Slave Empire III - The Shrike

by Southwell, T C

  The Shrike headed for a door on the far side of the room, and the men parted to let him through.

  “Sir!”

  Tarke halted and turned to find Kovar approaching. “Yes, Kovar?”

  “I’d just like to say, on behalf of all the men, how glad we are that your lady wife has recovered.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And we want you to know we’re not going to let anything like that happen to her again, ever.”

  “The men who were guarding her weren’t to blame,” the Shrike said. “They did their best, and I know all of you will always do your best. More than that, I’ll never ask of you.”

  “We know that, sir. It’s an honour to serve you.”

  “You don’t serve me, Kovar.” Tarke glanced around. “None of you do. You allow me to lead you, and the honour is mine. No one could ask for better, more courageous, more loyal comrades. The day I fail you as a leader is the day I’ll expect you all to leave.”

  “Never, sir,” Kovar said. “We’ll kill any man who turns his back on you.”

  “No, you won’t. No one stays with me unless they want to. If they don’t, I want them to leave. I shouldn’t have to explain that to any of you. I will not be a party to forcing anyone to do anything against their will, and I won’t tolerate it from any of you, either.”

  Kovar hung his head. “Yes, sir.”

  The Shrike nodded and made for the door again as the men parted in front of him, bowing and smiling. Often, he wished he could take off the mask, even though he was uncomfortable without it. He hid his identity for their safety as well as his own, and they knew it. A faceless man could be replaced by another faceless man, and, as long as it was impossible to identify him, Atlan would never know if they caught the right man. He did not employ permanent decoys, although it might have been useful to be in many places at the same time.

  On six occasions, when Atlan had been on the brink of capturing him, another man clad in a mask and similar clothes had been placed in their path to take his place on the execution block. Tarke had not been told about it until it was too late to prevent it, for he would have tried to stop it, although he doubted that he would have succeeded. The only time his men disobeyed him was when they were trying to save his life. That kind of sacrifice and loyalty could only be born out of love. Just before he reached the door, a handsome soldier stepped into his path, and several others grabbed him and tried to drag him aside.

  Tarke stopped, raising a hand, and they released him. “What is it?”

  The man bobbed his head. “My name’s Trebith, sir. I came in with the last shipment... shuttle... rescue. I just... I wanted to thank you for saving us.”

  Tarke shook his head. “I don’t require thanks, Trebith. That I was able to help you is all the reward I need, and these men helped. Without them, I wouldn’t be able to do much, so thank them, not me, okay?”

  The men smiled and shook their heads, and a couple dragged Trebith aside, ruffled his hair and thumped his back. Tarke walked towards the door once more, wondering if he was going to make it this time. He rarely mingled with his men, although he would have done it more often if not for their extreme loyalty, which he found hard to bear.

  After Rawn left to bath and rest, Rayne waited for Tarke to return, thinking about all that had happened. Although it was quite late, she was wide awake.

  Her apartment door buzzed, which told her it was not Tarke, and she used her implant to unlock it.

  Vidan strolled in and sat on a chair opposite. “Where’s your brother?”

  “Gone to sleep. He’s tired.”

  “Right, it was the middle of the night when Tarke’s men picked him up.”

  “Where’s Tarke?”

  Vidan smiled. “Talking to his men; asking for volunteers to fight the Envoys.” He paused, his smile fading. “You have no idea how glad I am that you’re back with us. Not only because I like you, but for Tarke’s sake. He was going crazy without you.”

  “So he said. I’m still trying to get used to the idea.”

  “But he told you everything, right?”

  She nodded. “I think so, pretty much. He didn’t go into any details. Do you know what happened to him?”

  “No details, either. And he warned you, too, I assume?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I got a few black eyes, and I wouldn’t want the same thing to happen to you. He packs quite a punch; knocked me out three times. My fault, though.” He sighed. “He might break something if he does it to you, and then he’d be inconsolable. Be careful.”

  “You make him sound like a monster.”

  “No. He’s not a monster. He can’t help it. I understand it a little, with the way he was trained to fight. It’s instinctive now. He’s like a spring trap, trigger it, and lose your hand.”

  “Is it really that bad?” she asked.

  “Worse. Once a slaver grabbed his arm to detain him; Tarke broke his jaw in three places.”

  “With one punch?”

  Vidan nodded. “One punch.”

  “Perhaps I should wear a bell around my neck.”

  The Atlantean smiled. “That might help.”

  “No one’s putting a bell on my wife,” Tarke said from the door, which shut behind him. “And I’ll thank you not to put the fear of the Nine Hells into her, Vidan. I already did that.”

  Vidan smiled at his boss. “Just making sure. We don’t want a repeat of Armax, do we?”

  “Armax was an imbecile, and besides, if I took a swing at her like that I’d miss. She’s about twenty centimetres too short.”

  Vidan’s smile faded. “You don’t miss.”

  The Shrike flopped onto the sofa beside Rayne. “And you don’t know when to stop flapping that big mouth of yours. Time I glued your lips together, I think.”

  The Atlantean chuckled, shaking his head. “How many years have you been threatening to do that now?”

  “Too many, it seems. Did you come here to speak to me, or just to scare Rayne?”

  “There’s a ship in distress just outside your territory. It claims to be under attack. I dispatched two cruisers to check it out.”

  Tarke sighed. “I don’t concern myself with what happens outside my territory. You know that. Whose territory is it?”

  “Sharmel’s. He won’t dare to object.”

  “That’s not the point, is it?”

  “You want me to recall them?”

  Tarke shook his head. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. It sounded like a civilian ship; could be a settler.”

  “I’m not the damned galactic police force, you know.”

  Vidan nodded. “I know; you’re the terror of the galaxy; dangerous, powerful, enigmatic and the vilest slaver to have ever disgraced the known universe.”

  “Exactly, who doesn’t rescue helpless civilians from pirates.”

  “I’ll make sure your reputation is untarnished.”

  “See that you do.”

  Vidan smiled, his eyes twinkling. “We wouldn’t want anyone to know the truth, would we?”

  “What would happen if it did get out?” Rayne asked.

  Tarke replied, “I’d find a dagger in my back the next time I left my territory. Or a laser bolt.”

  The coms-unit on Vidan’s belt beeped, and he switched it off and stood up. “Duty calls.”

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Rayne took her husband’s hands and removed his gloves, then pressed his index fingers to the keys on the sides of the mask and pulled it off. He rubbed his face and pushed back the hood and skullcap, running a hand through his hair.

  She gazed at him. “You must rescue thousands of slaves. What do you do with them all?”

  “There are a hundred and fifteen habitable planets in my territory. They go there, and I’m fauna-forming two more right now. I need more space. They all have profitable industries, and bring in a lot of revenue, which is how I can afford to fauna-form more planets and build more ships. Ex-slaves a
re hard workers.”

  She nodded. “Their safety and freedom depends on you.”

  “Yes; and the ones who get rich donate much of their fortunes to build new ships or fauna-form new planets. They all work to keep my empire from falling. I don’t demand taxes. Those who wish to contribute do, and that’s pretty much everyone, although I refuse donations from the poorest. I don’t allow poverty or corruption. Some donations are used to support those who are unable to work.”

  “I’d like to visit one of your planets.”

  He hesitated. “I’ll show you my world if you want, but you might not like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s inhabited by a lot of damaged people… like me.”

  “I want to, especially if it will help me to understand you.”

  “That might not be a good thing, but if you want to go, I’ll take you.”

  “How did it all start? You were just a man with a ship. What happened?”

  Tarke smiled, took her hand and stroked it. “I started off as a smuggler, then armed my ship a little better and turned to pirating. I bought two burnt out slaves dirt cheap and freed them. They became my first crew. Then I attacked a slaver and killed most of her crew. Suddenly I had five hundred and seventy-six slaves I didn’t know what to do with, but I wasn’t going to sell them.

  “I took them to an abandoned mining station on Rimon, gave them supplies and tools, and left them to make the most of it. They did very well, although it must have been hard at first. I brought them provisions, and I pirated more slave ships and brought them to Rimon. The colony grew and spread, became prosperous, and I kept bringing more slaves. Soon they were making a lot of money from their farming, mining and manufacturing. The slave ships I captured were used for transport, and the slaves learnt how to pilot them. They did it all, really.”

  Rayne shook her head. “No, you did it, by freeing them.”

  “I was lucky no slavers stumbled across Rimon in the early days, or it would have failed. It wasn’t a very nice place, but that was one reason I chose it. No one had any use for it, so no one ever went there. I explained that to the slaves when I took them there, and they understood. They were just happy to be free. But I couldn’t protect them in those days. I only had one armed ship.” A slight frown tugged at his brows. “Some died. There were accidents, poor tools, bad equipment... that kind of thing. I did my best for them, and I think they knew it. They never blamed me for it.”

  “Why would they? You were doing it for them, to keep them free.”

  He smiled, studying her hand. “I remember when they saved up enough money to buy a proper warship, and presented it to me. They told me to go and get a good ship... so I could take care of them. That was all I lived for, and they knew it. I was the ragged captain of a motley crew, but there was a lot of love amongst us.”

  “Was that when you met Vidan?”

  “God, no.” He snorted and chuckled. “He was the pampered scribe of a billionairess who treated him like a pet. He was overfed and lazy as sin, used to getting a daily massage and eating the best food. He’s a clever bastard, and that made him valuable. The only way I knew he was a slave was because of his collar. I attacked the heiress’ ship and took all her slaves, and her ship. I dumped her on an Atlantean colony with her crew. Vidan couldn’t stand me at first. He wanted to stay with his mistress. I took him to Rimon. A week later, he was begging to work for me. I think the rest of them gave him a hard time.”

  She nodded. “And he saw what you had done for them. Now you trust him with your life.”

  “It’s also the reason he got thumped so much at first. He was way too fond of tapping shoulders and grabbing arms. I wasn’t the only one who thumped him.”

  “Poor Vidan.”

  “That’s why I give him such a hard time, even after twenty years. His mistress treated him so well, he didn’t know what other slaves suffered until he went to Rimon.”

  Rayne yawned, failing to stifle it.

  Tarke smiled. “You’re tired. You should get some sleep.”

  “I shouldn’t be. I’ve been asleep for five years.”

  “You’ve had a lot of excitement today. You mustn’t overdo it.” He rose and scooped her up, carried her into the bedroom and placed her on the bed.

  Rayne twined her arms around his neck, holding him close when he would have released her, and he took the hint and lay down beside her.

  “Stay until I fall asleep,” she said.

  “All right.”

  Rayne turned to face him, holding his neck so they were nose to nose. He played with her hair, his eyes avoiding hers. She traced the strong lines of his face, stroking his brows and the bridge of his nose. Tarke rolled onto his back, took her hand and clasped it to his chest.

  “Go to sleep now.”

  She snuggled closer with a sigh.

  Chapter Eight

  Rayne opened her eyes and gazed at the ceiling, alone in the vast bed. Tarke’s bed would be empty, she knew. Her husband rose at dawn to tend to his empire, and it took up most of his time. Since they had returned five months ago, their routine had gone back to almost exactly the way it had been before her coma. She lived in his apartment now, and he spent a lot more time at the base, leaving only for a few days each month. They dined together every night when he was at the base, and he showed her a little more affection. She wondered if it would ever change. He tolerated her occasional attempts to lure him into compromising situations with good humoured unease, becoming adroit at evading her in ways that were not so hurtful. At times, his reaction gave rise to wonderful hilarity. He still visited her at her workplace, usually once a day, and, now that she knew why, it saddened her.

  Rawn had gone home after a week, and the Crystal Ship had taken a hundred seasoned troops to free its kin. It had returned three months later with ninety-four, but the other two hundred and seventy-nine ships had been freed. The potent venom had worked well, and, with Scrysalza’s help, the ships had fought for their freedom alongside the men. The soldiers had split into groups of twenty, and got the procedure down to a fine art. Towards the end, they had been able to free a ship in a matter of hours. Only one crystal ship had died.

  Gentle exercise and physiotherapy had long since restored Rayne’s muscle tone, and her health was back to normal. Tarke showed his affection in many little ways, but she would have traded all of his gifts for a night in his arms. Although he often lay beside her until she fell asleep, he was never there when she woke up.

  Rayne sat up as an alarm wailed outside, rose and pulled on her standard issue black coverall. Tying back her hair, she strode to the door. People ran past in the corridor, and she sprinted after them. They seemed panicked, making her wonder if the base was under attack. There were no thuds of explosions, however, and no smoke in the corridor, besides which, if the dome had been breached it would have been quite hard to breathe. The people ahead of her raced into the hangar dome, and she followed, finding it crowded.

  Rayne elbowed her way through the throng, filled with a nameless dread. Some people recognised her and stepped aside, pulling others from her path. Reaching the front of the crowd, she froze, her gasp choked off as her throat closed.

  The Shrike lay on the floor, his back arched and his limbs rigid. Several men clustered around him, others held back the crowd, and a knot of men kicked and punched another prone person a short distance away. Men fought to reach the front of the mob around the second person, who appeared to be in danger of being torn limb from limb, and looked dead. Rayne ran to kneel at her husband’s side, recoiling when one of the wild-eyed men who crouched beside him turned on her, raising a fist. Another man grabbed him and dragged him away, and Rayne gazed down at Tarke, her heart in her mouth.

  A commotion started at the back of the throng, which parted to allow four men with a floating stretcher to run through. Rayne touched Tarke’s sleeve, and he jerked away, making her draw back again. Someone gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet, and she turn
ed to meet Vidan’s anguished eyes.

  “Don’t, Rayne,” he said. “Don’t touch him.”

  “What’s happened to him?”

  He glanced at the corpse still being battered to a bloody pulp. “An assassin. I think he’s been poisoned.”

  “Oh, god... no,” she started towards Tarke again, but he held her back.

  “No. Stay here. The medics will take care of him.”

  “How did this happen? Will he be all right? Tell me he’ll be all right, Vidan!”

  “I don’t know. The assassin was disguised as a slave; came in on a transport that arrived a little while ago. She begged to be allowed to thank Tarke. He was in the office. He came out, and she... He let her touch him.”

  “Oh god,” Rayne raised a hand to her mouth, a sob closing her throat as her tears overflowed.

  One of the medics jumped up and turned to Vidan. “He’s stopped breathing. We have to get the mask off!”

  Vidan shouted, “Everyone turn away! Cover your eyes! Do it now!”

  Every person swung away and covered his or her face. Some clasped their hands and muttered prayers. The men who still kicked the corpse stopped and covered their eyes, and women wept. Two medics turned their backs as Vidan knelt beside Tarke.

  “You’ll be mind-wiped,” he said to the two remaining medics, who nodded.

  Vidan pulled Tarke’s gloves off and gripped his hands, pressing his fingertips to the controls on the sides of the mask. It unclipped, and he pulled it off, revealing the Shrike’s ashen face. A medic clamped a breather over his mouth and nose, activating it, and Tarke’s chest rose. The other medic cut open Tarke’s shirt and the skin suit under it, sticking electrodes on the Shrike’s chest to stimulate his heart. The first man lowered the floating stretcher, and they lifted Tarke onto it, raised it and set off for the hangar doors at a run. Vidan waited until the stretcher left the hangar before he addressed the crowd again.