Psoas nodded uneasily.
“Point taken. But what are you going to do?”
“Go find her—if I can.” Need felt a surge of despair. “At least I know they haven’t left Genu Six.”
“True,” Psoas said doubtfully. “Better to search a single planet than the entire galaxy, I suppose.”
“Drung took one of the short-range shuttles as part of his pay.” Captain Glo’ll appeared suddenly, his eyes glowing with concern. “So he can’t have gotten too far from his original destination. Go and find Lan’ara, First Mate Needrix —The Dark Star isn’t the same without her.”
Need nodded grimly.
“I’ll just have to try and find where Drung took her and hope I get to her before…” He swallowed hard, trying not to choke. “Before it’s too late.”
Fifty-Three
Lan’ara had begged the Senator not to sell her to Drung.
“Wait, please!” she’d cried as the secretary led her towards the waiting Trollox. “Please don’t send me with him! I can pay! I can pay off my own price—I swear I can—only don’t sell me to him!”
“You can, can you?” The Senator looked up in sudden interest. “I had no idea you were independently wealthy, my dear.”
“Well, I’m not—not exactly,” Lan’ara admitted. “But I can work for you—all my life if necessary,” she added quickly. “I’d be happy to sign a contract to that effect! I can clean or work in your kitchen—I’m a really good cook! Everyone loves my food, I promise you, Senator. Only please don’t sell me to the Trollox!”
He frowned, apparently irritated by her plea.
“Please, my dear—at my age, I don’t have time to wait for you to work off your debt! Besides, I don’t want to be reminded of our little ‘incident’ every time I see you. No, it’s best if you go with the male who’s willing to pay your debt right away with no waiting.”
“But he’s a Trollox! You don’t know what he wants to do to me!” Lan’ara was so frightened she felt like her heart was beating in her throat, making it hard to get the words out.
“Why, I’ll make a lovely home for her, of course.” It was Drung’s left head that was speaking—the one who usually looked stupid and drooled all the time. Now, however, it was alert and articulate—what had happened to it?
“You see, my dear—he means you no harm.” the Senator waved a hand dismissively. “Now run along. It’s a pity you were tainted—I would have liked to keep you for myself. But that’s the way these things go sometimes.”
“These things?” Lan’ara demanded. Suddenly it was as though something broke inside her. All her life she’d been bowing and scraping to men like this—men who ran her world and decided her fate while she had no say herself. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right and Lan’ara was angry about it. She could feel her terror turning to fury.
“You’re talking about my life,” she snapped at the pompous Senator. “You’re about to give me to a male who plans to rape me and make me bear his child. But, come to think of it, that’s exactly what you were planning to do, too—so what do you care, right?”
She couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth—it was almost like someone else had taken over her tongue and was speaking for her. But she was suddenly so tired of being someone else’s property—of being owned and used and treated like a thing instead of a person!
Her little speech, however, was ill timed—it only served to make Senator Pouncenblast angry.
“That will be enough of that, young lady,” he snapped, glaring at her. “I have never raped anyone! Every one of my brides is a willing participant in our love-making.”
“How would you know if they’re willing or not?” Lan’ara demanded. “You own them. If they don’t please you by pretending you’re a wonderful lover, you’ll get rid of them—just like you’re getting rid of me! I bet every one of them fakes her pleasure with you every time you take her—my Lord.”
Senator Pouncenblast’s face went white and then red. It was clear he had never considered things in this light before and he wasn’t enjoying the new point of view at all.
“Enough!” he snapped again. “I will not be spoken to in this manner by a mere female. Take her away!”
“Of course, my Lord Senator. Such impudence cannot be sanctioned!” the fish-faced secretary exclaimed. Clapping his hands, he turned to Drung. “You heard the Senator. Get her out of here—now.”
Lan’ara had tried to dodge away but the huge Trollox caught her by one arm before she could run more than three feet.
“I’ll take her where she cannot insult you anymore, Senator,” the left head said smoothly. And then he had dragged Lan’ara—kicking and screaming—out of the palace and into his ship.
Now she sat strapped into the passenger seat, her head turned to one side so she didn’t have to see her disgusting captor. She could still smell him, though—a rancid odor of unwashed flesh mixed with the lingering smell of rotting food. And of course, all three of his heads had terrible breath.
I’ll die if he touches me, Lan’ara thought, her stomach rolling. I’d rather be dead than go through what he has planned! If only Need was here to save me, like he did from Mistress Bigaboo’s whorehouse!
But no—it was Need who had gotten her into this mess in the first place! He had decided she had somehow betrayed him and had gotten angry enough to sell her away to the Senator, who had no use for her once he found out she was “tainted” by her unwitting bond to the big Kindred.
If I can only get out of this, I’ll make my own way in life, Lan’ara swore to herself. I won’t be dependent on any man, ever again!
The extremity of her situation seemed to have brought out a new side of her personality. She was tired of being submissive and subservient and flattering and begging men for her very existence! In a just universe, she never would have ended up in this situation in the first place. She thought of Laxah back on The Dark Heart and how the diminutive Med Tech claimed that no male in the galaxy was worth a damn—at the moment, Lan’ara was inclined to agree with her.
But she had more important—and frightening—things to think about than the emerging sense of her own inalienable rights at the moment. Before she could go live a liberated life and never bow down to a man again, she had to get away from the horrible Trollox who was holding her captive.
And how am I supposed to do that? Lan’ara wondered bleakly. She cast a glance to her side and saw all three heads leering at her with greedy lust.
“You’re gonna like the little place I found us to stay while you carry my heir, girly,” the middle head promised, grinning widely to show its yellow tusks. “It’s a lovely little cottage I bought while that fool of a Kindred was selling you to the Senator—so it is! You’ll be so happy there while I breed my heir into you.”
“I’ll…I’ll throw up on you—all over you. I did it to the Senator when he tried to…to take me. I’m bonded to Need and it makes me sick when any other man touches me.” Lan’ara didn’t like the way her voice quavered. Where were her brave words now? Her fury seemed to have deserted her, replaced by abject fear of the huge, foul-smelling giant who wanted to hurt her.
“You think I don’t know that?” Drung snorted laughter that sounded like grunting. “Hells, girlie—I knew it when I tricked that fool Kindred into selling you to the Senator, so I did!”
“You…you did?” Lan’ara asked haltingly.
“Of course!” He snorted laughter again. “I knew by your scent that you’d bonded yourself to the Kindred—and I knew from reading your file that the touch of any other male would make you sick, so I did.”
“So you knew the Senator would consider me ‘tainted’ and want to get rid of me!” Lan’ara exclaimed.
“Of course,” Drung said again. “Been waiting for the call from his High and Mighty Lordship from the minute that fool Kindred first took you down there. When it came, I only had to come down and swoop you up.” All three heads leered at her again. “You should
have been mine at the auction block, girlie. But never mind that, I got you at the end, so I did.”
“So you did,” Lan’ara echoed dully and looked away from the three hateful heads of her captor. She didn’t know what else to do.
Pray, whispered a little voice in her head. Lan’ara frowned. It was what her mother used to say—when all else fails, pray!
But pray to whom? Lan’ara had given up thinking that there was any kind of entity out there that cared about her when she got word that her mother and brothers had died. But now she was being held by a Trollox who intended to take her away to a deserted island and force her to bear his horrible child and there seemed to be no escape. What else could she do but pray?
Oh please, she prayed silently, though she hardly knew who she was directing her plea to. Please just help me get out of this mess! I’ll make my own way if I can just get away from Drung. I won’t be dependent on anyone—I just want to be free and not belong to anyone but myself ever again. Please!
There was no answer to her prayer, but Lan’ara felt somewhat calmer anyway. If she couldn’t get away from the Trollox, she decided, she would kill herself. That would be better than having him force himself on her and giving birth to a horrible, three-headed baby. And maybe then she would go to be with her mother and little brothers at last—that wouldn’t be so bad.
So thinking, she closed her eyes and tried to relax.
Mother, she thought. I prayed like you told me to. Maybe I’ll be seeing you soon…
Fifty-Four
As he flew low over the archipelago of islands that dotted Genu Six’s western sea, Need began praying for the first time in ten cycles.
There were hundreds of islands—maybe thousands. Drung could be on any one of them with Lan’ara, already doing horrible things to her.
And it was all his fault.
“Goddess,” he said hoarsely, scanning the many tiny, sandy dots displayed on his viewscreen. “I don’t know where Lan’ara is and it’s my fault she’s been taken. I am so sorry for the wrong I did, but she shouldn’t have to pay for it. Please, please just help me find her!”
There was a moment of silence and then a resonant, feminine voice filled the cabin of the shuttlecraft he was in. It was the same voice which had told him to buy Lan’ara in the first place, Need realized, but this time it was louder…and angrier.
“Warrior,” it said sharply, “I am most seriously DISPLEASED with you.”
Need jerked and swallowed hard as he glanced around the cabin. There was nothing to be seen, but he could feel a presence in the small space with him—an entity so overwhelming it seemed to squeeze all the oxygen out of the air and make it hard to breathe. This was the Goddess, he realized and her Wrath was immense.
“G-goddess?” he stuttered hoarsely.
“I mourned for your sorrow and the loss of your mate,” the Goddess boomed in his ear. “And so, despite your bitterness, I sent you a new female to love and care for when the time was right. But you resisted loving her at every turn. And then you sold her—sold her like a piece of chattel! I am ashamed to call you one of my children—you do not deserve the name of KINDRED!”
This last was so loud that Need winced, his head ringing with the Goddess’s ire.
“I have no excuse,” he said, bowing his head abjectly. “I am guilty of all that you say, Goddess. I ask no forgiveness, for I am not worthy of it. I only beg that you help me find Lan’ara before the Trollox harms her—if he hasn’t already.”
There was a long moment in which the Goddess seemed to be considering his words.
“Very well,” she said at last. “But I do this not for you, but for the girl who is also praying for my help. And know this, Warrior—even if you save her, you have destroyed her trust in you and in all males. It may take a long time to earn it back—if, indeed, you are able to earn it back at all.”
Need swallowed hard. Only now, when she was in such awful danger, did he finally admit to himself what he had known deep down from the first—he loved Lan’ara. Loved her desperately and now the Goddess was telling him that he might have lost her forever, through his own foolishness and ignorance and pride.
“Even so, I need to save her, Goddess,” he said humbly. “Or die trying. Please—lead me to her.”
“I will take you to her myself,” the Goddess told him. “Take your hands off the controls of your craft and I will guide it.”
“But if I take my hands off the steering yoke, I’ll crash!” Need protested.
“Do you wish my help or not, Warrior?” The Goddess’s voice was ice-cold. “I thought you said you would be willing to die trying to save your female? Or were you lying to me?”
“No, Goddess—I wasn’t lying. I…I trust you.”
And with a deep breath, Need removed his hands from the steering yoke and folded them in his lap.
At first the shuttlecraft jerked and began to nose-dive down to the cerulean blue waters below.
Need sucked in a breath and fisted his hands by his sides, fighting to keep himself from grabbing for the yoke again. He had one chance to find Lan’ara and that was to let the Goddess guide him—literally. He had to trust that she would find him worthy enough to save Lan’ara instead of hurtling him into the ocean below.
After a moment that seemed as long as an eternity, the craft jerked upward again and then turned to the left. It began a long, slow, smooth descent and landed on an apparently abandoned island dotted with tall trees with long, silvery fronds. The shuttle parked itself in the feathery shadows of the nearby trees and then the engine turned off—all without Need touching it at all.
“A little way into the forest you will find a cabin,” the Goddess told him. “Go in armed. And hurry, Warrior—the girl’s fate is almost upon her!”
Then her presence was gone from the shuttle, as suddenly as it had arrived. Clearly, The Mother of All Life had gone back to wherever it was she had come from—it was up to Need now.
She had told him to arm himself. Need drew a deep breath and reached for his blaster…only to find the holster empty.
He looked down at himself, patting his belt and trousers in mounting horror. How could he have come unarmed?
Must have been so upset I forgot to grab my blaster!
Well, there was no helping it now. What else did he have?
Nothing in the cabin presented itself but then he caught another glimpse at the scenery outside. Growing at the base of the tall, thin trees were long strands of sword-grass—so named for its murderously sharp edges. Need knew at once that it might be his only hope.
Jumping out of the shuttle, he ran to pick some of the longer, thicker strands—as sharp as razors and as tough as iron bands.
It was the best he could do—it would have to be good enough.
Fifty-Five
“Now then, girlie, on the bed,” Drung ordered, the minute they got into the run-down cabin with warped wood paneling and a dirty, threadbare carpet on the floor. “No time like the present to begin breeding my heir into you!”
Lan’ara felt her throat go dry with horror.
“But…but don’t you want me to wash up first?” she asked, barely getting the words out. “Don’t you wish me to be clean before you…before you breed me, my Lord Drung?”
The appeasing tone and courteous words were a hold-over from her training—they came to her lips automatically as she tried desperately to think of a way out.
But the Trollox shook all three heads.
“Nah, girlie—I like my females dirty, so I do,” the middle head said, leering at her. “The dirtier the better, in fact!”
“But surely not dirty with the smell of another male!” Lan’ara exclaimed, thinking quickly. “Do you not wish me to wash the scent of Senator Pouncenblast off?”
“Hmmm…” Drung frowned, appearing to consider for a time. At last he frowned. “Don’t like the smell of another male on my female, so I don’t,” he finally declared. “Very well, girlie—you can have five mome
nts to wash your private bits. Go in there.” He jerked his thick, sausage thumb at a door beside the bed. “Five moments, mind you—that’s all you get, so you do. So be quick about it!”
“Yes, of course. Thank you!” Lan’ara exclaimed and fled into the small room.
Once inside, she found it was a bathroom, just as she had thought. She looked around frantically, hoping for a way out.
But it was clear that Drung hand taken pains to make sure she couldn’t escape. There was a broad window in one wall which Lan’ara could easily have climbed through…if it hadn’t been boarded up. And since she didn’t have any kind of a pry-bar to get the nails out, there was no getting out that way.
She spent a moment gazing yearningly at the bright, tropical daylight shining through the cracks in the boards and then turned her attention to looking for something she could used to defend herself.
Or to end myself, she thought.
For she had decided in the shuttle that she would rather die than be taken by the Trollox—and she intended to follow through with that.
I’ll take my own life before I’ll be owned by him or any male ever again, she swore to herself.
And that was when she saw a faint gleam of silver in the corner of the small room.
It was hiding in the shadow of the rusty, dirt-encrusted tub and never would have been visible without the shaft of sunlight coming through the cracks in the boards. But it almost seemed as if the sunbeam was showing her the way.
Stooping, Lan’ara picked it up.
It was a plasti-steel razorblade. A sharp one too—she nicked the tip of her finger with it, picking it up, and her fingertip welled with blood. It must have fallen out of a personal shaver—maybe belonging to the last person who had stayed at the tumble-down beach cabin. Some happy vacationer who’d had no clue that the person who found what he had dropped would be fighting for her life.
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