Slave Empire III - The Shrike (19 page)

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, Rayne 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.

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Do you want to
be a slave?” he asked.

“No.”

“The stigma
sticks, even if I bought you and never collared you.”

She glanced at
Vidan, who looked solemn. “I’m sorry. I’m new to this.”

“We know,”
Tarke said. “Do you remember what it was like, standing on that
auction block?”

She shuddered.
“Yes, although I was drugged.”

“So don’t wish
to be something you’re not, just to fit in. What you experienced
was nothing, and it doesn’t make you an ex-slave, so leave it
alone.”

“Okay.” She
sighed, then smiled. “Well, I’m not surprised you were so
valuable.”

Vidan grinned.
“He fetched the highest price ever, because he’s -”

“Vidan...”
Tarke said.

“Such a pretty
boy.” Vidan chuckled. “The most perfect natural ever auctioned, I
believe it was.”

“Where’s a tube
of glue when I need it?”

Rayne gazed at
Tarke. “I can see that, but does everyone know that about him?”

“No. Some of
his people do, but that only tells them he’s good looking, not what
he looks like.”

“When was
that?”

Tarke said,
“When I was nineteen.”

“Since then
he’s deteriorated a lot,” Vidan remarked. “He’s old and wrinkled
now. He’s probably worth less than me.”

Tarke growled,
“I need a hammer and some nails, so I can nail your lips to the
floor, Vidan.”

Rayne giggled.
Tarke slugged back to the last of his drink and stood up, swaying a
little. He picked up the mask that lay on the table. “Time to go
and show myself to the masses, I think.”

Vidan nodded.
“They won’t be happy until they see you.”

Rayne rose to
her feet. “How do they know it’s really you?”

Tarke clipped
on the mask. “They know.”

The Shrike
headed for the door, his steps lacking their usual length and
assurance. It opened to reveal two guards standing outside, who
smiled and followed him. Tarke went to the hangar, which seemed to
be the unofficial meeting place. A great many people thronged the
vast space, some working, but most just hanging around, waiting.
When Tarke entered, a murmur spread through them and a ragged cheer
went up. They came forward to surround him, although none came
within three metres of him. They gazed at him with glad smiles, and
some women wept.

Tarke stopped
just beyond the glass office, raising a hand to still the hubbub.
“I’m well,” he said. “I thank you all for your concern, and your
help. Soon another slaver will die.”

A roar greeted
his words, and he turned to leave. Rayne followed, surprised by the
brevity of his speech. He was a man of few words, however, and he
did not need to say more. The crowd parted ahead of him, and he
stopped to take her hand, drawing her to his side. His action made
her realise that her presence so close behind him was now
dangerous, even for her. The ex-slaves radiated anxiety, and anyone
who came too close to him was in danger of being accosted. When a
weeping woman held out her hands to him, her neighbours restrained
her.

Tarke stopped
and turned to her. “Why do you weep,
Najine
? I’m well.”

The woman
clamped her hands over her trembling mouth, shaking her head, then
lowered them. “Because you’re well,
Nerone
, and I rejoice.
These are tears of joy.”

“I’m honoured
by the gift of your love,
Najine
. I treasure it as I do my
own life.” Tarke held out his hand, and soft gasp came from the
throng as the woman clasped it to her brow. He tugged it free and
placed it on her bowed head. “May your days be blessed with peace
and joy.”