FRENCHY

by George Olney

  And scream!

  She was rolling and screaming on the couch as two strong hands grabbed her shoulders and shook her. Her eyes opened and she looked into Grae's face. There was a look of concern on it she'd never seen before. The words came gushing out of her. "You don't own me, you bastard!”

  She exploded into tears, completely falling apart. Two strong, gentle arms enfolded her, holding her close. He gave her the human closeness and warmth she desperately needed at the moment. She clung to him violently, needing an anchor in the wild storm of her thoughts and emotions. Grae held her tightly. She needed it and he knew it. After a few moments, he began to gently stroke her hair as she calmed down.

  He was concerned and slightly puzzled, not really sure what was bothering her. She had exploded about her bondage to him, but bondage was a fact and nothing to be unduly concerned about. On the other hand, binding her also made her welfare his responsibility. She seemed to change when he'd told her about the trip to Lycanth. The trip bothered him, too. Her independent feisty spirit was exactly the kind of attitude to get her in trouble with the Galactics. Trouble he couldn't get her out of, either, not outside the Tribal Mandate.

  That was probably it. He knew her well enough by now to know her independence. That he had her bound was bothering her, obviously deeply. He suspected she looked on bondage more like a Galactic than the way he did.

  He frowned. He had many bones to pick with the Galactics, and the way they warped tribal binding was one of them. Now it was badly disturbing his woman, and that was wrong. He had to say something to get her out of her state and it had to be phrased carefully, in a way that would mean something to a Galactic. As long as they were true, the words weren't important, they just had to help her. She was still his woman and that was what counted. How much it counted was something he refused to examine. What he meant when he said she was his woman was something else he didn't want to look at.

  The fact was, he was getting involved with her against his will. He was trying to keep his distance, but he realized now that was a wasted effort. With this blonde dynamo he held in his arms, there was simply no way to stay at arm's length. He decided there were several things he needed to do before they planeted - and one of them was to acknowledge her hold over him.

  She looked up at him with tear streaked eyes and said hoarsely, "Damn it, I said you don't own me and you never will, you son of a bitch. No matter what you do or say, you never will change that, I swear to God you won't."

  He looked into her eyes and said softly, "I don't intend to."

  She stared up at him. "I don't want your soul," he said gently. "I can't take it and wouldn't take it if I could. That is a wrongness."

  She had a vulnerable, little girl look on her face and her lower lip trembled slightly. "But you said..." she started in a small voice.

  "You belong to me. I have bound you to me," he replied in a soft, firm tone like someone talking to that same child she resembled. "That's what I said. But maybe I didn't mean what you think." In spite of himself he added, "And maybe things will change. Time will tell."

  She stared at him, feeling his strength and tenderness, the warmth of his body. She searched his face, looking intently for something she instinctively knew was there. Somehow, she knew when she found it and relaxed with her head on his muscular bare chest. Softly, she said to him, "And maybe things will change when pigs fly, bucko."

  She cuddled comfortably in his arms and closed her eyes. "Just hold me. Be good for something."

  "Frenchy," he murmured softly, "glad to have you back." They remained like that in the wardroom for a long time.

  #####

  Early in the next waking period, Frenchy sat in the galley, chin in hand, pensively examining the bubbles on the surface of her coffee. Last night really bothered her. The fact that he was there when she needed him bothered her just as much. She'd gone from acceptance to complete explosion about her status, then found out that status wasn't what she thought it was. She shouldn't have blown up, anyhow. It did her campaign no good. She had to admit to herself the two of them were becoming more emotionally intertwined. Was that what made her vulnerable? What was going on? What did everything mean?

  He still firmly stated she belonged to him - then agreed with her when she stated he didn't own her. What did that business about her soul mean? Were the two of them even speaking the same language?

  Anyhow, she was back in control of herself. There were going to be no more blowups. Back to working her way out of bondage, or whatever. The whatever bothered her to the point that she finally decided to find out what in hell she really was to him. After all, how could she judge her progress when she didn't know what she was judging it against? Obviously, some of her assumptions were wrong. Then again, she was sure a good many of them were right.

  Reaching back into her experience, she decided on a solution, the library. Libraries were always good places for her when she was stripping for a living. They were places where nobody bothered you, it was blessedly quiet, and you could go anywhere you wanted and do anything you wanted, if only in your mind. A library, any library, was an old friend.

  Her quick expert questioning of the ship's computer brought her swiftly back to the same sources that provided her original information on Lycanthi tribes. Something was wrong with that and she found the reason when she discovered everything was written by non-Lycanthi. Those jokers probably didn't know anything more than she did, she mentally snorted.

  Further meanderings by the computer brought up something entirely different from the travel and reference books of her earlier research. The library was stocked with a large collection of tribal legends and stories. That seemed right, given Grae's background.

  Speaking of that bum, where was he? She shrugged and forgot her mild curiosity, lost in the strange tales of the violent, earthy, vibrant tribal culture.

  It was several hours later before she emerged, with both food for thought and the feeling of having somehow solved a puzzle. She thought she'd solved it, if she could only figure out what she'd solved. All through the stories, men were stealing women, not always over anybody’s objections either, including the woman's. Everybody agreed the women were the men's possessions, but then the women either ended up in a permanent association... read marriage... or given to another man they cared more about. Occasionally, they were set free, if the woman would accept it as honorable. They called it binding or bondage, not ownership. The word ownership was never used. There was no buying, no selling, and any woman that was arbitrarily freed by her binder killed herself over the insult.

  There was a lot of suicide in the stories, too. Tribal Lycanthi took their own lives when they lost their honor, or over a broken heart. That made her wonder why Grae was still alive. His bondsmate was obviously dead and the tribal response to that sort of loss was self-destruction.

  She couldn't understand anybody being that close to another human being. She'd never loved anybody - even her mother - very much. Betty was an accident, something left over from a chance encounter. She shook her head. Betty's life was not something that Frenchy cared about, or ever wanted to relive.

  Back to the Wild Bunch. The binding, or woman stealing, wasn't one-sided. A woman was perfectly within her rights to kill in her own defense, or kill a master to obtain her freedom if she thought it necessary. That certainly made things a little more even, if a bit rough. Guys had to be careful how they behaved.

  There was a Tribal concept of "rightness" and "wrongness" expressed in those stories, too. That was hard to understand. Maybe she'd pick it up later. They certainly placed a great deal of emphasis on it and "rightness", or fixing "wrongness", seemed to drive a lot of their actions.

  It was the Galactics that bought and sold women. They also disregarded the rights the tribes gave women in the matter. As far as she was concerned, Galactic civilization was using Lycanthi custom as an excuse for slavery.

  Tribal women didn't feel strongly about bondage to a man. It was sor
t of like going steady, but with a couple of twists. Both parties acknowledged possession, the man acknowledged responsibility, but there was no emotional commitment. A man was free to go out and get another woman and the woman could attract the eye of other men.

  She wasn't interested in that part. Once she got shed of this man, she wanted to be free of all men. It was just that sometimes you needed somebody, and he'd been there and done the right thing when she needed him. Other than LeRoy, nobody else had ever done that. The idea bothered her, but she decided to put the concept on hold for now.

  Passing the galley, she grabbed a cup of coffee and wandered on into the wardroom. Grae was deep in his usual chair, closely examining some small things in his hands. He looked up as she walked in, then put the little items on a nearby table, picking up something else instead. "Come here, Frenchy," he said with some of his old firmness.

  The tone gave her a slightly rebellious urge, but she complied. He got up and fastened a slim gold chain around her neck. There was a lovely gold and crystal pendant hung on it that lay just below the level of her neck. He held it in his hand for a moment then looked her in the eyes. "This little thing," he said, "tells everyone you are bound to me. As long as you wear it, everyone, even Galactics, will acknowledge the fact. You have to wear it where we're going, or someone else may grab you.

  "Then I'll have to find another woman," he grunted, turning away.

  She felt like ripping the thing off, but thought better of it. The pendant didn't change anything, she decided. It was just a way of keeping her out of trouble. Not something to risk a fight over, not yet. But she hated the beautiful piece of jewelry with a passion. "What's it called?" she asked in a shaky voice. "Not a dogtag, is it?"

  If it was, there was going to be a fight, come hell or high water. After her dreams, she'd die before she wore anything called that.

  His look was slightly puzzled. "It's a name pendant."

  He turned back to the table and picked up what he'd originally lain there when she'd come in the room. It was a pair of incredibly beautiful little ear posts, made with red coral stone and carved in a tiny, intricate design. She caught her breath when she looked at them. "Here," he said, holding them out to her, "these are yours. Wear them always while we're planetside."

  She thought they were the most gorgeous jewelry she had ever owned in her life. "Ohh, Grae, where did you get them?"

  He smiled at her obvious pleasure. "I just got through making them."

  She looked at him with wide eyes. "You made these? For me? Why?"

  "Because you're special," he said in a peculiar tone. He paused for a second then continued in a more normal voice, "That is my personal crest. Anyone who sees those will render you the courtesy due a Kwaa'kaniqua, a Valued Woman of the Yellow Knife tribe."

  Suddenly, like she'd pulled it from the air, she had a gut understanding of what he was trying to do. He was trying to say she was important to him, and proclaiming it to the world.

  She looked away from him. She didn't want him to see her eyes. She was still wearing the little fake diamond ear posts she had on when he took her and they’d have to come out before she could wear these beautiful coral ones. Her hands were trembling to the point she couldn’t do it. He’d have to do it. "P-please put them on for me."

  His eye widened slightly. He thought for a second, then went ahead and began the swap. When he finished, he put both hands gently on her shoulders. Looking intently in her eyes, he smiled, "I didn't think, you know."

  "Huh?"

  "If you were really Kwaa'kani, Yellow Knife," he said sardonically, "I would have just proposed marriage. And you accepted when you asked me to put them on you."

  She started to fight out of his arms, but he held her firmly without any visible exertion. "Hold it, Frenchy, I just meant I wanted you protected. Don't worry, nothing's changed."

  She looked at him rebelliously. "Maybe I want to change something, but I don't know what, yet. Don't you go thinking you can read my mind! Got it, bub?"

  Laughing, he let her go. "Okay, you win. I promise not to decide I know what you are thinking. Peace?"

  She reached out and held his arm, smiling tentatively. "I know how you meant these, and they're beautiful. I love them. Thank you. Nobody's ever done anything like that for me." She did something she'd never done before in her life. She stretched up on her toes and kissed him gently on the cheek with real affection.

  He seemed slightly uncomfortable. "Uh, yes." Quickly, he left the cabin, headed for the back.

  She watched him go, knowing exactly how he felt. Funny, she was just as uncomfortable. She realized he didn't want emotional closeness any more than she did. Boy! Now that was something else to think about! Fortunately, he was in the gym, not the sleeping cabin. He was probably working off his feelings, she thought with a twinge, just like she usually did.

  At any rate, she was glad to have the cabin to herself for a private reason: the mirror. She went to her makeshift nightstand. She didn’t think about the fact that he’d never disturbed it or what that implied, just took it for granted. Seating herself, she looked at her reflection. Briefly, and with a slight distaste, she looked at the pendant. It was pretty, but what it symbolized made it horrible.

  Pulling her hair back, she turned her head this way and that, admiring the ear posts. They were beautiful! Nobody ever gave her anything like this with no strings attached. And to show she was important. This was the first time in her life anybody ever said she was important, just for herself.

  She wasn't entirely sure what a Valued Woman was, but the legends she read all implied it was a pretty special person, somebody with real status. Grae said she was a Valued Woman. Wow!

  She paused for a moment, looking at herself in the mirror. Was she starting to fall for the big lug? Over a couple of pieces of stone?

  No, she decided. She wasn't a girl any more. It wasn't the stones, but what they meant and why he did it. Grae was showing up to be a decent human being, even if he was from a perverted culture. She really was falling for him, and it was because of what he was. That was scary. It had never happened before in her life. Nice kind of scary, though.

  She began to do her hair up. She wanted to make sure the posts were showing.

  Frenchy wandered back into the wardroom. Grae was in his favorite chair and glanced up casually as she passed. She was smugly pleased at his sudden expression of mild shock and appreciation. She was fully conscious of his eyes following her as she strolled with casual grace to her own favorite spot on the couch. Amazing what a little change in hairdo and makeup can accomplish. The high heels were back on, too. She felt devastating, and, judging from Grae's reaction, she was.

  As she sinuously curled up on the couch, Grae shook his head like he was waking from a deep sleep, mentally took a deep breath, and determinedly turned his attention back to his data pad. Astounding, he mused, what two little pieces of stone could do. She positively radiated the beauty and charm of a woman that knew herself to be rare and treasured. He'd frequently noticed that she could project an aura of almost any persona she wished to assume. She was now as desirable as he ever had seen her. At the moment, she could knock any normal, healthy male flat on his back with just a look. He was having a great deal of trouble keeping his attention on the data pad.

  Frenchy studied him for a few minutes, an impish smile on her face. His discomfort was blatantly obvious, as was the reason. Bingo, she thought, did it again.

  Well, why not?

  He heard her getting up from the couch and tried to ignore her. Then he felt the soft, warm skin of her hip on the bare point of his shoulder. He looked up when she bumped him slightly. She was leaning with her hip on his shoulder like he was a piece of furniture, arms casually crossed under her breasts and looking down at him. "How about getting that thing out of your lap?" she said. "I plan to occupy that space and it looks uncomfortable to sit on."

  He almost told her no, but, fortunately, caught himself in time. He knew what s
he was doing, and why. She was trying to show affection and needed his response. A resigned thought told him that, no, there was no way he was going to keep this woman at arm's length.

  Silently, he took the data pad and placed it on the table next to his chair. True to her word, she immediately flopped in his lap, drawing a slight "oomph". She was a big woman and anything but light. Frenchy wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled at him. "Hello, sailor," she said archly. "Doing anything tonight?"

  It turned out they both were.

  #####

  They were sharing the companionship of a meal several activity periods later when she popped another of her patented questions at him. Pausing with her fork in the air, she asked, "Grae, what is it like where we're going? What's your home like?"

  "My home?" he mused. "Well, that's different from where we're headed.

  "The main port city is Galactic," he continued. "Port Baelth is just as modern as anyplace. My home is out in the Tribal Mandate and that is a beautiful place to be, barren, colorful, dangerous, and exciting."

  Cupping her chin in her hand, she regarded him. "And moves you to poetry, it sounds like. I've never heard you speak like that about anyplace else."

  He nodded and said dryly, "I'm attached to it.

  "Since we're talking though, there are other things you need to know before we land. Grab your coffee. Let's get comfortable in the wardroom while I tell you."

  Frenchy felt her explorer's excitement returning and eagerly grabbed her cup, leaving the ship to clear the table.