FRENCHY

by George Olney

  That was silly. The relationship between the two of them was too deeply developed for a gesture like that to make any marked difference. She and Grae behaved the same to each other no matter how she was dressed - or not. Leaving aside the question of other clothing, Grae simply didn't care if she wore the cloak. The fact that he let her keep it because of personal feelings said a lot about how much she meant to him. The cloak was a matter of her choice, not his.

  And there it was. It was her choice, based on her feelings. The cloak was her defense against insecurity. But that wasn't right. She wasn't an exhibitionist. She just wanted protection against the outside world. Besides, she was still a little shy.

  A group of native Lycanthi at a table across the room caught her eye. It was a mix of their society, with several bound girls among its female members. Although the bound girls had exchanged pendants for clothing, they were not one bit less active and animated than their free sisters. They didn't need her approval or anybody else's, Frenchy decided, and didn't care if they had it. Those women, bound and free, simply didn't give a damn what anyone thought. They lived their lives and conducted their relationships with others in the way they saw fit, and that was that.

  Pretty good way to live, she mused.

  To hell with shyness and defenses. She was Frenchy. Frenchy wasn't shy and Frenchy didn't need defenses.

  Firmly, she stood up and removed the cloak, once again folding it over her arm. Grae glanced at her, raising one eyebrow slightly. She immediately picked up on the unspoken question. "JoAnn needed a defense. Frenchy doesn't give a damn," she said firmly. "Let's go."

  "Yes, my lady," he said softly to himself. What she wore or didn't wear was of no importance to him. What was important was her steadily growing self-confidence. Here was a woman that was capable of handling anything she faced. She was a fit match for any warrior. Treasure this one, he thought, she is special. She deserves respect.

  He took a moment to appreciate the woman in front of him. The past weeks had wrought a transformation. The worn hopeless stripper in a dead end life was gone. In her place was a self-confident dynamic person that caught and held his allegiance. Frenchy wasn’t a classic beauty. She was far more than that. The mature character that shown in her face, her lively personality, and her curvaceous athletically toned body formed a combination that was spectacular. Frenchy would dominate any group and no other woman alive – except one – could even come close. There was that one – and the thought gave him the germ of an idea.

  His smile hid his thoughts from her. "All right, it's time to get a hotel room for the night. I have to report back tomorrow. No reason to go to the ship."

  "How novel," she commented with heavy irony, "I have to come halfway across the galaxy to spend the night in a hotel room with a man.

  "Well," she sighed, "I don't have to worry about a change of clothing. Lead on, m'man. Can I at least talk you into taking me out to dinner so this whole routine will feel more normal?"

  Grae laughed. "Come on, Frenchy. You'll get your dinner."

  #####

  For Frenchy, the trip to the hotel was taken right out of some of her favorite Sci-Fi movies. She couldn't get enough of the sights, meanwhile trying hard to be urbane about the whole thing. It's just that everything from the movies was there! Even the moving sky walkways!

  The hotel room, though, was immediately recognizable to her, even with its strange decor and various ultramodern watzits. To her, all hotel rooms had the same feel and this one was no different. There was even a phone of some kind with a red message light already glowing. Grae touched the answering button and spoke while looking at the tiny screen, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. There was some kind of sound deadening field at work. Presently, he terminated the call and turned to her. "Looks like I have business for a while, but I won't be long."

  She made a face. Another old story. Men! Grae spotted the expression, figured the reason, and applied quick damage control. "We're still going out tonight. Best place in town, so you might want to fix yourself up a little. There's a hotel shop in the lobby. Get what you want there and charge it to the room."

  She started to get excited. Shopping by herself on an alien world! All right! Then a thought stopped her full in her tracks. "But how will I know what cosmetics or lipstick or anything else looks like? How will I know what I'm looking for?"

  Grae smiled. "Just ask the sales clerk. This hotel caters to interplanetary trade, so they get a lot of requests for different things. Just describe what you need or what it does, you'll get help."

  After a few minutes preparation and a quick good-bye, Grae left. Frenchy watched him go with mixed feelings. She was alone again. But not helpless, she decided. She knew the language, the layout, and had plenty of experience. The thought of going shopping, even the limited expedition to the hotel store, cheered her up immediately. Also that dinner promised to be interesting. She hoped the store was well stocked. She planned to let it all hang out tonight.

  Shopping in the little hotel store was fun. The sales clerk was a big help, once she had the idea. Frenchy explained what she was trying to do and let the clerk use her initiative. All successful explorers in the movies used that tactic, she thought, and it worked again. The shop had everything she needed to look good for a night on the town.

  The sales clerk was a free Lycanthi woman, but she treated her with the helpful courtesy due any customer. Frenchy speculated for a while then decided the attitude was genuine. Every other Lycanthi female she encountered acted the same way. Bound or free didn't really make any difference to these women.

  Arriving at a section of wall screen that acted as the hotel room door, she juggled with her purchases for a moment, absentmindedly looking for a key, then realized the futility of the gesture. One, she had no purse or pockets. Two, there was no key. The computer knew who she was and automatically set the door field so she could walk through it. Ergo, in she went. She dumped her packages on the little table in the front room, and realized there was something wrong. The way she knew was indefinable, but she knew she wasn't alone. There was someone else in the suite - and it wasn't Grae.

  Frenchy looked around for a weapon. Her ax was in the ship. Briefly, she considered a small vase on the table and rejected it for one of the table's light chairs. As a survivor of more than one barroom brawl, she knew that a swung chair is one of the hardest weapons to avoid in close quarters. It was also an excellent shield.

  Holding the chair in a guard position before her, she paced tensely to the archway that led to the suite's bedroom. Sprawled languidly on the bed was a figure that immediately changed her emotional state from tension to fuming. It was Maev, nude, lying on her side with an arrogant smile on her face.

  It was blatantly obvious that it wasn't Frenchy the girl was preparing to welcome. With graceful ease, Maev rose up and stretched, meanwhile now eyeing Frenchy with the same distasteful expression one gives a stray cat that shows up sopping wet and makes itself at home in the clean laundry.

  Frenchy suddenly felt awkward crouched in the archway with the chair in her hands. Straightening up, she put it down within easy reach, just in case she wanted to belt this slinky broad with it.

  "Where's my man, boundwoman?" Maev asked in an arrogant, syrupy drawl. "I presume he'll be here to see me shortly. When he shows up, make yourself scarce.

  "That is," she continued viciously, "unless you'd like to hang around and watch us. Some people get their excitement that way, I'm told."

  "Well, I'm sure you know all about that, dear," Frenchy returned in the same ultra-sweet tone of voice. "But I'll leave that sort of pastime to you since it seems to be one of your kinks."

  Her voice hardened. "Doll, I don't really give a damn about whatever Grae did with you in the past. He was obviously pretty hard up. The one thing I'm sure of is that he isn't your man. He's not anybody's."

  Enraged, Maev bounced out of the bed and headed for Frenchy. "Look, you overstuffed bed warmer; you're the one
he got when he was hard up. Now he's back and you've got no business getting between free people. You can just get the hell out of my way!" As she said that, Maev put out her hand to shove Frenchy away from her path.

  Mistake. Frenchy grabbed the girl's arm and jerked it past herself, throwing Maev bodily into the front room. Maev kept her feet with a stumbling run, recovered her balance, and turned on Frenchy. Frenchy also turned, and started to close with Maev. They stopped, faces inches apart, glaring. If Maev wanted to start something, Frenchy was fully prepared to finish it.

  The hotel computer also chose that minute to intrude. "Visitors request admittance."

  Enraged, all her attention on Maev, Frenchy didn't even think. "Go ahead, let 'em come in."

  She realized she'd made bad mistake when she saw the reflection in a wall mirror of the first two figures to come through the door screen. They were obvious goons with obvious guns. Experience screamed at her to do something, no matter what, but do something now! The chair was within easy reach, so she made the leading man a present of it, right across the head. Maev launched herself at the second one like a charging leopardess, with violently effective results as she came within striking range of the intruder.

  There were more than two invaders and the situation quickly got out of hand. Frenchy's last memory before blacking out was of breaking someone's nose and watching him fall next to Maev's still figure on the floor.

  #####

  When she recovered consciousness, it was to the pain in her arms. It took her a few seconds to clear her head and assess the situation. They were in what looked like a dingy, empty warehouse. Her arms hurt so much because they were strung over her head, tied to a rope that hung from a crossbar above her. At least they'd left her feet flat on the ground. When she stood up straight, it took some of the pressure off her arms and relieved a good bit of the strain on them. She could flex her hands.

  The crossbar probably was supported by a plastic beam behind her. She could feel the material at her back. A glance next to her showed the still unconscious Maev in the same situation a few feet away and proved her guess correct. She mumbled to herself, "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

  The feeble attempt at humor cheered her up slightly, but she had no illusions about their situation. They were in deep trouble, with only two ways out she could see. Either Grae found them first... or she hoped their kidnapers would kill them quickly.

  If she was going to die, she decided she was going to take one of them with her, somehow. God, she hoped Grae was on their trail.

  #####

  Grae was definitely on their trail. He got to the hotel not long after the kidnapping, surveyed the wrecked room, and took appropriate action. The Enforcement Arm started moving after the kidnapers with the speed and dangerous intensity that characterized the organization.

  Now in Locar's office, he was organizing the rescue effort with the humanoid's help. Placing a cube on the desk, Grae told him, "I made a chronological reconstruction of the kidnapping, but the characters that have the girls are unknowns as far as I can tell. The only guess is it's the gang I'm after. They found out I was here and hit first."

  Looking intently at the moving images in the small chrono reconstruction cube, Locar replied, "Good guess. The one your woman just felled has been identified as a member of your target. She put up a good fight."

  Grae smiled grimly and nodded. "They both did. Ideas?"

  "Yes. We have Maev's electronic field imprint on file. If they're both together and they haven't been taken too far, we ought to have them located in less than an hour."

  Looking Grae grimly in the eye, Locar asked, "Can Frenchy hold out that long?"

  Grae's return expression was level. "I think so. She's tough, experienced in the rougher side of life and..."

  "What?"

  "My ship's analysis reported she had some kind of psi abilities that couldn't be identified. I noticed she could create an entire persona for herself and step right into it when she decided it was necessary. She can also change her environment to suit her if she wants to hard enough. I think she can manipulate people, like me, that are tuned to her but she doesn't know it. If she sets her mind on surviving - and she will if I know her - she'll last through anything until I can rescue her. It's what those scum might do that scares me."

  Locar nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting. I will talk with her when you get her back. Since she's psi, your earlier suggestion has a great deal of merit.

  "At any rate," he waved briskly towards the outer office, "that is for the future. Time is of the essence, so get some of the crew in the main office and start orbiting in a carryall. I'll call you as soon as the Tracer has a good location."

  Grae started out, but Locar stopped him with a final word. "Grae, take a decontamination team, too."

  Grae nodded bleakly, saying nothing. There was nothing to be said. They both knew what could happen. Locar added, "Make sure the team has full capabilities."

  Grae's expression as he left the room was deadly.

  #####

  Maev came awake shortly after Frenchy. She moaned, straightened, and flexed her strained arms, turning her head as she did so in a restless, stretching motion. After a few seconds, she glanced at Frenchy and said in an undertone, "Looks like they aren't around. Any idea who they are and what they want?"

  "No." Frenchy shook her head. Maev was quick on the uptake. Most of the moaning must have covered a study of the empty warehouse bay. Figured, since she belonged to the same law enforcement bunch Grae did. Maev was both tough and well trained.

  Frenchy tried to flex her own tired arms and asked, "Have you ever been in a spot like this before? I know what would happen at home. I just wonder if you people are any different."

  "People? Galactics or Lycanthi? Not that it makes a difference in this case," Maev said, and winced at the pain in her arms. "They want us for a reason, probably to get Grae, but I'm not sure we'll be safe until he arrives. It just depends on the way their boss feels."

  "Grae's been chasing a bunch of smugglers," Frenchy said. "He said they were probably the source of an escetepus infection."

  Maev turned pale. It was the first time Frenchy had ever seen the girl show fear. "If we can't get out of here soon, make sure they kill you," Maev said with a hoarse urgency.

  Maev's sudden apprehension shook Frenchy. This was totally out of Maev's character and it was scary that anything could get to her that much. She decided Maev was tough and well trained, but she herself had more experience with the rougher side of life, including slimeballs like these. She felt a little sympathy for her no longer arrogant antagonist. She had no idea how old Maev was, but she suddenly felt like her big sister. "Don't worry honey, Grae will get here. Those bastards have more trouble than they want, believe me."

  Frenchy found herself fully confident that she had just spoken a cold fact. A little fear vanished. All they had to do was survive until the Marines landed, smack on top of these bastards.

  Maev shook her head, her body trembling uncontrollably. She looked away from Frenchy for a second, then said in a low voice, "I've been in this kind of situation once before, and I can handle it. It's the disease. No matter what we do, we'll get infected. We'll change. I'll change. I won't be myself. I-I'm not afraid of dying. It's living with that disease growing inside me, taking me over. It's living in hell."

  Frenchy shuddered. "Zombies."

  "What?"

  "Story at home. The dead brought back to their bodies, animated to serve the will of someone," she said. "They call them the living dead."

  Maev gritted her teeth and got hold of herself with a visible effort. "That's us, unless we are rescued or make them kill us."

  "I'm going to take one out first," Frenchy growled with a bravado she didn't feel. Maev stared at her, completely expressionless.

  They were interrupted by a small group of smugglers entering the warehouse bay from some other room. Several of them she recognized from the hotel room were
sporting a collection of bruises and bandages. That gave her a sense of satisfaction. The frowns on their faces as they examined the women didn't. One looked at the captives with an evil grin and commented to another, "Hope the boss decides what to do with them soon. Looks like they'd be fun."

  The second one leered, "Just depends on what the boss wants."

  Frenchy heard a door opening somewhere in the dim recesses of the bay, and a Galactic woman came into view in the pale light. She stopped in front of Frenchy and Maev, studying them intently. She was statuesque, athletic, dark haired and beautiful in a way that demanded attention without being blatant. She was the obvious leader. There was nobody else even approaching her character in the room. Frenchy had a brief flash of deja vu, recognizing her from somewhere. She also knew, again without knowing how, that there was something horribly wrong with this beautiful woman.

  Maev knew it, too. She stared at the woman with the terrible fascination a bird gives a snake. The woman looked at Maev briefly then turned her attention to Frenchy.

  After a brief initial scan, the woman regarded her more closely. Frenchy returned her look, measuring her as an equal. An indefinable something, a thought, a feeling, passed between them. Each knew they were looking at a blood enemy. Frenchy realized she now had an antagonist far more serious than any childish competition with Maev.

  Okay. Fine by her. This feud was going all the way if she survived to push it.

  The woman pointed at Maev with a casual gesture. "Take this one. I want the other to listen and know what's in store for her."

  The muscles in Maev's jaw stood out, her teeth were gritted so tightly. The woman waved vaguely in Frenchy's direction. "Take your time when you get to this one. She's overreached herself."

  The look she gave Frenchy said plainer than words that she acknowledged the rivalry between the two of them. She intended it to begin and end right here. "We'll get him when he comes, you know," she said in a sweet, deadly voice to Frenchy. "We'll leave him a present, first."