by George Olney
Soon enough, she could see the man's features and the predatory grin on his face. Trouble all right. From what she could see of him, he wasn't wearing any tribal markings either. Outlaw. Slaver. Her finger touched the trigger then stopped. This was the first time she had a human in her sights and she couldn't bring herself to shoot. Not intentionally kill someone in cold blood.
Then she remembered the slave ship. No way was she ever going back to that again. That was Cause. She had Cause. When she reacquired her target again, her face was remote and cold. Breathe out, squeeze, and there was suddenly a small hole in the slaver's forehead above the right eye.
That was about the time she heard a CLANG of metal meeting metal from the direction of the dig. Red! Where was the second guy? What the hell was happening? Then she heard a WHACK of metal meeting something soft.
Justa jumped up, shot a glance at the ridgeline only to see the remaining three slavers spurring their gorts towards the mesa, and dashed for the dig. She still had a little time. Then she stopped dead. There was Red, out of the hole and just standing there holding a shovel with a very bent head and looking down with some degree of aggravation at the crumpled man lying on the ground in front of him. He said with irritation, "Damn fool came at me with one of those big nearpig-stickers you folks use."
Justa just stood there for a second, rifle still poised, feeling slightly silly. Then things snapped back into perspective. "I got one but there are three more riding like hell for the mesa! Come on!"
Red threw down the shovel and said petulantly, "Oh, all right. Damned distractions!"
Justa was sprinting, but Red passed her on the way back to the trail head.
Once there, both flopped on the ground and took a careful look. The three were nearly at the mesa and beginning to snap shots at them with their bolt pistols. The impacts were all around their location, but none were very close. "Damn fools, I said," Red snorted. "They're lucky to even hit the mesa, firing from a galloping critter."
Justa had a little different assessment as she ducked reflexively when a bolt slapped into a nearby boulder, cracking huge pieces off the front. This was her first time under fire. "So what now?"
"Let me show you, little girl." Red's light tone belied the frown on his face as he drew his big pistol.
Justa thought he was nuts. Sure, he was prone on unmoving ground, but those bastards were still almost a hundred and fifty yards away. No way was he going to hit a moving target with a pistol at that range. Hell, they were way out of her own range!
Red thumbed a small lever on the side of his pistol and holo sights appeared on its top. Holding his pistol with both hands and resting them on the rock he was crouched behind, he sighted carefully and pulled the trigger. CRACK. The middle of the three slavers flew off his gort, limbs flopping in a way that said he was dead, dead. "Where I grew up," Red said casually as Justa looked at him with a stunned expression, "there's a lot of things you don't want to let get very close to you."
The two remaining slavers had turned and were spurring frantically away. Red aimed again. "Now..." CRACK. One of the two flew limply off his gort.
Red stood up casually and holstered his pistol. "No need to take out the other one. He's not coming back alone. Let's get rid of the losers and recover their gorts. We might need more pack beasts if something good turns up."
Justa just lay there and stared at him.
Chapter 12
Frenchy was part of the reception committee when Dallas and Jongular's sled settled to the floor of the Hold's big hangar and out of deference to her best friend's peculiar taste in men, she was doing a womanfully determined job of controlling her temper. Things got easier to control when Dallas got out of the sled and dashed over to give Frenchy a big hug.
"Told you I'd catch myself a big barbarian, babe," Dallas said cheerfully when they broke the hug. She rolled her eyes. "Admittedly, I didn't exactly figure it was going to be this way, but things seem to be working out."
"But that bastard tried to walk off with you!" Frenchy burst out.
Dallas gave her a hard look from under lowered brows, an early warning signal. "Bastard he isn't, Frenchy," she said flatly.
Cheering up, Dallas stepped back and waved a hand. "Oh, okay, we didn't really have a conventional start to our relationship.
"Either by Earth standards or tribal," she finished with a puckish grin. "But I've declared this guy mine and he agrees. Not sure where it's leading, but things look good."
Frenchy knew Dallas well enough to take the warning seriously. Besides, her short friend just might be right. She studied Dallas closely. "You sure? You know how these guys think. I don't want to see you wearing a pendant instead of those cutoffs and the T shirt you've got on. You've got the situation under control?"
Dallas nodded, her expression softening. "It's okay, babe. We're doing things our own way."
"Fine!" Frenchy said as they hugged again.
Jongular found himself facing Grete, Weykhaz, and Grae. Grete led off. "Our fair Dallas hath requested that you be given permission to enter this Free Hold, Jongular. In honor and courtesy of her desire, you may enter and stay."
"As long as you behave yourself," Weykhaz growled.
Grae said nothing. His look was enough.
Jongular stood up to all of it with a fair degree of self-possession, albeit leavened with a degree of chagrin. "I shall endeavor to be the model of a perfect guest.
"Besides," his bombastic pose dropped and a look of wide eyed, slightly amazed apprehension crossed his face, "no way am I going to get on the bad side of that woman."
He took a deep breath and looked at Grae. "You know the women of XB734. Does red hair always accompany a volcanic temper on that world?"
Grae shared a glance of understanding and sympathy with Weykhaz. Both of them had plenty of experience with Earth women and hot tempers. "I've never seen Dallas blow up," Grae said dryly, "but red hair usually signifies an explosive disposition where she comes from."
Jongular's wide eyed, slightly amazed look returned. "My life has gotten a whole lot more, ah, interesting, too."
Grae held out his hand to shake. "You learn to live with it."
Jongular was now officially included in a long suffering club made up of Grae and his father.
After a short while, everyone retired to Weykhaz and Grete's living room, drinks of various types to hand. Frenchy was slightly amused to see Jongular's was beer in a no-foolin' stein. That shouldn't really have been a surprise. Grete was German, after all. Wherever she found the stein, it certainly fit the guy using it now, Frenchy thought.
Dallas was telling the story of her dealings with the recording company. "Oh, their local manager, guy name of Toshi Ahiba, Galactic type, came over to our hotel room and tried to hand me a load of bull about percentages and distribution costs. He wanted to renege on the contract we'd already signed but I wasn't going to let him. He even gave me the old saw about us getting better terms if I was 'nice' to him."
She fumed for a moment. "I blew up all over him and he bailed out in a hurry. We never had another moment's problems after that."
Frenchy had to grin. She'd been present one time when a particularly loathsome club manager had tried to put the same kind of sex-for-work strong-arm on Dallas. The explosion had been of Biblical proportions, followed by her and Dallas both quitting. Then followed about a week later by an apology from someone that identified himself as a partial owner and accompanied by a humble request to come back to work. It seemed the club's owners weren't thrilled at losing their star act. The manager wasn't there when they returned, either.
That, in some quirk of thought, brought her attention to Dallas's Designated Barbarian. He was more relaxed and his speech wasn't the usual bombast. In fact, he was acting like a Joe, not a Jongular. She started to say something, but Grete beat her to it.
"Jongular," Grete asked, "thine speech is far more the normal turn and I suspect it and your current demeanor are your usual manner in additi
on. Whyso the act, for act I equally suspect it is?"
Jongular flushed slightly and glanced at Dallas for support. "It is, in a lot of ways," he said. "Oh, enjoy being larger than life, but I wasn't always a -"
"Big blowhard," Dallas supplied with a smile.
Jongular shot her a theatrical frown. "I thank you, Mistress, for your thought, although obviously a major error of fact when discussing an acclaimed star such as myself."
Dallas stuck out her tongue at him and he grinned back.
"At any rate," Jongular continued in more normal tones, "I was just another musician until I started telling everyone how great I was - and acting that way. To my amazement, it worked. I went from struggling to being in demand. Sounds funny, but everyone went along... except for a certain female dynamo and business manager." They grinned at each other again.
Frenchy decided the two were really having fun together. Actually, the "mistress" part was pretty significant. Tribesmen only used the term to wives or fiancées. There was really something major going on here. Everybody in the room caught it, too.
"Ah," Grete said, "so I see the lay of the land. Know then, Jongular, that I say you are no longer on probation in this Hold."
Grete glanced at her bondsmate and received an approving nod. "As such," she continued, "you are now permitted the full freedom of this our home and, as dear Dallas's affianced, are thus welcome at any time you so choose."
Jongular got slightly wide eyed at this sea change. Dallas just beamed. "Goes for me, too," Frenchy added. "I think you two guys are good for each other."
"Babe," Dallas told her softly.
"Babe," Frenchy replied in an equally soft voice.
OK, so Dallas now had an officially approved big barbarian.
It was only a short while later that the door announced visitors, Maev and Evan. Grete told the door to admit the pair, who were duly greeted with hellos from all that knew them and hugs by Frenchy. Once settled with appropriate refreshments, Evan commented in his laconic, slightly askew fashion, "Though we'd check in, folks."
As was normal, Maev filled in the blank spots. "We just got back from a short encounter with slavers in the Barrens. Two of them survived it and we've sent them back to Interrogation. We came to the Hold to replenish supplies before going back out. Since we're here, we thought we'd visit for a little bit."
One of the things that Frenchy liked most about the Enforcement Arm was the fact that the organization was in no sense bureaucratic. It relied on the judgement and ability of its agents and wasn't about to question something that worked. Basically, that meant that nobody from Locar on down had a problem with Evan accompanying Maev on a case. Evan wasn't an Enforcer, but he had some very special qualifications that made him valuable. If he wanted to tag along and help out, that was fine with the Arm.
That also meant Maev or Grae could discuss the details of the case with everyone in the room, if that's what they decided to do. It was their decision. In any case, Weykhaz was a retired Agent-on-Call and Grete was his bondsmate so she knew what he knew. Frenchy had no worries about Dallas or Jongular running their mouths. Wasn't going to happen.
"Got the first reports just a little while ago," Grae told Maev. "Interrogation was busy while the two of you were on the way here. It looks like there's an emerging kingpin trying to take over the slaving racket on Lycanth. One of those slavers was from the other side of the planet - recruited there, in fact - and that tells me his organization is, or was, more widespread than we like. The kingpin's name is Baltan and I'm going to designate the bastard as a Primary Target." That meant every Agent on Lycanth was actively looking for the guy with fell intent. "Both of those characters you picked up gave us good mental images of him. I've told the office to put together an information packet complete with images and distribute it to all the Tribes. Pretty soon, he won't be able to walk into a Hold anywhere on the planet without us finding out about it."
Maev nodded. "Any idea where he's at?"
"Not at the moment," Grae responded, "but Interrogation got the impression he was in our general area. I've ordered surveillance sweeps over our territory and adjacent tribal lands. If anything looks interesting, we'll put in nanny bugs to check it out. If our boy's around, we'll find him."
"Good," Frenchy said grimly. "Then maybe I'll get to meet him."
Frenchy was on her way to the office she and Grae shared in the Hold when her vid-tex signaled an incoming call. She stopped and thumbed her vid-tex ring to take the call. It was Justa. A very wide eyed Justa that looked a little shaken. "Frenchy, we've had a problem here."
Frenchy took a second to notice with satisfaction that Justa was dressed in a coverall. Practicality was outweighing Custom for another bullheaded Tribal girl. Then Justa's expression registered. "What is it, honey?" she asked in a voice that showed a bit of concern. Justa's next word ratcheted up that concern.
"Slavers."
Frenchy was all business now. She was an Enforcer and slavers were her official mission. "Anybody hurt? Doesn't look like they got you. Again. What's going on?"
Justa also settled down as she made her report. "It was about half an hour ago. Five of them. I got one and... " her eyes widened again, "Red took out three more. One got away."
"Red?!"
Justa nodded with equal surprise. "He walloped one with his shovel and just stove in his head when the guy tried to take him out with a sword! Then... You know that big pistol he was wearing when we left?"
Frenchy nodded silently. Her own eyes were a little wide.
"Frenchy, he's better with that cannon than anyone I've ever seen use a gun! He killed a catalot with a fast draw and chest shot when we were still searching for a place to dig! Then he took out two more slavers from over a hundred yards! I've never seen anyone do that!"
Frenchy nodded, although she privately felt Grae could do something like that. The idea Red could defeat a man with a sword - using just his shovel, for God's sake! - took some accepting. Obviously Red was a man of many parts and thank God for it! "So nobody was hurt that didn't need hurting?"
Justa nodded. "No injuries on our side. One of them got away, though. Red let him go saying he wasn't coming back."
"I'd say he probably wasn't," Frenchy replied in her best imitation of Grae's dry voice. "Okay, so I have your situation. I'm on the way to our office and I'll fill Grae in on the situation. The Arm's actively hunting slavers now, so we'll put that into the information we're gathering. I'll call you back later and let you know what the bigger picture looks like.
"Meanwhile," she said with her eyebrow raised, "is Justa getting a few different thoughts about her job?"
Justa flushed. "You were right, Frenchy. I'm still letting my attitude color what I think about people. Red's doing as much to change that as you are. Thanks."
"Okay, honey," Frenchy said softly. "Looks like you're doing a pretty good job yourself. Keep it up. I'll be talking to you. Bye."
Frenchy continued through the Hold's underground streets. (She figured she might as well call them that. They were way bigger than normal tunnels.) As she walked, her mind was working hard. Part of her training at the Academy was in how to analyze a situation and fascination with the process made her a very attentive student. Breaking a problem down into component parts and seeing how it all went together before deciding on a solution was utterly new to her. Mostly, she had to admit ruefully, she just picked a direction and took off at a gallop. Justa might have an ego problem, but her own impulsiveness was just as big a problem and it tended to get her in trouble, or, in the case of Nos, an adopted son. Yet again, she firmly resolved to think before she acted.
Meanwhile, there were three big facts that she felt went together: Baltan's gang, the attack on Justa and Red, and the slaver team Maev had eliminated. Were those two slaver teams part of Baltan's gang? She resolved to discuss that with Grae.
Once at their office, she discovered Grae, seated at a terminal and scanning a report, was already thinking the same
way she did. After hearing her report on Justa and Red, his expression got thoughtful. "You're on to something," he said in his dry voice. "I'd say it was a very high probability that those teams worked for Baltan. The question - two questions, now that I think of it - are how many teams Baltan has left and where the survivor of that second team is going. If we're lucky, he's headed back to wherever Baltan's located. If he is and we can track him, we can raid his hideout and get him. That will knock out most of the slaving activity in this part of Lycanth.
"Let's just see what we can do in that regard," he continued absently, busy at the terminal's keyboard. He worked for a moment, then sat back and looked at the terminal's screen with satisfaction. "And there we go."
Frenchy walked to where she could look over Grae's shoulder at the screen. There was an overhead picture on it, showing a rider in the Barrens, his gort at the distance covering trot the beasts could maintain for days on end. "Is that our guy? How do you know? How are you getting this picture?"
Grae looked back at her with a small smile. "Your questions again, mistress? As usual, they're good ones."
Frenchy could still blush at the compliment and proved it. "So okay, big guy," she said attempting to get things back on track, "How do you know that's our boy?"
"I don't for sure," he said absently as he studied the image, "but it's a good bet. I told a satellite to look for anyone within a few hours ride of the site where Justa and Red are working. He's the only one and he's going hell for leather somewhere.
"Now..."
As Grae continued to punch commands into the keyboard, Frenchy had an attack of duh. Earth had satellites all around it. It only made sense that out here in the Federation they'd have them. She should have guessed, even if the subject had never been discussed. Still learning about her new life, even after a year.
