by George Olney
A part of him said he’d been alone too long and needed companionship for a while. In return, he could give her at least some of the help she appeared to need. She’d be worth having around for sex if she was willing, and she might be. Strippers were supposed to be casual about sex, he’d heard. He’d never tried to find out. Other than brief liaisons with a few Tribal girls, he’d never been involved with another woman since... Don’t think about that.
Anyhow, he might keep her until she could be cleaned up and released into Galactic society. She'd be better off by the time he unbound her.
Or so he told his conscience.
A Galactic would call it kidnapping if he wasn’t Tribal, but he was and the Tribes looked on it differently. He’d rescued an unattached woman and Tribal custom said she was his to possess if he wanted. He decided he wanted her. For some reason, a part of him said not to let this one get away from him. He compromised. He'd keep her with him for a while. Only for a while.
Besides, he had a lead on another part of the case that was a good ways out on the Rim. He normally operated solo, but another person, a woman, on his ship would make the trip much easier to take, even if she refused his right by Custom. If she did, he wasn't going to push the matter. He told himself he just wanted her around for the trip. Only for a while
Good enough. He needed to be off planet and on his way soon if he was going to follow up that lead. May as well be tonight.
A quick thought of Yelen flickered, but he shook it from his mind. The woman would be a distraction, nothing more. A companion, even a reluctant companion, would be worth having. She'd just be someone to keep nightmares at bay.
#####
When she finally woke up, it was in soft, clean sheets. She felt groggy for a few seconds before her mind magically cleared. She realized she felt better than she had in years. For some reason her habitual hangover was missing. Instead, she felt fresh and energetic. She wiggled herself around on the soft bed then turned over. The sheets dropped and she realized she was nude. She knew she hadn't removed her clothes, so who had?
As she adjusted to the wonderment of this unaccustomed good feeling, she began to take an interest in her surroundings. Finding herself nude on an obviously used bed was nothing unusual, but the questions were who undressed her and who else used the bed?
She checked and got another surprise. No sex last night. Strange. That was a first for this kind of situation. Whoever picked her up while she was operating on autopilot must be a really weird dude. Whenever she blacked out before, she grabbed the first guy that came along and damn near had him right there on the street. God, how she hated that!
Oh, screw it, make the best of the situation. Clean up and go home. Chalk it up as another bad night.
The first order of business was clothes, then to discover just where in hell she was this time. This was obviously not her apartment.
She swung her feet to the rug and looked around for a closet. Her clothing wasn't scattered all over everything as usual. That made her notice the room and furniture. The place was done in a modern style that struck her as slightly off beat. Early Star Trek, she decided, then realized something else. Her feet were warm and tingled slightly. It was as if the rug contained some sort of electric field or something. She began to wonder just what was happening here. There wasn't any kind of rug like that, was there?
Her body reminded her of other functions and she began to search the room with greater urgency. Trying panels at random, she found one that automatically slid aside as she approached to reveal a small bathroom. The facilities were oddly shaped but recognizably usable. Once relieved, she looked into the full length mirror behind the door and ran her fingers through her hair. The dark roots were showing again. She thought maybe she ought to go back to brunette. The blonde was making her look old.
With unconscious reversion to her old self-assurance, she decided a shower was the next order of business. After all, she was already undressed and whoever owned this place really shouldn't care, not after letting her sleep over. The shower cabinet looked different from any shower she'd ever seen. There was no shower nozzle or drain, only a round plate set in the wall that joined the stall door. With simple logic, she figured that a bathroom had to have a shower and this had to be it. Everything else was different, why not this?
She looked around for a towel for a moment, found one, and put it within reach. Entering the cubicle and closing the door, she pressed the round plate. Immediately, she was enveloped by a dense cloud of mist, scrubbing her skin. A million tiny fingers massaged deep into her pores, then, after a few minutes, the mist dissipated. She stepped out of the shower, tingly clean, and decided that was the best thing she'd ever tried. She toweled off her body and her damp hair then grabbed a small brush off a shelf, glancing at her reflection in the full length mirror.
Stopping for a moment, she took inventory. At first glance, she decided she was still devastating. Five foot ten, with breasts that were large and firm, tight stomach from dancing and long legs that looked like they could wrap themselves completely around a man and never let go.
A second look showed her slight sag to those same breasts, a bit of pouchiness to the stomach, hips a little hefty and thighs growing to match. She turned to study her bottom over her shoulder and sadly saw extra flesh just like everywhere else.
Depressed again, she turned away and sat on the bed. There was no hiding the fact, especially without clothing, that booze had been at work. She needed a drink. Alcohol helped her ignore everything.
She couldn't remember when she started drinking to wake up in the mornings, maybe after she heard LeRoy had died.
Finally, she got around to looking for something to wear. There wasn't a sign of her things, nor did any of the panels that opened contain other clothing. Irritation flaring, she decided this is just great! Here she was, stuck on a Buck Rogers movie set or who knows where and to get away she had to go wandering off in just her skin. She put her body on display for a living but this was too much. Who knew what was on the other side of the bedroom door and she had no desire to meet it nude.
Finding nothing else in the room, she wrapped the towel around herself. Looking in the mirror with irritation, she figured it was only slightly better than nudity. The towel barely stretched across her breasts and came down just enough below her hips, but no way could she bend over. This felt like something out of a Fifties bedroom farce, only this was no farce. This was for real.
No doorknob on the door and that was a bit puzzling. Experimentally, she touched a plate next to the door and it slid open quietly. So, okay, this was different. Again, she wondered where the hell she was this time.
Peeking out, she found the short corridor empty, or was it a passageway? There were some kind of machine-like fittings on the walls at odd spots and it had all the appearances of a ship's internal walkway. She knew cruise ships and other kinds of boats from some of her photo shoots years ago and this passageway had the same feeling to her as she got from those other craft. She was on board a ship of some kind. But where? The club was well inland, hours away from the Pacific. She wondered why she couldn't feel any wave motion. Even at anchor on a lake or something, there should be a little movement.
She began to get very uneasy feelings. Something about this was familiar. She was a confirmed movie and TV addict, with science fiction shows among her favorites. There were other kinds of ships in those shows, not just ships on water but ships in space. Those ships didn't move at anchor.
It suddenly hit her.
She'd seen this scene played out dozens of times. This couldn't be for real! No way in hell this could happen to her! This was a spaceship! She was on a UFO!
She staggered backward, staring at the door with wide eyes as her legs hit the edge of the bed. Flopping heavily down to sit on the edge of the mattress, she gave way to tremors as panic took hold. With both fists clenched tightly, she hugged herself and leaned over until her knees touched her forehead. Her whole body shoo
k and she felt sick to her stomach. Every ugly fate of the kidnapped victim on the UFO played remorselessly through her imagination. She saw herself being carved up for steaks or used as an experimental animal.
"This is impossible! It can't happen! Not to ME!"
Finally, panic ran its course and she settled down, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was now firmly convinced she was a kidnap victim of persons or things unknown, but her hard core of internal strength was back in control. She was street-tough and self-taught in the roughest school of all: survival. Ever since childhood, fighting to survive was the only life she knew. She was going to have to deal with whatever the situation was, make the best of it and find a way out of this mess. Decision made, the shakes were gone like magic. She got off the bed with a quick movement and walked firmly through the door, determined to meet head-on whatever fate had in store for her.
One hand at the knot of her towel over her breasts, she headed out the door into the passageway and turned right just on an odd chance. She decided against opening any of the doors she passed. Right now, she was after the main lay of the land. Besides, there was no telling who, or what, was behind those doors. Better get the big picture before adding complications.
After about fifty feet, the passageway was closed off by a massive hatch. Placing a hand on it, she felt the vibration of heavy machinery. It must be the door to the engine room. She was sure she was on board some kind of small spaceship. All her fears were confirmed. For a moment, pictures of herself turning on a spit over an open fire alternated in her imagination with strange laboratories where weird shapes did horrid things to her as she was strapped to a table. She began to tremble again as panic once more rose in her stomach.
She caught herself and snorted. Enough of these kid's nightmares! Her treatment had been good so far. Sure, she was on board against her will, but an experimental animal or the crew's dinner wasn't given a comfortable bunk to sleep off the booze. The thing to do was find out where she stood and go from there. To hell with the whole bunch, whoever or whatever they were!
Temper rising, she turned and strode firmly back down the passageway, abandoning the cautious stalk. She could feel herself begin to do a slow boil. She was about to meet the crew, she thought. More properly, they were about to meet her.
The passageway ended in a large, open room about twenty feet across and twice that long. The room was on two levels with the raised level at the far end. The upper level featured padded seats placed in front of a variety of electronic panels and flashing lights. It was obviously the control deck.
The lower level was furnished in a rustic decor different from the modern appearance of rest of the ship. It looked like some sort of hunting camp, with comfortable looking leather chairs and couches, warm colors and shelves decorated with curious objects accented by subtle lights. One wall was dominated by a long sword and its scabbard.
Someone was in the heavy leather chair beneath the sword.
He was tall and muscular, with a long dark pony tail and craggy features. An earring with a tiny skull dangled from his right ear, reflecting an occasional gleam from the lights. He was dressed in a barbaric costume that went with the lower room's decor. Above the waist, his sole garment was a decorated leather vest that matched a wide belt and buckskin pants, the vest hanging open to reveal a spray of dark hair on his bare chest. Heavy boots completed the primitive durability of his outfit. One of the boots had a sheath sewn on to it that held a large knife. The leather band on his left wrist went with everything else. On another man, it might have been a costume, but on this man, it was obviously his normal dress. Compared to the rest of the ship outside the room, he looked as out of place as a Comanche in full war costume in the middle of Rockefeller Center... and just as deadly.
As he steadily regarded her, she realized he only had one eye. There was a patch over the left one. He was the man from the bar.
A voice from the air said something in a strange language and the man answered absently in the same language as he continued to study her. Then he frowned, looking piercingly into her eyes. For an instant, her fear returned and she started to quail, then she caught herself. This bastard must be her kidnapper! Her anger returning, she gave him a defiant glare that matched his frown.
He flowed from the chair with a speed that made her gasp, snatched her towel and threw it across the room. In an irritated tone he said, "You don't need that. I don't want you to have it and what I want you to have, I'll give you."
Clenching her fists rigidly at her sides, she snapped back furiously, "What in hell do you mean I don't need that? Who do you think you are anyhow, buster? I'm not going around naked! You think you own me or something?"
Anger boiling inside her, she made a grab for the towel lying on the nearby couch, only to find her wrist firmly imprisoned in a steel grip. Just as smoothly as his original move, the man spun her to face him. There was no brutal violence to the act, she simply found herself within inches of his face, staring into his eye. What she saw drained her fury. This was a dangerous, dangerous man. The flash of anger she saw was more sensed than seen, but it inspired fear and caution deep inside her. When Rocco ran away, he was only using common sense.
In an instant, his control returned. The look in his eye was emotionless again. He dropped her hand and turned away. She didn't reach for the towel again, too intimidated for that. Blushing and with little jerky motions, she tried to cover herself with her hands. She couldn't help it. Professional stripper or not, her nakedness made her feel silly and vulnerable.
Settling smoothly back into his chair, he gave her another piercing look and let his eye roam her body. She shuddered as she stood under his assessment. His look wasn't the lustful or yearning type she was used to seeing from other men, it was more like someone sizing up a none-too-valuable horse for sale. It was a little frightening, but his attitude stung her pride worse. She dropped her hands, straightened, and glared at him. She was better looking than that, damn him!
"You are bound to me," he said. "I formally bound you under the Custom of the Tribes after I saved you from that man. That's legal by every right in the galaxy. You happen to suit my purposes or I wouldn't have bothered, so don't give yourself airs. Right now, you have nothing except what I let you have. Clothing's for free women and you are no longer a free woman."
Shaken, she collapsed back into the couch behind her and stared at him aghast. "What the hell do you mean?" she shouted. "You don't own me! Nobody owns me! This is the Twenty First Century, damn it! I'm my own person! I go to hell my own way!"
"Which is just what you were doing when I took you," he replied calmly. "In answer to your protest, you are bound to me, but I don't own you. Not that you'd understand that last statement.
"I don't care what century your pathetic little world is in. I've taken you under Tribal Custom. That is enough."
Furious, she started from the couch and opened her mouth to shout again, but the cold look in his eye stopped her.
"There will be no further argument," he said softly but very firmly. "I will not abuse you, but never forget what I said. You're reasonably fair looking but you're still a dispensable commodity to me."
That formless threat, coupled with the look, chilled her. She had no desire to find out the meaning behind his words. She took a deep quivering breath and tears formed in her eyes. She was still furious, but now frightened enough to control it. Glaring through her tears she said, "And just why did you kidnap me? I think I know, but I want to hear it from you."
His face was expressionless and his dry voice was just as flat as he spoke. "You are here strictly to provide me companionship, that's all. You’re adult enough to know sex will become an issue on this trip, but I’ll never force you. Sex is my right by bondage custom, but I won’t exercise that right unless you’re willing. Still, we’re sleeping in the same bed and sex is one thing you should be good at, Frenchy."
"My name's not Frenchy," she flared. Here was another man using her
nickname without permission, just like Rocco! He was taking something that didn't belong to him. Waiting for her permission to get laid? Bullshit!
Again, anger overrode her fear. "My name's JoAnn! Is that all I am to you? Sex on call? Who the hell are you, anyway?"
"Your name is what I say it is," he said, "and your purpose is what I want. Right now, that's companionship. You're in bondage and you'll do what I tell you. That's all you need to know for the moment. Now shut up and behave yourself, I have things to do."
She hugged herself and flopped angrily back on the couch in a blue funk, but looked up when he spoke.
"Frenchy," he said ironically as he got up, "you can at least thank me for the medical treatment. The first thing I did when I got you here was to put you into the ship's medical and diagnosis unit. I had it make some changes I thought were necessary and, for what it's worth, I thought you'd approve. You're no longer an alkie, for one thing. I've also added many years to your life span. Finally, what I drove out of your body would have killed you sooner or later. You should have been more careful in your choice of bed partners, not that it matters now."
The man stood and started to leave, but turned towards her with an afterthought. "I've also given you a standard birth control treatment, effective until medically reversed. It suppresses all the physical symptoms of your menstrual cycle, as well as ovulation. You now have basically the same sexual situation as a male."
She glared at him. "So now you've made me an it instead of a woman."
He shook his head. "No. As I said, this is the standard galactic birth control treatment. It changes the physical effects of your reproductive cycle, but not the emotional characteristics. You're still very much a woman, which is a good thing.
