Prophecy se-1

by T C Southwell

  "So, what makes you so damned special?"

  Rayne's brows rose. "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 obviously 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, her eyes eager. "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 stepped closer to study 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's jaw dropped, then she gave a snort of laughter. "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."

  Relief washed through Rayne in a warm tide. "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 had 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, where she stopped and beckoned to Rayne as it slid open. "I'll take you to the embarkation area, where 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 as she followed the girl. Apparently the door was coded to admit anyone but her, so leaving the suite was just a matter of following the girl. She 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.

  Glancing into a clear-walled office as they hurried past, she stumbled, shocked. The Shrike stood talking to a man who bobbed his head in a subservient manner. As she watched, the Shrike settled into a form-fitting chair and glanced around at the people outside. Rayne quickened her pace, turning her head away. 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 space ship 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 small enough 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 glanced around, wondering if they had 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 before they moved on. Rayne stepped back at the sight of the uniformed guards, and the girl turned to eye 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 girl. 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 expense of a collar. She turned to thank 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 in front 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 walked 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, but ignored them. After half an hour of waiting, the shuttles were full again, and the slaves returned to sit at the back of the room once more. 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 on the crowd 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 around 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 hold of 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 before 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 jerk free, for 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 and bowed. The Shrike stopped and released her arm, facing his subordinate.

  "Find Layalia and bring her to my quarters."

  The man nodded and left.

  Rayne looked at the Shrike. "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 glanced at 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 glance. "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 jerked 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 turned to face him 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 down 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 with a gloved hand. 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 that 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 sank onto 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 my forbidding them 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.