Prophecy se-1

by T C Southwell

  "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 urge to beg him not to sell her, for 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 facade, but she sensed a deeper mystery within him, something dangerous and complicated. Then there was his all too strong attraction. He marched out, and, as the door slid 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 its shimmering folds before 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 slid open, 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 gazed down at her, his hands at his sides. Then he jerked his head at a couple of matronly, uniformed women, who came forward, gripped the woman's arms and helped her to her feet, leading 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 glanced at 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 strode 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 hell cat. Now she longed to rip off the traitorous dress, but the prospect of being 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 room, 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 middle portion. From the top of the robe, a sinuous neck protruded, topped with 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 claw-tipped 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 purchase new machines and hire technicians.

  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 turned away. As it 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 and stopped. 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 his belt, studying his fallen foe. The Mar'Ashan had a neat hole burnt through the right side of his chest, and purple blood oozed from the wound as his skin turned white and started to flake off. Rayne swung away, fighting a wave of dizziness and nausea.

  Urquat emerged from the gloom on his rippling foot. Two of his eyes examined the corpse, while the other two turned to Tarke. Urquat pulled a cone-shaped crystal from his robe with a thin, vine-like 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, turned 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 in the process was over, so nothing remained but to relax.

  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 into 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, staring 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 another 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 more slender 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 settled 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 had 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."

  He sipped his drink, and she jumped up, shrugging off the coat. "Why did you kill him?"

  "Jamdar? He was a rival slaver, 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 put down her drink, her stomach 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 wry generosity had been the facade 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 swung around to find him standing beside her again.

  "You look ill. 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 sank down on the chair, covered her face, and wept.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tallyn glared at his second-in-command with glinting black eyes as he stood over Marcon's console. "It's moved? Now it's moved? We're a few light minutes from one of the Shrike's fortified bases, and now you tell me the signal's moved?"

  "Yes, sir," Marcon said, unfazed by his commander's ire.

  Tallyn swung away with a curse. "Then change our heading! Follow it. Where's it going now, anyway?"

  "It's coming from the territory of a nearby slaver, a Rentarian called Urquat. The signal's only a few light hours old."

  "Good. At least that's good news. Maybe it's better this way, Urquat is a small slaver, he won't be a problem. Now that we know exactly where she is, how long until we get there?"

  "An hour, maybe a few minutes more."

  "Make it a few minutes less." Tallyn frowned at the main screen, which was blank. "I want boarding crews ready in fully armoured space suits. We have to be ready for anything. And keep us linked, I want to use the Net to transfer the men, take them by surprise."