by George Olney
"Evan," she asked in a carefully thoughtful voice, "just which unit were you in during the War?"
He looked at her and grinned, then opened his shirt, displaying the tattoo on his right breast. It was the head of a savage warrior superimposed over an arrowhead and galaxy. "Imjin Scouts."
Maev looked stunned, gulped, and said in a tiny voice, "Rank?"
"Troop Sergeant Major."
"Uh, yes, sir," Maev stumbled on, acting for all the world like a nervous schoolgirl. "Uh, that was Grae's unit."
Evan looked at her and nodded. "Grae Kwaakani? Yep. Served together. Best Troop Commander I ever had. Good guy. You know him?"
She nodded. "I worked with him when I was in the Enforcement Arm. We're looking for him now. He's chasing those smugglers that shot you down."
Suddenly, with the revelation that he knew Grae, Evan's face merged with a picture in Frenchy's mind. He was one of the faces in Grae's memories! They were friends! More than that, Grae had a deep respect for this man's abilities. Knowing Grae's qualities as a warrior, anyone he admired had best be treated with the awed respect one gave a grizzly bear as it went about its business. She decided she'd keep any thoughts about this guy's airheadedness strictly to herself. In fact, judging from Maev's reaction to his identity, she shared the feeling.
"How did you know Grae?" Evan's question interrupted her train of thought. She twitched slightly. Her new impression of him made her slightly nervous.
"Oh, we were both bound to him," Maev supplied. "Frenchy was honorably unbound in battle and Grae gave me to her before he left to find the smugglers."
Maev's blithe summation triggered Frenchy's irritation all over again. Not only was the girl leaving out all sorts of important facts but, judging from Evan's expression, the same old assumption problems were going to surface. Time to set the record straight. She said, "That leaves out a lot. Here's what happened..."
From that point on, Evan was treated to a full recounting of recent history as regards Grae, Frenchy, and Maev, featuring two totally divergent viewpoints, multiple narrative styles, and frequent shifts in period of time. In a tribute to his cognitive ability, it looked like he was able to make sense of most of it.
They decided to stop a little early. The business with Evan's ship had delayed them and Frenchy knew Grae wasn't moving fast, so the women decided not to try and push on, risking the possibility of arriving at the Freehold after dark. While they made camp, Frenchy got an update on Evan and his military background. Eyeing the relaxed way Evan flopped his sleeping bag on the ground and deposited his long form thereon, she asked Maev in a low voice, "Are you sure this guy is some kind of super soldier? I have him in Grae's memories, but I could be wrong about the face, you know. Some recollections are a little hazy."
Maev shook her head. "Nope. I'm certain. Nobody but a Scout would dare wear that tattoo. There were less than a thousand of them during the War, and that's counting combat losses! They don’t all have them, but anyone sporting a tattoo without really being in the unit would have it removed with a dull knife by a real Scout the first time he met one."
"What made them so special?"
Maev looked thoughtful for a moment. "I've known Grae ever since I was a little girl. I've known about the Scouts for a long time, too. Up until now, I've never put the two together."
She looked at Frenchy with a slightly stunned expression. "You know, that thought is awesome."
Frenchy frowned. "Does nothing for me. Grae's good..."
"Better than that," Maev interrupted. "He's one of the best. The Scouts were a special unit. I don't know if anyone told you about the War?"
Frenchy shook her head. "An odd comment or two, that's it. What was it all about?"
Maev shrugged. "Living room. Economics. Take your pick. Wareegans hit the Galactic Federation about a standard century ago, coming out of nowhere. Records say they were an old enemy of humanity, but I don't know. They came from an unexplored area, raiding first, then occupying some worlds and burning off others later. The Federation didn't know anything about them, so the Scouts were formed to find out. At first, they were deep penetration using one man ships. Once they had mapped and evaluated the Wareegan Hegemony, they were switched to small unit special operations. The Scouts were all biologically enhanced and surgically augmented, plus they were top notch to begin with."
Seeing Frenchy's incomprehension, she added, "Take the toughest character you can find, mentally and physically, add some really special stuff to his biological make-up, then spend about a year training him to use it using the best instructors in the entire Galactic Federation, and you have a Scout. Grae was Tribal, as were most Scouts, so he had a leg up, but the fact that he was a Scout means he's one of the best fighting men that’s ever existed in the Galaxy’s recorded history."
The light dawned. Frenchy nodded in understanding. "He's good."
Maev nodded back. "He's good. And so is Evan. Fact is, Evan's better than most, since he was a senior sergeant. It makes me wonder where he comes from, to be that good of a soldier."
What impressed Frenchy was the fact that this guy was good, but Grae was his commander. Sounds like her man was even more special than she knew.
Wait a minute! Her man?!
She lost that thought before she could examine it. Maev's next comment immediately caught her attention. Eyeing Evan thoughtfully, she casually remarked, half to herself, "Makes me wonder just how good a lay he is."
Frenchy immediately flashed hot on that. Maev's casually predatory sexuality hit her wrong for some reason. "The hell you will, miss! You're not going to jump the bones of every man we meet, not while I'm here!"
Maev looked at her with some astonishment. "You're forbidding me to take a man? Why? You don't intend to use me yourself, do you?"
"No dammit, of course not!" Frenchy snapped back then took a deep breath to regain control. Evan was watching them curiously. She hoped he couldn't hear them, although, if he was anything like Grae, he could hear their low voices perfectly. And was getting a good laugh out of the process.
Ohhhh, now she had another man to damn!
She glared at Evan and he ostentatiously returned to a study of the nearby hillside. Suddenly, he froze, staring intently at something. "Pardon me ladies," he commented, getting up, "but a part of tonight's menu just showed up. Think I'll go get it."
"Take my gun," Maev said eagerly.
Evan looked at her and smiled with his habitual slightly befuddled expression. "Think not. I'm not really sure I could hit anything with it. Thanks anyway."
Before either of the two women could say anything else, he reached into a belt pouch, extracted several small, flat disks, nodded courteously to them and strolled off towards the nearby hill. Frenchy and Maev watched him go then turned back to each other. "What is that man doing?" Frenchy asked Maev, her voice still heated. "You're supposed to be the expert, here."
Maev glared back at her. "Damned if I know! I suppose he'll tell us when he gets the time.
“Look, I just want to know why I can't have permission to go after him. I'm bound to you. I have to do what you say, but I think you're being unreasonable."
"I'm not being unreasonable!" Frenchy snapped back, but then she stopped. Maev started to say something, but halted at the look of intense concentration on Frenchy's face.
Frenchy was thinking hard. Was she being unreasonable? Why was she stopping Maev from doing something the girl considered normal? Damn it to hell! She was acting like she owned her again! For some deep down reason, Maev's frank sexual promiscuity was offending her, but she wasn't sure why. She only knew that it did. With the life she'd led what right did she have to tell another woman not to have sex with a man? Especially since Maev considered it just an everyday act. The fact that Maev was willing to forego sex because she was in bondage to her, even if she did argue, was even more upsetting.
Frenchy shook with frustration, but came to a reluctant decision. "Oh, go ahead! Forget what I said! Body slam
the son of a bitch if you want - just leave me out of it!"
She whirled and started to stalk away, then turned and glared back at Maev. "Just don't ever think I'm trying to tell you what to do!"
Maev, confused, watched the blonde stride away and thump down to sit on her sleeping bag. She started to say something, but thought better of it when Frenchy stared off into the distance, obviously shutting her out. She had no earthly idea why Frenchy was exercising her prerogative by bondage right, then reversing herself. She couldn't make sense of that. She wanted to ask why, but this didn't seem like the right time. Better done later, she decided.
Then she brightened. Frenchy was being confusing, but at least she was seeing reason. Maev always looked forward to a new man with anticipation. This ought to be fun!
Frenchy noticed the girl, saw her expression, and guessed the reason. It made her fume some more. Damn it, it was all very well trying to understand Tribal culture, but were the women all as horny as her? Ohh, this was all Grae's fault! She flopped back on her sleeping bag and continued to glare at the sky, wishing she had both Grae and a large club handy. She began pondering if she'd kiss the bum before or after she laid him out flat.
Evan was back before long with the headless carcasses of two large birds in one hand. As he proceeded to sit to one side and begin to clean one, Maev strolled over and casually picked up the other plump fowl, sat next to him, and began to join him in the cleaning chore. "Looks like you could use a little help," she commented in a pleasant voice. "Say, why'd you cut off the heads before bringing them back? To bleed the carcass?"
Evan shook his head with a slow smile. "No. I took their heads off with this."
Reaching into his pouch, he produced one of the little disks. Curious despite her irritation with Maev, Frenchy walked over to get a closer look. "What is that?" she asked.
Holding one up in two fingers, Evan regarded the thing fondly. "Something that's gotten me out of trouble a time or two, a discus. The edges are razor sharp and they'll slice a nice chunk out of anything they're thrown at. See?"
Instead of handing her the little weapon, Evan whipped around and spun the discus at a tree branch a little ways away. It cut the branch completely through with a sharp crack, wavered slightly, and flew back to its owner in a slow, shallow arc. Evan caught it gently and replaced it in his pouch. He turned to look at the two openmouthed women and continued in his usual slightly absent-minded tones, "Little item I picked up in my travels."
Frenchy was awestruck. She could only think of one thing to say. "Oh."
Maev was a little more on the ball. "Uh, how did you make that discus come back? I mean, that was a mean throw, but it seemed like it was under control."
"It was," Evan replied. Pointing to a band on his wrist, he said, "Tractor-presser device. Lets me control it out a pretty good ways."
Maev was thoughtful. "Scout trick?"
Evan nodded and turned back to plucking the bird. After a few moments of thoughtfully looking at the man, Maev also turned back to work. Frenchy smiled to herself as she turned away. For some reason, she felt obscurely pleased with the scene.
After a pleasant and filling dinner, Maev dug through the packs and found one of the Tribal broadcast receivers. Setting it up in the middle of the campsite, it wasn't long before the strains of music were adding a rhythmic background to the night. Maev stood up and began to move in time to the music, not quite dancing, but still following the rhythm with her body. "Frenchy," she called.
Frenchy looked up. "Um?"
Still weaving in time to the music, Maev asked, "Remember your dance at the Freehold?"
She nodded back at the girl.
"Where did you get those moves?"
"I was trained to dance professionally. I had to take lessons as part of a job I had when I was first out on my own. Found I had a knack for it, so I kept picking up things as I went along from job to job. I learned that dance when I was doing one of those movies I told you about. They had a professional choreographer and I learned a lot from him."
Maev continued to weave in time to the music, slowly rotating in the fire light. "That was great! I really liked that part where you stood still and just moved your hips and middle."
Frenchy chuckled. "Belly dancing?"
"Is that what it was called? Can you teach me to do that?"
"Sure." Frenchy got up and stood next to her. "It's not hard. You just have to learn to move your hips in a controlled circle, like this."
Maev stopped her movements to watch as Frenchy slowly rotated her pelvis in the controlled ovals of the ancient dance. Then she tried it out. "Like this?"
"No, you have to give a twist at each end of the rotation. See?"
"Oh. Now?"
Frenchy nodded. The girl was a quick study. Her hips were moving in a ragged imitation of Frenchy's flowing movements, but she appeared to have grasped the essentials of the dance. "Yeah, that's it. I've been told a really good belly dancer can lie on her back and roll a coin in circles on her stomach as long as she wants."
She heard a small sound and glanced at the other side of the fire. They had forgotten Evan. Or, Frenchy corrected herself, at least she had forgotten Evan. She had a sneaky little suspicion Maev was fully aware of his every move.
Evan, on the other hand, had not forgotten them. He was paying very close attention to the dance lesson. That's when Frenchy remembered that the original intent of belly dancing was out-and-out seduction of the male. It appeared to be working its traditional purpose very well on Mister Calos. In fact, he looked slightly stunned. He was also looking at Maev. A very nude Maev. There wasn't any doubt she knew it, either.
And here she was actively helping this horny little minx hook a warm bed for the night! Damn!
She'd finally accepted the fact that Maev had the sexual outlook of an alley cat and was just about as randy, but she wanted to be left out of the girl's seduction plans. Now she was right in the middle of them.
Then an idea hit her. She leaned over casually and turned off the music receiver. Smiling up at Maev, she remarked, "Rhythm's too slow. Needs to be faster to really do it right."
Posing, one leg extended slightly, the foot arched gracefully and toes to ground, she raised her arms over her head and put the backs of her hands together. There was a malicious glint in her eye as she looked at the puzzled expression on Maev's face. "Watch how it's done by a pro, babe."
Closing her eyes, she began to sway gently then started snapping her fingers to a rapid, staccato beat. "Hey, hey, hey, hey," she chanted and began to whirl.
Quickly shifting to another graceful pose facing Evan, she began to rotate her hips with a speed and flowing motion Maev could never imitate without a lot of practice. Continuing her hip swing, she moved erotically back and forth in front of the fire, three or four steps in one direction and three or four in the other, in time to the imaginary Arabian music in her head. Whirling to a climax, she stopped with a low curtsy towards Evan, her audience for the little show. Straightening to Evan's applause, she nodded her thanks to him and then grinned at a suddenly awkward Maev. "When you can do that, you've learned belly dance."
She strolled back to her bedroll with the air of a conqueror, feeling Maev's frustration at her back. Use her, will she? Sometimes, she thought smugly to herself, you could put out a fire with a back fire.
Maev watched Frenchy head back for her bedroll. A quick glance at Evan told her the mood set by her own dancing had been effectively banished by Frenchy's exhibition. In fact, Evan was turning to some little chore with his gear, paying her no more attention. So much for the subtle approach, especially when her Mistress seemed determined to screw it up for her. Why she did it was still beyond Maev's understanding. She decided it must be an attitude held over from her home world. At that moment Maev was convinced that Frenchy, for all her sensuality in dancing, was a terminal prude. Her world must be emotionally retarded.
Well, she decided, if the subtle approach didn't work, there was al
ways the direct route.
Suiting action to thought, she strolled with a soft swaying motion over to Evan's bedroll. He looked up to see her standing there and found himself the recipient of a dazzling smile. "Hi," she said in a soft, husky voice, "mind if I join you?"
Without waiting for an answer, she dropped to her knees next to him and began stroking his cheek with a fingertip in a gentle, erotic motion. "You know," she murmured, "there's really not much to do in a campsite at night."
He looked her in the eye for a moment, a little half smile playing around the corners of his mouth. With a deliberate motion, he turned from her for a moment, removed his spectacles, and turned to look deeply into her eyes. "No."
"Huh?"
"Said no."
She sat back on her heels in surprise. "B-but why?"
"Not in the mood.” He reached over and patted her shoulder in avuncular fashion. "I'm sure you'll find a playmate in the Freehold tomorrow. Now you just run along back to your bedroll and let this tired boy get some rest. Been a big day."
That having been said, he flopped on his back and rolled on his side away from her, leaving the shocked girl gaping at him in astonishment.
It's not easy to flounce without clothing, but Maev took a pretty good shot at it. Frenchy, decorously facing away from the scene on the other side of the fire, smiled to herself as she heard the muffled thump of the girl flopping on her bedroll. She ought not to enjoy this, she told herself firmly. Maev was only being Maev and was perfectly within the mores of her civilization. It just felt so good to see the predatory little minx get her comeuppance once in a while! She could hear the girl fuming softly and it made a nice background accompaniment to use to drift off to sleep.
The early part of the next day's ride was notable for two features: Frenchy's good humor and Maev's blue funk. Frenchy knew she really shouldn't be feeling this good, but she couldn't help it. Maybe it was a forgotten Sunday School lesson that was prompting her to frustrate Maev's campaign, but the girl just ought not be so blatantly hot for anything in pants! She staunchly ignored any idea of repressed female rivalry.
