FRENCHY II : Having a Blast

by George Olney

  "Good enough." Frenchy turned to the house gun cabinet and took out a tribal spring rifle, complete with ammunition clip. She didn't worry about Justa being able to handle it. Tribal women grew up with spring rifles and were consummate artists with the deadly things.

  When she handed it to Justa, the girl calmly inspected it with the air of an expert then got an uncertain look on her face. "I didn't think," she said. "I'm bound to Grae... I'm not supposed to be using weapons. Am I?"

  Frenchy smiled at her, thinking of another time last year when the same question came up. "Don't worry, Justa. Practicality outweighs Custom in my book, and Grae's as well. I got this when I was bound to him."

  She patted the throwing ax in its holster at her side. Justa's eyes widened slightly at the weapon. Frenchy had found the ax in an abandoned temple on an unknown world on the Rim. It was flat, a little over two feet long, and had five branching heads, configured so that at least one would stick when it was thrown. Grae gave it to her because he said it came to her hand, and that mean it was fated for her. Frenchy admitted she wasn't too good with a spring rifle, but she could hit anything she chose with the ax.

  Justa took the rifle and loaded it without further comment.

  The house picked that moment to announce a landing on the pad outside. Frenchy nodded to Grae and went over to warily open the door, then stopped dead and stared up. Then further up.

  The man mountain in the doorway had to be every bit of seven feet tall, was her first thought, thick and heavy with muscle. She knew that because he was wearing sandals and a sarong tied around his waist, nothing more. His head was shaved, and his face was tattooed with blue spirals that turned his every expression into a fearsome grimace. There was a younger duplicate standing slightly behind him, only this guy had hair. Short hair, but hair. Same scowl, though.

  After a few moments of Frenchy's openmouthed staring, Godzilla grunted at her in what she assumed he thought of as a friendly manner. Her shocked brain stopped gibbering and she realized the sort of Polynesian look of the two behemoths in front of her. Watanaoea. Then she remembered Fuzzy's family was coming to get her. That meant this was... Hoo-boy! "Grae," she said almost calmly, "Daddy's here."

  #####

  Jomath hated it when Alesos was mad. Maybe it would be okay if the guy would just bellow and throw things, but that, unfortunately, wasn't his way. He always seemed to like putting on a performance and here, in his private office, he was able to give his thespian abilities free rein. Jomath mentally grimaced. "Boss, we got both the girls you asked for. We figured it wasn't too smart to hang around waiting for the other one."

  Alesos was a darkly handsome man of middle stature. Ringlets of his shoulder length hair covered his ears and a carefully trimmed mustache and beard framed his aristocratic features, features that fooled more than one enemy into thinking him a harmless fop. Until you saw the eyes, that is. "I see, genius," he sneered smoothly. "Two out of three is better than nothing, hmm? I suppose that line of reasoning has its merits.

  "Well," he leaned forward and motioned Jomath closer until the two were nearly nose to nose over Alesos's desk, "there's only one little problem with your thought process...

  "I'VE NEVER SEEN ONE OF THOSE WOMEN BEFORE IN MY LIFE!" he screamed, flinging his hands wide. "Numskull, who in the hell did you grab!!?"

  Alesos grabbed Jomath's head in his hands, shaking it. Throwing it backwards and unbalancing the big man, he stalked angrily out from behind his desk and paced furiously around the room, waving his hands. "This is an expensive far flung organization and a profitable one."

  He stopped and whirled suddenly on Jomath, pointing a finger under his nose. "Under new management, you understand."

  He resumed pacing. "Oh, occasionally, we have the odd setback, such as Fra Vandemos being picked up by the Arm, bless his soon to be departed soul."

  Again with the pointing finger. "Profitable, yes, and soon to be more so. We serve a need, Jomath. A very lucrative need. A public service, you might say, from which we take only what is our due. However..."

  He paced over and stuck his face in Jomath's once more. "That is, if the Arm doesn't see fit to squash us like bugs!

  "Just who," he asked in an oily voice, "is this unknown woman?"

  Jomath, no great genius, shrugged. "I don't know, Boss. Think we should ask her?"

  Alesos stepped back, feigning open mouthed amazement. "A stoke of brilliance! Ask her! Of course, I would never think of that!

  "Of course we'll ask her, idiot! Get her in here!" he immediately waved a hand in negation. "No! Get them both in here! I want to find out what happened to Vandemos from an eye witness and how that big Enforcer got involved."

  A rather varied group was assembled down the skywalk, out of sight of the seedy club. There were five or so of the Arm in full combat gear, plus Grae, Frenchy, Justa, Daddy and Husband. Frenchy still didn't know their names. Grunts just weren't informative.

  Everyone was armed. Academy training had taught Frenchy to use a bolt gun, but she still preferred her ax. Being of like mind, the two Watanaoeans were holding war clubs of some dark wood, carved to resemble stylized axes. From her experience on Lycanth, Frenchy was inclined to feel those two baby bull moose were adequately armed. One glance at Daddy and she could hear war drums thundering somewhere in the background.

  One of the Arm agents slithered back to the group and announced in a whisper, "Bouncer at the door."

  "We'll have to take him out before he can give an alarm," Grae commented softly.

  Frenchy was thinking about volunteering. After all, bouncers were people she knew very well. Justa beat her to it. "My job," she announced quietly, handing her spring rifle to Frenchy. Without another word she sauntered casually out onto the walkway towards the club.

  The bouncer looked up when he realized there was someone coming up the walkway, but it was only a nude girl, such as could be seen anywhere. At second look, the bouncer appraised her as a cut above the usual, graceful and feline.

  Frenchy watched carefully as Justa engaged the bouncer in conversation, just another girl trying to talk her way into the club. She snorted mentally, as though there was a chance a girl as good looking as her was going to be kept out of the place. The bouncer leaned forward, to hear something Justa was saying, and suddenly collected a punch in the solar plexus for his trouble.

  The group was out onto the walkway on a dead run. When they hit the door, the Arm agents split on either side to watch the flanks and control the crowd inside, while Frenchy and Grae sprinted up the middle. "Back office!" she shouted, throwing Justa her rifle as she dashed past.

  Bars and clubs were Frenchy's home turf. She had a complete feel for the place as soon as she set the first foot inside and knew exactly where she was heading. Besides, her psi sense was telling her where Dallas was located. She was sure Dallas was in the office with the head bastard, whoever he was. When they got to the office door, Daddy reached for the door switch.

  Dallas was indeed in the office with ten or so goons and the head bastard. Said bastard, to judge from her experience, was pissed. As soon as she and Fuzzy were dragged in front of Alesos and she got a good look at him, she got worried. This bird had "mob" written all over him. Whatever they called it here, this guy was organized crime, and high up the ladder. He was also dangerous as hell. She'd seen them before, and the trick was to stay away from their notice and alive when the hammer came down. Unfortunately, staying out of this guy's notice was going to be impossible, given she was being hauled in front of him by a couple of his men.

  Alesos favored both silent women with a thoroughly irritated glare as they were jerked in front of him. "Well," he demanded, "just who are you?"

  Fuzzy started to answer, but he shot a glance at her and said, "Shut up. I recognize you. It's the other one I was talking to."

  Dallas gulped then decided to put a brave face on it. Carefully, girl, just keep this boy relaxed. "Dallas Ashby," she replied in a calm voice.

 
; "And just what sort of a name is that?"

  Dallas shrugged. "Mine. It's a common enough name where I come from."

  "Rim? Or somewhere else?"

  "I guess it's on the Rim," she answered. Something told her it would be the wrong thing to tell this character her history. She decided on the virtuous truth, slightly edited. "I've never been here before."

  "What were you doing at that house? And in that outlandish getup." Alesos gestured at her jeans/T-shirt combo and Fuzzy's oversized T-shirt.

  Carefully, girl. Please, Frenchy, come and get us. "Oh, I was staying with friends," she said casually. "Frenchy and I have known each other for years. This is my normal clothing, actually. Frenchy and I come from the same world."

  Alesos thoughtfully fingered his ring beard. "Hmm. Frenchy? You mean the blonde?"

  Dallas nodded. "And what about the man?" he continued.

  Fuzzy decided to speak up. "Oh, he's Grae."

  Now that Fuzzy was started, Dallas found herself giving a sigh of relief. At least it would keep the boss man busy for the next few minutes. With luck he would be so busy swimming upstream in the coming torrent of words he would forget what he was trying to find out.

  Fuzzy plowed on. "Grae is nice man that rescued us. He's so nice, I want him to meet Daddy. Daddy big man in clan. He come here, looking for me soon. I think he not be too happy to find me being locked up, so you let us go and everybody go away happy. Nobody like to make Daddy mad. That not good. You let us go and Daddy take me away and not worry about you and all these men. If he come here, though, he be mad and break people and I think you..."

  About that time, the door to the office slid aside and somebody grunted. Loudly. Fuzzy spun around to look and squealed, "DADDY!"

  Looking across the office at the doorway, filled by seven or so feet of really pissed off Watanaoean warrior, Alesos slumped exasperatedly in his chair. "Ohhh, shit," he said with pure disgust, his face cupped theatrically in his palm. Showing commendable speed and logic, he leaped out of his chair and dived for a panel in the back of the office wall.

  The rest of the men couldn't follow him through his bolt hole. They were fully occupied in dealing with Daddy, Husband, Frenchy, Grae, and several other explosively lethal visitors who had poured into the room. Sensibly, Dallas grabbed Fuzzy and dropped to the floor, out of the expected line of fire.

  Daddy walloped the first of Alesos's men with his war club then dropped it to grab the next two with his bare hands. Husband preferred the use of his club, being as he was a slightly more reflective and standoffish sort than his pa-in-law. Grae shot one goon with his bolt pistol and knifed the next, moving through the room with terrible efficiency. Bolt fire and Justa's spring rifle darts skittered in a variety of directions, but things were definitely falling apart for the bad guys.

  Jomath found himself facing Frenchy. He brought up his bolt gun, only to have it slapped from his hand by the flat of her ax. Immediately thereafter, he was backed against a wall with one of its edges at his throat. "Don't even think about moving," she snarled, shoving the ax at him with both hands. "The only reason you're alive is we want information and I'm feeling mellow."

  Gallantly, Jomath was perfectly willing to do everything possible to help the lady continue to feel that way.

  While engaged in throttling two of the goons, Daddy made the tactical error of ignoring other possible problems. One of the mobsters, shaking off a previous clobbering, was staggering to his feet and starting to point his bolt gun at the back of Daddy's head, showing a never-say-die lack of common sense. He was still trying to line up a shot when Dallas reached over, gathered Daddy's war club from the floor and rising, swung from the hips at the goon's head.

  Hearing the crunching sound behind him, Daddy turned his head and took note of what had happened, who did it, and what with. He concluded his activities by slamming the two mobsters in his hands together, cracking their heads against each other. Hard. Bones crunched. Then he turned around and favored Dallas with a big grin and a nod. His speech of approval consisted of "Hunghhh!"

  Dallas took that to mean he liked what she did.

  Grae holstered his gun after checking that there were no more active mobsters, no friendly casualties, and things were now quiet. Then he strolled over to where Frenchy still had Jomath pinned against the wall. "I see you met my wife," he told Jomath calmly. "Now, if you're very quiet and nice, she will let you go meet some people that want to talk to you."

  Jomath didn't even bother answering. His terrified expression still on Frenchy, he simply held up his hands.

  #####

  The next morning, Frenchy (attired in T shirt and blue jeans) assisted by Dallas (ditto), was seeing off her overnight guests. As they climbed into the skimmer, both Daddy and Husband were as stoic as ever. Fuzzy, on the other hand, was still in her T shirt, chattering away happily and being tolerantly ignored by her family. As she was waving good-bye to the departing skimmer, Frenchy looked down and noticed Dallas was holding Daddy's war club. "Hey," she said hurriedly, "did he forget that? We've got to get them back!"

  "No, babe," Dallas replied in a slightly dreamy voice, "he didn't forget it. He gave it to me for saving his life."

  Frenchy peered closely at her friend. "It looks like that wasn't all he gave you. Dallas, were you and Daddy... That is... Did you?"

  Dallas gave her a silly, very relaxed smile. "Ohhh, yehhh," she breathed.

  "By the way," Dallas continued in more normal tones, "his name is Longol olo Velani Tulongi. Very talkative guy, at the right time. Told me a lot."

  Frenchy studied her friend thoughtfully. "Um hm, I'll just bet he did.

  "Dallas," she continued," you're incorrigible."

  Dallas favored Frenchy with a very mellow smile. "Yup."

  Becoming slightly more serious, Dallas added, "From what he told me when he felt like talking, that mobster in the club was in a whole lot more trouble than he knew."

  "Before Daddy showed up at his office door," Frenchy added.

  Dallas nodded with an impish grin then sobered. "There was one big reason Daddy married Fuzzy to her guy. Oh, the two of them knew each other and were off-and-on lovers back in the village, but that was only the secondary reason."

  Frenchy raised her eyebrows in question.

  "Babe, the reason Daddy married Fuzzy off was because he swore they were going to get her back, sooner or later. If he couldn't do it, someone had to swear he'd take up the obligation to find and recover her. Husband - his name's Ilolo by the way - stepped up to the plate. That's why he ended up married to Fuzzy."

  Frenchy looked thoughtful. "If that's the way Fuzzy's people are, then any slavers that hit her home world have a really big bear trap just waiting for them to step in it."

  She thought for a few more minutes. "Good."

  Then Frenchy looked up at the departing skimmer. "I'm still a little worried about Fuzzy. I hope she'll be happy."

  Dallas grinned at her best friend. "Oh, I think those two have a good chance at a decent marriage. From what I heard coming through the wall last night - when Longol wasn't keeping me busy - the two of them were getting off to a pretty good start on the honeymoon."

  Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, Frenchy turned back into the house. "Sex mad. You're sex mad. Come on, babe, let's go get a cup of coffee. Thank God Grae's been able to get coffee specially smuggled in by the Arm. It seems every Galactic that tries the stuff ends up wanting it, and there's a whole bunch in the Arm that brings some back for their friends when they leave Earth. Hope the house has it ready."

  As they were leaving, Frenchy heard a quiet ding and a small package appeared in a basket on the wall near the door. "Hm, mail's in," she commented, picking it up, noting it was from Lycanth, and addressed to her. "It's from Mother. Wonder what she sent?"

  "Mother?" Dallas asked. "That's your adopted mother? Grete? Is that right?"

  Frenchy nodded absently as she opened the package.

  Dallas continued, "You're going
to have to go over that again with me, girl. I still don't understand how she can be Grae's mother and adopt you and you two not be living in incest, or something."

  "Oh," Frenchy said casually, examining the contents of the little box she'd unwrapped, "the Tribes don't see it that way. They don't look at it as anything biological. My adoption was a legal formality to get me into the Tribe so I could eventually marry Grae. There's a whole lot more, but I'll tell you one of these days.

  "Look," she said, holding out two small black domino shapes so Dallas could see them. One of the little dominos was encased in a clear hard plastic container. "The plain one is what's called a letter out here. Grete recorded it and sent it to me. The one in the container is a multimedia chip. That's what they have instead of DVDs. Wonder why she sent it?"

  "Well," Dallas said, curiosity replacing her earlier mellow attitude, "let's go find out."

  When Dallas first saw the hologram of the blonde woman projected over the letter player, she did a double take then looked more closely at Frenchy. Only the top half of the woman was showing, but it was obvious she was dressed in what Frenchy called tribal leathers. She was also a somewhat older version of her friend. Looking closer, Dallas could see there were facial differences, but the general look and the mannerisms of the two women were close enough that they could, indeed, be mother and daughter. Dallas knew about Frenchy's real mother and that was one woman she knew enough about to despise. Grete, on the other hand, looked like someone she wanted to meet. It appeared her friend had found something else out here among the stars she had needed in her life.

  "Grae," Frenchy called out, "come here. Mother sent us a letter. She also sent a music chip she wants us to see."

  Dallas jumped slightly when Grae materialized at Frenchy's shoulder. She still wasn't used to the catlike silence of his movements. "Well," he commented, "Mother doesn't generally do things like that. Whoever made the recording must have impressed her."