by George Olney
He looked up at him. "You know we're going to need statements about the slavers from you and Justa."
Looking at the reluctant expressions on the faces of two excited discoverers/diggers, he added with a small smile, "But not for a while yet. I'm pretty sure you have some time to work before we need you."
"Then let's get to it!" Red yelled and whirled around, headed for the mesa.
"Justa, get out an artifacts box and the recorder," he said loudly as they both walked rapidly away. "We've got a lot of work to do."
Looking at the retreating figures of Indiana Jones (modified) and Lara Croft (tribal version) Frenchy decided Justa was just as hot as Red was to go grubbing in the dirt. While it took a little (well, a lot of) artistic license to put Red in the Indiana Jones role, any casting director would grab Justa as Lara Croft in a heartbeat. Hell, the girl looked more the part than the actress - whatshername - that did the movies!
Well, those two were settled for the foreseeable future.
Frenchy glanced back at Baltan, self-proclaimed future slaver boss of Lycanth, lying with the other two and awaiting transportation to the tender arms of Interrogation. He was settled for the future, too. One down. Now she just had to do something about the rest of the slaving bastards out there.
Chapter 13
Nos was a little conflicted. On the one hand, here he was, riding out into the Barrens on a gort, which was something wonderful and exciting that he could only have imagined in his wildest dreams just weeks ago. On the other hand, here he was, riding into the Barrens because he was enrolled in Basic Riding Class and the rest of the students were different from him. Very different.
All of the other students were girls. Every one. To make matters worse, all of them were three or four years older than him. That had an upside, because they were all old enough to have the curves and such that made girls interesting. But there was a big down side, too.
All of those interesting girls had typical teenage girl attitudes. They all, every one, considered his twelve year old self nothing more than an overgrown baby - an unfortunate and undesirable presence - and made no bones about showing the fact. That, in his considered opinion, sucked. Here he was, surrounded by pretty girls and they were not only old enough to be way out of his league, they considered him nothing more than a slightly - make that very - embarrassing tagalong.
Things, at the moment, sucked.
Oh, he was far too intelligent not to understand the situation. He was a boy, but not a little boy any more. Not like some of the girls called him when they knew he could overhear what they said to each other. Boys in the Tribes were usually schooled in riding at a far earlier age than girls, but there were always some girls that were behind the learning curve in gort handling for one reason or another. That was the reason for the Basic Riding Class. Nos, to his disgust, was in it because he was years behind the other boys as far as gort handling.
At least the instructor, a really heavy duty guy named Yarmout, promised there were going to be races and an obstacle course. Yarmout also quietly told him that, as fellow guys, they'd do some extra training and show up the girls. Maybe win a few races and get some respect. Nos really liked Yarmout.
The ride was fun, but all those teenage girls made it less fun. Things would have been better if that girl in the Hold, Lila, was here. At least she was around his age and a friend, if not a girlfriend. Not yet, anyhow. Unfortunately, Lila's parents made sure she was skilled on a gort. Nos's original parents didn't know one existed.
Things sucked. He took a secret pleasure in continually using that word in his thoughts. Frenchy, his new Mama, would have had something to say about it if she knew. She wasn't going to know.
Well, all he could do was pay close attention to Yarmout and learn fast. He knew he could do that. He'd done it at the Academy. He was going to be the best pupil Yarmout ever had. Better riding skills would stop a few remarks and give him a little more status among the other kids his age, too. Okay, so he had a goal.
Nos suddenly heard a CRACK sound and Yarmout went flying from the saddle. Immediately, the air was filled with other sharp cracking sounds as gorts began to buck and collapse. Nos had heard boltfire when the pirates took over his parents' yacht, so he wasn't as paralyzed as he could be. His immediate reaction was to throw himself free as his gort was hit and collapsed on its side. He didn't fall hard, but it hurt all the same.
There were a lot of other sounds now. The girls were screaming and squealing. Nos could also hear the gruff sounds of male voices issuing commands. Gruff commands were also familiar sounds from the pirate raid.
His first thought was to try to fight. He hated pirates. They'd killed his parents. Big problem with that was he didn't have a weapon. He was also real sore from the fall from his saddle. OK, so hide. Where? He was on ground that sloped slightly away from the body of his gort. It hit him that the gort was hiding him from view. Take advantage of that. How?
He looked carefully at the gort's body lying on its side with the saddle facing him. The body didn't lie flat because the saddle and a saddlebag just in front of it kept its middle propped up just slightly. Nos realized the combination of the propped up body and the slope made a space between gort and ground that was just big enough for someone his size to slide most of the way in to it. Good enough. He quickly slithered along the ground until he got to the body then slid his upper half underneath. No hiding his legs. At least one of them, he thought as he jammed his left leg under the gort. Inspiration made him tuck it under the animal in a way that made it look like his leg was still caught in a stirrup. Play dead and don't move. Stay still, no matter what.
Nos heard more gruff voices from more men, getting closer. This was some kind of pirate raid, just like the one that had captured him earlier. The girls' noises were becoming outraged, then falling silent, but the men's voices were still loud, passing information and commands. Boots were approaching his gort and Nos kept so still he was afraid to breathe.
"Hey, I found the boy! Looks like he was crushed when his gort fell on him. He's not moving, anyhow. Want me to dig him out?"
"Don't bother. It's the girls we want. Just get back here and we'll load them up. We need to be long gone before someone finds out what happened."
The boots walked away and Nos started breathing again. He heard vehicle motors whine, but stayed where he was. He lay under the gort for a long while, much longer than he would have before his experience with the pirates. When he carefully got out from under the dead gort, he crouched for a few moments, still listening for the sound of the men or their vehicles. Nothing. They were gone.
Nos stood up and looked around him. Dead gorts everywhere, but none of the girls, alive or dead. He gulped slightly when he saw Yarmout's body, but steeled himself. Yarmout wasn't the first dead person he'd seen. The pirates had killed every member of the yacht's crew as well as his parents. For a moment, panic and horror threatened to overwhelm him then he took a deep breath. Remember what Grae - his new dad - taught him. Think fast. Then do something. Don't stand around dithering. Figure out what you have to do to survive then do it.
He had to get in contact with Mama - the sooner, the better. Grae and his school lessons told him there were things out in the Barrens that would show up around dead bodies soon enough. He didn't want to be here when they arrived. The problem was getting help. He couldn't use a vid-tex, even if he had one, since personal models were too short ranged. A thought hit him. Yarmout had a midrange communicator that would reach the Hold.
That brought up an unpleasant fact. He was going to have to search Yarmout's body for the communicator. He'd seen dead people, but never touched one. Both school and Grae said you had to do what you needed to do to survive. He was going to have to search the body.
Standing and looking at the sprawled figure of Yarmout, a burned and bloody hole blown through his chest, Nos felt sick for a minute, then took another deep breath. Do it. He had to survive.
He was fortunate. The little c
ommunicator, about the size of a pack of cards, was in a holster on Yarmout's belt and - as far as he could tell - untouched. He reached down and plucked the communicator from its holster and paused, thinking. Then he reached back down and pulled Yarmout's bolt pistol from its own holster. He only had a short familiarization with guns in class, but he knew the theory. Now he had to teach himself practical use real fast.
Sadly, he looked at Yarmout's big sword, still slung over the dead man's back. He was too young and way too small to use it, but he wanted to take it back to the Hold with him. Give it to Yarmout's family himself. He'd never been able to do anything for the dead crew of his parents' yacht. At least he could do something now. Maybe one day the family would let him take the weapon and carry it in honor of Yarmout. Nos thought for a moment and decided that was the right thing to do. He wanted to honor a man that had gotten killed teaching him how to ride.
All of that settled, he activated the communicator and dialed in Mama's number.
#####
The boys were all off doing various things.
For instance, Grae, Evan, and Jongular had shared a ride to the Port in Grae's sled. Grae was at the Arm office dealing with various elements involving Baltan's case and finding out what Interrogation had extracted from the former slaver leader/unprintably described low rent bastard. Jongular was visiting a custom builder that was making him a new guitar. Well, that was the way his instrument's name translated in Rembaud, not that it really looked like one. Evan was, amazingly enough to Frenchy, checking in with an elite gallery that featured his sculpture. She couldn't even begin to imagine the guy, rumpled khaki outfit, beat up boots, spectacles, and all, mixing with effete art connoisseurs. On the other hand, Maev said he was selling regularly and doing very nicely at it.
Nos was off on an all-day riding class. Good exercise and experience for him.
Grete said Weykhaz was involved in routine tribal business, details unmentioned. That made sense since he was on the Tribal Council.
Okay. Male distractions out of the way, the girls had some free time on their hands and Frenchy knew just what she wanted to do with it. Enjoy it. Her way.
During her time at the Yellow Knife Freehold, curiosity had led Frenchy to explore a lot of nooks and crannies. One of her discoveries was a seldom used tunnel that led to an almost forgotten platform dug into the slope near the top of the mountain over the Hold. It had a wide stone floor and a low stone wall along the outer edge. "An old lookout post," Grete commented when first she'd seen Frenchy's discovery. "Much needed in the early days prior to electronic detection screens such as we use now, but obsolete and abandoned."
That explained the fantastic view of the Barrens the place had. Now it had another purpose. The place was perfect for laying out and working on a nice over-all tan.
The platform now boasted four duplicates of beach lounge chairs, courtesy of Frenchy and the efforts of a slightly puzzled fabricator operator, made with brightly patterned cloth strung on adjustable wooden frames. They were perfect for reclining in pure relaxation, like Frenchy and associates planned for the day's primary activity.
Frenchy's associates consisted of Dallas, Grete, and Maev. All four were equipped with the aforementioned chairs, towels, sun tan lotion, a broadcast receiver for music, and a medium sized chest of cold drinks. In other words, all of the elements were present for a small group of friends to just loaf and enjoy a nice sunny day.
After unfolding chairs, removing clothing, and setting up music, Frenchy and Dallas assisted each other in applying sunscreen in hard to reach places. After all, they were old friends and very accustomed to each other's bare bodies due to their former stripping profession. Grete and Maev would be perfectly happy if their guys were around to assist in that little chore, but were a bit more dubious about female hands, even a friend's hands, applying liquids to bare skin. Frenchy, knowing Tribal attitudes to same-sex personal contact, solved that problem firmly and pragmatically. "Mother, come here and let me put some sunscreen on your back. You, too, Maev."
All four, suitably oiled, settled into their respective loungers. "Mmmm," Dallas said with real satisfaction. "This is perfect, babe. I've missed being able to lay out."
"Agreed, babe," Frenchy replied in relaxed tones. "When I found this place, I knew exactly what I wanted out of it."
"You know," Maev commented to Frenchy, "this is nice. I could never see much point in lying around getting a tan before getting introduced to a few of your home world customs, but I like this way of relaxing. It's not our way, of course. I never thought of tanning as relaxation before meeting you. You're going to tan out in the Barrens anyhow and I got an all over tan when I was in bondage."
"I took note of the fact that your status changed rather rapidly after Evan took possession of you, Maev," Grete said teasingly. "As I recall it was not but a matter of weeks between thine bondage and the matrimonial. 'Twas not long after my daughter's, as a matter of fact."
Frenchy chuckled at that sally. "Hey, those two are as hung up on each other as Grae and I are. No sense in waiting."
"It'll be longer between me and Joe," Dallas said lazily. "Like I told Frenchy, we're taking it slow and see where it goes."
Grete looked over at her. "And just where do you think it's going, Dallas?"
"Oh, once I see a doctor and get some things fixed, right through the formalities and on to pregnancy," Dallas replied with a grin. "I'm just letting the poor innocent guy get accustomed to his future."
All four women broke into knowing laughter at that. "And what of you, daughter?" Grete asked in the same teasing tone she'd used on Dallas. "Art thou preparing such a course? I will admit Nos satisfies some of my grandmotherly yearnings, but I still wish to practice on a babe."
Frenchy grinned. "Dallas and I are going to get pregnant at the same time, Mother. We've agreed on that, but it might be a while yet. I have to get settled into being an Enforcer and right now things are a little too busy for me to take the time."
"Well," Maev stuck in, "as far as slavery goes, we're starting to get the Tribes on our side. It'll take a while, but we're going to clean it up."
"Art thee then so sure, ladies?" Grete asked.
Frenchy's reply was flat and grim. "Oh, yeah, it's going to happen, Mother. Sooner or later. I'm going to make certain of it."
The conversation- and relaxation - flowed on into the late afternoon until Frenchy's vid-tex ring signaled she had a message from Nos. "Excuse me guys," Frenchy said. "Got to take a call from my kid."
She got up and walked off a little ways, adjusting the vid-tex's pickup so only her head was showing. She didn't want Nos to be suddenly confronted with the view of his new grandmother and aunt - not to mention a family friend and (especially!) herself - in the buff.
All of that became moot when Nos told her, his voice only a little uneven, where he was and what had happened.
"WHAT?!"
The word fixed the attention of the other three women on Frenchy. The rest of the one sided conversation they could hear simply added tension.
"Are you OK, honey?"
"What happened to everyone else?"
"Any idea who they were?"
"OK, stay there and keep a careful lookout. Use that gun if you have to. We'll be there and get you as soon as possible."
Three anxious pairs of female eyes watched as Frenchy terminated her call and strode swiftly back to the chairs. "Get dressed, guys. Fast. Nos just told me his riding class was ambushed. Yarmout was killed and the girls in the class were carried off by someone, he doesn't know who. Maev, you and I are going to go pick up Nos and find out just who is ambushing little boys and stealing little girls.
"Then we'll do something about it," Frenchy added grimly.
"Mother, you stay here and call Grae. This is something we need to get him and the rest of the Arm involved in - fast. Tell those girls' parents what happened also. Dallas you stay here with her. I'll call you guys and let you know what's happening. Tell Grae I'll
update him when we know more."
Dallas shook her head in a firm no. She'd known Frenchy for years and seen her like this any number of times. In this mood, Frenchy would charge straight ahead no matter what and just as straight into a brick wall. Dallas wasn't going to say it at the moment, but she felt she had to be with the girl to keep her from hitting that wall head first. Besides, there was Nos. "Nope. I'm coming with you. Nos is important to me."
"Dallas, you don't need to come!" Frenchy snapped. She was mad, but Dallas could tell her anger was focused on what had happened to her adopted son. "Maev and I are Enforcers. This is our business."
"And I'm Nos's aunt," Dallas snapped back, her own temper rising. "I'm coming."
"Ladies." Grete's voice was tense with concern over Nos, but she was applying a little oil over troubled waters. "You both have the right of it. I would likewise desire to be present, but I also know I'm the best choice to pass such an urgent message as this to both the Arm and the parents of the girls. Dallas needs must go, though, as she likewise has feelings for Nos and is not utterly helpless in this pass."
Dallas, looking at Grete and catching the little wink in her eye, realized the older woman also knew the other big reason Dallas wanted to come - and agreed fully.
Frenchy took a deep breath and calmed down a little. "OK, Dallas," Frenchy said a little less harshly, "you've got a point. Just understand Maev and I are cops. We're supposed to respond to things like this. Come on, but stay careful."
Dallas looked her best friend in the eye. "Babe."
A nod in return. "Babe"
Frenchy whirled towards where she'd left her leathers. Maev was already dressing. "Now let's get going. My kid's out there by himself with a dead body."
#####
There were advantages to being in the Enforcement Arm, Frenchy decided once again. One of them was having an assigned Arm sled instead of the standard model. It was strictly for official business, but this was official business. Frenchy smiled to herself as an errant thought hit her. During their checkered careers, both she and Dallas had ridden in the back seats of police cruisers. Now here she was, riding shotgun in one while Maev piloted. Dallas, unfortunately, was still in the back seat although none of the "guest of the Law" restraining features were active.