by George Olney
Milla shook her head firmly. "No it isn't." She shot a glare at Sarena, who stepped back a half pace and nodded slightly. Milla looked satisfied as she turned back to Nos. "We captured it, but you used it as it needed to be used. It came to you and it's suited to your hand. It's yours, nobody else's," she said firmly.
Frenchy remembered the Tribes had the belief that a weapon suited to someone came to their hand. After all, that's how she got her ax. It looked like her son now had his own sword. She wondered for a second if she was going to have to set rules for when he wore it, but another look at the boy stilled that thought. Nos would make the right choices. He would wear it when it was right and proper, no other time.
Grae appeared equally satisfied with Nos. "Have a scabbard made for it when you get back to the Hold, son."
He looked at her. "We came as soon as we could," he said. "We got you on satellite surveillance first thing this morning. When I saw the carryalls following you, I got a team together before we headed out. That took more time than I wanted, but we got here. We landed behind your rocks and came around on either side. They never saw us. They were too focused on you."
Evan was holding a very affectionate Maev. "Like old times, Captain," he said in his usual laconic fashion. "Different guys in the unit."
Since his arms were occupied by his wife, Evan swung his head to indicate the tribesmen with swords. "Fathers. Looking for their daughters."
"Who we intend to recover shortly," Grae added. "There are two Arm air lorries on the way. One for our prisoners and the other has a strike team aboard with some special equipment we might need. Once we load up the prisoners, the slaver compound is next."
"There's a barrier field and a fence around the campus." Sarena, here with the rest of the girls, spoke up. "The only way in or out is the gate or the air. We broke down the fence gate when we drove through it. That's how we were able to escape, but the barrier field is still up and they're on alert right now because the lee'thal hit them before we broke out. That's what created enough confusion for us to get away. I'm sure the lee'thal are gone, but the guards have still got to be edgy. They'll be looking for trouble."
Grae and Evan gave her knowing grins. "No problem," Evan said. "Done it before, young lady."
During the War, both men were Imjin Scouts, members of the Federation's best special operations unit. Grae commanded a troop while Evan was his top sergeant. Frenchy was happily certain they knew what they were talking about.
"I'm coming, too," Nos proclaimed.
Hoo boy, Frenchy thought. Now she was going to have to deal with teenage boy bravado. She opened her mouth to lay down the law.
Milla stopped the argument before it got started. She put a gentle hand on Nos's arm and said, "They don't need us, Nos. The rest of the girls and I are going back to the Hold, but I don't know anyone there. Can't you please come with us? I'd appreciate it."
"I'm going with the girls, Nos," Dallas piped up from where she and Jongular were standing, each with an arm around the other's waist.
Nos actually ignored what Dallas said for once. He was looking at Milla and seeing a whole new very interesting future opening in front of him. "Yeah," he said. "I'll go with you. You girls aren't going to be by yourselves."
Frenchy's smile finally broke through as she looked at Milla and Nos. Grae was grinning knowingly, too. It looked like problem solved. It also looked like Nos was going to be discovering how complicated life got with girls involved.
Then she thought about hitting the slavers' compound and her expression got wolfish. Sometimes, being an Enforcer was very, very satisfying.
#####
There was currently a situation with the project. That was the way Commandant Plas-Cynth-Bomar thought of it as she sat in her big office/meeting room fuming. She was using the term situation to avoid having to admit to herself that she had a major problem and was seriously worried about it. First, the attack during the night by those flying animals, huge bat-like beings armed with swords, of all things! Then the escape of an entire dormitory room of livestock. The first mission sent after the girls was out of contact. They'd reported major problems and asked for help, then stopped replying. The response team she'd sent to reinforce them wasn't replying, either. Almost half of her guard strength was effectively missing.
Plas-Bomar was fuming, but something inside her told her she ought to be in a cold sweat. The something was right.
The door to her office snapped open without permission. A big blonde woman strode in, dressed in some kind of outlandish barbarian getup. She wore a brief leather leotard and feminine boots. Leather straps encircled her tight waist, upper arms and wrists, with one on her forehead holding back her long blonde hair. To make the picture perfect, there was some kind of strange ax holstered head down on her right thigh! Her expression was cold and hard.
There was also an Enforcement Arm badge on her full chest.
"Knock. Knock," the big woman said in flat tones.
Plas-Bomar realized big trouble had just arrived.
"As you can see from my badge, I'm Enforcement Arm. So's my husband." Frenchy's words were casual. Her tone wasn't. "He's also a former commando. We had the equipment to penetrate your security fields and he knew how to use it. He and his unit used to take places like this apart like cotton candy. Now the Arm and some really pissed off Tribal men are currently working their way through your compound.
"When my wonderful husband said we were going to clean out this little prison of yours, I asked him very nicely if I could be the one to clean you up with it." Her smile was frightening. "Guess what? He said yes. Now, do you want to come with me peacefully, or do you want to argue about it? Hm?"
A short, chopped off, female scream came from somewhere outside the building.
"That will be the boys," Frenchy said calmly, her full attention on Plas-Bomar. "The Tribes have some attitudes about women that bug me to no end, but one I really like. They don't see any difference in the sexes when it comes to anything that's truly important... like a fight. Gotta love Equal Opportunity."
Frenchy watched the slinky black haired woman in the cat suit stand up from behind her desk and step smoothly around in front of it. She immediately recognized the fluid body movements of someone trained in martial arts. As the woman came, she picked up a short thick rod about two feet or so long. That had to be one of the shock sticks the girls had mentioned. "You don't scare me, bitch," Plas-Bomar said in a silky voice. "I've beaten and killed men far bigger than you."
"Tisk, tisk," Frenchy replied in the same deadly sweet tones. "I'm all aquiver. As far as I'm concerned, all you've done is abuse little girls. Now you've met a big one. How do you feel about that, sweetcakes?"
"I'll get out of here," Plas-Bomar replied, her voice still soft. "I have my own emergency way out. But before I go I'll take the time to make you regret you ever walked into my office. Then I'll leave and I'm coming back to Lycanth to get more slaves."
Plas-Bomar's lovely face got ugly with hate. "I'll make them all squeal. Then I'll tell them about you. How I killed you. I'll make every one of them regret I ever met you."
Good enough. Frenchy wanted to take this child abusing bitch apart and now she had an excuse. Not completely apart, sadly. They wanted the bitch's boss, so the bitch had to be kept in good enough shape to tell them little things like who he was and where to find him. Pity.
Ergo, shock stick or not, Frenchy didn't reach for her ax. Instead, she settled into a ready posture, everything poised but not tight. Her eyes watched Plas-Bomar while her mind cataloged actions and possible weaknesses with lightning speed. The woman looked to be good, but her own martial arts persona was better. There was only one handicap as far as Frenchy was concerned. A real martial arts fight was lightning quick and ended as soon as the first good strike got through an opponent's defense - and a good strike could kill. Frenchy didn't want to kill this bitch, just beat her into a pulp. Fact was, she wanted to beat this bitch, not just into a pulp, but in
to a complete pulp. This woman had kidnapped teenage girls and was farming them as future slaves.
Plas-Bomar's opening move was a left hand swing at her head. Feint. The real attack was the shock stick in her right that shot out with the speed of a snake's strike.
Frenchy leaned back to allow the bladed hand flashing for her head to miss, then did something Plas-Bomar wasn't expecting. She slid inside the darting stick with smooth economy of motion. The heel of her right hand flashed to the left, knocking the stick to the floor. Her left hit the woman in the breastbone in a straight blow.
Plas-Bomar fell away slightly to lessen the impact of the hit... but Frenchy wasn't finished with her combination. Her left hand slid back and grabbed Plas-Bomar's wrist, pulling the woman forward and off balance. Frenchy swung her body to the left, using her right hand to push and speed up the resulting swing of her opponent's body. Plas-Bomar slammed into the office wall.
Normally, Frenchy would immediately follow up with several blows to incapacitate Plas-Bomar while she was still off balance from being slammed into the wall, but not this time. She wanted this bitch truly pulverized. She'd seen the light alloy chairs lining the office's conference table. Barroom brawl wisdom from her stripper past said that a swung chair was hard to duck, harder to survive, and did some very nice damage to whoever it hit. Her right hand grabbed a chair back. The swinging chair caught Plas-Bomar center of mass just as the woman was coming off the wall and back after her.
In the outer office, Grae was discussing things with the commander of the Arm team assigned to the compound strike. Although the strike was still in progress, the discussion was a calm one seeing as how the situation was now pretty much in hand. Since the force hitting the compound was composed of Enforcers and Yellow Knife tribesmen, all of whom were experienced in mayhem and quite proficient in dealing it out to appropriate recipients, the result was pretty much a given. Some of those Yellow Knife tribesmen were very, very aggravated Yellow Knife fathers with five foot swords looking for their daughters - and their daughters' captors - with blood in their eye. Leaven the mix with teenage girls that had both Cause and improvised weapons. Bad day to be a slaver of either sex.
In addition to the above, Grae's wife had accompanied the strike and was occupied at the moment doing something she'd been itching to do since the very start of this case: take someone apart that really, really needed it.
Both men paused their conversation and glanced at the inner office door when they heard the resounding crash from behind it, but neither was overly concerned. Grae had Frenchy in his mind. He knew what had happened. The uniformed Arm commander knew the Chief Inspector's wife was an agent, so he was likewise unconcerned. Knowing just who just got clobbered was a no-brainer.
Both men paid no further attention to the thumps, bangs, and short screams coming from the interior office. They simply turned back and resumed their conversation.
"We might have to save a couple of the guards or staff to take back with us," the commander said with a touch of regret. The Arm had no love for slavers - and less for slavers that kidnapped teenage girls. "But they probably won't be of much use. The information we want is probably on chips in some kind of secured holding facility."
"We'll get everything we need," Grae said. A chopped-off soprano scream from inside the office interrupted him. Frenchy was a contralto. "Probably in a few minutes, once my wife cools down."
To the commander's raised eyebrow, Grae explained, using a little understatement. "She's got a bit of a temper and slavery in general pisses her off."
Another scream. "And grabbing teenage girls as future slaves pisses her off even more."
The door to the inner office chose that moment to slide open, revealing Frenchy hauling out a disaster in a cat suit that was still recognizably a woman. The disaster's face - under a bedraggled mop of black hair going in all directions - was already starting to swell and color from the broken cheekbone, but the dislocated shoulder, greenstick fracture of the left forearm, cracked ribs, and smashed knee were hidden by the cat suit. The broken teeth weren't. The disaster's utter limpness, however, hinted at the various other major damages, not to mention future big bruises, current contusions, and the like. Pushing the limp disaster forward, Frenchy announced, "Grae, I believe this piece of shit wants to give us some data chips."
Glaring at the barely mobile remains of Plas-Bomar, she added, "She'd better. I haven't really worked off my mad yet."
"Yes, mistress," Grae replied equitably.
He reached out, grabbed the neck of Plas-Bomar's cat suit with one hand, and jerked her up off her feet roughly. "Chips, bitch," he pleasantly told her, holding her off the floor one handed so that they were face to face. "Now... or I give you back to my wife."
Plas-Bomar could barely find the strength to hold up her head, but complete and utter terror at that last promise gave her the energy to nod. "Inside," she croaked through the blood drooling from her mouth. "The safe."
The watching Arm commander nodded with an approving smile. "Good idea."
Chapter 16
"The last time I did this it was for a porn movie," Dallas commented wryly as she slipped nude into the warm waters of the Jacuzzi tub with her equally nude best friend. Just back from a trip to the Painted Cloud Tribe to start setting up her coffee business, she'd gratefully accepted Frenchy's invitation to come over for a little "girl type down time." Dallas accepted the pillow Frenchy handed her with a grin and put it just above the tub's rim on the end opposite her best friend. Stretching out, she purred in relaxation. "Oh, yeah."
The tub in Frenchy's apartment was big enough for at least four adults, so neither woman was crowded. That was by Frenchy's design, to allow for a relaxed visit by another couple or give enough room for a girl (her) and a guy (Grae) to have some fun when alone.
Frenchy pushed the button to start the tub's water jets then settled her head back against her pillow with a sublime smile, sighing in pure enjoyment as the warm currents massaged her body. "Thank God we're finished with that nonsense," Frenchy replied in a relaxed voice. "Porn's not as big a thing out here as it was back home and I'm glad to be out of the skin business, babe. That put money in my purse when I needed it, but now I've got a man, a home, a family, and a job I really like. I just feel better."
She snorted. "Of course, I think more people saw me in the buff out here than ever did while I was working back on Earth."
Dallas shot Frenchy a cheeky grin. "Maybe you, babe, but my videos were best sellers on disk and major hits on the Net. Face it, girl. I was a big star."
Frenchy cracked open an eye, giving Dallas a jaundiced look. "And just who was broke and busted by the cops when she had to start a business to survive?"
Dallas chucked and raised a hand to acknowledge a hit.
"Leaving past careers in the past where they should be," Frenchy continued, "I needed some down time. The last couple of weeks since we saved the girls have been a real trip. I dearly love Nos, but I'm glad he's finally off to survival school for a while. Gives Mama - or Mom, now - some time for an easygoing visit with her best friend, who's just back in town."
"Milla's going to miss that boy while he's gone," Dallas said with a knowing smile. She'd taken Milla in after the battle for a few days until her folks could come get her. During that time, she'd gotten to know the girl pretty well.
Shortly thereafter, Milla's parents returned for a second, longer visit, officially to spend a little more time thanking the people that had rescued her. Vanesa, Milla's mother, was a very intelligent, lively lady and she and Frenchy hit it off immediately. Vanesa was also nearly as short and solid as her fireplug shaped husband, something else indicating that a grown Milla was going to lack the long sleek tribal woman's ideal form.
During their stay, Nos had spent a lot of time with Milla and her parents and escorted the girl to several age-appropriate events. Both families had gone to a school varsity court ball game, too. Frenchy had once seen a team handball game on TV and
figured court ball was something like that, with the addition of tackling, kicking the ball, and other such foolishness. Just like football back home, the men were big fans and spent their time yelling while the women chatted in what amounted to a semiprivate conversation, seeing as how everyone else was ignoring them for the game.
Vanesa and Frenchy had an unspoken understanding that Nos was the real reason for the visit, something indirectly confirmed in the conversation. Her parents wanted to know more about Milla's new boyfriend. Frenchy heartily approved of Vanesa's concern, part and parcel of the caring family life that typified the Tribes, since she felt the same way about Milla.
The visit gave her a chance to size up Milla without the distraction of a gun fight and her own final judgment of the girl was quite positive. Milla was as intelligent as her folks and a very determined person. Right now, it looked like her determination was focused on Nos, who was utterly clueless about the fact.
Towards the end of the visit, Milla announced that she wanted to study robotics, incidentally best taught in the Yellow Knife school. The fact that Nos was Yellow Knife by adoption didn't enter into the decision. Not at all.
"You know Milla's asked me to teach her to dance?" Dallas continued, interrupting Frenchy's train of thought. "I told her I didn't have a permanent place to live yet, but the young lady didn't let that bother her. Grete found her a place with Yarmout's widow, Anana, while she's in school here, so Milla said she'll be here in the Hold whenever I'm available. Both of Yarmout's girls want me to give them dance training, too. Anana firmly agreed and insisted she wanted to pay for lessons. If this catches on I may have found a third business."
She smiled wryly. "To think that when I got out here I didn't know what I was going to do. Now, between dance teaching, managing Joe's career, and doing a coffee startup, I'm wondering how I'm going to find the time for everything, especially teaching the girls to dance. I can help, but I can't work with them on a regular basis. Actually, I think Milla might have the aptitude for it, but we both know once in a while lessons don't work."