by George Olney
They were headed for Lycanth for several reasons. Grae wanted to report in to his local headquarters, which was there. He also had a lead on the smugglers. Computer analysis of images taken of the Somnolent dump showed shipping tags marked for Lycanth. "A planet's a big place," he said. "They could be anywhere on it. I might not even be the one to continue to search on the planet. My job's following the infection.
"I think my mission will be done when we find the smugglers' headquarters. I'm sure that is the center of the infection. Get that and I've finished what I have to do."
She thought that was an odd way to express finishing a long mission, but let it pass. She was more interested in what he had to tell her about Lycanth. One of the reasons the planet got its name, it appeared, was because the highest local forms of life were shape shifters. They wore one form by day then experienced a horrifying transformation at night. "The lee'thal, for instance, are peaceful and pleasant beings during the day. They are the indigenous intelligent life form. I have friends among them," he continued. "At night, however, they turn into something that will kill and feed off any animal or human they encounter. At night, we hunt each other."
He gestured over her head to the large wing on the wall of the wardroom. "That's the wing from one. They never come into the cities, but several higher animals also change shapes, dependent on moon phase and darkness. Shape changers can be found anywhere.
"I don't see you needing this warning, but be careful at night. Things go abroad by dark."
She shivered. It was like something out of a horror movie. "What do you guys do at night? It must be scary living out among all that."
Grae's grin was both wolfish and deadly. "Many things go abroad by dark, but the native life on Lycanth learned the worst of them was man."
She looked at him and shivered again. Suddenly, he looked like the kind of guy that would take on an outsized vampire bat, beat it, and inspire fear in the rest. She was glad he was on her side. They talked on for several more hours. She found herself hoping she'd get a chance to see more than just the city.
CHAPTER THREE
As Lycanth grew closer, Frenchy became more excited. She was sure that a settled Galactic planet would be more exciting than the empty one they'd just visited and was mentally preparing herself for just about anything. All sorts of exciting daydreams wandered through her head, fed by every science fiction TV show or movie she ever saw. Once they dropped out of what Grae called "Tachyon field drive", she was glued to her command chair on the control deck. She watched the planet grow, eager for her first real glimpse of an active interplanetary civilization.
She wished the ship would move faster, but Grae said they were traveling as fast as they could with what he called their 'inertialess drive', which he said was the most powerful one that could be accommodated in a ship of this size. She wasn't sure about all the technical details about such things as 'hydrogen grab fields' and 'gravitational generators', but they seemed to work. Besides, she wasn't about to ask silly questions ever since his nearly hysterical laughter when she'd casually remarked about them “traveling in hyperspace”. When he'd calmed down enough to tell her there was no such thing as hyperspace and the ship used a 'tachyon field generator' to turn the ship into a faster than light object, she still wasn't too happy. After all, every science fiction show used hyperspace, so it had to exist. She decided a course of study in the library was in order. Later.
For now, she still wanted to see galactic civilization.
Grae thoughtfully regarded her, amused at her eager enthusiasm. It was natural, of course, since she'd never seen an advanced civilization before now. Lately, she'd been as randy as an alley cat in heat. He also accepted that, tiring as it was, because he had an idea what was behind it. She'd been trying to show affection the only way she knew how, with sex. That made him suspect she didn’t quite understand the concept of affection and the realization gave him mixed feelings. She must have had a hard life growing up. He liked her, and enjoyed having her around, but it was just too damned bad she was getting attached to him. Noticing her ear posts, he decided it was also too damn bad he was getting attached to her. He didn't want a woman that deeply in his life again, but there she was. There was really no other way with someone as dynamic as Frenchy. Once again, he decided to enjoy the now and make the best of the future. He also decided that Lycanth was a good place to try and make a different future for her. There were definitely things he had to do once they planeted.
#####
Frenchy's view of the Port was everything she thought it would be. Not the dark, weathered kind of science fiction, she decided. More like Star Trek for real. She had her cloak and shoes ready when Grae prepared to disembark. He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, some indefinable emotion crossing his face, then nodded his head at the open airlock. "Come on, Frenchy," he said. "Let's go to town."
She kept her eyes glued to her window during the ride in the antigravity cab, trying to take in the city as fast as she could. Grae said nothing during the ride, but she knew he watched her out of the corner of his eye, whenever he thought she wasn't paying attention.
The surrounding countryside was visible occasionally beyond the city construction. It appeared to be mostly scrub semi-desert plains with low rolling hill ranges and she didn't spend too much time looking at the brown and tan landscape. The tall spirals and huge domes of the city were too fascinating.
They settled to the ground at a cab pad in front of a dome. Frenchy wondered how people got in and out, since no entrances were showing. Grae made his first comment since landing. "You know," he said in his dry tone, "you don't need that cloak. The weather's fine and the mallplex is hermetically sealed."
She looked uncomfortable and twitched the cloak on her shoulders. "I want to keep it. I guess I'm just not used to walking around in public nude."
She could tell he was amused from the way his voice changed. "It's perfectly common here. Nobody thinks anything of it. You haven't worn clothes in weeks and I wouldn't think it would bother you, given your past life."
She shook her head and looked at him with a spark of her old pugnacious irritation. "Well it does. That was on the ship, just you and me. Even that bothered me at first. It just took me a while to get used to it and I don't want to get used to it here on the street. Call it my convent upbringing. I'll keep this cloak, thank you."
He shrugged with an amused smile, mildly pleased with his teasing, but made no further comment. If she felt more comfortable with it, let her have the thing. He turned on his heel and headed for the dome. She spent a second wondering how he was going to get inside then scampered after him. The dome presented a blank face, broken only by dark vertical bars at regular intervals. Grae calmly proceeded to walk through the wall between two of the bars.
Aha, she realized. It wasn't a wall, but a force field. They used them in the Starrigger movie.
She hesitantly walked through the same spot he'd entered, to find him waiting on the other side. He was smiling at her. "That's an opaque static field," he gestured, waving at the entrance. "Come on, I'll tell you about the rest of it as we go."
She decided it was a good thing she liked him now, otherwise, she'd belt him. He was definitely turning into a jerk again.
He walked briskly into the large open area that filled the center of the dome. On all sides, featureless blank walls, broken by multiple levels of galleries filled with people, rose to the top of a dome that seemed miles high from the inside. "The dome is about eight hundred feet high," Grae remarked, as though reading her mind. "We use the same static fields on the front of interior offices for privacy and climatic sealing. The fields are stressed to allow temperature control, as well. Air cooler or hotter than the desired temperature is excluded from the area within the field."
She paid some attention to what he was saying, meanwhile trying to see everything inside the dome. The floor they were on reminded her of a gigantic, deluxe mall from home, built surrounding a small park.
She stared when she noticed there was even a little lake in the main grassy area of the park and there were people swimming in it. She gasped when one muscular young man she was eyeing with interest climbed out of the water nude, then realized none of the swimmers were wearing suits. Like Grae said, people were apparently casual about what they were wearing or not wearing.
That started her noticing the clothing of the people she passed. Or, once again, lack thereof. Varieties ranged from totally muffled to zero and everything in between, with two main types predominating. One style consisted of flowing, colorful robes over tight fitting tunics and hose. The other main style was rougher, but close enough to Grae's costume that she decided they were local population. Nudity was mostly female, and most of those wore that damned little pendant she also had around her neck. The sight made her grit her teeth at first, until she became conscious of their attitudes.
It was easy to guess that the large number of people with the robes were from the Galactic stock. The other oneseys and twoseys were wearing native dress from other worlds. All of those folks had bland, businesslike demeanors.
Lycanthi, on the other hand, had the taut grace and dangerous look of jungle cats prowling. She'd often thought Grae reminded her of a king tiger, now she found out why. The men were hard, with a look of controlled violence held confidently in check. It was Grae's look. The women were sleek, arrogant, and wild looking, even the bound ones.
Next to those women, she felt slightly clumsy and a little daunted. Then she reminded herself who she was. She was Frenchy, a big tough broad that could take on and beat anything, from a slimy monster to a spaceship. There wasn't a thing in space that could beat her on even terms, and damn them all! After that, her dancer's grace reasserted itself and she followed Grae with an easy, fluid stride that unconsciously matched that of the women she'd compared herself against. The cloak bothered her, but she couldn't bring herself to take it off.
Not that it would have made much difference in the general surroundings. The female Lycanthi was evidently as much or more of an exhibitionist as her bare chested male counterpart. The primary female costume seemed to be a minimal leather garment like a leotard, occasionally worn with leggings. Over that were a collection of leather straps: belts, headbands, wrist cuffs and other things, in an infinite variety. Even the women that wore nothing else universally wore the belt and strap combinations. It reminded her of the costumes in a bad B movie.
She also realized that she saw nobody in poor physical shape. The oldest people she saw seemed to be in early middle age, handsome, and in superb condition. That puzzled her enough that she decided to ask. "Grae," she said, pulling even with him, "why does everybody look like an advertisement for a cruise ship? Where are the old people? There ought to be at least one fat guy in this bunch."
He looked at her and gave her the superior smile again. "Modern medicine has beaten many of the degenerative problems of your world." He jerked his chin at a passing man that appeared to be no more than fifty, and a young looking fifty. "He's probably in his sixth century from his look of extreme age."
Her jaw gaped. "Huh?"
He nodded. "Yes. And you can expect the same, since I treated you after I first got you. So take care of yourself. You have a long way to go."
The questions spilled out, made awkward by the fact that he never slacked his pace. "I'll live that long? How old are you? How long do your people live?"
He didn't bother to look around. "Yes. I am in my second century. Galactics routinely live through their sixth." He abruptly stopped and swung around to fix her with a wolfish grin. "We seldom live that long. Lycanthi live life, not hoard it."
He swung back and continued on his path, chuckling. She stopped for a second, trying to assimilate what she'd just been told, then hurried after him with a growl. "I'll talk to you more about this on the ship, buster," she snarled. His only response was another little chuckle.
A little farther on, they passed what was apparently an office kiosk, and something happened that made her thoughtful again. The office was staffed with nude women, by now nothing unusual. They were wearing the hated pendants, but what caught her eye was the general attitude of dull hopelessness of all three girls. She called his attention to it. When Grae looked where she indicated, his face suddenly turned grim. He muttered several obscenities and spat, "You're looking at a terrible wrongness. You called yourself a slave, but you're not. You aren't the slave, they are. Those women belong to a Galactic company. They have no life, no man, just work, now and forever."
Frenchy was outraged. "They're your people! How in the hell do you let that happen?!"
Grae's face was set and grim. "Galactics are twisting Tribal Custom for their own uses. Law and custom allows the taking of women in bonding to a man, but it is meant in most cases as a preliminary to formal mating."
She shot him a glance.
"Not always," he replied, reading the meaning in her look. "Many cases are more casual, like yours. At no time does it take away the woman's rights. Including those you have.
"The Galactics, on the other hand, use our customs to secure women from unscrupulous dealers and make them slaves.
"Tribal dealers." He growled the words. "That makes it legal. At least for now.
"Come on," he snapped, grabbing her arm and hauling her with him. "There is nothing we can do for them."
She heard him mutter under his breath, "...but someday..."
She also made a silent promise to herself.
Someday...
She had a long life ahead of her, and now she had something to do with it. She was going to take on slavery, and beat it. Somewhere, some day in the future, somebody had better look out.
She suddenly realized something. "Hey," she said, "if this is a mall, where are the shops?"
"No shops," he commented over his shoulder. "Those are in a retail complex. This is an office center. That is why it's so plain."
Looking around her at the lights, decorations, and lush foliage, she muttered, "Yeah, plain."
He stopped his rapid pacing at a wall that seemed as bare and featureless as the rest of the mallplex's walls. "Here's where we are going."
"Huh? How do you know that?"
"Because I've been here before," he said in the tone that made her teeth grate. Then he pointed to a small plate of numbers and letters that hung suspended in the air before the wall. "If I needed it, that's the address."
Oh, she decided. Just like home, only fancier. She followed him confidently through the wall, now familiar with that particular form of magic. Inside, she noticed a young man at what was obviously a reception desk. Again, just like home. He was wearing the tunic and hose of the normal galactic costume, but not the robes. Apparently, robes were an "outside" sort of thing, kind of like a suit coat.
Grae continued casually past the reception desk without a word, headed for what looked like an open door to a gaping ventilator shaft. Elevator of some kind, she figured. She was next to him and holding his arm as they stepped into the shaft. An instant of vertigo hit her as she realized she was hanging in midair. As they began to rise, she was instantly reassured. It was a gravity elevator, just like the movies! The knowledge immediately relaxed her. The rise was slow until Grae called a number into the air, "Forty two." They immediately shot skyward, zipping past lighted openings to other floors, and stopping gently at what was presumably the required floor.
As they stepped out, Frenchy remarked, "Do I get to meet anyone in your office?"
He looked at her. "Who says we're going to my office?"
She grinned, happy to get him back for his superior manner. "I says. It's elementary, Watson. Quite a simple problem to deduce."
"Hm," he said, shaking his head. "I see. You're right, but you wait for me in the front office."
Quickly moving to stifle the blossoming rebellion he saw growing, he rapidly continued. "Some of what I have to do is confidential. It's professional business and no one outside the organization is al
lowed.
"Now behave yourself," he finished. "Remember where you are." Her glare clearly told him she didn't give a damn where she was. On the other hand, maturity told her he was telling the truth and she ought to calm down.
A few minutes later, she heated back up again. Once they walked through the vestibule to enter the front office, a slim Lycanthi woman with short, dark hair teased up in some kind of glorified flattop eeled out from behind a desk and ran up to Grae. The girl appeared a good bit younger than Grae with the athletic figure and aggressive grace that typified Lycanthi women. Frenchy noted with disgust that, rather than the more conservative galactic standard dress, she was wearing one of those brief leather one piece things Tribal women wore. "Oh, Grae!" she squealed happily, throwing her arms around him. "When did you get in?"
He couldn't answer, because she was kissing him. He was responding enthusiastically, also. That was something Frenchy could tell easily, through the head of steam she was starting to build up. The happy couple walked to the back wall of the office, arms around each other's waists, exchanging cheerful bursts of conversation. He was as animated as Frenchy ever saw him.
Right then, if she had her way, his animation was going to cease forever. It also irritated her that she was being completely ignored.
"I have to go check in, Maev," he finally said. "Take care of Frenchy for me." Maev finally acknowledged her presence by looking at her, regarding her somewhat like a pet dog someone had inappropriately brought to the office. Frenchy's return glare indicated a complete underabundance of love on her own part, as well.
"You never could avoid picking up odds and ends in your wanderings," Maev commented acidly. "I assume she's housebroken."
"Grae," Frenchy returned in a savage tone, "please tell this alleycat not to worry. I’ve spent more time in polite society than she’s spent in strange beds."
