FRENCHY

by George Olney

  That would both figure and go with her feeling that the six intended trouble. These birds were not on the side of the angels.

  The outlaws spread around them as they came to a halt. The leader, with two of his men flanking him, pulled up to Evan, effectively covering him on three sides. The other three flanked the women, two on Frenchy's side and one on Maev's. Frenchy realized they were directing the bulk of their attention towards Evan, since they assumed he was the leader and main threat. Possibly so, Frenchy mused, at least about the main threat part, but she and Maev were perfectly capable of creating a little localized devastation on their own.

  Evan raised his left hand in a slightly befuddled fashion as he greeted the men. Frenchy noticed the fingers of his right hand were absently cradling a small discus. "Mornin'. How goes the day for you?"

  The leader casually waved a reply. "Fine. Good day to travel, isn't it? Tell me, have you had any trouble with raiders?"

  Evan shook his head. "Ah, no, can't say as we have. Been pretty peaceful so far. Why? Is there a problem?"

  The outlaw leader nodded. "Oh, yes. There are slavers, woman stealers, operating in this territory. Possibly we should accompany you and your women for a while, just for safety’s sake."

  Evan smiled and Frenchy could swear that he looked exactly like a complete idiot, incapable of coming in out of the rain without direction. "Well I think that's mighty nice of you. It is kind of lonely out here and it does sort of bother me for us to be out here by ourselves."

  Frenchy heard Maev make a strangling sound as she gamely tried to hide the fact that the last whopper nearly caused her to choke. Brother, she thought, these guys were both in hot competition for Bullshit Artist of the Year.

  Things suddenly took a nastier turn. "Galut," one of the outlaws said in a wary voice, "he's riding the Boss's gort."

  Once again, Frenchy plucked something out of the air, a second before it was going to happen. They were going to draw! She screamed, "NOW!"

  A good many things happened simultaneously. The outlaw leader cursed and began to draw his gun, but never finished, a fountain of blood suddenly spurting from his neck as the discus unerringly zipped through his spine. The second discus slashed into one of the leader's partners with equal accuracy. Maev smoothly drew her bolt gun and dropped her man from the saddle as Frenchy grabbed her ax and launched it side hand at one of her men, one of its heads burying itself in his chest. Evan launched himself from the saddle and tackled his remaining adversary, dragging him to the ground.

  The last outlaw made no attempt to draw and fire. As he saw what was happening, he spun his gort and took off in a mad gallop. Frenchy wasn't about to let him go. This man was a slaver and she wanted him dead! With no thought other than killing the outlaw, she took off after him.

  Maev saw them take off. She tried to draw a bead on the fleeing slaver, but Frenchy got in the way as she charged in hot pursuit. Maev cursed, shot a glance at Evan to see that he had efficiently terminated his current problem and thundered off after the pair. She was praying hard she could catch Frenchy before Frenchy caught the slaver. That woman was doing her damnedest to get herself killed! Damn!

  Frenchy was slowly gaining on the slaver when he looked back. Realizing she was his only pursuit, he frantically sawed on the reigns of his charging beast, trying to stop and draw his bolt gun. He'd barely cleared the holster with his weapon when Frenchy reached over her back, grabbed her bopper and smoothly leveled it, firing from instinct.

  THUMP!

  Both man and gort flew apart as though they were caught in a nuclear blast.

  Frenchy stopped and sat there in the saddle for a moment, looking at the messy remains on the ground, just shaking. When Maev cantered up, she looked at the girl, but discovered she couldn't see her clearly. Her eyes were full of tears. "I had to kill him. Had to! He was a slaver!"

  Maev rode within reaching distance and embraced her around the shoulders. "Of course you did. Don't worry about it. You had to do it!"

  Frenchy let herself go to reaction. She started weeping onto Maev's shoulder, getting the adrenaline surge and the killing out of her system.

  Over the woman's shaking shoulder, Maev thoughtfully eyed the fragments of dead slaver scattered over the landscape. She'd underestimated Frenchy's abilities again, she decided, and was damn glad of it this time.

  When Evan rode up a few minutes later, both women were presentable again. He looked carefully at Frenchy, experience telling him just what had happened. "Better now?"

  Frenchy nodded. "One less slaver gang."

  Evan said, "I think we got them all. If there were any others, they'd have made their presence known by this time."

  Maev agreed. "If there are any others, they've left for parts unknown."

  "Come on," Evan turned and beckoned, "I want to check the bodies. See if these birds were carrying anything interesting." Looking back, he commented dryly, "Searching that one would be a waste of time. Effective sort of thumper you have there, little girl."

  Maev smiled. "She's her mother's daughter."

  Frenchy started grinning, the elation of survival filling her. Damn right, she thought. Let's go see Mother and tell her what's been happening to her baby since she left home!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  To Frenchy, the territory they were crossing seemed familiar. Some of the oddly worn rock formations looked like ones she'd noticed when Grae led them to the Freehold. As if to confirm her thoughts, Maev scanned the surrounding reddish brown hills then commented to no one in particular, "Looks like we're getting close to the Yellow Knife Freehold. They ought to have us on screen by now."

  Noting Frenchy's quizzical expression, she smiled and explained. "Every Hold has sensor screens. It only makes sense in the Barrens."

  Frenchy's response was a touch wry. "Sure it makes sense, now that you say it. I guess I just get lulled into thinking everything's primitive because of the way the Tribes live."

  Maev laughed. "You're not the first one that's made that mistake. Some of the others learned to regret it.

  "Say," she said, turning to Evan, "that wasn't a bad haul we got from those birds back there."

  He slapped the lead rope to the five gorts they had in train and nodded. "Weapons. Gorts. I'm curious about the document chips they had in their bags. I have this little feeling they ought to be of interest to the Arm."

  Maev nodded. "Anything we can get on slavers is always welcome. Shame none of them had readers. The chips are probably coded, though. There ought to be readers and something that can break personal codes available at the Hold. If we were real lucky, Yert's records will be on those chips. Give us buyers and a whole network. Locar will love that."

  Frenchy frowned. "I thought the Galactics were buying women legally? The Arm can't do anything about that. I mean, that's the sticking point, isn't it?"

  Maev looked at her with a grim expression. "Technically, yes. I have the feeling that something will be done, though. I just can't guess what, yet."

  "Not my problem, thank the High Spirits," Evan commented airily. "No ties, no property, and above all, no women in my life. I'm footloose and fancy free."

  At the close of that little speech, Maev gave Evan a look of speculative interest that portended massive changes in his future. Frenchy also considered at him with a slight air of disgust, wishing she could find a way to crack that man's equilibrium. A glimmer of an idea began to cross her mind concerning Maev and Evan, one that would solve some of her problems and be acceptable to the disgusting customs that seemed to prevail around here. She decided she'd discuss the matter with Grete.

  Another thought struck her. Earlier, Maev, her face barren of all paint since Tokhaz, had painted a small black bar across her forehead between her eyebrows. That meant something, but Frenchy wasn't sure what. Noticing Evan was momentarily out of earshot, she leaned over and asked Maev in a soft voice, "I know it means something, so fess up. What's with the bar on your face?"

  Maev, surprisingly,
blushed. "We're going to the Hold, right?" she said in a soft, slightly embarrassed voice. "Well, a lot of guys there know me. The paint's for them. It means I'm not looking for company. I'm spoken for."

  Frenchy shot her a slightly shocked, quizzical look. "Oh, not you," Maev hastened to add. "I'm taking your advice and laying off until I see how this thing with Evan is going to develop."

  After that little announcement, Frenchy rode on, smiling to herself. She was definitely going to talk to Grete about her idea!

  With the revelation that they were under electronic surveillance, the welcoming committee waiting for them outside the Hold was no surprise to Frenchy. Grete and Weykhaz looked much the same as a few days before. If anything, Grete's anxious expression was deeper with the knowledge that Grae was no longer with them. It was Weykhaz that raised his hand in welcome and yelled, "Frenchy, welcome back! Who've you decided to drag back here?"

  She quickly explained about Evan, as well as the extra gorts and gear, as Weykhaz's strong hands lifted her from the saddle. It surprised her slightly to notice that Evan performed the same service for Maev, with as little apparent effort as Weykhaz. Things stayed pretty much on an even keel until she finally got to address Grete directly. "Hi, Mom, I'm home."

  Her eyes locked with Grete's and unspoken messages passed back and forth. Frenchy tried to say something light. "I..." Then she choked up.

  The two women grabbed each other and held on in a tight embrace. Grete quickly decided Frenchy's state was such that she needed to be alone for a few minutes. Grete looked at Weykhaz and said, "The role of host is your tasking, my love. My daughter and I have things we needs must discuss alone. We shall return anon."

  After a quick glance at the departing pair, Weykhaz beckoned to the other two. "Come on, I'll fix you up with a place for the night."

  Maev also watched the women leave. Frenchy must really be missing Grae, she decided. She was nearly in tears, but was working hard to hold them. After a second's thought, the girl brightened. That meant she was alone with Evan! Things were definitely looking up.

  "Heads up!"

  Maev turned in surprise and oofed as she caught the awkward bundle of saddle bags flying through the air towards her midriff. "Figure we can split the load, old buddy," Evan casually remarked. Then he shouldered his own half of the gear and sauntered after the departing Weykhaz. Maev began to understand why Frenchy periodically wanted to clobber Grae with a large club.

  As usual, two sets of saddlebags were heavy and difficult to manage for a person of Maev's size. She'd handled them plenty of times before, but here in the Hold she was highly conscious that people (read: guys) who knew her were watching. Things kept flopping and banging in the most undignified places! She was acutely aware that the figure she cut entering the Hold was totally the opposite of her usual sleek, self-confident grace. It didn't help that Evan seemed to manage his load with the casual competence that marked all of his actions. Once inside the Great Hall, she realized she and Evan looked like the lead actor in a tridio story and his bumbling sidekick, with her in the second banana role. For the first time in her life, she found herself getting thoroughly aggravated over the way a man was behaving. She wasn't supposed to be the clown half of the act! That was the man's part!

  Things really hit bottom when she saw just who was doing the watching. Right then, she wished it was a few of the guys instead of who she saw. In the middle of a group of girls off to one side was a curvaceous, graceful figure that would stand out in any crowd. Flowing auburn hair and green eyes highlighted the flawless features of a classically formed face. The face topped a body composed of slim, long legged curves that fulfilled a picture of the average man's fantasy. Allurra! Damn it all, Princess Allurra was here! And watching her like this!

  As a saddle bag swung around and bumped her in the butt, Maev decided she wanted to go quietly off somewhere and die. The feeling intensified when she heard the girls giggling at her. She made a sudden decision.

  Trying to keep the bags from banging around in an even more undignified manner, she trotted up to Evan. "Hey, big boy, I thought we were trying to be friends."

  He stopped and looked at her for a moment. "Having a problem?" he asked mildly.

  She squelched her irritation with a positively Herculean effort. Getting mad at the guy wouldn't get her what she wanted. She knew that much about men. "Look, I'm having a little trouble toting this junk. Can we at least swap something around? Anything? Let me have your duffel or something."

  Habitual absent expression firmly in place, Evan responded. "Um, uh, yeah. I'll just take those."

  Suiting action to words, he calmly shifted his duffel bag to an arm that already was burdened with another set of saddlebags. With his free hand, he reached out and gathered in both sets of bags from Maev's shoulders, transferred them to his free shoulder, then turned and continued on after Weykhaz without a second remark. Maev had to stop and stare for a moment, marveling at the strength hidden in the lanky body. Each set of bags weighed in at nearly forty pounds and Evan was carrying all three sets with all his extra gear besides! Hearing an excited chattering behind her, she looked and realized the little episode wasn't lost on Princess Allurra and the girls gathered around her.

  Maev had dueled with Allurra before over men, usually winning the match. This time, she wasn't too eager to renew the contest, not with being bound to Frenchy. Come to think of it, she didn't want to have to explain that little situation, either. She decided a strategic withdrawal was the best solution at the moment and hurried after Evan and Weykhaz. Time enough to sort things out with the Princess later.

  They got inside Grete and Weykhaz's private rooms before Frenchy finally used up her self control. Both women looked at each other for a second, hugged tightly and Frenchy began to weep silently. Grete, her own eyes glistening, tried to comfort her as best she could. "There, there, child, let the feeling come out. Mayhap it will give you a better mind for the challenges that yet await. Tush, child, let me hold you and you let it come out."

  Frenchy cried, but she was already recovering. The tears still fell, but her eyes were alert and she was becoming focused on the sure knowledge of where her future lay. Gently, she pulled back from Grete, turned her back for a moment, and walked a short way away from her. Grete simply watched her, aware that Frenchy was the key to the next move. Whatever this woman said would determine the fate of her son.

  Frenchy turned back decisively to face Grete. Tears still streaked her face, but her chin was high and firm and the look in her eyes was strong and clear. "I'm going to find him," she said firmly. "I'm going to find him and he's going to live."

  Grete nodded slowly, her lips shaping a broad smile. "Here is a true thought my child that you may take with you now and forever. I care not from whence you came, but one thing I know, you are in truth my daughter. You are your mother's child in spirit if not in blood!"

  "Amen!" Frenchy said as she grabbed her in another, happier hug.

  After a moment, the two broke apart and Grete produced two small handkerchiefs from somewhere, handing one to Frenchy. As she wiped her face to remove all signs of tears, Frenchy chuckled, "You're going to have to teach me that trick. I have yet to find a way to shoehorn anything but me into one of these Tribal leotards."

  Wiping her own eyes, Grete laughed in return, "It takes a bit of doing and a century or more of experience, child. Some of these poor babes that surround us have not yet the trick of it, born though they were to this style of clothing."

  For a few moments, the two tossed conversational snippets back and forth as they used the room's mirror to repair damage to hair and appearance, passing brushes and small tubes of make-up back and forth like college roommates. The process gave each of them the chance to recover from the last few moments' emotional upheaval.

  As she was looking into the mirror and brushing her hair, Frenchy began to get one of her feelings about the future, a feeling that filled her with elation. Finally, personal appearance cho
res done, she gave vent to the new emotion and the idea it fostered. She whirled around in the middle of the room for a few seconds, arms outstretched, shouting gleefully, "Wheee! I'm gonna find that man! Dammit! I know I will!"

  She ended her impromptu spin by flopping into an overstuffed chair, throwing her legs out in front of her and letting her feet hit the floor with a loud thump.

  More restrained in her reaction to the recent emotional turmoil, Grete strolled over to a nearby matching chair and seated herself with a relieved sigh in close conversational distance with Frenchy. "Well, child, have you now gotten this hubble-bubble out of your system?" she asked.

  "Yes!" the word came out in a gust of air. "Definitely!"

  Continuing in a voice that was more relaxed but still firm, Frenchy said, "I know what I have to do, and what I'm going to do, but I don't know how I'm going to do it. Any ideas?"

  Grete frowned in thought. "Only this, daughter, that you need to truly understand the problem before moving on to a solution. How well do you understand the way my son feels?"

  Relaxing into the chair, Frenchy thought hard. How well did she really understand what Grae was feeling? The man was from a totally different culture, one she often damned because of its attitude towards women, but with a lot of good points, too. She concentrated on the snatches of thought she was getting from Grae, the ones about the beautiful dark haired woman with the aura of sadness and horror surrounding her. This was a woman whose face was still so indistinct to her that she had no idea what it looked like, but she knew who she was and how he felt about her. He considered her the other half of his being. It was just that simple... and just that complex.