Slave Empire - Prophecy

by T C Southwell

Chapter Twelve

  Rayne watched a vidfilm documentary of an obscure alien ecology, which was rather fascinating in a shuddery sort of way. The suite was equipped with a diverse selection of entertainment and informative vidfilms, some of which she had sampled to stave off boredom. When the door opened, she looked up in surprise, expecting the Shrike. Instead, the diminutive slave girl who had served lunch stood in the doorway, her eyes cold. Rayne’s gaze slid past to the temptingly open door, but, even as she stared at it, the girl stepped forward and it shut.

  The slave eyed Rayne with obvious dislike. “So, what makes you so damned special?”

  Rayne raised her brows. “I have no idea. What makes you say I’m special?”

  “Come on, you don’t think he keeps all the girls he saves in this kind of luxury, do you?”

  Rayne shook her head in confusion. “He didn’t save me. He bought me at a slave market.”

  “Of course he did, stupid. He buys all of us, except the ones he steals. What I want to know is why he’s keeping you here, and why he’s spending so much time with you.” Her eyes dropped to Rayne’s neck. “You don’t even have a collar.”

  Rayne’s mind raced, hope flaring in her heart. This girl clearly resented her presence, for reasons best left unexplored, and might be willing to help her escape, if it was at all possible. She leant forward. “Listen, you don’t want me here, and I don’t want to be here. Is there any way to get off this world? Maybe send a distress signal? Could you smuggle me aboard a ship, maybe a freighter? There must be foreign ships in orbit, like traders, or associates?”

  “You want to escape from Tarke?” She looked incredulous.

  “Tarke? Is that his real name?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you help me?”

  The girl studied Rayne with a puzzled, pitying expression. “You don’t have to escape from Tarke. He’ll take you back to your home world if you want to go.”

  Rayne snorted and rolled her eyes. “I’m a slave, like you. He’s going to sell me.”

  The girl touched her collar. “I’m not a slave anymore. He freed me, like everyone else. There are no slaves here.”

  Rayne stared at her, stunned. The poor creature must be drugged or deluded, not to know her situation, or perhaps she made her life bearable by living in a fantasy of denial. She gestured to a chair, inviting the girl to sit. Rayne searched for the right words to ask for help without bursting the girl’s bubble of self-delusion.

  “Look, you may be happy here, but I’m not. I want to go home, and perhaps the Shrike is too busy to take me. Can you help?”

  The girl frowned. “There are no foreign ships in orbit. All the ships around this planet belong to Tarke.”

  Rayne’s heart sank. “Is there any other way off this world?”

  “There’s a transport leaving tomorrow, returning slaves to their home worlds. If you mingle with the others, they’ll take you. I don’t understand why Tarke would refuse to let you go. Are you sure he said no?”

  “Well, perhaps he just wants to keep me a little longer.” Jealousy flared in the girl’s eyes, and Rayne hurried on, “But I want to be on that ship. Can you help me?”

  “Yes, I can get you on the ship, if you want.”

  Rayne smiled, relieved. “Thank you.”

  The girl shot her a puzzled look, and Rayne tried to keep the pity out of her eyes. This poor girl was jealous of a man with no face, and obviously could not understand Rayne’s wish to leave. Tarke: a strange name. Meeting a slave girl who imagined she was free undermined Rayne’s slight faith in his honesty, and the whole situation stank. After all her futile attempts to escape, one of the Shrike’s slaves was going to free her. How ironic.

  The girl rose and went to the door, beckoning to Rayne as it opened. “I’ll take you to the hangar dome; you can wait with the others. You’d better cover your neck, or you’ll draw attention to yourself.”

  Rayne turned up the collar of her suit and fastened it under her chin. Apparently the door was coded to open for anyone but her, so leaving the suite was just a matter of following the girl. Rayne hurried down the deserted corridor after the slave, who turned into another that led deeper into the building. The girl marched along confidently, and they passed several people who ignored them. Rayne was inclined to try to duck out of sight when someone appeared, which made the slave girl shoot her scathing looks.

  They trotted down another corridor, and, although she did not seem concerned about capture, the girl was certainly in a hurry. They passed more people, none of whom gave them a second glance. Rayne relaxed, realising that they did not know who she was. Surprisingly, no guards or overseers were in evidence; the slaves seemed to go about their business without supervision.

  Halfway along the corridor, they entered a lift and shot up several floors. The girl used the time to scrutinise Rayne, as if trying to discern her particular brand of madness. When the lift doors opened, they stepped out into a brightly lighted area populated by scores of men and women moving purposefully about. Rayne followed her guide across a vast hangar where several gleaming black shuttles were berthed, attracting only a few incurious looks.

  Rayne glanced into a clear-walled office as they hurried past, her heart skipping a beat. The Shrike stood facing a plump man who bobbed his head in a subservient manner. The Shrike settled on an ergonomic chair and turned his head as if surveying the people outside. Rayne averted her face and quickened her pace. The acres of open floor seemed to take hours to cross, and she almost trampled on the girl’s heels in her eagerness to reach the other side, as far away from the Shrike as she could. They passed through a door at the far end, entering a larger hangar, which also bustled with activity.

  A sleek black spaceship sat on its belly in the middle of it, and Rayne was unable to resist stopping to study it. At first the ship’s streamlining puzzled her, then she realised that it was designed to be an atmosphere craft as well. A needle nose swelled into a graceful body, the bulk of which comprised two enormous energy conduits for the dimension drive. It hovered on its anti-gravity coils, mere centimetres above the ground. Deactivated repellers made spiral indentations on its flanks, top and tail. A scanner ring circled the sharp nose, held in place by invisible attractor fields.

  Silver hawk emblems gleamed on its sides, and its familiarity struck Rayne. Every ship she had studied on Atlan had some bizarre shape, either boxy, saucer, spherical, pyramidal or beyond description, but this was the first ship that looked like something she could relate to, a jet fighter without wings. It also lacked the delicate antenna arrays that sprouted from star ships, which atmospheric travel would destroy. She became aware of the slave girl beside her, gazing at the ship with a soft smile.

  “It’s Tarke’s special ship. The neural net was damaged in a battle. It’s being fixed.”

  Rayne wondered if there was any security at all in this place. Evidently not, for no one seemed concerned by their presence. She followed the girl through a door at the far end of the hangar, which led into yet another vast area, where Rayne stopped in surprise. Hundreds of people sat at one end of the room, a soft murmur issuing from their ranks.

  Three long lines shuffled towards the far wall, where three shuttles were parked. The people vanished into the vessels, and several black-clad men watched them, at times stepping forward to answer a question. Others walked amongst the seated people, occasionally bending to speak to them. Rayne stepped back, unnerved by the sight of the uniformed guards.

  The girl eyed her scornfully. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Go and join them. They’re being taken to a ship that leaves tomorrow. Tell them where you want to go, and they’ll take you there.”

  “Atlan?”

  “All who wish to go to Atlan are taken to Adrivia, a nearby world. There you can call your friends to pick you up.”

  “Just like that?” Rayne could not believe it. It was too simple, too easy.

  The girl snorted. “Why not? The Shrike’s not a slaver, stupid
. He rescues slaves and gives them back their freedom. There are no prisons or guards on Ironia; none to keep you here, at any rate.”

  “He bought me at an auction. He told me he was going to...” Remembering her resolve not to end the poor girl’s fantasy, she trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. This will suit me fine.”

  Rayne studied the crowd with a pang of pity, finding some poor thin wretches amongst them, and their placid, contented expressions surprised her. These unfortunates were probably being transported to auction, but mingling with them still offered a chance of escape. Once away from the planet, she could make her offer to the ship’s captain, and the chances were good that he would find it tempting. A valuable ransom had to be better than a lesser amount from the auction block, and would save him the cost of a collar. She thanked the girl, who pulled a face and flounced off the way they had come.

  Rayne joined a queue, hoping she would be off the planet before the Shrike realised she was gone. Her hopes were dashed when a guard announced that the shuttles were full, and those ahead of her went to sit by the wall. She checked that her collar still hid her bare neck, which, along with her clothes and well-fed appearance, set her apart from the other slaves. Most of them wore plain grey coveralls, and only the guards wore black suits like hers. She realised that she would be mistaken for a guard, not a slave. Heartened, she went over to a wall and leant against it, like the other guards.

  Over an hour passed before the shuttles returned, and the slaves rose to reform the queues. Rayne got some odd looks from the other slaves when she joined the line. After half an hour of waiting, the shuttles were full again, and the slaves returned to sit at the back of the room. She wandered over to lean against a wall, affecting a bland expression to hide her growing nervousness. The shuttles returned and the queues reformed once more, and this time she got a place much further up the line, not far from the nearest shuttle. Her spirits lifted as she shuffled forward, prodding the man in front of her to try to speed things up, and he glanced back irritably a couple of times.

  The slaves’ murmur hushed, and an eerie silence fell as the people in front of Rayne glanced around. They fell to their knees with a great sigh, and she stood rooted to the spot, unable to look at her approaching doom. An insane urge to run for the shuttle made her want to giggle as hysteria swelled inside her like a giant bubble.

  A soft, beautiful, and all too familiar voice spoke beside her. “Going somewhere?”

  She swung to face him, her brows knotting as she was forced to look up at the ugly mask. “Trying to.”

  “Well done. You got quite far. But surely you didn’t think you’d escape this easily. Who helped you?”

  “No one.” She couldn’t bring herself to betray the girl.

  The Shrike took her arm and led her towards the distant door through which she had entered. The slaves watched him pass, their expressions adoring, or perhaps merely terrified, she mused. Why would slaves adore a slaver? In the next hangar, he released her, apparently once again secure in the knowledge that she would walk meekly beside him. His arrogant assurance made her seethe with futile fury, wishing she could prove him wrong.

  He stopped beside the sleek black ship and gestured to it. “What do you think of my ship?”

  “It’s a bit small,” she said, hiding her admiration.

  “It’s meant to be. Size isn’t everything. I have huge battle cruisers too, of course, some even larger than Atlan’s finest, but they require big crews, and I prefer solitude.”

  “You like to brag, too, don’t you?”

  He took her arm again, his touch impersonal, and steered her away from the ship. “You’re in a bad mood today, aren’t you?”

  Rayne longed to wrench free; his touch made her shiver. “So would you be, if you’d almost managed to get free of a damned slaver, then been caught.”

  “Well, almost isn’t good enough, is it? Anyway, it was a pretty dumb plan in the first place. Whose was it?”

  “The – mine. And it wasn’t so dumb. The captain of that ship would have jumped at a huge reward from Atlan for my return.”

  He shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t. My crews are all loyal to me. He would have brought you back.”

  Rayne fumed as he escorted her back towards the office where she had seen him earlier. The short, stocky man to whom he had been speaking, an Atlantean with pudgy features, narrow brown eyes and high class two-tone hair of ash blond and dark brown, came at his signal. The Shrike stopped and released her arm, facing his subordinate.

  “Find Layalia and bring her to my quarters.”

  The man nodded and left.

  Rayne asked, “Who’s Layalia?”

  “The one who helped you, I’m sure.”

  She shivered as he took her arm again and led her towards the corridor. “Please don’t punish her.”

  He turned his head towards her, and she sensed a rare unguarded emotion from him: surprise. “Why not?”

  “She was only trying to help me. She seems to think...”

  “What?”

  “That she’s not a slave.”

  “Ah.” He shook his head. “But she was wrong to do that.”

  “She thought those slaves were being freed. She thought I could leave too. She didn’t know she was helping me escape.”

  “Layalia was trying to get rid of you, and her actions might have jeopardised my plans.”

  She cast him a baleful look. “What will you do to her?”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “You don’t even know if she’s the one who helped me.”

  “She’s the only one who would have a reason to, strange though it is. She’s the girl who served us lunch; the one who disliked my attention to you. Don’t bother denying it.”

  Rayne wrenched her arm from his grip as they arrived outside her door. “If you want to punish someone, punish me. I’m the one who persuaded her to do it. She’s a poor deluded creature, living in a fantasy world. Please, Tarke.”

  “Very well.” The door opened, and he followed her inside. “So, she told you my name. Stupid girl.”

  Rayne stopped in the middle of the lounge. “What will you do to me?”

  “Do to you? Oh, punishment… right.” He went to the bar and poured a drink, which he sipped, then chuckled. “You know, right now she’s probably disporting herself naked on my bed, hoping my summoning of her is for that reason. Unfortunately for her, it’s not, and her wish will be unfulfilled. That, along with a few choice words of chastisement, will doubtless send her weeping to her room, and will be her punishment. How do you plan to partake in that?”

  “That’s all? I suppose it’s cruel enough, in its way, considering the fantasy she lives in. I thought slave collars were used for punishment.”

  He turned to face her, and she sensed a faint flash of pure pain from him. “They are. They inflict exquisite torture. But this is far too slight an infraction for such drastic measures, don’t you think?”

  “I think the whole thing is barbaric.”

  “Of course you do.” He put down his glass and picked up a dress that was draped across the back of a chair. Its delivery was doubtless how he had discovered her escape. He held it up, displaying a shimmering fall of silver-shot white silk-like material, the thin shoulder straps glittering with gold thread, its uneven hem a marvel of silver filigree lace. Rayne stared at it, entranced by its beauty and repelled by its purpose.

  “I want you to wear this for the auction.” His words made her stomach clench.

  “No.”

  “Come on, it’s not as bad as the one Drevina made you wear. This isn’t revealing and crass, just beautiful.”

  “I won’t wear it.”

  He lowered the dress. “Don’t be difficult, Rayne.” She shook her head, and he added, “I don’t want to have to get the guards to put it on you. Do you?”

  “I’ll rip it to shreds.”

  “And be sold in the nude. You certainly will be tempting like that.” He put dow
n the dress and stepped closer, forcing her to look up at him. “Do this for me.”

  The full force of his devastating charisma made her spine turn to jelly and her knees quiver. She fought it, hating the raw power he exuded, a blatant charm so strong he did not even need a face to wield it. The urge to do as he asked was almost too strong to deny. She was aware that some of the power she sensed was mental; a telepathic coercion mixed with his animal magnetism, but the combination was almost irresistible.

  She swallowed hard and stepped back. “All right, on one condition.”

  “What?”

  “You take off the mask.”

  “No. No deal, I’m afraid. Just wear the dress. It’s not much to ask. It’s a beautiful gown. I’d like to see you in it.”

  Once more the full force of his charm came to bear, and this time he reinforced it by reaching out to stroke her cheek. The caress was feather light, but her skin tingled and her stomach tried to turn over. With an act of will, she swung away and strode across the room, putting as much distance between them as possible before facing him again.

  “No.”

  “You’re a strong one. Or are you...?” He walked closer, and she forced herself to stand her ground, refusing to let him chase her all over the room. This time she sensed only his natural charm. He stopped and studied her, the mask a blank barrier she longed to tear off. A slight tingle within her skull warned her, and she gasped, trying to throw up the mental shields she never remembered to keep in place. The tingle of his intrusion stopped, and he turned away. “So, no wonder that didn’t work.”

  “What did you try to do? Why didn’t it work?”

  “I want you to put on the dress, and I really don’t want to use force.”

  “Take off the mask.”

  “No.”

  She folded her arms. “Then you’ll have to use force.”

  He sighed and sat on the sofa. “Why this preoccupation with the mask? Why does it matter to you what I look like, unless you want to tell the Atlanteans?”

  “Why would the Atlanteans care?”

  “Because whenever they’ve come close to capturing me, one of my people has donned a copy of my mask and taken my place to save me. So far, the Atlanteans have tried and executed six Shrikes. I don’t like it, but forbidding my people to take my place means nothing to them; they do it anyway.”

  “How loyal of them,” she muttered.

  “So, now you know. Apart from that, I have other reasons for not wanting my fellow slavers to know what I look like, very different reasons. If you want to bargain for the dress, name something else.”

  Rayne considered. Her position was hopeless; he would get the dress on her one way or another, so she might as well gain some small concession out of this. If he was willing to offer something in return for her co-operation, it was better than nothing. Her gaze wandered over him, then snapped back to the hated mask. “Show me something then, your skin, at least. I’d like to know whether you’re green with purple spots or orange with blue ones.”

  He chuckled. “Neither. I’m Antian. You can look it up in Atlan’s databases. My skin is the same colour as yours.”

  The name did not ring any bells, and, if his race was extinct, she probably had not encountered it during her studies. “Prove it,” she said, determined to make him do something to earn her co-operation.

  The Shrike hesitated, then sighed and started to pull off one of his gloves. She went over and sat beside him on the couch as he stripped it off one finger at a time. The slender hand that emerged looked human in every respect, except she had never seen such fine, beautiful hands on a man. He held it out for her inspection, but as she reached out to touch it, he withdrew it slightly, then appeared to stop himself with an effort.

  It was as if he fought the urge to snatch it away, and she wondered why. Did he think she had some disease? He allowed her to run her fingers over his skin, and she turned his hand over to examine his palm, then back to study his nails. There seemed to be nothing alien about it, other than its refinement; a beautiful voice and beautiful hands. What would his face be like?

  “You seem to be very like a human.”

  “Antians are – were. Very similar.”

  “Do the Atlanteans know you’re Antian?”

  He shook his head. “Not for certain, and even if you told them, you have no proof. They tend to arrest anyone in a grey coat and mask.”

  “I wouldn’t tell them.” The words tripped off her tongue without thought, and she wondered where they came from.

  “Why not? Don’t you want to see me captured and executed?”

  “Captured, perhaps, but I don’t want to be responsible for anyone’s death.”

  “Ah. How noble of you. You’d like to see me dead, but don’t want it on your conscience. Fair enough, I suppose. Now, put on the dress. We must leave for the auction.” He rose to his feet and pulled on his glove.

  Rayne fought a strong impulse to beg him not to sell her. She longed to stay and discover his secrets. The more she learnt about him, the more he fascinated her, and, for all his apparent ruthlessness and barbaric trade, he spoke and acted with no hint of malice or cruelty. It might all be an elaborate façade, but she sensed a deeper mystery within him, something dangerous and complicated. Then there was his all too strong attraction. He strode out, and when the door closed behind him the room seemed empty all of a sudden.

  Picking up the dress, she studied it, then stripped off the functional black suit and slipped into the gown’s shimmering softness, gazing in the mirror. It clung to her slight curves, and, unlike the brazen gown Drevina had dressed her in, made her look like a princess. She found a pair of delicate white sandals, which complemented the dress, and the final effect was quite stunning. A silly idea flitted through her head: that perhaps he would not want to sell her once he had seen her in it. She snorted at her stupidity, wondering where such foolish romantic notions came from, and settled down on the couch to await his return.

  When the door opened, two guards stood outside, and her heart sank. She realised that she might never see him again, and found the prospect unpleasant. With a mixture of trepidation and regret, she followed the guards back into the building where she had seen the black ship. As they passed the office in the first hangar, the guard ahead of her stopped so abruptly she almost bumped into him.

  Curious, she peered around him. The Shrike stood several metres away, in a tableau that had apparently only just happened. A slave woman knelt at his feet, gripping the edge of his coat as she shook with sobs and wept unintelligible words. He appeared to gaze down at her, his hands at his sides. Then he jerked his head at a couple of matronly, uniformed women, who came forward, took the woman’s arms and helped her to her feet, then led her away.

  At first, Rayne thought the woman might be Layalia, but she was a stranger with copper-gold skin, an alien of surpassing beauty. She stared after the woman, whose wails of woe reached Rayne until the guard behind her prodded her forward. The Shrike turned his head towards her as she approached, then signalled to the guards, who escorted her past him into the next hangar, where the black ship was berthed. The guards marched past it into the hangar where the slaves had been, now empty save for a single shuttle parked on the far side. The men guided her to it and escorted her aboard, strapping her into a seat before sitting on either side of her.

  Rayne sat numbly, disturbed and dismayed by what she had witnessed. The scene had displayed the Shrike’s cruelty and dashed her supposition that he was a gentle man. Whatever the slave had been begging for, freedom or life, he had not granted it. Her naive notion that he might be good man, even if he was a slaver, was reduced to ashes, and just as well, she thought. His gentle treatment of her was doubtless an oddity, perhaps to win her co-operation in his bid to sell her at a profit.

  Certainly prospective buyers would pay more for a tame, sweet-tempered slave than a frightened, defiant hellcat. Now she longed to rip off the traitorous dress, but the prospect of bei
ng sold in the nude, as he had threatened, prevented her. Not only would it be cold, but nothing was more humiliating than being naked when others were clad.

  A perceptible reduction in gravity told her that they had left the planet and were on their way to the ship. Within minutes, the shuttle door opened and her guards led her into a smooth room. From there, they took her to a small, but comfortable lounge, and left her alone. She paced its confines for a while, then settled down to wait. When the door opened again, the same guards escorted her back down the short corridor to the shuttle bay. They led her to a circular sheet of shiny metal, made her stand in the middle of it, and stepped back.

  The golden shimmer of an energy shell engulfed her, and when it dispersed, she gazed around at her bizarre surroundings with a twinge of fear. She stood within a glass cube at the centre of a vast dark room. Spotlights shone down on her, trapping her in a pool of light and making the rest of the room darker. She peered into the gloom, shading her eyes against the glare, and made out an approaching shape.

  Its alien form became clear as it approached the light, and she swallowed bile. The creature stood on a single rippling foot, like a snail’s, its skin a mottled grey and green, a metallic robe hiding its midriff. Its sinuous neck supported a round head with a parrot-like beak and four antennae tipped with tiny, intensely blue eyes.

  It did not appear to have arms, and stopped close to the glass to study her with two eyes. Apparently satisfied, it turned as another alien approached, this one a humanoid with slate-grey skin and tusks protruding from an undershot jaw. He stopped beside the first alien and examined her with close-set dark eyes above a flattened nose and a wattled neck. His garb matched his skin almost exactly, giving him the rather revolting appearance of being naked. He possessed disproportionately large hands and feet, and claws tipped his fingers.

  The second alien walked around her glass box, his eyes roving over her with what she interpreted as a greedy glint. He spoke to the first alien in a gargling language, and she concentrated on placing their species. The first had to be a Rentarian, a race that had left its swampy home world centuries ago and made their homes now on other worlds. The second appeared to be a Mar’Ashan, native to a hot, humid world colonised by a hostile, but advanced race that had raised them up to a civilised level, then died out from a mysterious disease.

  Many blamed the Mar’Ashan for the demise of the warlike Agrebe people, but few considered it a punishable offense, since it could be seen as an act of self-defence, for the Mar’Ashan had been the Agrebe’s slaves. The Mar’Ashan had taken over the Agrebe’s technology, but lacked the intelligence to add to it, and some thought their society was slipping back into savagery as the machines broke down and no one could fix them. Fortunately for them, the Mar’Ashan’s home world was rich in rare, valuable minerals, which allowed them to hire technicians and purchase new machines.

  Slaves too, Rayne thought as she watched her prospective buyer sizing her up. He gargled to the Rentarian again, then made a peculiar gesture and pulled what looked like a communications device from his pocket, tapping buttons. The Rentarian gargled back, weaving its neck, and slithered off. She glimpsed movement in the darkness, the faintest hint of something there, and her eyes were jerked towards it. The Mar’Ashan studied his device, frowning. Rayne gasped as a familiar figure stepped into the light. The Mar’Ashan became aware of the Shrike and swung around, his jaw dropping.

  “You!” he said in Atlantean.

  “Hello, Jamdar. Welcome to my trap.” The Shrike spoke in a soft, dangerous tone.

  Jamdar glanced around, but the Rentarian had vanished into the gloom. “Urquat helped you? He betrayed me?”

  “I would have thought that was obvious, but then, you Mar’Ashan aren’t very bright, are you?”

  Jamdar held up his hands, one of which still clutched the device. “I want no trouble with you, Shrike. If you want the female, take her. I’ll cancel the sale.”

  “No deal, Jamdar. This is my trap, and she’s my bait. Haven’t you even figured that out? You’ve been surprisingly difficult to corner, but then, you don’t have to be clever to be cunning. Now you’re outside your territory, with nowhere to run.”

  “This isn’t your territory either! You’re breaking the laws!”

  “Laws!” Tarke snorted. “There are no laws in outlaw territory. That’s what ‘outlaw’ means, you stupid shit. Just because you and a few other idiots have come up with some rules, you think everyone abides by them? Even your cronies don’t, and who will you tell, once you’re dead?”

  “You can’t do this!”

  “Sue me.”

  Jamdar dropped the communications device and reached for the sleek weapon clipped to his belt. A flash of laser light illuminated the room and pierced his chest with a vicious buzz. It seemed to originate from thin air, but then Tarke lowered his arm and returned his weapon to its holster, studying his foe. The Mar’Ashan had a neat hole burnt through the right side of his chest, and purple blood oozed from the wound. He stood swaying for a moment, then collapsed, twitching, as his skin turned white and started to flake off. Rayne swung away, swallowing hard.

  Urquat emerged from the gloom on his rippling foot. Two of his eyes examined the corpse, while the other two turned towards Tarke. Urquat took a cone-shaped crystal from his robe with a tentacle and held it to the side of his head. A halting, hollow voice spoke Atlantean in a nasal whine.

  “A satisfactory outcome, although I might have profited more from your demise, Grey Shrike.”

  “You know you wouldn’t, Urquat.”

  “I curse your ships. You have far too many of them. I’ll still buy as many as you’ll sell.”

  “No deal. Build your own.”

  “Well, in that case, kindly clean up this mess and get off my station. I’ve done my part, and I didn’t like it. Now you do yours and make sure his death can’t be blamed on me.”

  The Shrike said, “His body will be found on Trystate, with witnesses to swear that he was killed in a drunken brawl. His crew stole his ship, and will never be heard from again.”

  “You’ll kill them all?”

  “No, I have a buyer looking for a dozen Mar’Ashan males, one who doesn’t listen to their stories.”

  Urquat turned all four eyes on Rayne, who leant against the glass, wondering if she was going to be able to prevent herself from vomiting.

  “I’ll buy the girl, if you’re still interested in selling her.”

  “I have other plans for her.”

  Urquat lowered the crystal cone and slithered off. Tarke approached the glass cube and touched a pane, which swung outwards. He held out a hand, but she shied away from it, stepping around him as if he had developed a bad smell. He ignored her rejection and gripped her arm, guiding her over to the Mar’Ashan’s body. An energy shell engulfed all three of them before she could protest, and dispersed to reveal the interior of the shuttle bay. Tarke led her away as several of his men moved towards the corpse. Clearly they had their orders, and his part was over.

  Rayne yanked her arm free as they entered the cream and blue suite in which they had travelled from Gergonia. Shivering, she rubbed her arms to try to stop the unwelcome trembling that had invaded her. She had just seen a man, albeit an alien and a slaver, murdered in cold blood, and his murderer stood behind her. The horror of the situation chilled her, and her churning stomach would not settle down. She jumped when a gloved hand touched her arm, swinging around to find Tarke offering her a glass of something pale pink and fizzy. He pressed it into her shaking hands, and she was unable to resist when he pushed her onto a chair and sat beside her. The strong alcohol burnt her throat, and she coughed, her shivers increasing. She was horribly aware of him beside her, this man she had thought gentle, who was, in fact, a monster.

  The Shrike stood up, removed his coat and settled it around her shoulders, enveloping her in the lingering warmth and a slight masculine scent. She shuddered, longing to throw it off, and clutched the glass, s
taring into its pink depths. The silence grew tense, and when he sank back down with a sigh, it seemed loud.

  “You’re angry with me now, is that it? Not scared, surely?”

  “Why not?” she bit out through tight lips. “Don’t you have to get rid of the witness too?”

  “No. Tell anyone you want that I killed Jamdar. No one will believe you, because his body will be found on a distant planet, with a dozen eye witnesses to swear that he was killed in a drunken brawl. Didn’t you hear me tell Urquat?”

  She nodded, scowling at her drink. “I should be angry, I suppose, if I’m as safe as you say. I’m more disgusted and shocked, I guess.”

  “What, you didn’t expect that from me? I suppose I should be flattered, but actually I’m disappointed by your lack of judgement.”

  “That makes two of us. I’m disappointed by your lack of moral character.”

  “Ah. Now we come to the crux of the matter.” He rose and went to pour himself a drink. “You had started to imagine I’m some sort of outlaw prince, a sort of Robin Hood, to refer to your Earth legends, which I’ve been studying, by the way.”

  Rayne looked up at him, startled. Without the coat, he was slenderer than she had thought, and her eyes flicked over him. The coat lent him bulk and breadth he did not possess, although he still cut a powerful figure. She revised her previous opinion. He was not as broad or muscular as Rawn, but possessed a more graceful build. She lowered her eyes, realising that she was staring, and sensed his amusement at her scrutiny. He wandered back and sat beside her again.

  “In case you’re wondering, your expressions are as easy to read as a space line screen.” His soft voice mocked her, increasing her ire.

  “You’re certainly no Robin Hood,” she gritted. “Just a damned slaver and a murderer.”

  “And a thief, don’t forget.”

  “What are you going to do with me now?”

  He shrugged. “You’ve served your purpose, so now I’ll really sell you, I suppose. I’ll tell Tallyn where to find you, to get him off my trail, as I planned.”

  “You bastard.”

  “You should be grateful. You get to go home.”

  “Only because Tallyn’s looking for me; he’s the one who deserves my gratitude.”

  He cocked his head, the mask glittering. “True. Good old Tallyn, guardian of the Golden Child, defender of the weak and enemy of the wicked. He might not be so zealous when you’ve served your purpose.”

  “I still have my brother.” She remembered her abduction with a grimace. “If he’s still alive.” She jumped up, shrugging off the coat. “Why did you kill him?”

  “Jamdar? He was a rival, and a slimy bastard. Slavers kill each other all the time. It’s how we stay in business. Kill or be killed, and grab as much of what the other guy’s got as you can.”

  Rayne’s stomach was still in a tight, queasy knot. A strong sense of betrayal filled her, and she did not understand why she was so upset. With herself and him, not because she had misjudged him, but because he had deceived her, and she had not realised it. Mindra had said that she was able to sense people’s moods and emotions as well as when they were lying, yet she had been convinced that he had been himself before, and now she knew it had been an act. His gentleness and generosity had been the façade she had dreaded, and her pain at his deception ran so deep it sickened her. A touch on her arm made her start, and she turned to find him standing beside her again.

  “You look ill,” he said. “Perhaps you should lie down.”

  Rayne glared at the mask, longing to rip it off and look into his eyes, to see the truth in them, where he could not hide it. How could a cold-blooded killer be kind and considerate, his soft voice filled with concern? She moved out of his reach. “I’d like to be left alone, if you don’t mind. In fact, I’d rather not see you again.”

  He sighed, putting his drink down. “All right.”

  Rayne listened to his footsteps leave the room, and the swish of the door closing behind him, then sat down on the chair, covered her face and wept.