by George Olney
Despite his distaste, he was wearing the damned outfit because of Frenchy's request that he do so. For some reason she wanted to see him in the thing, pestering him to wear it ever since she found it in the closet. He'd managed to put her off until now, but tonight was her celebration and, he had to admit, the uniform was appropriate. She'd also proclaimed they were to get dressed in separate rooms.
Wanted a grand unveiling, he supposed. Why his wife paid any attention at all to clothing, he could never understand. No one in the Tribes considered clothing, or the lack thereof, of any great importance except for practical reasons. Galactic culture for the most part was also rather loose about dress, if not as casual. He knew what every inch of that girl looked like, and liked it, but why she felt the packaging was so important escaped him. Not that some of her outfits weren't eye catching. Frenchy was vibrant, lively and beautiful. Any clothing that enhanced those attributes was well worth the trouble. Still, she had this damn silly idea of dressing up for tonight and dragging him right along with her in this foolishness. What the hell was wrong with Tribal leather? Besides, anything she wore was just setting for a firestone, totally unnecessary. Why in the hell...
Frenchy chose that moment to enter the room and show Grae just why in the hell.
He managed to rise to his feet because a Master Warrior can never be totally surprised. On the other hand, that didn't keep him from gaping like a beached fish. The big, graceful blonde that had his vision locked in place strolled up to him with a glorious dancer's stride that simultaneously put every curve in continual motion. On reaching her victim, she gently reached up and shut his mouth for him. She arched one eye and favored him with the sort of smile that gave grown men daydreams of Paradise. "Surprise."
She looked him up and down, carefully. "Well, I have to say I like what you are wearing. Very impressive."
She stood back and did a slow, sensuous turn. "How about me?"
By now, Grae had things back under control. He hoped. "I like what there is of it. From your native world?"
This time the smile was a full grin, and a bit of a naughty one. "Uh huh. Pretty sure nothing like it's ever been seen here before. If it hits the other guys like it hit you, tonight ought to be pretty exciting."
He returned the smile, mentally measuring the time required for her night out before he could get her home, out of that dress, and into bed. "I hope it doesn't get quite that exciting. I personally prefer a pleasant evening to having to break one or more heads, mistress. Let's not start any more riots than you can help, even in that killer dress. On the other hand, I have to say you just revised my opinion of clothing."
She turned impish. "I'd say it did what it was supposed to do. Relax, big guy, I don't think anyone will come to blows over it. Let's get out of here," she said, proving that precognition was not one of her psi talents.
#####
Seelah, the major city on Adulis IV, was a Federation Sector capital, one of the reasons it was chosen for the Federation Enforcement Arm's academy. Among an assortment of other things, this also meant it contained a widely varied and cosmopolitan population. That also meant Seelah boasted many of the best known and most exclusive restaurants within a good many light years and Febi's was rated among the top. Its management, of course, considered the word "among" to be superfluous.
Frenchy's entrance into the restaurant fell somewhere between grand and merely regal. The combination of Frenchy's eye-grabbing appearance and the formal militarism of the tall imposing man next to her automatically attracted the attention of everyone in the place. The manager, a slender elegant man below medium height with slicked down hair and a pencil thin mustache, hurried up prepared to personally escort them past the line waiting for a spot in the restaurant and straight inside. He had absolutely no intention of slowing down a pair like this in whatever they intended. Besides, Grae was an old and well known patron.
"Ah, Chief Inspector Kwaakani, it's a pleasure to see you again." His bow was an exquisite example of diplomatic formality, simultaneously conveying welcome and the acknowledgment he considered this couple something akin to royalty. "I have not made the lady's acquaintance."
Grae returned the bow with a nod while Frenchy preened and favored the head waiter with a smile that sent his blood pressure up a few notches. "Thank you, Jackular. This is my wife, Frenchy."
"Fre Kwaakani." The bow was made again, deeper and more reverent this time. "I am grateful you chose to honor Febi's. We shall do our utmost to insure your dining experience is as memorable as only Febi's can be."
Frenchy almost giggled, but managed to tone it down to another smile. Boy, this was the way a girl ought to be treated! "I'm sure we will enjoy our evening, Jackular, thank you."
That seemed to be the right thing to say, because Jackular immediately swept around and led them grandly to a table in the center of the room. That was all right with Frenchy. She had every intention of being seen by anybody that could possibly see her tonight. She felt like letting go after those grinding months at the Academy, so world - or Adulis IV in this case - watch out!
She was smugly certain that she could almost hear eyeballs click as she sauntered past. To aid the effect, she put a bit of old fashioned stripper's strut into her walk, just to give the guys a little extra. It wasn't until they were seated at their table that she became aware of something else happening in the room. People were looking at her, sure, but they were also shooting unobtrusive glances in another direction, and the vibes she was getting from those looks at whoever seemed to be anger mixed with fear.
"Grae..."
Grae nodded without looking up from his menu. "I caught it. To my right rear. Heavy guy, two women, four bodyguards in an alcove."
Frenchy shot a glance at the group. The glance was the kind of trained all-encompassing visual sweep the Arm drilled into its agents and what she saw gave her much food for thought. The two women were nude, nothing remarkable in that, but they were obvious slaves. She mentally snarled at the realization. The four body guards were just hired muscle. The short man in the middle was repulsive, his body showing a decadent decline that was winning out over the standard Galactic physical perfection. In fact, the bastard gave her the impression of a loathsome, fat slob. His reddish (well, really red) skin tone and hair teased up in a crosswise roach told her he was from Laydon, information from her Arm training. Her psi sense labeled him both arrogant and dangerous. He was also ogling her, extruding a loathsome hunger that ran chills down her spine.
For a brief instant, she regretted her dress then her basic toughness took over. Screw him! He could look and lust all he wanted. She was nobody's plaything and she would be damned if anybody, especially a human slug like that, was going to intimidate her. Look all you want, buddy, she mentally verbalized, but touch and I break things then give the rest to hubby.
She stared him down. The fat man went back to his food.
After the attentive waiter took their order, Grae and Frenchy obviously engaged in quiet, romantic conversation. The words, on the other hand, were slightly different from the appearance. Academy trade craft at its best.
Grae smiled and clinked wine glasses with Frenchy in a toast, a gesture picked up during his time on Earth. "I recognize that piece of crap. His name is Vandemos. Our files list him as a major slave trader, but we have nothing direct on him."
Frenchy smiled back romantically. "The way the bastard's looking at me when he thinks I don't notice makes me pretty sure he'd like to add me to his little collection. Anything we can do tonight to put him out of business?"
Grae chuckled, obviously at one of her romantic sallies. "Not at the moment, mistress, although I certainly agree with the idea. Just stay cool and enjoy our dinner. Either he'll screw up and we'll get him, or he won't and we'll have a nice night.
"Besides," the piercing look he shot her had nothing to do with their charade, "I have plans for later in the evening."
This time her giggle and smile weren't feigned.
Towards the end of the meal, Grae excused himself and got up from the table. "Men's room."
Frenchy nodded and turned her attention back to a truly fine dinner. A few moments later, there was a presence at her elbow, one she immediately identified as one of the bodyguards. A quick glance told her one of the other bodyguards was also missing. It was a no-brainer to figure out where the missing goon was at the moment and what he wanted to do. Tough luck for him. This one, on the other hand, was probably planning to roust her at the orders of Mister Big, over there smirking.
Damn, she wanted it to be a nice, pleasant blowout of an evening. Instead, it looked like it was time to go to work. Damn, again.
She looked up at the human mountain looming menacingly over her shoulder. "You seem lost. Can I help you find the exit?"
About that time, there came a loud thump and crash from the back, in the general direction of the restrooms. Both Frenchy and her irritant were sure they knew what it was. The results were the only thing in question and Frenchy was certain what those were, as well.
The body guard smiled menacingly. "Enough of your lip. Fra Vandemos wants you to join his party."
Frenchy maintained a pleasant demeanor. "Sorry, Guido, but my husband is due back shortly. We are planning to finish our dinner right here. Why don't you toddle back to your boss and tell him it's time for him to go home and to try not to get too much slime on the carpets as he's leaving."
"Ha, ha, funny." The goon didn't seem too much amused at her humor. He planted a heavy hand on her bare right shoulder. "Stop the funny stuff and come with me, girlie. Fra Vandemos isn't all that patient with new talent like you're going to be."
Still smiling sweetly, Frenchy reached around with her left hand and grabbed his thumb, suddenly jerking it back towards his wrist. She could feel the bone shift as it dislocated. The pain and the force of her leverage dropped the bodyguard to his knees with a scream.
The scream was cut off almost immediately as Frenchy shifted slightly in her chair, hand still holding the thumb, pulled his arm out of the way, then rammed her right elbow up and into his unprotected jaw. CRACK!
The bodyguard's head snapped back and he folded bonelessly to the floor, totally unconscious.
A dry voice intruded. "I see you met my friend's friend."
She looked up at Grae, now standing on her left side. "Minor disagreement. I hope we won't upset the management. Jackular seems like such a nice man."
Grae shook his head solemnly as he sat back down in his chair. "Oh, Febi's has a reputation for urbanity under just about all circumstances. In any case, I've buzzed a couple of the crew to come pick up the remains. I'm afraid I messed up the men's room fixtures somewhat, but Jackular knows I'm good for it."
At that moment, a massively frowning Jackular and two waiters appeared, preparing to heft Frenchy's problem and remove him to unknown parts. "Just put him in the men's room with the other one, Jackular," Grae said calmly. "The Arm will be here shortly to remove these nuisances. They have a few questions to answer, whenever they eventually come around."
Jackular began an elaborate apology, but Frenchy stilled him with a graceful hand on his forearm. "Please, Jackular, Febi's is blameless in this, but I certainly appreciate your thoughtfulness. Please don't think I intend to let this vermin spoil a pleasant evening."
Then Frenchy started to get a little steamed, the more she thought about the goon and his attempted public kidnapping. When she saw the jerk making little motions of returning consciousness, she calmly stood out of her chair, took careful aim at the man, still on the floor between the two waiters, and kicked him with carefully measured force on the chin, breaking a few teeth and sending him under again. The rest of the patrons, until now gawking in shocked silence, broke into applause. Frenchy slowly rotated, smiling and waving at the rest of the room.
As Vandemos came into view, she took careful note of the fact he was gathering his remaining retinue and preparing to depart hurriedly. "Grae," she said with quiet urgency, "we have to go. There's someone I want to meet outside."
Grae caught on immediately. She wanted Vandemos. The man was a slaver, flaunting a few of his inventory in public, and that was a wrongness. Frenchy, though, had more personal reasons for pushing a confrontation with that loathsome swine.
Frenchy, from the tribal point of view, had a kick in her gallop about slavery.
The Tribes had three major forms of formal man-woman relationship: bondage, marriage and bonding. Marriage was the same as it usually was with just about everyone, but the other two ends of the spectrum, bondage and bonding, were unique to the Lycanth and the Tribes. Bonding was very rare, an almost mystical melding of psyche between man and woman, permanent and revered. Bondage, at the other end of the scale, was descended from an old wife stealing custom. It involved the man taking possession of the woman, but with severe limits. Among other things, the woman could kill the man if there was Cause, any rather loosely interpreted offense or threat against a tribal man or woman. Bondage was intended as a temporary union, something to let a relationship develop if it was going to do so. Both sides tended to regard it as no big thing.
The Galactics had taken advantage of the practice and turned it into outright slavery of women. Custom, the final law among the Tribes, was sufficiently vague on details that slavers were able to operate among the Tribes openly, although with no approval whatsoever and at considerable personal risk if the opportunity arose. The Tribes felt slavery was a wrongness, but it was close enough to Custom to be immune from direct attack without Cause.
To Frenchy - a rugged individualist with an innate need for freedom - bondage, let alone slavery, was an offense against nature. She tolerated bondage because she was now tribal and she understood how they thought about it, but she didn't like it. On the other hand, she detested slavery and was the mortal enemy of every slaver, a major reason for her formalizing her originally unofficial enrollment into the Enforcement Arm. Slavery was one day going to die, and she had every intention of being in at the kill, if not its cause.
Now, Grae figured, Frenchy was about to confront another slaver and he was elected to keep her from killing the bastard illegally. He had no objection to Vandemos's possible demise, and would be delighted to do it himself. Grae just wanted to be sure everything was legal. He and Frenchy were, after all, Enforcement Arm, and that meant the law. Shucks.
Jackular intercepted Frenchy at the entrance. "Fre Kwaakani," he began carefully, noting the head of steam she was already building, "I hope you will forgive Febi's for this unwarranted intrusion into your dining experience."
Frenchy stopped momentarily. She wasn't mad with Jackular. He was a nice guy, really. She just wanted to render that slob Vandemos into sausage. "Don't worry, Jackular, Febi's isn't the problem, just one of its customers."
Jackular drew himself up. "Fra Vandemos is henceforth barred from Febi's, Fre Kwaakani. Rest assured he will no longer trouble you within our establishment."
Grae answered, simultaneously catching Frenchy's arm. "Oh, I don't think I'd worry about that, Jackular. We'll be back in a few minutes."
As she swung and glared at him, Grae continued, "We're going to remonstrate with Fra Vandemos, aren't we, mistress? Legally."
Grae's deadpan injunction sank in. She nodded at him, eyes still on fire and face grim, but common sense back under control. "Yes we are, dear. Legally."
"And now that we have that settled," she spun back to the door, "let's go talk to the gentleman."
Sensibly, Jackular got out of the way.
Fra Vandemos was on the landing pad in front of the restaurant, girls behind him, remaining muscle types on either side, and taxi nowhere in sight. As soon as Frenchy saw him, she fell into a stride that resembled a model on a runway, but slower and more sensuous. Grae settled unobtrusively into the background to watch the fun and see if he was needed. This ought to be good.
As soon as Vandemos saw her, his face betrayed the lust he felt along with fear for the ca
pabilities shown when she took down one of his other bodyguards. Frenchy read the expression and decided to turn up the slug's blood pressure a tad higher. Sauntering in front of him, she stopped and struck a languid pose, hands on hips, one leg extended in front of her. "Wel-l-l, slob, see something we can't have, do we?" she said in a sultry voice. Blowing him a kiss, she continued, "Isn't that a shame."
"I'm not finished with you, bitch," Vandemos snarled. "I'm going to get you, and when I do you'll be begging for my favor."
Frenchy shook her head slowly, like someone dealing with a not too intelligent but amusing child. "My, how brave the boy gets when he has all that muscle.
"See, slob," she continued, stepping out of her high heels, "I'll even get out of my shoes so you won't have to look up so far at me."
Bare feet were far and away better than high heels in a fight.
By now, Grae was grinning openly. Frenchy had the attention of Vandemos and both his men, and he was forgotten in the background. Dumb move by the bad guys. If he knew his girl, she'd have that loathsome piece of refuse just about ready to burst in a moment. He edged silently closer, just out of their range of vision then just stood calmly.
Looking past Vandemos, Frenchy could see the two girls clearly for the first time. One struck a deep pang of regret, but no real surprise. She was obviously tribal, with long brown hair in a braid down her back, classic features and the svelte, catlike grace, even nude, of tribal women. Her only apparel was the combination of straps tribal girls called miso.
The other was a short, round, bouncy honey blonde of a racial type unknown to Frenchy. Her big eyes, highly curvy form, and the cheerfully puzzled expression on her round face pretty well described her. As a new wife, Frenchy immediately labeled the girl as a threat to domestic tranquility. Another look at her innocent clueless expression added the word "unintentional" to the girl's thumbnail bio. The agent in her didn't miss the fact that she was probably taken illegally from another, probably barely known, planet. There were rumors the slavers were illegally taking girls from places other than Lycanth. Demand was much higher than supply, and Galactics generally didn't ask questions unless forced. On the other hand, that young lady would be enough to constitute Probable Cause for the cops back on Earth. In fact, she would be enough for an Enforcement Arm agent to be interested and Vandemos wouldn't be able to buy off that interest like he could the locals.
