Rogue

by Cheryl Brooks

  Escape to the world of

  the Cat Star Chronicles,

  by Cheryl Brooks

  Read on for a sneak peek...

  Chapter 1

  I found him in the slave market on Orpheseus Prime, and even on such a godforsaken planet as that one, their treatment of him seemed extreme. But then again, perhaps he was an extreme subject, and the fact that there was a slave market at all was evidence of a rather backward society. Slave markets were becoming extremely rare throughout the galaxy—the legal ones, anyway.

  I hitched my pack higher on my shoulder and adjusted my respirator, though even with the benefit of ultrafiltration, the place still stank to high heaven. How a planet as eternally hot and dry as this one could have ever had anything on it that could possibly rot and get into the air to cause such a stench was beyond me. Most dry climates don’t support a lot of decay or fermentation, but Orpheseus was different from any desert planet I’d ever had the misfortune to visit. It smelled as though at some point all of the vegetation and animal life forms had died at once and the odor of their decay had become permanently embedded in the atmosphere.

  Shuddering as a wave of nausea hit me, I walked casually closer to the line of wretched creatures lined up for pre-auction inspection, but even my unobtrusive move wasn’t lost on the slave owners who were bent on selling their wares.

  “Come closer!” a ragged beast urged me in a rasping, unpleasant voice as he gestured with a bony arm.

  I eyed him with distaste, thinking that this thing was just ugly enough to have caused the entire planet to smell bad, though I doubted he’d been there long enough to do it. On the other hand, he didn’t seem to be terribly young. Okay, so older than the hills might have been a little closer to the mark. Damn, maybe he was responsible, after all!

  “I have here just what you have been seeking!” he said. “Help to relieve you of your burden! This one is strong and loyal and will serve you well.”

  I glanced dubiously at the small-statured critter there before me, and its even smaller slave. “I don’t think so,” I replied, thinking that the weight of my pack alone would probably have crushed the poor little thing’s tiny bones to powder. I know that looks can often be deceiving, but this thing looked to me like nothing more than an oversized grasshopper. Its bulbous red eyes regarded me with an unblinking and slightly unnerving stare. “Its eyes give me the creeps, anyway,” I added. “I need something that looks more…humanoid.”

  Dismissing them with a wave, I glanced around at the others, noting that, of the group, there were only two slaves being offered that were even bipedal: one reminded me of a cross between a cow and a chimpanzee, and the other, well, the other was the one who had first caught my eye—possibly because out of all the slaves there, he was the one seeming to require the most restraint, and also because he was completely naked.

  I studied him out of the corner of my eye, noting that the other prospective buyers seemed to be giving him a wide berth. His owner, an ugly Cylopean—and Cylopeans are all ugly, but this one would have stood out in a crowd of them—was exhorting the masses to purchase his slave.

  “Come!” he shouted in heavily accented Standard Tongue, “my slave is strong and will serve you well. I part with him only out of extreme financial need, for he is as a brother to me, and it pains me greatly to lose him.”

  His pain wasn’t as great as the slave’s, obviously. I eyed the Cylopean skeptically. Surely he couldn’t imagine that anyone would have suspected that his “brother” would require a genital restraint in order to drag him to the market to part him from his current master!

  Rolling my eyes with disdain, I muttered, “Go ahead and admit it. You’re selling him because you can’t control him.”

  “Oh, no, my good sir!” the Cylopean exclaimed, seemingly aghast at my suggestion. “He is strong! He is willing! He is even intelligent!”

  I stifled a snicker. The slave was obviously smart enough to have this one buffaloed, I thought, chuckling to myself as it occurred to me that no one around here would even know what a buffalo was, let alone the euphemism associated with the animal.

  I blew out a breath hard enough to fog the eye screen on my respirator. Damn, but I was a long way from home! Earth was at least five hundred long light-years away. How the hell had I managed to end up here, searching for a lost sister whom I sometimes suspected of not wanting to be found? I’d followed her trail from planet to planet for six years now, and had always been just a few steps behind her. I was beginning to consider giving up the search, but the memory of the terror in her wild blue eyes as she was torn from my arms on Dexia Four kept me going.

  And now, she had been—or so I’d been informed—taken to Statzeel, a planet where all women were slaves and upon which I didn’t dare set foot, knowing that I, too, would become enslaved. The denizens of Statzeel would undoubtedly not make the same mistake that the slave trader had, for I was most definitely female, and, as such, vulnerable to the same fate that had befallen my lovely little sister. That I wasn’t the delicate, winsome creature Ranata was wouldn’t matter, for a female on Statzeel was a slave by definition. Free women simply did not exist there.

  Which was why I needed a male slave of my own. One to pose as my owner—one that I could trust to a certain extent, though I was beginning to believe that such a creature couldn’t possibly exist, and certainly not on Orpheseus Prime! I was undoubtedly wasting my time, I thought as I looked back at the slave. He was tall, dirty, and probably stank every bit as much as his owner did. I was going to have to check the filter in that damn respirator—either that or go back and beat the shit out of the scheming little scoundrel who’d taken me for ten qidnits when he sold it to me. I should have simply stolen it, but getting myself in trouble with what law there was on that nasty little planet wouldn’t have done either my sister, or myself, a lick of good.

  As I glanced at the man standing there before me, he raised his head ever so slightly to regard me out of the corner of one glittering, obsidian eye. Something passed between us at that moment—something almost palpable and real—making me wonder if the people of his race might have had psychic powers of some kind. That he was most definitely not human was quite evident, though at first glance he might have appeared to be, and could possibly have passed for one to the uneducated. There weren’t many humans this far out for comparison, which was undoubtedly why I’d been able to get wind of Ranata’s whereabouts from time to time. She seemed to have left a lasting impression wherever she was taken.

  Just as this slave would do, even with the upswept eyebrows that marked him as belonging to some other alien world. His black, waving hair hung to his waist, though matted and dirty and probably crawling with vermin. I had no doubt that his owner hadn’t lied when he had said that the slave was strong, for he was collared and shackled—hand, foot, and genitals. I’d been through many slave markets in my search, but I’d rarely seen any slave who was bound the way this one was, which spoke not only of strength, but also of a belligerent, and probably untrainable, nature. The muscles were all right there to see, and while they were not overly bulky—appearing, instead, to be more tough and sinewy—their level of strength was unquestionable.

  This man had seen some rough work and even rougher treatment, for jagged scars laced his back and a long, straight scar sliced across his left cheekbone as though it had been made with a sword. He had a piercing in his penis, which appeared to have been done recently, for the ring through it was crusted over with dried blood. A chain ran from the metallic collar around his neck, through the ring in his cock, to another metal band that encircled his penis and testicles at the base. The pain that such a device could inflict on a man was horrifying, even to me, and I’d had to inflict a lot of pain in the course of my travels—though never to someone so defenseless and completely within my power as a slave. My never-ending search for Ranata had left me nearly as tough and battle-scarred as t
he slave was, and I’d often had to fight to the death in order to stay alive. So far, however, I’d never stooped to torturing a slave, and sincerely hoped I never would. This slave owner obviously had no such qualms, and it made me want to take a shot at him, just on general principles.

  Call me an old softy if you will, but I must admit that I considered buying this slave, if for no other reason than to set him free of his restraints. I might feed him first, though—and perhaps buy him some clothes…. I cocked my head to one side as I considered him again. You’re a fool if you think feeding this thing will tame it, I told myself. A bona-fide fool…

  Chapter 1

  He came to me in the dead of winter, his body burning with fever. Even before he arrived on my doorstep, bound, beaten, and unconscious, I knew my quiet life was about to change forever. And I was ready.

  As I stirred my potion, I heard the creak of saddle leather and the muffled thud of a body falling into the snow outside my isolated cottage, followed by Rafe’s grunt of effort as he dragged the unconscious offworlder through the drifts. With a gust of cold air and a swirling cloud of snowflakes, he pushed my door open and burst inside without so much as a knock.

  ***

  The evening had begun tranquilly enough. I had just brought in extra wood from the shed, but it was snowing so hard, I decided to go back out into the wintry darkness for more. I can conjure up fire better than any other witch I’ve heard of, but it helps to have some fuel. Besides, I love the cozy warmth and smell of a wood fire.

  From her place by the fire, Desdemona gazed up at me with narrowed eyes, nodding her agreement. I trusted her feline intuition to alert me to danger, but Desdemona had given me no warning. Yawning, she stretched and let out a loud purr before curling up once more.

  Reassured, I pushed open the heavy wooden door and peered out into the thickly falling snow. Big, fluffy flakes drifted by in the beam of light, floating gently but inexorably to the ground. It was already a handspan in depth and more was on the way. But there was something else in the air tonight—a strange feeling, heralding something altogether new and unexpected. Not a feeling of dread or fear, but something that whispered of the fulfillment of a promise. It hung there, on the edge of awareness, teasing me with its elusive aura. Just what—or who—it was, only time would tell. Time and the gods.

  My woodshed was only a few paces from the door, though with the snow it seemed farther than usual. Treading softly, I sank into the snow with each step, feeling my way through the darkness. The door to the shed creaked open on its rusty hinges and I glanced up at the lantern, shooting fire into the wick, instantly illuminating the interior with a warm glow.

  I had plenty of wood stored there for the winter; the people of the forest saw to that. I was too important to their well-being for them to ever let me freeze or starve, and offerings appeared almost daily on my doorstep—sometimes openly, sometimes covertly, but still they came without fail. I reminded myself frequently that one day they might not, and was, therefore, frugal with whatever I had. I knew full well that my honored status could vanish on a whim, and I wouldn’t have been the first of the chosen ones to be cast out to starve. It was a tenuous existence, to be sure, but one for which I had been born and bred.

  Stacking the new logs on my arm, I made my way carefully back through the snow to my house. Although the right to own property was denied most women on this world, it was my house and had been my mother’s before me, and her mother’s before her, time out of mind—never once having a male to claim ownership. Our children had fathers, of course, but we seldom married—at least, not in the traditional sense—and therefore traced our lineage through the female line. The one child we were granted was of the utmost importance, for it was she who would continue our work and our traditions—and that child was always female. Always.

  Desdemona purred her greeting as I came back inside and dumped the logs by the fire. I had three days’ worth of wood there already, but the snow was deepening quickly, so I thought I might as well bring in more. Pausing by the door, I listened. There was barely any wind, and the snow fell silently until, just on the fringes of my hearing, I was at last able to hear what I’d been waiting for: hooves in the snow, and heavily laden, by the sound of them. A rider was coming, but that was not all.

  I could hear the effort the horse was making as he strained to climb. He was coming from the east, and I could place him now. It was Sinjar; I sent a greeting of thought out to him and heard him nicker in reply. We knew each other well, for his master, Rafe, had been my lover once. Too arrogant now to trouble with the likes of me, he’d been charming enough in his youth. I’d known that Rafe wasn’t the one—had always known, even from the beginning—but loneliness sometimes drives one to seek out solace in places where happiness can never be found. It had been over for many years; Rafe had a wife and sons now and had never once strayed back to my bed. That it was for the best, I was well aware, because he had become too powerful and had too much to lose by consorting with a witch.

  Sinjar’s thoughts reached into my mind. “I’m tired and hungry,” he said. “They are heavy.”

  “They?” I asked.

  “The master and another,” he replied. “Sick and hurt. A slave, I think. He is…strange. An offworlder.”

  “I’ll have food and water waiting for you, Sinjar,” I promised.

  “Good. It’s not far now. I’ll be glad to see you again, Tisana.”

  “And I, you.”

  Returning to the shed, I gathered up buckets and feed and carried them back to the house, filling one of them with water from the pump by my door. Rafe might want food and drink as much as his horse did, but he would have to ask for it when he arrived.

  Rafe and I had not parted company on the best of terms, though he did use my talents when it served his purpose. He must need my help very badly to come out on a night like this—and for a slave, no less. An offworlder, which didn’t bode well, for my skills and medicines were sometimes useless with other species. My knowledge had grown with time, but there were still those whose physiology was too different to respond to my treatments. Many of the basic principles were the same, but they were usually strangers, and often didn’t trust me completely, which was half the battle. This one might already be beyond my aid, for I could sense something ominous about him, a life-force on the wane. Rafe may have been too late.

  I set Sinjar’s food and water down and went inside, leaving the door unlatched, and gathered what herbs I thought I might need. Water was already hot in the kettle hanging from a hook over the fire, and I mixed the pungent potion in an earthenware bowl on a heavy wooden table that was probably as old as the cottage itself. Powdered comfrey root mixed with sage and rosemary tea would help to heal his battered body, but an infusion of thyme, lavender, rosemary, and vervain would help restore the will to live, which I could tell even from a distance was the chief problem afflicting my newest client. I doubted that many slaves would prefer death to slavery, but some might. Rafe was a stern man and could be an exacting master. On the other hand, Rafe would presumably have paid good money for him, and see him as an investment to be protected. He wouldn’t be coming at such a time if it didn’t matter to him.

  Putting my fingertips to my temples, I wished for perhaps the millionth time that I could read the thoughts of humans as well as those of animals. My grandmother had had that gift. My mother had had both, though to a lesser degree, but I could read only the beasts of the forest and farm. It was a useful skill, for very few others could ask their horse which foot was hurting them, or if the girth was pulled too tight. I always knew where to find the juiciest berries and the lushest patches of wild rosemary, because the rabbits knew, and their minds were much occupied with these matters. Animals had a feel for weather, too, and were a much more reliable source of information than your typical village sage.

  Still, with sick or injured humans, you can ask what the trouble is�
�if they’re conscious enough to reply—but it’s a given that they will sometimes embellish upon the truth. Rafe had lied to me—many times. I sometimes let him think I believed him, but I wasn’t fooled.

  Taking a deep breath, I put my thoughts of Rafe firmly aside. I couldn’t afford to let them, or anything else, interfere, because I knew this one would require all of my concentration.

  Prologue

  What began as every man’s dream soon became one man’s nightmare, and though he earned his freedom in the end, his quest for inner peace was a long and tortuous one.

  Lynx was only seventeen when he was taken prisoner in the war that destroyed his planet. Slated for execution, he and the other members of his unit were sold into slavery instead. Thrown into the hold of a ship with no food and very little water, the new slaves were smuggled half-way across the galaxy to a slave auction on a distant world.

  Dragged onto the auction block, the terrified boy almost wished he’d been executed. To be bought and sold like an animal was unheard of on his own planet of Zetith, where the world had been green and beautiful and the people were free. On this planet, whose name he never knew, he was sold to a trader who then sold him to an owner whose face he never saw.

  Stowed in the hold of yet another ship, exhaustion outweighed his fear and he fell asleep on the journey, only to be rudely awakened by two men. As one held him down, a flexible tube was painfully injected into the soft skin of the inside of his left upper arm.

  “Take that out, and you die,” he was told, then was given a drink and left alone again in the darkness.

  Lynx lay sobbing with fear and pain and hunger. Even war had not terrified him like this. He had no idea where he was, or where he was going, and he believed that death would have been preferable to the life he now faced. He felt completely and utterly alone. Not knowing if the journey lasted for days or weeks, he lost all track of time, and was fed at odd intervals, which served to disorient him that much more.