Slave Empire III - The Shrike (12 page)

He paused,
frowning. “There are many kinds of slaves. They’re generally
categorised early on, based upon their attributes, and sent to the
appropriate market. Some are used as manual labour, some are hunted
for sport, others become what are known as sportsmen, and are
trained to fight or play deadly games.

“Their owners
can make a lot of money from them, and the good ones are highly
prized. Others become servants or laboratory specimens. The women
are used as servants, playthings or breeders, and sometimes forced
to bear their owner’s children. But the most valuable slaves are
those who are used in the pleasure market, and that was where I was
sent.”

Tarke glanced
at her. “My first owner was a rich woman, a Jendariss deviant, as
they’re known. When I didn’t do as she wished, she did a DNA scan
and learnt that she had been lied to, but she didn’t give up and
sell me. If she had, I might have died a long time ago. Instead,
she used drugs. Luckily for me, their use also caused memory
lapses, so I have little recall of what happened under their
influence. She made the mistake of showing me off to her friends,
and, when I was eighteen, slavers stole me and sold me again. A man
bought me for his daughter, who was my age, spoilt and cruel. She
liked torturing things. She had already done it to a lot of pets. I
was even better, because I could speak. She wanted to hear me beg
her to stop, but I didn’t. I stopped talking altogether. One day
when she was hurting me, I turned on her. I didn’t care if she
killed me, I’d had enough. I nearly killed her before the other
slaves stopped me. Her father had me beaten almost to death, but
decided I was worth too much and sold me.

“A woman who
ran a pleasure club bought me, and I’ll leave what happened then to
your imagination, but whatever you imagine they did to me, it was
four times worse. I was there for many years, until the drugs no
longer worked and she sold me as a burnout.”

Tarke sighed,
gazing across the lake. The pain in his husky voice made her want
to tell him to stop. She did not need to hear this if it caused him
so much distress to remember it.

He continued,
“As a burnout, I was considerably less valuable, but I was strong,
so they put me into the sportsman market. My next owner had me
trained to play a particularly dangerous game called Dodge Blade,
and the name pretty much explains it. All you need are quick
reflexes and the ability to think fast and move even faster. Your
first mistake would be your last, which was partly the reason for
its popularity, and why only slaves played it.

“As a player
became more experienced the game’s difficulty increased, and
millions were bet on the outcome. I was injured several times, but
I survived to the highest level. When the game couldn’t be made any
more difficult, it was generally just a matter of time before the
player made a mistake and died. I kept playing it for… a long time
at the highest level, thinking each game would be my last. My owner
must have made a fortune, but eventually I was banned, so he sold
me.”

Tarke looked
down at her again and noticed the tears that ran down her cheeks.
He wiped them away, shaking his head. “Don’t cry. I was quite proud
of myself. I had achieved something for the first time in my life,
and it felt good. You have to try to understand that, as a slave, I
had grown used to not owning my destiny. I had almost accepted it,
for I knew escape was impossible. The slave collar is not only used
for punishment, it’s also a tracking device, and can be used as an
alarm to prevent slaves from escaping their prisons.

“My prowess
meant that my owner sold me for a large sum of money. But I could
no longer play Dodge Blade, so my new master trained me as a
fighter. I was good at that too, and for seven years I was unbeaten
against men, then they grew bored with my constant success. They
couldn’t win anything betting on me, the odds were too poor. So
they pitted me against alien creatures. Sometimes I had a weapon,
sometimes not, but usually the odds were against me. Fighting the
Envoy brought back a lot of memories.”

Rayne’s heart
ached with horror and pity. He shot her a grim smile, avoiding her
eyes. “I proved to be quite valuable to my owner, who made a
fortune taking me to various planets and betting on me. But he had
a jealous rival, who chose to get his revenge by stealing me. He
didn’t want to sell me, though. He wanted to kill me, so he made me
the quarry in a hunting party on a hostile desert planet.

“I eluded them
for seven days, until I grew weak from thirst and fell into a
natural trap. I was injured quite badly, and I thought it was the
end. But the hunting party found me and one of his friends took a
fancy to me, so he bought me. He was the first kind owner I had,
and he made me a bodyguard. But after two years I was stolen and
sold back into the gladiator market. Again I was successful, and
had a string of owners who took me to various worlds to fight.

“Eventually I
was stolen again, but this time I was bought by an old lady who
wanted to paint me, and also used me as a bodyguard. She was clever
enough to make me wear a mask in public, so I wasn’t stolen again.
I was with her for fifteen years, and she persuaded me to talk
again. She treated me well, and when she died she left all her
possessions to me. I sold them and bought a ship.”

Tarke looked
down at her. “So, that’s it; the story of my life as a slave. I
became a smuggler of anything except drugs in a decrepit ship. I
was too ashamed to go home at first, but after five years I did,
and found the disaster that had befallen my people. The rest, you
know.”

Rayne sighed
and fingered the limp metal collar, hating it. She wanted to tell
him how she felt, but words could not express her horror, nor did
she think he wanted her to say anything. That was why he had told
her before she regained her ability to speak, she suspected.

Instead, she
gazed longing at the lake, and he helped her into the water. Her
silken dress remained a barrier between them, and his touch was
impersonal. He was clearly uncomfortable with the situation, and
now she had an idea why. She had a feeling that there was more he
had not told her, but she knew he would when he was ready. Whatever
it was, it must be painful, so it was up to him to choose his
moment to tell her.

Scrysalza, who
had been quiet for some time, brushed her mind, agreeing with her.
The man-thing, it said, was very troubled, and did indeed have
another secret, maybe even more than one. His memories were filled
with pain and blood, unspeakable suffering and torture. It had
touched them, and did not like what it had seen. Sensing her
preoccupation with Tarke’s story, it withdrew, leaving her to float
in his arms, hers twined around his neck. All too soon, he helped
her to shore and carried her back to their camp.

Two days later,
they sat beside the lake again, watching a distant cleaner crab
scurrying along the wall with some detritus clutched in its claws.
They had seen several of the ship’s creatures since they had been
here, each one more fascinating than the last. The cleaner crab was
a common sight. Its main function seemed to be keeping the air
chamber functioning properly, clearing away dead growths and
carrying them off somewhere.

When a clump of
fungus had appeared on the moss and started to spread greyish
tendrils into it, a bizarre, ant-like creature had appeared and
sprayed it with some sort of poison before hurrying off in search
of more. The flowering of a weird growth had brought a flock of
flying beasts the size of doves to carry its pollen to another
plant. Since the creatures were all part of the ship, presumably it
created and sent them to do their tasks when it needed their
services. The ship confirmed this, explaining that the use to which
each creature was put dictated its design.

Rayne watched
the cleaner crab with familiarity verging on boredom, and wondered
when Tarke would want to leave. She was in no hurry, but he had an
empire waiting outside, and people who were probably becoming more
worried by the day. Answering her thought, Scrysalza informed her
that the people outside were no longer hostile or afraid. They came
in their thousands to see it, inside their metal shells. Rayne
smiled, amused by the idea of the Ship being a tourist attraction.
Considering its alien beauty, it did not surprise her.

People probably
paid a fortune to see it, and businessmen would cash in on this
unique opportunity. She also wondered when Scrysalza would want to
return to its nebula, although the time it spent here was
negligible to such a long-lived entity, and its patience seemed
infinite. She had the impression that Scrysalza had a question of
its own to ask, and awaited an opportune moment.

Rayne sighed
and turned to her husband, slipping her hand into his. He smiled
and lifted her hand to kiss the back of it, a gesture that was
becoming familiar. She longed to hold him, but sensed his dislike
for it, although he tried to hide it. It was one of the drawbacks
of being an empath, even with a man whose mental defences were so
good.

Without
thinking, she stroked his cheek. He smiled, but turned his head
away and flopped back, out of reach. Considering his ill-treatment
as a slave, the tale of which was written in the scars he did his
best to hide, his reactions did not surprise her. For fifty-eight
years he had spurned any touch and hidden every part of himself
from prying eyes. It surprised her that he was still sane, although
she suspected that he had several phobias as a result. His shorts
revealed more scars on his calves and ankles, and she wondered if
there was any part of him that was not scarred. She had even
noticed a few on his face, a tiny white line across the bridge of
his nose and a larger one on his cheek. Each one had a story behind
it, and brought back painful memories, serving as constant
reminders of his past. She traced the scars around his wrist and
glanced at him.

“How did you
get these?” Her voice was still husky from disuse.

He looked away.
“Shackles.”

“Why would they
put shackles on you, as well as a collar?”

“For extra
control. They didn’t want to guard me all the time, so shackling me
was easier. When I was a fighter, my owners were often afraid of
me. They knew how easily I could kill them. While I was waiting my
turn in the arena, they would tether me with the rest of the
slaves.”

She leant over
and slid her arms around his chest, making him flinch. “You know I
would never hurt you, don’t you?”

He chuckled,
glancing down at her. “I’m not scared of you.”

“That’s not
what I meant -”

“I know what
you meant. Actually, it’s me I’m scared of.”

“What do you
mean?”

He hesitated.
“You must be careful when you’re near me. Don’t ever touch me
unless I know it’s you. Okay?”

She nodded,
puzzled. “Why?”

“I can be
dangerous. It started with that damned girl torturing me, when I
lost control. But it didn’t stop there. I guess I suffered too
much. I stopped trusting people. Sometimes it happened when they
beat me, other times they just had to touch me, and I’d lash
out.”

“That’s why
they shackled you.”

He sighed.
“Yes. As the years passed I became more and more dangerous and
unpredictable. At the pleasure club I was drugged whenever I was
around people, which made me safe. As a fighter, they had to chain
me. I was slowly going off the deep end, I guess. I became what
they called a reflex fighter. Maybe I hoped they’d kill me if I got
too dangerous. I was pretty confused, but death would have been a
mercy. I’m much better now. You don’t have to worry. Just don’t
sneak up on me and poke me in the back or anything like that.”

“I won’t.” She
rested her cheek on his chest and cuddled closer, sensing a ripple
of tension go through him. “What was that?”

“That’s... just
because of my dislike for being touched. You must have noticed it
before now.”

She raised her
head. “I thought you were just being aloof, but now I understand.
You were so badly hurt...”

“I have a large
collection of aversions. Being untouchable is just one of them, but
perhaps my worst.” Tarke took her hand and stroked it. “I promised
the Atlanteans a war if you died, and I would have kept my word. I
swore to avenge you. I... missed you, Rayne.” He paused, looking
pensive, as if he was choosing his words carefully.

“I told you
that what I had to offer was pretty shabby, and it is. That’s why I
tried to keep you away. But in the end I couldn’t stand by and
watch you kill yourself with those filthy drugs. I hoped… thought…
you would find someone and settle down. The last thing I wanted was
to bring you into my world, with all its dangers, and now you know
why. What I did wasn’t fair to you, though. I didn’t want to tell
you the whole truth, because I knew it would hurt you, but now I
must. You deserve to know.”

He paused,
gazing at her hand. “I married you because I wanted to save you and
it was the only way. If I’d offered you less I know you wouldn’t
have stayed. But I was clear about the terms, and you accepted
them. I wanted to see you every day, but that would have made
things worse. When I was at the base I would find myself going to
wherever you were, just to see you. It was embarrassing.”

She giggled,
but his serious tone and some of what he said worried her. He
seemed to be contradicting himself. “What are you saying?” she
whispered.

“I told you
there was a reason why marriage to me would only ever be a job, and
that hasn’t changed. You noticed when we were here before that I’m
not normal.”

“What’s wrong
with you?”

He frowned at
her hand. “I shunned people a long time ago. I don’t want to be
around them. I don’t want to touch them and I especially don’t want
them touching me. I guess I’m the ultimate loner, and yet, I
sometimes have to deal with a lot of people.”