Slave Empire III - The Shrike

by Southwell, T C

  “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.

  “...It’s all right. You’re safe now... There’s no need to be afraid... No one will harm you... You’re free...”

  A few women wept, and Rayne’s eyes stung. The matrons handed out blankets and cups of a hot beverage or soup. Tarke stood like a statue, but she knew he watched them, too.

  He asked, “Seen enough?”

  “Just a little longer.”

  Rayne noticed that the men who stood around the walls wore expressions of deep sadness mingled with joy, and many cast Tarke warm looks. The mixture of sorrow, joy and love in the hangar was almost overwhelming, and she raised a hand to brush away a tear.

  As the last few women emerged from the shuttle, one of the matrons raised her hands to draw their attention.

  “The Shrike has freed you. Stardust addicts may choose to go to his base on the Serian Moon, where you’ll join a community of others like you. There you’ll be given homes, clothes and jobs manufacturing Stardust to support your addiction. This is a choice, not a requirement. If you wish to go back to your homes and families, you’ll be taken there. Non-addicts may choose between three of the Shrike’s other bases, which have room for you. You’ll be given homes and jobs, if you want jobs, or you can go back to your home worlds. You have a day to decide.”

  The slave women murmured, and some smiled. A few glanced in Tarke’s direction. Rayne wondered what drew their attention to him, since he stood unobtrusively in the shadows. Perhaps it was the gap in the crowd in front of him, or simply his presence. A woman with golden skin and midnight hair approached him, and the men who bordered the gap in front of Tarke shuffled back. Some of them cast worried glances at him, as if concerned about the woman’s intentions, but they were perfectly clear to Rayne. If gratitude had been light, the slave girl would have been a beacon. When she stopped two paces away from the Shrike, however, he did seem a little tense. Rayne loosened her hold on him to give him more room.

  The woman’s mouth worked, and then her face crumpled. Tears ran down her cheeks, yet she did not take her eyes off the Shrike. He slowly extended a hand, and she sobbed, stepping forward to clutch it and press her lips to the silver symbol on the back of his glove.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to it, then she sank to her knees, forcing him to bend as she clung to his hand. “Thank you...”

  Two matrons hurried over to stand beside her, rub her back and murmur comforting words. One tried to prise the woman’s hand from Tarke’s.

  “It’s okay, my dear,” she said. “He doesn’t require thanks. It’s okay now.”

  The slave woman raised her head to gaze up at the Shrike. “But I want to, and he deserves it.”

  “He knows what you feel. Come now.”

  Tarke released Rayne, who tottered, but a man standing just behind her gripped her arm to support her. The Shrike took the woman’s hands and drew her to her feet.

  “Don’t kneel to anyone ever again. You are free,” he said.

  A sigh went through the throng. Rayne gulped and blinked, aware that she was trembling, and the man who supported her had taken a firmer grip on her arm.

  The slave girl released his hand and stepped back, gazing up at the mask as she whispered, “You too...” She glanced around, understanding dawning in her eyes, then back at Tarke, rubbing the tears from her cheeks. “I wish to remain here. May I?”

  He inclined his head. “You are free to do as you please.”

  The matrons took the girl’s arms and tugged her away, allowing her to pause and cast a final glance back at the Shrike.

  “Thank you.”

  Tarke turned to Rayne and nodded at the man who supported her, then scooped her up and walked out. Rayne twined her arms around his neck as he carried her back to her apartment and placed her on a chair. Going over to the drinks cabinet, he poured two glasses of juice and brought them over, handed her one and sat on the chair beside hers.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, taking a gulp of the drink. “That was amazing.”

  “It must have been intense for an empath.”

  “Yes, it was. But it was wonderful. So much love and gratitude.” She gazed at him. “Will you take the mask off now?”

  The door lock light turned red as he unclipped the mask and pulled it off, rubbing his face. He looked tired and sad, his eyes haunted. “Now you know why I don’t like being there.”

  “Too many memories?”

  “Too much gratitude.”

  “But she’s right. You do deserve it.”

  He shook his head, looking at his hands. “I only do what’s right. What any decent person ought to do.”

  “But there are few decent people in a position to help them, it seems. You can, and you do. It’s no wonder your people love you so much.” She sighed, gazing at her drink. “I feel lik
e an outsider.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m the only person who doesn’t wear a slave collar. I was never really a slave. A few hours don’t count.”

  “You think that matters to me?”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  He raised his head to look at her. “I’m glad. I’m proud that you’re a free woman.”

  “You’re free too.”

  He shook his head. “I’m an ex-slave. It’s a stigma I’ll carry to my grave, along with the damned collar.”

  “Are you ashamed?”

  “No. Are you?”

  “Of you?” She snorted, frowning. “No. I’m a little ashamed of being a free woman, unable to share your people’s camaraderie. They’ve made me welcome, but don’t you think they might resent me a little?”

  “No. It’s not your fault you were lucky enough to escape that fate.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “You could easily have been like them, and they don’t resent the fact that you’re not. You’ve suffered too, and they know it. After what you did to protect me, they love you too.” He sipped his drink, frowning at it. “You’d have been made into a pleasure slave, and then you’d have been as damaged as me. At least one of us is still sane.”

  “You’re sane. You just...”

  The door buzzed, and he put down his drink, pick up the mask and clipped it on. The door lock turned green, and it opened to admit Vidan, who came to stand beside Tarke’s chair.

  “The Crystal Ship has arrived. It’s in a distant orbit, beyond the moons.”

  Tarke nodded. “Okay.”

  “Also, Rayne’s brother is here, and very keen to see his sister.”

  “Of course.” Tarke rose to his feet and said to Rayne, “I’ll leave you to talk then.”

  “Wait.” She sat up. “I want you to stay.”

  The Shrike hesitated, and Vidan shot him an inscrutable look, but Rayne sensed his concern.

  “I don’t think I should, and you two have lots to discuss,” Tarke said.

  “Please, just for a little while.”

  “Why?”

  “I want you to meet him, and for him to meet you.”

  Tarke shook his head. “It will just cause tension.”

  “Please?”

  He sighed and wandered towards the far wall. “Show him in.”

  Vidan opened the door, revealing Rawn standing outside, flanked by two guards. His expression was shuttered, and he entered at Vidan’s gesture. The Atlantean left as Rawn grinned and hurried over to Rayne.

  “Ray! You’re okay! It’s really true!”

  Rayne smiled up at him, holding out her arms, and he swept her into an embrace that made her squeak. Tarke turned his head, then stalked closer, his posture unfriendly.

  “Go easy big brother,” she admonished. “Don’t squash the life out of me.”

  Rawn held her away to inspect her. “I don’t believe it. I thought I’d never see you again. I wanted to, but...”

  “I know.”

  Rawn released her, and she collapsed onto the chair as her legs gave way. He looked concerned and contrite. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “She’s been in a coma for five years. She can’t walk yet,” Tarke said.

  Rawn whipped around. “Shit... Sorry.”

  “You should be more careful.”

  “I will. I didn’t know. Sorry, Ray.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “He’s just way overprotective. I’m not made of glass, even though he treats me like I am.”

  Rawn sidled away from the Shrike and moved to the opposite side of Rayne’s chair, where he pulled up another for himself. Rayne smiled at Tarke and patted the sofa beside her.

  “Relax, husband, come and sit. You’re making the place look untidy.”

  Tarke settled on the couch opposite instead, and she sighed, saying to Rawn, “I’d like you to meet my husband, the Shrike.”

  “Oh, I know who he is, and we’ve met before.”

  “You have?”

  “Yeah, right after you fell into the coma. His men rounded up everyone involved, including me. I thought we were all dead for sure.” He frowned at Tarke. “But I could just as easily blame him. You were taken because of him.”

  Tarke turned his head towards Rawn, and the tension rose.

  Rawn continued, “According to the Atlanteans, he married you to gain status and possibly a pardon for his crimes. They even say you might have been forced into it.”

  She frowned. “And you believed them?”

  “I didn’t know what to believe. He’s a slaver, and I couldn’t understand why you would want to marry him, otherwise. I know he helped you with the Envoy, but you hardly knew him. It made sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t. He doesn’t need any more status, even if marrying me had given him any, which I don’t believe it did. Atlan will never pardon him, and he knows it.”

  Tarke stood up. “I have business to attend to. I’ll return later.”

  She looked up at him. “Shrike...”

  “It’s okay. I’m not going far.”

  Rayne bit her lip as he strode out.

  Rawn took her hand. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  She forced a smile. “Nothing, really. I’m just being silly.”

  “What do you mean? You look so worried.”

  “I just... hate to be apart from him. He...” She shook her head. “I’m afraid to let him out of my sight, in case something happens to him. Silly, really.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to him here. This place is a fortress.”

  “I know. So what have you been doing for the last five years?”

  Rawn launched into a detailed description of his messy divorce and subsequent single life, and she wished she had more news of her own to share with him. All she had to offer was a much abbreviated account of her time aboard the Crystal Ship, although he listened raptly and did not comment on the gaps in it.

  The Shrike entered the general assembly room, where the men who had answered his call for volunteers waited. About five hundred officers and crewmen stood in orderly rows, at ease, their hands clasped behind their backs. They were, he calculated, the entire complement of all the ships currently at the base, plus many of his ground crews. Tarke stopped in front of a large vidscreen that displayed a live-feed image of the Crystal Ship hanging in deep space like a glowing jewel, its giant wings of luminous crystal flashing in the sunlight. Many men gazed at it, which pleased him. He wanted them to see the entity whose kin they were going to save.

  He indicated the screen. “Some of you have seen the Crystal Ship before. It’s the reason I asked you to come here today. The Golden Child killed the Envoy this ship carried, and it’s a gentle being. There are many crystal ships in the distant nebula where they dwell, and they’re all enslaved.”

  A wave of muttering went through the assembly, and many men scowled.

  Tarke said, “Every ship carries an Envoy, and they’re forced to house and feed these beings. But worse, the Envoys feed on pain, and force the ships to inflict it on others by inflicting it on them. We all know about pain.”

  The men shifted, and Tarke continued, “This ship has asked for our help. It asked the Golden Child, but she can’t. Her battle with the Envoy almost destroyed her mind. I won’t allow her to do it again. Next time it will kill her.”

  The men shook their heads, and Tarke went on, “I want to help them, and I’m asking you, my brothers, to volunteer for this mission.”

  Every man stepped forward in unison, and Tarke said, “Before you make up your minds...” He paused as chuckling came from the ranks. “I must tell you that it will be very dangerous. When an Envoy is attacked, it inflicts pain on the ship, which broadcasts it. The ships are powerful telepaths, and only those of you who are also powerful telepaths with excellent mental shields will be considered. Anyone else will succumb. Those of you who aren’t good telepaths, step back.”

  About half the men did so, with obvious rel
uctance. Tarke inclined his head and clasped his hands behind his back. “Now the rest of you who don’t qualify can also step back.”

  Half of the rest retreated, being nudged by their fellows, and a few chuckles arose. Tarke studied the remainder. “Those of you who are married, step back.”

  With a growl of annoyance, half of the remaining men obeyed.

  Tarke said, “This is dangerous. Some of you may not survive. Our scientists have formulated a powerful form of the Ship’s venom, which its soldiers use to defend it. It’s a weird and wonderful place on board one of these creatures, and you must remember that it’s a living being. It will communicate telepathically with you while you’re on board, so be prepared, its thoughts are quite alien.

  “You’ll be armed with projectile weapons to inject the venom into the Envoy. As soon as you’ve done that, you must dive under the Envoy, which lies in a sort of sea, and cut a blue ganglion, which is how it controls the ship. If you don’t do this, the Envoy will kill the ship, and speed is essential. You’ll be well equipped, but it will still be very dangerous.”

  Tarke went on to explain the plan’s details, which his commanders had been working on since he had returned with Rayne, while his scientists had been analysing and producing the potent venom. At the end of an hour-long talk, Tarke paused, folding his arms.

  “Are there any suggestions or concerns?”

  The men shook their heads, some glancing at each other. An officer asked, “Will you be coming with us, sir?”

  “No. I’d like to, but I’m needed here.”

  “Good.”

  “Stuff you, Kovar.”

  The men laughed, and Kovar beamed as a couple of other officers thumped him on the back.

  Tarke said, “Okay, we’re all happy I’m not going, especially my wife.”

  The men nodded and chortled again, falling silent when the Shrike raised a hand. “You’ll all be tested to make sure your shields are strong enough, and those who are will go aboard this ship to get to know the battleground, and to meet it. It will be your home, your protector and your guide, so get to know it, and like it. Its name is unpronounceable, but my wife calls it Scrysalza. It can move through time as well as space, so you lot won’t be gone long. I’ll go with you, to speak to the Ship, although it prefers my wife, and who can blame it?” Tarke paused as the men laughed again. “Still, it does talk to me, and I can show you how to kill the Envoy. Those of you who pass the mind shield test, assemble here at the same time tomorrow. That’s all.”