FRENCHY

by George Olney

  Frenchy watched the scene for a moment. She didn't have to sense his emotions at a time like this. She could see them written in every line of his body. He was looking at the woman who used to be part of his whole. Frenchy had killed her.

  Right then, she stopped thinking clearly. Impulse, regret, shock, pain, sorrow and pure anger at the universe took over. She needed to get away, figure out what to do next. She'd just killed the other half of the only man that ever wanted her for what she was, not what she looked like.

  It had happened again.

  It happened every time.

  Everything good she touched always went bad. Just like every other time in her life when she'd found something good, she'd screwed it up royally. Time to leave and try again. Just like every other time. Get the hell out of here, girl.

  She strode swiftly out of the room and back down the corridor to the storage area. The other four were in the open space. Weykhaz was talking into what looked like a little radio in his hand while the rest listened. He looked up from the communicator and smiled as he saw her approach. "Frenchy! What..."

  He got no further as she passed him, ignoring him as she strode swiftly back through the storage area and into the entrance tunnel. She barely noticed she'd passed him.

  She'd lost Grae now. She'd killed his bondsmate, the other half of his being. He felt his bondsmate had to die as a mercy and he was going to kill himself afterward. It all fell into place. The reason nobody would tell her the woman was dead was that she wasn't.

  The woman running the smuggler gang was once Grae's bondsmate and that was why she hated Frenchy. Grae's "thing that needed doing" was to kill her. Give her final peace. But they were so tightly interwoven, he'd have to kill himself if he killed her. Instead she'd done it. How in hell was he going to feel about that?

  She'd killed his bondsmate. How could he ever look at her again and not think that she'd been the one who'd done the killing? No matter what happened, Grae was lost to her.

  All she wanted to do was go. Find someplace far away. Get to the Port. Go back to Earth. Go anywhere. The one man she'd ever loved in her life, the one man that had ever loved her, was lost to her. All he would ever be able to see when he looked at her was the woman that killed his bondsmate, the other half of his being. The other half of his soul.

  He's gone, she thought. Forget him, girl. Get the hell out of here. She'd screwed it up again. Do what comes naturally, run.

  She dashed through the jagged hole that used to be the doors of the headquarters and headed down the hill at a fast walk, stumbling as she hit an occasional scrub bush or piece of deadwood. By the time she reached the first ridge, she was out of breath and moving with a slower pace. She didn't stop walking until she reached the overhang where the gorts were tied, still driven by determination, anger at fate, and impulse that blocked out reasoned thought. Grabbing her gort, she mounted and rode out into the night. She didn't know where she was going. She just needed to be gone. She decided to find some place to hole up for the night, then figure out what to do in the morning. She didn't know what to do now. Maybe later. Find a new place. Find a new life. Find a new man.

  No. Never be another man like him. He was the only man that ever loved her. Now he wouldn't be able to even look at her. She'd killed his bondsmate.

  As she rode, reason began to come back to her. She was doing something without thinking. One more time. Maybe if she went back... No. She never wanted to see that look on his face again. Best thing to do was to go away somewhere. Get over him. Find a new life someplace else. If she could get to the Port, Locar would help. He said he wanted her to work for the Arm.

  She was still consumed by anger, remorse, shock and a total lack of clear thought when things changed drastically.

  It was the flapping of the wings that told her she was in trouble. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw them. Lee'thal! Coming after her! A whole flock of the damned bats. Probably the same ones she'd seen earlier.

  That started her brain functioning again and she spurred her gort into a headlong run. Frenchy girl, she thought, you've really done something dumb this time. She was alone, unprotected. They were hunting her and she realized she couldn't outrun them. She had to find a place she could fight them off. The cave. It was up ahead. Get up against the walls and they could only come at her one at a time. It was a slim chance but the only one she had.

  She almost made the cave. The flock cut her off and landed on the ground between her and its open mouth. She jerked her gort around and headed in another direction. She spotted a depression in the gully wall, a vee shaped cut running a short way into the rock. It had an overhang and was protected on three sides. It would have to do. She reached for her bopper then remembered it was still lying in the tunnel.

  A lee'thal landed in front of her, but her gort didn't stop. The beast trampled it in a headlong rush for the depression. She jerked the gort to a stop and jumped off, running for shelter, drawing her ax as she ran. The gort was able to take care of itself. Tribesmen could stay on one in a fight, but not her. She knew she'd be thrown the first time it lunged. Separate battles, then, and hope for the best.

  She reached the back of the little cut and spun, just in time to block a sword cut with a backhanded swing. Her two handed return cut took off the head. As the first lee'thal fell away in separate directions, she could see the rest were coming fast.

  She could hear her gort stamping and bellowing as it fought. With luck, it would keep enough of the bats busy that she could handle her own load. At least they could only get to her one at a time, and the rest were a ways behind that first one. She had a few seconds.

  She stood there, balanced on the balls of her feet and idly swinging her ax in her hand, watching the scuffling flock scramble messily towards her and wondering why she wasn't afraid any longer. There was tension, all right, and some fear, but it was muted. She was beyond fear. Grae was gone. Now she was trapped and about to die. For some reason, it didn't matter. The man that helped rebuild her life was gone. Frenchy, m’girl, she thought, you aren’t coming home this time.

  She calmly contemplated that thought - then her temper began to heat up.

  To hell with them! To hell with the whole damned universe! She was Frenchy, a big, bawdy, blonde bitch with a hell of an attitude! If she was going down, so be it, but she was going down hard!

  “TO HELL WITH YOU!!!” Then, for the first time, she threw back her head and let go with the Yellow Knife war cry with a shriek like the cry of a striking hawk, "Hi-ya, hi-ya, HI-YA... NIR-R-R-R YAL-L-L-LAH-H-H-H!"

  The mob of bats charged. The lee'thal were crowding into the cut in a nightmare tangle of gargoyle bodies. One would break loose, get up to her, and it was cut and slash. Another bat dead or wounded.

  She realized she was tiring out fast. Already done too much tonight. They were going to get through soon. She was barely able to move in time to block their swords. Well... then she was going to die fighting and take an honor guard with her.

  She screamed her defiance at them. She called them every name she could think of, daring them to try and get her. “KILL me, you BASTARDS! TRY it!”

  One charged forward, only to meet her ax. One of the branching heads lodged momentarily in the dying bat. She gritted her teeth and snarled as she struggled with the weapon.

  The pause was brief, but enough for another one to try and reach her. The lee'thal charged forward, raising its sword. Two feet of bloody shining steel suddenly erupted from its chest, vanishing just as abruptly as it had appeared. As the dead lee'thal collapsed, Frenchy saw Grae holding his sword in a guard position. Behind him in the gully, Frenchy saw her gort and Grae's, bellowing and snorting as they reared and trampled shapeless masses on the ground. The lee'thal were gone.

  Grae slowly relaxed, turning his sword so the tip rested on the ground and holding the grip with both hands. He looked at her calmly for a moment and said, "I owe you a debt, you know. More importantly, Yelen owes you a debt. You didn't kill
her. You freed her soul."

  Frenchy was still frozen in her own guard position. Slowly, she lowered her ax, stared at it dumbly for a moment, finally holstering the bloody weapon with an overly precise motion. She was in shock. "How did you find me?" she asked in a dazed voice.

  His dry voice held a wry humor as he answered. "You're still wearing your locator button. Good thing, too, or you'd be food for the lee'thal this night."

  Then she realized what he was saying. "You don't hate me?" The surprise in her voice sounded humorous, even to her own ears.

  He looked at her and twitched his lips in a ghost of a smile. "How could I? You saved us both from a futile death. Yelen is dead in body, now, but free of the disease. Had the disease had time to kill her, she would have lost her entire being as well as her body. If I'd killed myself, the part of her that is me would have died as well. She would be a lost soul.

  "You didn't kill her. You saved her from total extinction. Yelen is here, in my mind. Something you have, something you can do, is keeping her alive. I ignored that. I thought she was gone. I realized what was happening when you made me see the reality of living. I opened my thoughts and found her still there, deep inside. Now she's free of the disease and can continue as a part of me.

  "There is something else, as well," he continued.

  "What?"

  "You see, mistress," he said, "Yelen loves you. Like I love you. You saved her soul."

  He carefully leaned his sword against the wall of the cut, opened his arms, and she fell into them. He kissed her deeply for a moment then she fought free. Beating a quick staccato on his chest with her fists, she snarled up at him, "You bastard! I was trying to get over you!"

  "Sorry, I'm not going to let that happen," he whispered as he gathered her back in. Their second kiss was deeper, more passionate than the first.

  Behind them, the gorts bellowed their ringing victory cry into the empty night.

  EPILOGUE

  The slow ride back together was comfortable to Frenchy. The growing light of false dawn made everything perfect. In a way, she felt like she was dozing, wrapped in the wonderful, dry tones of Grae's voice. "It was when I woke up in the smuggler office," he was saying.

  "Um?"

  "No, mistress, I wasn't asleep. Off where the wind sprites go, I guess, seeing her body like that, knowing she was finally dead.

  "That was what started this whole thing. Yelen and I were captured by the smugglers. I escaped but she was raped and infected. I had to find her after that, kill her before the disease destroyed her. I had to do it to save her soul."

  Frenchy nodded her understanding, but didn't speak. What he was saying was important, crucial to their future. She didn't want to interrupt.

  "Then you came along and things changed. I still had to save her, but you started me thinking in terms of living, not dying. When you finally came and got me with Mother and the rest, I became aware of something else. Yelen was still with me, deep inside my mind. That is really what bonding is, you know. A part of each is in the other, separate, distinct, and real. Because of the way I felt about her infection, I turned away from her without realizing it after she was captured. I wasn't thinking clearly. I thought she was gone. You made me realize she was still there. Then I thought she was gone again when I saw her body on the floor.

  "When I came out of the daze, Yelen was still with me, but you weren't there. That was when I knew I had to find you, mistress."

  He reached over and gently touched her cheek. "You see, I need you. I love you."

  She smiled, eyes closed, and pressed her cheek against his fingers, enjoying the touch.

  He kept his hand pressed to her cheek for a few minutes then went on with his narrative. "By the time I got out of the office, the Strike Team was there. They gave me a quick decontamination, and I took off, tracking you. Didn't even wait to clean up."

  "That accounts for the smell, then," she said, in her best imitation of his sardonic tones.

  He grinned at that. "I couldn't use the Strike Team sled to find you. I had to be on foot or gort-back to find any trail at all. I needed that, even with your locator button still functioning. I never knew when you might take it off.

  “It's a good thing you leave an easy trail to follow, mistress, even in the dark. As it was, I still wouldn't have been in time if I hadn't seen the lee'thal flock go to ground. They only do that when attacking their prey. I took a wild guess that you were the intended meal and came in after them. Turned out to be a good guess."

  A quirky thought struck her. "You said you need me, huh? I can remember when you didn't really need me. In fact, you said I was a dispensable commodity. I know you well enough now to know you weren't threatening to kill me. What did you mean?"

  He frowned in mock seriousness. "Hurt you... never! You or any innocent woman. Mother would kill me if she found out!"

  Frenchy laughed, continuing the game. "Well... whatever. What'd you mean, anyway?"

  He gave her a wry smile. "I didn't know you then, know how you thought. I simply meant I was going to unbind you. Turn you out in dishonor at the first place I could conveniently find to do it."

  Frenchy gasped, "You mean, after all this, all I had to do was be a bitch and you'd have let me go right at the beginning? I didn't have to do any riding around and monster bashing and damn near getting killed? You sonofabitch! You bum!"

  Furious, she reached over and belted him on the upper arm. Hard. Stoically ignoring the momentary pain in his arm – I really need to remember to duck, he thought - he saw the smile emerge as she calmed down as fast as she'd blown up. "Well," he said, "think of all the fun you've had because I didn't throw you out on your gorgeous butt.

  "Besides," he added as he nonchalantly leaned aside from another, less energetic, swing, "as an expert judge of the subject in question, I will have to say you are sitting on a truly fine specimen."

  She stuck her tongue out at him. "Of course! I'll have you know my rear end has been evaluated by pros, and I'm a movie star because of it."

  He sounded puzzled for a moment. "Movie star? Oh, that recorded broadcast entertainment. I can't recall seeing you."

  She laughed. "I bet you did! For a couple of years, I was picking up money as an extra. I was always the girl in the background in the skimpy swimsuit. You know, the one they always photographed walking away from the camera, zooming in on her butt. For a while, I had the most viewed rear end in Hollywood."

  His dry retort capped the exchange. "At least they concentrated on your best side."

  He casually leaned outward again and felt the rush of air brush his arm as her fist missed. Hm. That was a habit he should try to get her to break. Knowing her, it only ought to take a century or so. At least she didn't throw things.

  A little later, Frenchy brought up something very important. There was a process happening deep inside her and she needed to know what it was. "Grae, I know you have Yelen in your mind as a real person. I'm beginning to think I do too. How does she feel to you? I mean, do you communicate easily?"

  Grae looked off a ways through the dying night and didn't seem surprised that Frenchy was feeling Yelen inside her. "I thought so. I also feel Yelen is joining you. To answer your question, I can't read her thoughts, if that's what you mean. She's not with me in that way. I just know she's there, know how she feels. I do know, though, that she's more alive in my mind - and getting stronger - because of something you can do.

  "I think I was slowly killing the part of her that was in me, willing her death. I knew we were both going to die because of the disease. Escetepus was going to kill her or I was going to give her peace. Either way, I was going to kill myself. It was only a matter of how and when.

  "When you came along, you stopped that. You saved a part of her to continue to live. Now I think she's becoming a part of you as you are becoming a part of me. Just as she and I did when we bonded."

  Startled, Frenchy thought hard. Was she now also beginning to have Yelen permanently in the de
pths of her mind, like Grae did? She knew her closeness with him was starting to mesh him into her being. Her perception was only making the process faster and deeper. She was becoming a part of him, too, in the same way that Yelen already was.

  She used her awareness to examine herself. Yes, he was there. So was Yelen. It wasn't a contact like she'd felt before, but Yelen was actually in her mind, someone that was part of her. She was only a faint trace so far, but present. It wasn't an invasion. There was a warm closeness to this. The woman was becoming alive inside her like she was in Grae.

  No, it wasn't an invasion. It was a loving union.

  She smiled at Grae. "You know, you're right. She's here with me now. She's part of both of us."

  Grae reached over from his saddle and took her hand in a firm grip.

  They arrived at the cup in the hill just as dawn began to glow over the distant hills. It gave the arid land a fresh beauty that captivated Frenchy. She knew she loved the Barrens as much as Grae did. After a life spent in the artificial closeness of the city, the clean open spaces drew her. A person could be herself out here, and that was important. She had always been her own person, an individual. This land, dangerous and sparse as it was, made it all right for her to be herself. She wanted to live out here forever.

  The cup was bustling with activity. There were Enforcers, Strike Team sleds, equipment, and the other two couples. Reunions with everyone were held at a distance until she could go through decontamination.

  Weykhaz was sporting a few fresh bandages and the look of a man that had thoroughly enjoyed himself. Grete was almost tearfully glad to see her adopted daughter, although she was still fussing over Weykhaz's bandages.

  Evan was none the worse for wear, as lanky and relaxed as ever. Frenchy noted he appeared to have a developed a permanent growth on his arm. The growth, named Maev, also seemed pretty much intact and still starry eyed. Her hair was slightly singed from a passing bolt she'd ducked a tad too late.