Slave Empire III - The Shrike (15 page)

“Hard to say,
but I would imagine soon.”

“I’d better go
and warn the fleet. Did you have any trouble with the
Atlanteans?”

“Nope. They
were quite well behaved for a change.”

Vidan’s
expression became vaguely accusing. “I was pretty worried, you
know. You could have sent a message.”

“I didn’t know
I was married to you, too. I think I want a divorce. Didn’t Drayva
keep you informed?”

“Only of what
he knew, which wasn’t much.”

Tarke sat on
the chair opposite Rayne. “Any problems?”

“There are two
slavers waiting to see you. One of them has been here for five days
now.”

“You couldn’t
deal with them?”

“They’re both
demanding to see you. I don’t qualify.”

Tarke sighed.
“It’s time I got you a grey coat and a mask.”

“Yeah, right.
When will you see these guys? They know you’re back, so they’re
going to start pestering me.”

“I suppose now
would be as good a time as any. I don’t want them hanging around
after the Ship arrives.” Tarke turned to Rayne. “Do you want to go
to the apartment to rest, or will you come?”

“I’ll
come.”

Tarke said to
Vidan, “Take them to the meeting room.”

“Right.” He
headed for the door.

The Shrike rose
and poured two drinks, giving one to Rayne as he sat opposite
again. “Glad to be home?”

“Glad to be
awake. Funny, this does feel like home now.”

“It is your
home.”

She shook her
head. “My home is wherever you are.”

“I won’t be
letting you out of my sight for a very long time. You do realise
that, don’t you?”

“I don’t
mind.”

“I might even
put you in a glass case.”

She smiled. “Or
wrap me in cotton wool?”

“And wrap you
in cotton wool.”

“I’m not going
anywhere.”

“You bet you’re
not.”

Rayne giggled.
“Don’t get all possessive now.”

“I’ll put a
leash on Shadowen.”

“Where is
he?”

“He’s in the
other hangar. I had him overhauled and refitted. He came on a few
missions, but no one else has flown him. He’s still your ship. I
didn’t intend to let anyone else have him.”

Vidan returned,
even more out of breath. “The slavers are waiting.”

“Good. Let
them. Has the ship arrived yet?”

“No. But
there’s a sudden rash of space line chatter from Atlan. Apparently
it left shortly after you did, which caused quite a stir.”

“I’ll bet it
did. The Atlantean tourism industry just crashed.”

Vidan smiled.
“There are also a lot of celebrations going on, because of the
Golden Child’s recovery.”

Rayne blushed,
taking a gulp of her drink to hide her embarrassment.

Tarke said,
“They’re just glad there isn’t going to be a war with me, except
for the religious nuts, of course. No one else cares about her that
much. If they did, they’d have taken better care of her, instead of
letting her try to kill herself with drugs. I hate hypocrites.”

Vidan nodded.
“The slavers?”

The Shrike
sighed and finished his drink. “Are they going to start rotting or
something, Vidan? What’s the damned rush?”

“Well, they’ve
been waiting for quite a while already -”

“That’s their
problem. They didn’t have to.”

“And one of
them is Vorquin.”

Tarke shook his
head. “I don’t care.”

Rayne asked,
“What’s so special about him?”

“He’s just a
bigger pain in the rear than most,” Tarke replied, then ordered
Vidan, “Tell them I’m on my way.”

The Shrike
waited until Rayne finished her drink before carrying her to his
sumptuous meeting room, where the spoils of his wealth were
displayed to belittle his guests. Two guards stood outside the
huge, gold-inlaid double doors, and pushed them open as the Shrike
approached, following him inside. The vast, opulent room was
adorned with priceless hangings and furniture and owned a tasteful
décor. Four more guards stood inside the doors, their hands on the
hilts of their weapons.

Two
well-dressed aliens stood up as Tarke walked over to the cluster of
plush sofas around a low black wood table with a crystal top. One
man wore a gleaming metallic coat and high collar traditional to
Shirrans, the other was clad in a shiny white one-piece suit of
sleek artificial leather. Tarke turned his back on them to lower
Rayne onto a sofa. Vidan hovered, clutching a scribe pad, his eyes
on the slavers, who waited until Tarke turned to face them, then
bowed, somewhat stiffly and with obvious reluctance. The Shrike
indicated the chairs behind them.

“Sit.” He
settled beside Rayne. “So, which of you has waited the longest for
this meeting?”

“That would be
me,” the grim-faced Shirran stated, casting a hard glance at the
Mansurian slaver. “And I’d like a private meeting.”

Tarke nodded to
Vidan, who signalled for the other alien to accompany him and
showed him out through a side door. When Vidan returned to stand
beside Tarke, the Shirran eyed Rayne.

“I require
complete privacy.”

“Then you may
remove your unwelcome presence from my base, Vorquin,” Tarke
said.

The Shirran
scowled. “Very well then. I pay good money for a shipping route
across your territory, and my freighters are being attacked.”

“I didn’t offer
you secure passage. What happens to your ships in my territory
isn’t my concern.”

“You allow
pirates to operate freely?”

“My territory
spans eight hundred and fifty-seven light years in every direction.
My ships don’t patrol it all.”

“Then maybe
they should, because my cargo is being stolen and you won’t allow
my warships to protect my freighters in your territory.”

The Shrike
shrugged. “Then find another route.”

“That would
waste a great deal of time, adding days to the journey.”

“Not my
concern.”

Vorquin seemed
to swell. “I did you the courtesy of coming here myself, and waited
five days for this meeting. The least you could do is offer my
ships protection.”

“I don’t have
to do anything. Even this meeting is a courtesy on my part. Any
minion of yours would not even have been allowed on my base, so I
advise you to choose your words carefully.”

Vorquin
subsided, shaking his head. “I meant no offense, Shrike. I need
secure passage. This is crippling me.”

“I didn’t offer
you secure passage at the outset of our agreement, and I’m not
offering it to you now. Take the risk or find another route. This
meeting is over.”

Vorquin opened
his mouth to protest, but Vidan stepped closer and motioned to the
doors, which the guards opened. The slaver gave a harsh grunt, rose
and marched out.

As soon as the
doors closed behind him, Rayne smiled at her husband. “You’re the
one raiding his ships, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”
Tarke turned to Vidan. “Send in the other idiot.”

Vidan ushered
the second slaver back in, and he sat opposite Tarke, licking his
lips.

The Shrike
shifted, betraying his impatience. “Speak or leave, Jerlan.”

“I have a cargo
I can’t use. I heard you buy third-grade slaves.”

“I do.”

Jerlan looked
down at his hands. “I was tricked. The slaves were supposed to be
ill-used and old, but they’re all burnouts, and addicted to
Stardust. I can’t afford to keep them on the drug while I sell them
at markets. I need to sell them all, now.”

“What did you
pay for them?”

“Five regals
each.”

Rayne glanced
at her husband, keeping her expression blank.

He gave a
slight nod. “I’ll give you three.”

Jerlan pulled a
face. “I was hoping for six, maybe.”

“You still
expect to make a profit? Three is all they’re worth. Take it or
leave it.”

“In the four
days I’ve waited for this meeting, they’ve cost me that much in
drugs alone.”

The Shrike
leant forward, lacing his fingers. “Not my problem. Take the offer
or get out.”

“I’ll take it.”
Jerlan sighed, shaking his head. “I should have had them euthanized
straight away.”

“But you
didn’t. You still thought you could make a few regals on the deal,
so your greed has cost you.”

“If I hadn’t
been told you would buy them, I wouldn’t have kept them alive. Next
time I won’t.”

Tarke shook his
head. “No, bring them to me. Maybe next time I’ll offer you a
better deal.”

“I don’t
understand why you want them.”

“That’s not
your business. How many are there?”

“Two hundred
and seventy-four.”

The Shrike
turned his head towards Vidan, who tapped on his scribe pad and
named a sum. Tarke faced Jerlan again, and the slaver nodded,
looking beaten.

“Is the
freighter in orbit?” Tarke asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell your
captain to expect my shuttles, and get ready to disembark the
slaves.”

Jerlan’s brows
rose. “You’re bringing them here?”

“What I do with
my slaves is not your concern, Jerlan.”

“But it’ll cost
you a fortune; the Stardust -”

“I’m touched by
your concern for my finances. Our business is concluded. Vidan will
pay you.”

Vidan put away
the scribe pad and gestured to the doors. Jerlan rose, clearly
mystified, and bowed to Tarke before following Vidan out. The doors
boomed closed, and Rayne gazed at her husband’s masked profile,
swallowing a lump.

“Are you all
right?”

“Of course.” He
sighed. “This is happening because I killed Jamdar. I’ll bet Jerlan
was selling these burnouts to him, and now he has no market for
them. It’s a good thing. Now I can save them.”

“What will you
do with them? What about the drug?”

“I already have
a place for them, where I settle burnouts addicted to Stardust.
It’s a little overcrowded already. I’ll have to build another dome
on the Serian Moon. The Stardust isn’t a problem. They manufacture
it themselves and grow the plants, too. It gives them something to
do and provides for their needs. Since the factory is set up for
drug production, some of them make the less harmful leisure drugs
like Bliss, which is sold to make enough profit to provide them
with food and clothes. They don’t drain my resources at all. They
even try to make a profit for me, but I use that to improve their
living conditions.”

She nodded.
“And it all seems legitimate to the rest of the slavers and drug
dealers that you use slaves to produce drugs.”

“The only thing
they don’t know is that they’re not slaves. They go there by
choice, although they don’t have many other options since they must
have the Stardust. Some do leave, and make enough money to provide
for their needs. It’s up to them. They can return at any time if
they can’t manage, and join the community on the Serian Moon.”

“So if they’re
burnouts, they’re all men?”

“No, most are
women.” He turned his head away. “The clients of the best pleasure
clubs want willing, eager partners, not... Some girls never stop
fighting. A few can be forced to appear willing with pain, but many
refuse even then, and they can’t be whipped. The owners use drugs,
and, when those don’t work anymore, addict them to Stardust. The
withdrawal is excruciating and ultimately fatal, so most are forced
to co-operate that way. Some choose to die.”

“This must be
painful for you.”

“It’s
unpleasant, yes.”

“And I think a
lot of these slaves hang on because you give them hope.”

He inclined his
head. “Probably.”

“Could we go
and see them arrive?”

“I’d rather
not.”

“I’d like to.
Vidan can take me, then.”

He faced her.
“If you wish to go, I’ll take you.”

“But if -”

“It’s okay.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen a batch of slaves arrive,” he
said.

“But you don’t
usually go to see them.”

“No.”

“Then don’t do
it because of me, if you’d rather not.”

Tarke said,
“Don’t worry about me. I can handle it.”

“But -”

“It’s okay,
really.” Tarke rose and picked her up. “And you don’t have much
choice now, do you?”

“Big
bully.”

“You’d better
not forget it.”

When the Shrike
arrived in the vast hangar dome where the slaves would be
offloaded, Vidan was already there, tapping on his scribe pad. Two
shuttles had evidently just landed, vapour swirling off them as
their hulls warmed. Tarke stopped just inside the door, and the
people in front of him glanced back and stepped aside.

Tarke said,
“They’ve already been told who’s bought them, and given clothing,
since most slavers keep their pleasure slaves naked.”

She nodded,
gazing at the shuttle as the door cracked open with a hiss and slid
aside. “Put me down, please.”

“Are you
sure?”

She shot him a
smile. “I can stand. You can’t keep carrying me around.”

“Actually, I
can.”

“Well I’d like
to stand on my own two feet, if that’s okay with you.”

The Shrike
lowered her feet to the floor and supported her when her knees
wobbled. She clung to his arm and leant against him, a little
strength returning as her long-unused muscles remembered their
duties. She drew in a sharp breath and swallowed a lump as dozens
of women emerged from the shuttle, their movements hesitant and
their eyes hunted. They wore long-sleeved, calf-length shapeless
grey shifts that bore the Shrike’s hawk-like symbol on the right
side of their chests.

A group of
middle-aged women, clad in Tarke’s smart black uniforms, went
forward to greet them. Some of the women clutched each other and
wept; others smiled and hugged the Shrike’s matrons. Many still
wore the remnants of cosmetics, which marked the tear tracks down
their cheeks. Rayne strained to hear what the women who greeted
them were saying, able to make out only a few words, although the
hangar dome was as silent as a tomb.