Slave Empire III - The Shrike Page 14

  “All right, he’s gone.”

  The people straightened, and the men who stood over the corpse kicked it again.

  Vidan approached them. “That’s enough. She’s dead.”

  “She should have been made to die a thousand deaths,” one man said.

  Another ex-slave bent and tugged at the slave collar around the woman’s throat, twisting and bending it until it parted. He held it up. “A free woman!”

  “What else?” the first man said, glaring at the battered corpse.

  A man stepped in front of Rayne, blocking her view. He shook his head. “Don’t look.”

  Vidan took her arm and tugged her towards the door. Rayne longed to be with Tarke, but dreaded what she might find in the hospital. Tears chilled her cheeks, and her heart was leaden. People cast her anguished looks, many with wet cheeks. She stared ahead as Vidan led her to the doors, hardly aware of the hands that stroked her arms and touched her back in silent empathy. The sorrow, rage and anguish in the hangar stunned her, making it impossible to think.

  The short journey to the hospital passed in a blur. Vidan guided her to the foot of a bed where Tarke lay, hooked up to a multitude of beeping, hissing machines. The breather still covered his mouth and nose, and sensors flashed on his breastbone and brow. Tortured glass panels hid him from prying eyes, and the same two medics bent over him, consulted their instruments and muttered.

  She looked at Vidan, unable to shake the sensation of unreality. “What are they doing?”

  “They’re trying to identify the poison, and keeping him alive until they can.”

  “He’s not going to die, is he? He can’t.”

  He shook his head. “Trust me; we’ll do everything we can to ensure he doesn’t. These are two of the best doctors in the quadrant. In the last assassination attempt, they used trimordel. This looks like the same thing.”

  “How many assassination attempts have there been?”

  “This is the seventh.”

  She was aghast. “Who keeps trying to kill him?”

  Vidan grimaced. “Slavers, of course. The ones who tried before are dead, like whoever tried this time will be, as soon as we find out who it is. Unfortunately, there’s not much left of the assassin.”

  “What happened?”

  “He allowed her to touch his glove, as he sometimes does. You’ve seen it. She must have had a poisoned needle concealed in her hand. I saw him jerk his hand away and punch her. She was dead before she hit the floor. He just stood there, looking at his hand... No one moved. Then he collapsed.” Vidan rubbed his eyes. “The men went nuts, dragged her body away and tried to tear it apart.”

  One of the medics gave a cry of triumph. “Trimordel!”

  The other man picked up an injector from the row on a table and pressed it to the side of Tarke’s neck.

  Vidan slumped. “That’s the antidote.”

  “So he’s going to be all right?”

  “I hope so. We’re well prepared for this sort of thing, after the other attacks. Only once did the assassin try to use a weapon, a glass dagger she concealed... Well, somewhere private. We don’t search the slaves. Usually they arrive naked, and we can’t subject them to any more humiliation. Tarke forbids it. All the other attempts were with poison too, so we keep a supply of all the antidotes to every known poison on hand. The closest he came to dying was a girl who spent several months here. She got a job in the kitchens and poisoned his food. He was alone in his apartment, but he triggered the alarm when he fell ill, and we found the antidote in time.”

  “Is it always female assassins?”

  Vidan nodded. “So far. This is the first time one has tried to kill him by asking to thank him. Now we’ll never know whether whoever sent her knew he might allow her to touch him using that ruse, or if she came up with the idea on her own.”

  “How did the others try?”

  “They tried to seduce him. When that didn’t work, they bumped into him in a corridor, or got into a lift with him. Two stuck needles in his back. They all died a split second later, by his hand.”

  “So his deadly reactions aren’t just because of what happened to him as a slave,” she said.

  “Oh, they are; they’re just put to good use when an assassin tries to kill him. But they all managed to inject the poison, because it only takes a scratch to do it, and he came close to death each time.”

  The medics hovered over Tarke, monitored his vital signs, adjusted the instruments and talked in hushed voices.

  Vidan sighed and rubbed his brow. “Much as I enjoy the rare privilege of seeing his face, I’m not looking forward to the mind-wipe.”

  “How can you be sure none of the people in the hangar saw it, too?”

  He shook his head. “They’d never do that. They know better, and none of them would ever put him in danger. You know that. You’ll see, after this attempt, when he’s back on his feet, how paranoid they are. After the last time, fifteen women were injured because they came too close to him.”

  “I can imagine. I saw what they did to the assassin’s corpse.”

  “Tarke did her a favour. She wouldn’t have had an easy death at their hands; that I can promise you.” He turned away. “I must tell them he’s had the antidote.”

  Rayne stood vigil at the end of Tarke’s bed while the medics monitored the beeping machines, hooked up fresh drips and gave him two more injections. One brought her a chair, and she listened to the hiss of the breathing machine and the steady beep of the heart monitor. Vidan returned and waited for a while, then left again.

  She had lost track of the hours when one of the medics approached her and said, “You mustn’t wear yourself out. He’ll want you to be well when he wakes up.”

  “Is he going to wake up?”

  The medic nodded. “Oh yes, he’s going to be fine; nothing for you to worry about.”

  She sensed his concern, and shook her head. “Don’t lie to me. You know I’m an empath, Doctor.”

  “Of course I’m concerned, but he’ll be fine. Please go and rest now.”

  When she shook her head again, he pressed an injector to the side of her neck. Rayne leapt up with a shout of outrage, but the room spun away into darkness as firm hands took hold of her.

  Chapter Nine

  Rayne woke with a sour taste in her mouth and pulled a face, sat up and rubbed her eyes. She was in the bedroom of the apartment she shared with Tarke, and a soft-eyed woman sat beside her bed, smiling at her.

  “Good morning. How are you feeling?” she enquired.

  “Some bastard drugged me.”

  “The doctor gave you something to make you sleep. You were exhausted. The Shrike wouldn’t want you to make yourself ill. Your health is still fragile.”

  Rayne recognised one of the matronly women who greeted the freed female slaves, and frowned at her. “That was a bit high-handed of him.”

  “The Shrike would be unhappy if you became ill because we neglected to take care of you.”

  “Where is he?”

  The woman pointed at a tortured glass partition around Tarke’s bed. “He’s out of danger, but he’ll sleep for a while. We thought he’d be more comfortable here, and that you’d like him close to you.”

  Rayne nodded, climbing off the bed. “Thank you.”

  “Shall I bring you some food, or something to drink?”

  “Yes, that would be nice, thanks.”

  The woman left, and Rayne slipped between the glass panels. Tarke’s colour was much improved, and the covers were pulled up to his chin. The breather had been removed, and he breathed slowly, in a deep sleep, due to the saucer-shaped sleep inducer poised over his head. She sat beside him, her heart buoyed by a huge bubble of joy.

  Almost losing him seemed to have redoubled her love for him, which she had not thought possible. She lay down beside him and held him close, burying her face in the side of his neck. For several minutes she fought back the tears that tried to flood her eyes. When the matron returned, Ray
ne went to eat a hot meal at a table that had been placed in the corner, hardly tasting it.

  As she finished it, Vidan entered and beamed at her before going over to the partition. “He’s going to be fine.”

  “So I’ve been told. You haven’t been mind-wiped yet?”

  “No. Tarke has to order it.”

  “Do you know how long before he wakes up?”

  Vidan shrugged. “The doctors say a few days. They’re keeping him asleep to ensure there’s no brain damage. It was a neuro-toxin; a form of venom. It kills in less than two minutes by paralysing his breathing and stopping his heart.”

  “Is the risk of brain damage high?”

  “Not if he’s kept asleep for a while. He was on life support for twelve hours, then he started breathing on his own again. Two hours later, his heart started beating on its own again, too. But he wasn’t starved of oxygen for very long, thank the stars. He’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  “He’s always under a sleep inducer when he needs medical treatment, isn’t he?” she enquired.

  “Yes. It’s the only way.”

  “Have you found out who tried to kill him?”

  “Not yet, but it won’t be long. I’ve dispatched most of the fleet to various slavers who have reasons to want him dead. They’ll beat the truth out of one of them and the crap out of the rest. Every time someone makes an attempt on Tarke’s life, his men go on a rampage. The only reason they don’t kill anyone is because Tarke has forbidden it. You’d think the slavers would learn, wouldn’t you? They all pay the price for someone’s idiocy, and one of them pays with his life. But still the bastards try.”

  “I would put Vorquin at the top of the list.”

  He shook his head. “He’s not even on it. He does business with Tarke. He wouldn’t try to kill him. It’s one of his rivals. There are five, at the moment. Soon there will be four.”

  Rayne rose and went over to stand beside him. Vidan smiled at her. “I’ll leave you. It’s perfectly safe to be close to him now, and I suspect you’d like to take advantage, hmmm?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “It seems wrong, though. He’s sort of drugged, like when...”

  “Ah, don’t think of it like that, Rayne. He’s just asleep, and you’re his wife. He won’t mind, I promise.” He patted her shoulder. “He’s not due for another check-up for eight hours. No one will disturb you.”

  As soon as the door closed, Rayne locked it and joined Tarke in the bed. She wondered if somehow his subconscious might be aware of her, and if she spent enough time with him, become used to her touch. It saddened her that only when he was in an induced slumber could she sleep beside him.

  For the next three days, she only left his side when the medics came to hook up a fresh drip or examine him. She bathed him herself, and slept beside him each night. On the fourth day, the medics warned her that the sleep inducement would be discontinued, and she knew this meant she should not sleep with him again, but did so anyway. Surely he would be groggy when he woke, and if he woke first, there would be no danger?

  A movement beside her woke Rayne, and she froze, holding her breath as she wondered if Tarke was awake, or just waking up. Opening her eyes, she raised her head. His eyes were open, gazing at the ceiling, and he turned to look at her. A slight smile curled his lips.

  “So, you’ve been taking advantage, haven’t you?”

  She grinned, nodding. “Of course. How could I pass up the chance?”

  “Good thing I woke up before you did.”

  “I hoped you would. How do you feel?”

  He sighed. “Not too bad. A little weak and shaky, and I have a headache, but that’s to be expected.”

  “Are you angry that I... took advantage?”

  “Do I look angry?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “Good, then my expression is reflecting my feelings, as it should. Why would I be angry, Rayne? In a way, I’m glad. I know how much you’ve wanted this. Unfortunately it took an assassination attempt to give it to you, but at least some good came out of it, I suppose.”

  She snuggled closer, sensing the ripple of tension go through him. “It would have been much nicer if you’d been awake.”

  “Yes, I suppose so, for you.”

  “I wish it could be for you, too.”

  “So do I. One day, maybe.” He rolled onto his side, facing her, and held her close, kissing the top of her head. After a minute, he released her and lay back, staring at the ceiling again. “So, how many people have to be mind-wiped?”

  “Three.”

  “Good. Not too many. The assassin?”

  “You killed her, and the men almost tore her to bits.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Who was it this time?”

  “Vidan hasn’t caught him yet.”

  Tarke raised himself on one elbow to gaze down at her. She held her breath as he leant over her, but his lips only brushed her cheek. He moved away when she reached for him, sat up and swung his legs off the bed. When he stood up, he staggered and gripped the bed, paling. Then he straightened and went to the wardrobe.

  Rayne sat up. “Shouldn’t you wait until you’re a bit stronger?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You can barely stand.”

  “Stop fussing. If the doctors let me wake up, I’m well enough to get up. They’re worse than you, if that’s possible.”

  Rayne smiled and went to dress in the bathroom. When she returned, he was also dressed, but without the mask. He strolled into the lounge and sat down, and she brought him a nutrition drink. Several minutes later, the door buzzed and he unlocked it to let Vidan in. The Atlantean beamed, studying Tarke with undisguised fascination.

  The Shrike smiled, gesturing to a chair. “Sit, Vidan, quit gawking. Yes, I have a face. Get over it.”

  “I always suspected it; quite a nice one, too.”

  Tarke snorted. “Make the most of it.”

  “A few days?”

  “The longer it is, the more unpleasant the mind-wipe is. You know that.”

  “I’ll brave it.”

  Tarke studied his drink. “So, what’s been happening?”

  “It was Aramish. Some of his men said some pretty incriminating things when our guys were kicking the shit out of them. He denies it, of course, but his captains weren’t prepared to tell his lies. I reckon a lot of them will fly the coup. They know what’s coming.”

  “Good. Give the Shadow Wing the go ahead. Anything else?”

  Rayne’s breath caught at his casual order that had just condemned a lot of people to death. She wondered how many. Yet it should not have surprised her, really; she knew how ruthless he was.

  “It’s good to have you back,” Vidan said.

  “How are my people?”

  “They long to see you.”

  Tarke nodded, sipping his drink. “As soon as I’ve finished this.”

  Rayne asked, “Why do you call them ‘my people’?”

  “My kind, my brothers, my fellow ex-slaves... my people. Not like I own them.”

  Rayne nodded. She was not one of his people. He took her hand. “You’re my wife, Rayne; that makes you one of my people too.” He smiled. “Only Vidan’s an outsider. He was a pet, not a slave.”

  Vidan smiled and shook his head. “You can’t blame me for being treasured.”

  “You were a damned lap dog, pampered and spoilt. I should have sold you.”

  Rayne shot Tarke a shocked look.

  Vidan laughed. “Don’t be fooled, Rayne. That’s something he would never do, although he does love to threaten me with it.”

  “I’ll just glue your lips together,” Tarke muttered.

  She looked from one to the other. “How can you threaten to sell someone you don’t own?”

  “It’s a slave joke. Only slaves, or ex-slaves, are allowed to tell them. It’s not that I wouldn’t do it. I can’t. That’s why it’s a joke, see?”

  “Because you don’t own him.”

 
; “Precisely.”

  Vidan snorted. “I’m more likely to sell him. He’s worth a lot more.”

  Rayne hesitated, unsure of whether she should laugh, and Tarke cast her an amused glance. “It’s okay. That was a joke, and you can laugh. He’s right. He’s not worth much.”

  “Ah, come on, Tarke,” Vidan said. “I’m worth plenty, but I never broke any records like you did.”

  “I might get thirty thousand regals for your fat smelly hide, Vidan. That’s not much.”

  Rayne giggled. Vidan beamed and said, “That’s why I should sell you rather. What was your record price? Seven hundred thousand regals, wasn’t it?”

  Tarke inclined his head. “Seven hundred and fifty-four thousand, actually.”

  “Ah, right, I forgot the fifty-four thousand. We could buy a new ship with that.”

  “A small freighter, maybe.”

  Rayne shook her head in amazement. “How can you joke about this stuff?”

  “Because we think it’s funny.” Tarke sipped his drink.

  “And if I told a joke like that?”

  “I would laugh, but others wouldn’t, because you’re a free woman. But I know I paid a hundred thousand regals for you, so it’s okay.”

  Vidan chuckled. “That’s a good price, Rayne.”

  “She would have fetched more, but she was green and not collared.”

  “Why did that make me worth less?” she asked.

  “Because you still had to be trained, and a Xiltran slave collar costs ten thousand regals.”

  “You can’t sell Vidan because you didn’t buy him, but you did buy me, so -”

  “No.” Tarke shook his head, his amusement gone. “That’s not funny. I stole Vidan, and slaves are stolen all the time. I don’t own you, either. I paid for your freedom, just like those burnouts.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, ex-slave culture and jokes can be confusing. Don’t try it on any of my people. They’ll be offended, and then I’ll have to make it public that I bought you at a slave auction so they’ll forgive you. I’d rather not have to do that.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said.