing that surprised me when I was on your world was just how fast people aged and children developed. I suppose it shouldn't have. In knew your people didn't have longevity treatments. I just didn't realize everything that meant. For instance, you see him as younger than I do because you came from a world that didn't have longevity treatments."

  He smiled at her and added, "I've been around you long enough to understand how you see some things in Galactic culture." He snorted at the thought. "It took me long enough, damn it. Still, I now understand how you and I can be so close in our thought processes even though I'm a good sixty standard years older than you. You grew up faster than I did."

  Frenchy returned the smile absently then flopped on another chair and began thinking hard. She wasn't so deep in thought that she didn't notice Grae start to say something else, then stop as he saw her thinking. The boy didn't want to interrupt her. Priceless.