“And their grandparents would be angry if they saw them doing that.”
“They just need to be educated. Perhaps one day they’ll push their luck too far and get clobbered.”
Tarke snorted. “If they don’t know the danger of touching an untouchable by now, they soon will. But their verbal abuse is intolerable.”
“When was the last time the Shrike visited Rimon?”
“Not for many years.”
“Perhaps he should.”
“What for?” he enquired.
“To let the people see him. He’s just a legend to most of them now, isn’t he?”
“Not to the mertaan.”
“But to them he is.” She nodded at the boys.
“I doubt it. They’re freemen.” He frowned. “No, the best thing is to get rid of them, and their parents. Those who offend, I think. Maybe the rest will learn to behave rather than be shipped out. Their grandparents won’t like it, but they wouldn’t want this kind of abuse to continue, either.”
“That’s harsh.”
“This world belongs to ex-slaves. Freemen don’t belong on it. I must protect my people.” He watched the boys, and she followed his gaze when it sharpened.
A pair of women in baggy grey shifts strolled towards the youths, who sneered and nudged each other, sniggering. She sensed trouble brewing when the women hesitated, glaring at the boys. They turned and walked away, but the youths followed, hooting.
Tarke scowled, and his nostrils flared, then he shot her a quick glance. “Wait here.”
As she opened her mouth to protest, he rose and wandered towards the group, detouring around them to confront the rasheer. The women stopped when he stepped in front of them, their eyes wide.
Tarke bowed, and his words carried to Rayne. “Greetings, Rasheer. Apologies for detaining you.”
They appeared uncertain. “Greetings, Rashone. Why do you delay us?” one asked.
“It appeared that you were going that way, and now you go this way. Does something trouble you?”
One woman glared at the boys, who had stopped several paces away, and fidgeted. “They do.”
“Ah.” Tarke nodded. “Freemen scum. Walk the way you wish, Rasheer. This is Rimon.”
“They spit,” she snapped.
“Do they? Allow me the honour of escorting you, then.”
“They will spit at you too.”
“Not for long.”
The women glanced at each other, clearly nervous and a little suspicious, but, after shooting a quick look at his mark, walked back towards the youths. Tarke followed, his hands clasped behind his back. The boys shuffled aside, casting Tarke dark glances, then one apparently could not resist the temptation and spat in front of the rasheer. Tarke reached him in a few swift strides and gripped his ear, twisting it until the boy wailed and bent over. The Shrike forced the youth to his knees, and the rest retreated, muttering.
“You will apologise to the rasheer,” Tarke said.
“Let me go!”
“When you apologise.”
“Sorry!” the boy cried.
“No. You will beg their forgiveness, and show respect.”
The boy’s face twisted. “I beg your forgiveness, honoured Rasheer.”
Tarke looked at the women, who inclined their heads. Rayne had the impression that they were mertaan, and timid ones at that, hence their priestess garb. Nevertheless, Tarke released the youth and sent him staggering away with a shove. His cronies gathered around him in a scowling bunch. The rasheer hurried away, but now the youths’ anger was focussed on Tarke, and, since he no longer had one at his mercy, their bravado returned.
Another boy made a rude gesture at Tarke. “Stupid slave scum!”
Rayne cringed, raising a hand to her mouth in shock. Many of the people who sat at tables nearby frowned at the brewing confrontation, and a couple spoke into tiny instruments on their cheeks. Tarke walked towards the youths, who held their ground, raising their chins in unified defiance. They were in their late teens, tall and gangly, some with fuzz on their chins. Rayne suspected that the boys had just crossed a line and were about to regret it.
Tarke cocked his head. “You dare to speak those words on Rimon, freeman filth?”
“You’re the filth!” the youth shouted.
A quartet of patrolmen hurried up to them, hands on the batons in their belts, their eyes hard. They were all unmarked, and Rayne wondered if they were freemen. Now the difference between the two cultures was clear to her, and the conflict seemed about to escalate. The foremost patrolman confronted the boy who rubbed his red ear.
“What’s going on here?”
“He assaulted me!” The boy pointed at Tarke.
The patrolman turned to the Shrike, his eyes flicking up to Tarke’s mark. “Rashone. Is this true?”
“They insulted two rasheer.”
“Nevertheless, a physical attack is more -”
Tarke raised a hand. “You, too, appear to be sadly ignorant, Drantoor. This is Rimon.”
“Where we don’t tolerate violence. Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Then he broke no laws. We want no trouble.”
Tarke frowned at the boys, who looked smug. “And yet, you’ve found trouble. Word of this will reach the Shrike, and he’ll banish freemen from Rimon.”
The patrolmen shifted, and their leader looked uncomfortable. “Oh, I don’t think he’ll do that. Not for such a slight infraction. These boys were born here.”
“If I witnessed this kind of disrespect after only a day on Rimon, it’s rife. He won’t tolerate it. This world belongs to ex-slaves. Freemen don’t belong here, especially that sort.”
“They’re just young and foolish.”
“They’ll grow up to be old and foolish.”
The patrolman became brisk. “Kindly move along, Rashone. This incident is over.”
Rayne thought Tarke would continue the argument, but he returned to sit opposite her again. The patrolmen shooed the youths away, one of whom made another rude gesture in Tarke’s direction. The patrolmen tried to grab him, but the group ran off, jeering.
Tarke said, “This is only going to get worse as more freemen are born here. It’s got to be stopped. Rimon is supposed to be a sanctuary. I won’t have my people insulted.”
She sighed. “You’re right, unfortunately.”
He studied her. “I hope this hasn’t spoilt your day.”
“Does it mean we have to rush back to Ironia?”
“No. No need for that.” He gazed across the park, his eyes distant. “I’ve issued the order. Tomorrow transports will arrive to remove all freemen from this planet. They’ll be shipped to Ardon, a newly flora-formed world. It’s pretty harsh, but they’ll manage.”
“There may be a lot of freemen here who are perfectly respectful to ex-slaves, you know. You can’t tar them all with the same brush.”
He shrugged and sipped his najab. “Then they can apply for special dispensation. I have nothing against respectful freemen.”
“What about children?”
“First generation is fine. It’s the children of freemen who are the problem, I think. They weren’t raised by ex-slaves, so they have no respect. If that sort of thing continues, it will foment trouble. Sooner or later a rashone will kill one of those little gits, and then there will be shit.”
“What about their houses?”
He smiled. “They don’t own any. Everything on this world, aside from the people and their personal possessions, belongs to the Shrike. Housing is free, and it will be on Ardon, too.”
“What about their businesses?”
“They’ll be compensated, and provided with the means to continue on Ardon.”
Rayne finished her najab and sat back.
Tarke eyed her, then polished off his own. “Shall we go?”
“Where to now?”
“Wherever you want.”
She considered. “What’s Dreamish like?”
> “Had enough of Rimon already?”
“It’s a bit tense. Vidan said Dreamish was nice.”
He nodded. “He said it was a better place for a honeymoon, but he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks; or as well as you do, now.”
“He knows you’re untouchable, though, right?”
“He probably suspects it.” He looked like he wanted to say more on the subject, but then he sighed. “Dreamish is a pleasure world, where my people go for holidays. There are fifteen bio-domes with beaches, palm trees, casinos, sports clubs and fun parks. Every year, each ex-slave gets a ticket to Dreamish for a month. Most don’t use it every year, but the option’s there if they want it.”
“Wow. You really look after them, don’t you?”
“They deserve it. I don’t have to pay for it, though. Five bio-domes are set aside for outsiders. Freemen, slavers, anyone who wants to relax and have a good time. They pay, and that supports the rest of the community.” He paused. “There are a few ex-slaves who... learnt to enjoy what they did, and they earn a living there.”
She raised her brows. “Pleasure slaves?”
“Yes. Of course, the freemen and slavers think I own them.”
“Right.” She frowned at her empty cup. “I’d like to see it. Not that part; the part the ex-slaves use.”
“Then let’s go.” He stood up and waited for her to precede him.
Back in the apartment, she turned to him as the door closed. “Can we go as who we are now? Torvark and Rellyn?”
He hesitated. “Yes, although I’d rather not.”
“Why not?”
“Why do you want to?”
“Because then you won’t wear the mask.”
“Ah.” He smiled, settling on the sofa. “You really have a huge bug up your arse about that mask, don’t you?”
“It’s horrible.”
“You prefer this?” He indicated his mutilated-face disguise.
“Yes. At least I can see your expression and look into one of your eyes when I’m talking to you.”
“I suppose so.”
“Why don’t you want to?”
He sighed. “It’s not like Rimon. Sure, there are untouchables there, but the mark doesn’t protect us like it does here. We’d have to go to Roshnar, which is the bio-dome where untouchables go.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t know that you’d enjoy it, though. It’s populated exclusively with untouchables. No one with less than a two-thirds mark can go there. Many live there. It’s where the really bad cases are.”
“I thought you were a really bad case.”
“I am.” A faint smile curved his lips. “You’re seeing a good side of me, because I want you around. In Roshnar, you can’t be a mertaan; they don’t go there. Us being together would be more than odd; it would be... unacceptable.”
“Then let’s go somewhere else. Why did you even suggest it?”
“Because solid-mark untouchables don’t go anywhere else on Dreamish. I’d have to be a two-third, and that has its risks.”
“You’d either have to accept male or female advances.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Would being friendly to men be so bad?”
“If they touch me, yes.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. “Don’t even suggest the alternative.”
She sat beside him. “But... surely a two-thirds mark is untouchable too?”
“Not like a solid mark. If they’re open to male or female advances, they don’t react badly to being touched by them.”
“Oh. I see. So if you smacked someone...”
“I’d be in trouble for wearing the wrong mark.”
“Then why did Vidan suggest Dreamish?” she asked.
“As the Shrike, I can go anywhere.”
“Right. Of course.” She sighed. “It’s all so damned complicated. But I didn’t get into trouble for smacking that rasheer.”
“You didn’t see her, and she was forgiving. If you’d had a solid mark she’d never have touched you.”
“Right. So if we went to Roshnar...”
He leant forward and pulled off the eye patch, rubbing his eye. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll go as two solid marks. It will be unusual for us to be together, but not totally unacceptable, if we behave right.”
“How’s that?”
“We never touch, under any circumstances, and keep a distance between us at all times. Essentially, if two solid marks of the opposite gender did hang out together, they’d be like...” He paused, shaking his head. “I don’t even know. Distant companions, maybe. Guarding each other’s backs, although that’s not necessary in Roshnar; that’s why it will seem strange. We wouldn’t be able to share a room. We’d have to transfer up to one of the ships.”
Rayne pondered this, then shrugged. “Okay. Just for a short while. I just want to see the place.”
“It would be far easier if I went as myself.”
“I know. Maybe we can do that, too, later, and visit some of the other bio-domes.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Chapter Twelve
Rayne gazed around the dim club, meeting the eyes of several people who raked her with disinterested glances before looking away. Her wish to come to Roshnar had seemed strange even to her, considering the restrictions it placed on her, but now she realised that she wanted to know more about solid marks like Tarke, so she could understand him better. The plush leisure club was tastefully furnished with crimson velvet seats and sleek round glass tables that sprouted from the black carpet on slender stems. Glowing tendrils hung from the ceiling, providing soft light, and flowery perfume scented the conditioned air. Vidscreens showed pleasant images of forests, beaches and mountains, and soft music wafted from all around. A low murmur of voices filled the place, but the atmosphere was subdued and, above all else, sterile.
Groups of men sat around the tables, while knots of women occupied booths along the walls. The majority were solid marks, but a few two-thirds sat together in more relaxed groups. There were even several couples with two-thirds marks, whose behaviour was almost normal. Tarke indicated an empty table, and they sat down. A female server with a two-thirds mark that precluded male advances approached and eyed them with a doubtful frown. Tarke ordered drinks, and she left, casting puzzled looks over her shoulder.
He said, “Already we’re attracting attention. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“What business is it of theirs if we want to be together?”
“Because it’s not normal for solid marks.”
“They’re together, and they’re solid marks.” She nodded at one of the male groups at a neighbouring table.
“They’re all men.”
“But they don’t accept advances from men, so what’s the difference?”
He gazed across the room. “The advances men make to each other aren’t the same as a woman would make to a man, or a man would make to a woman. They spurn friendship, for the most part, but will sometimes become friends with other solid-mark males. Mostly, it means neither males nor females can touch them, and they don’t do that.”
“But, like you said on Rimon, a male and female solid mark can also be together, because we don’t allow advances from the opposite sex either.”
“If you were a mertaan, and a two-thirds mark, yes. There I was your sponsor. Everyone could tell you were new, although it’s still pretty obvious. Here, us being together is pretty weird, for this lot.”
“Why can’t a man and a woman be friends?”
He sat back as the serving girl placed two pale green drinks on the table. “That’s rare, even for normals. If trouble starts, we’ll have to leave.”
“Why would trouble start?”
“If it does, you’ll see. If not, I’ll explain it to you later.”
For almost an hour, they sipped their drinks and made idle conversation, while Rayne tried to ignore the growing tension around them. Several men at nearby tables kept
shooting them angry glances, and a few times frowning women peered out of their booths. Tarke had almost finished his drink when his eyes focussed on something behind her, and his expression cooled.
“Here comes trouble.”
Rayne swung around, and the solid-mark man who approached veered away to the side. A scowl wrinkled his brow, and his eyes glinted above a broken nose with a ring in it. An ugly tattoo covered one side of his face, ruining his looks, which had once been good, she guessed. He had done his best to make himself ugly, and succeeded, for the most part. He stopped beside their table, out of reach.
“Just what the hell are you two?” he demanded.
Tarke shrugged. “As you see.”
“Your marks are wrong, if you sit together like friends.”
“No, they’re right.”
“A rashone who spurns women and a rasheer who spurns men, friends. You expect us to believe that?”
Tarke leant on the table. “I make one exception, her, and she makes one exception, me.”
“Why?”
“We saved each other.”
The man glowered at Rayne. “Why would you?”
“We had no other choice. We were in a tralack merdan tran. We made a pact, and we each kept our side of the deal. I trust her now, and she trusts me. And we don’t owe you an explanation, so piss off.”
“A tralack...” He shot Tarke a sideways glance. “And she...?”
“Yes.”
The man returned to a distant table, where his companions leant closer to listen to his story. A minute later, they drew apart, shooting shuttered looks at Tarke and Rayne. She frowned, embarrassed by the attention. All she wanted was to leave. Gulping the last of her drink, she jumped up.
“Let’s go.”
Tarke picked up his glass. “I’ll meet you outside.”
Rayne was glad of the fresh air when she exited the club, which had become oppressive. Leaning against the wall, she tried to relax, unaware of how much of the tension had soaked into her until now. Pedestrians wandered past, casting her incurious glances. That was what she had noticed the most about Roshnar. They were all indifferent. She had the horrible feeling that if she dropped dead they would merely step over her corpse and continue on their way. On Rimon, rashone and rasheer had stuck together against freemen and drantoor, but here they were all the same. With no common enemy, the dominant emotion was indifference. She never wanted to be amongst such emotionally damaged people ever again, and was tempted to order Shadowen to transfer her.
Slave Empire III - The Shrike Page 18
