Slave Empire III - The Shrike (5 page)

“Of course. I’m
your brother. When you disappeared, they allowed me access to your
accounts. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No.” She
sighed.

Rayne longed to
tell him about her problem, but it was impossible with Norva
hanging on every word. She did not expect him to have a solution,
but just telling him would have helped. Still, she found his
company and light-hearted banter relaxing, and laughed at his
jokes. Even Norva’s subdued disapproval could not dampen her
enjoyment. They all jumped when an energy shell materialised in a
blaze of light. Five black-clad men bowed to Rayne and moved into
the corners to take up defensive positions.

“So, your
protection has arrived,” Rawn drawled, eyeing them. “Why do you
need so many guards in your brother’s house? What does he think I’m
going to do?”

“I’m sorry.
It’s not you he’s worried about.” She found the guards’ presence
unwelcome too, and longed to order them out.

“But it’s not
you he’s protecting, is it? It’s his precious identity. Maybe
they’re here to make sure you don’t run off to the Atlanteans to
collect the reward.”

She smiled.
“What would I want with the reward? I have everything I could
possibly wish for.”

“Do you?” He
studied her. “You don’t seem particularly happy. I didn’t want to
say anything, but you’re pale and thin.”

“That isn’t his
fault. I was taking drugs. I couldn’t handle the empathy. It was
driving me mad. And people didn’t want to be around me, not even
you.”

He looked away,
frowning. “It’s difficult being around someone like you. When you
came back from the Crystal Ship, you’d changed. I tried not to let
it bother me, but...”

“I know. I
don’t blame you, or them. The drugs helped to dull my talent, but
they were bad for me. He’s given me a more normal life. I don’t
have to take drugs anymore.”

“You call this
normal?” Norva asked, her expression hard. “To be surrounded by
guards wherever you go? It must be like being a prisoner.”

Rayne sensed
her jealousy like a foetid smell, and almost wrinkled her nose in
disgust. Before, Norva had been jealous of Rayne’s fame and
fortune, now she had even more to envy. She would have liked to be
in Rayne’s position, with guards protecting her as if she was
something precious. Rayne forced herself not to react to the
emotions, and formulated her reply based on Norva’s words
instead.

“It’s better
than hanging around in clubs, so full of drugs I didn’t know where
I was half the time.”

“I don’t like
those men in my house.” Norva shot her husband a peevish frown.

Rawn looked
uncomfortable. “Do they have to be here, Ray?”

Rayne
hesitated, then ordered the guards to wait outside. The leader
objected, but they obeyed when she insisted. Norva smiled,
radiating a peculiar kind of satisfaction that puzzled Rayne. Was
it because she had given in to Norva’s wishes, or something else?
Rawn was clearly relieved that the brewing conflict had been
averted, and offered her a plate of finger food. She selected an
Emlinian cheese wedge, although the fare was too spicy for her
liking.

Norva changed
the subject to her spring clothes-buying spree, and Rayne’s eyes
drooped with fatigue. It had been late when she left Ironia, and
her worries and unhappiness had kept her awake for the entire
seven-hour journey to Darmon. In the comforting presence of her
brother, her worries faded and lassitude took hold. Norva asked if
she wanted to lie down, displaying unusual concern, and Rayne
accepted the offer, going into the guest room to stretch out on the
bed.

Rayne opened
her eyes and blinked at a blank white ceiling in confusion. Rawn’s
house had pale yellow ceilings with wooden beams and warm
illumination, while this was similar to a hospital’s. A vague
antiseptic smell reminded her of Vengeance’s hospital, which had
the same seamless white expanses of moulded plasteel.

Sitting up, she
swung her legs off the bed and gazed around at a circular white
room. A clutch of machines stood next to the wall, and the bed was
a narrow bunk. A peculiar buzzing inside her skull, which she now
realised had woken her up, became irritating in its insistent
prodding. Alarmed, she activated her implant and sent a call to
Shadowen.

The buzzing
stopped, and his calm presence filled her mind.
At last. I
thought you’d never wake up.

“What’s
happened? Where am I?” she asked aloud.

You have been
taken to an Atlantean installation several kilometres to the south
of your brother’s house. According to your escort, you were
transferred while you slept, apparently drugged. There was a
transfer plate under your bed, so it seems this was planned some
time ago. I became aware that you were no longer in the house and
alerted your escort, but it was too late. They tracked your
transfer to your present location and tried to recover you, but a
stress shield and a fluctuating, grounded energy shell surrounds
the installation.

Rayne shook her
head, her numb brain overwhelmed by all the information. “My
brother? Is he all right?”

I don’t
know.

She rubbed her
brow, trying to gather her wits. “It had to be that scheming wife
of his, Norva. She’s after the reward. She must have co-operated
with the Atlanteans without his knowledge. I hope he’s okay.” A
frisson of dread went through her. “Does Tarke know?”

The Shrike has
been informed, yes.

“Shit. What’s
happening?”

A great deal
has taken place since you were kidnapped. Your escort, after
failing to penetrate the facility, lodged an official complaint
with the Yasmarian Government. They’ve threatened reprisals the
Yasmarians know your husband can deliver. At the moment, the
Yasmarians are negotiating with the Atlanteans, probably to have
you removed. The Atlanteans are unwilling, knowing they might lose
you if they try to move you. They’ll probably refuse, at which time
the Yasmarians will claim that they’ve tried unsuccessfully to aid
in your release, to mollify the Shrike.

Rayne cursed
and jumped up to pace around the room. “Bloody politics! What’s
Tarke doing?”

He’s en-route
to Darmon, with several more ships. The Atlanteans have sent for
reinforcements, and the Yasmarians have mobilised their fleet.

“They’re going
to start a damned war.”

Horror rose
within her in a nauseating tide, and the spectre of the Envoy’s
emptiness loomed, threatening to spill over into her mind. She
thrust it back, clinging to her reason by holding her awareness
like a hot flame in the centre of her mind, scattering the
shadows.

“Tell Tarke he
must destroy this facility. I know he can do it.” She remembered
that Shadowen would self-destruct, and added, “Tell him to unlink
you from my biorhythms first.” She spoke without thinking about the
consequences. “Tell him to do it before they probe my mind.”

He’ll find a
way to free you.

“How? Nothing
can get me out of here. They’ve thought of everything, and they’ll
do anything to learn his identity.”

By taking you,
the Atlanteans will start a war they’ve sought to avoid for
decades. A conflict between the Atlantean Empire and the Shrike’s
would cause massive loss of life and destruction of planets, and
greatly weaken both sides. They won’t risk it.

Rayne frowned,
stopping beside the bed. “They won’t hand me back before they probe
my mind.”

If you block
the telepath for long enough, they’ll be forced to hand you back
before they start a war.

“So they’ll
probe me until he attacks, then give me back.”

Probably. Once
you’ve been returned, he’ll have no reason to continue his attacks,
and they hope to have the information by then.

She shook her
head, dismayed. “This is crazy. They’d risk so much to catch one
man?”

A man they
think trades in hundreds of thousands of slaves, and runs the
greatest outlaw empire ever founded. They consider him a danger to
them and their allies.

“Why? He’s
never attacked any of their allies, has he?”

Not all of
their allies are as law-abiding as they pretend to be. There have
been a few incidents when the Shrike has destroyed drug-running
ships that belonged to Atlan’s allies.

Rayne sat on
the bed as her legs shook. The information she had demanded from
Tarke could doom him and millions of innocents as well. It seemed
likely the Atlanteans would succeed. Tarke’s fleet was several
hours from any Atlantean planets.

Rayne had no
faith in her weak mental shields. A powerful telepath would rifle
through her memories at will. The door opened to admit three
white-suited Atlanteans with grim, impassive faces.

“Shadowen,
destroy this facility, before it’s too late. Do it now.”

I cannot obey
that order.

She kicked
herself mentally. Of course he would not do it. “Tell the cruisers
to do it, then. Hurry.”

The telepath’s
scrubbed, sterile psyche probed her mind. She threw up useless
shields and buried Tarke’s image in a jumble of childhood memories,
mixing it with the faces of all the men she had ever seen. The ploy
was almost successful, but she knew she could unravel it, and
therefore so could the telepath, given time. She sensed his pity
and scorn. He disliked empaths, and considered them inferior.

Rayne agreed
with him, but there was an important difference in their abilities.
A telepath’s intrusion was blatant. His subject knew of his
invasion and could guard against it, while an empath went unnoticed
unless he gave himself away by reacting to what he sensed.
Telepaths could be dangerous, while empaths were supposed to be
harmless. Rayne knew what it was to harm another with empathy,
however. The Envoy’s pleasure, used against him, had helped to
destroy him, because he had also been an empath. He and the ship
had been vastly more powerful than the most skilled person, even
than the Shyanese, yet she had survived the battle of their minds,
albeit not entirely intact.

The telepath
shot her a false smile and went over to the machines as the other
two men approached her. One of them, a distinguished-looking man
with black and white hair, smiled at her with genuine pity.

“Hello my dear.
I’m Endrin. Would you lie down and make yourself comfortable? This
won’t take long, and it won’t hurt a bit.”

She shook her
head. “I won’t co-operate. I want to speak to Tallyn, or better
still, Vargon. This is an outrage. Do you know who I am?”

“Of course we
do. But you’re also the Shrike’s wife, and that tends to dilute
your religious importance to the Atlantean people. You should have
stayed away from him. Now you’re considered tainted goods.”

“I see.” She
lifted her chin. “I’ve ordered my escort to destroy this facility,
so I’d advise you to leave now. I’ll die before I reveal my
husband’s identity. Don’t doubt me. He saved me on the Crystal
Ship, so this will even the score.”

The elderly
doctor radiated concern. “My dear, we mean you no harm. Only the
Shrike can order your escort to kill you. He will, of course, to
save himself, as he has murdered many others. Allow us to carry out
this small procedure before that happens, and you’ll be safe. We
have no wish to put your life in danger. The Shrike is a mass
murderer and slaver. He’s not worthy of your loyalty.”

Endrin was
genuine, she sensed, and committed to the cause of capturing the
Shrike. He believed what he had just told her, which made him
convincing. Her faith in her husband was unshakeable, however, and
she was not afraid to die to protect him. Even if he did not care
for her the way she did for him, and never would, she owed him her
life. Her sacrifice would allow him to continue to save slaves, and
nothing was more important than that. What kind of life would she
have without him, anyway? The same one that had not been worth
living before he had married her. Her hope that their marriage
would become more than a friendly arrangement was shattered. It
would only take a few minutes for the telepath to find Tarke’s
image.

“I won’t
co-operate,” she repeated.

“You don’t have
to,” the telepath said in a cold voice, exuding scorn and
impatience. “You have no shields. I’ll have what I want in a
moment. Now, lie down, and let’s begin.”

She folded her
arms. “No. And if you touch me, I’ll show every bruise to the
Council of Elders.”

“The Council
approved this procedure.”

“My dear,” the
elderly doctor said, “it’s useless to protest; this argument has
already been through the Council, and all its objections were
outweighed by the prospect of putting an end to the Shrike’s
empire. I’m afraid you have no choice.”

The younger
doctor, who had sandy monotone hair and a bluff, ordinary face,
came closer, and she slapped his hands away when he tried to take
her arm.

“You’re going
to regret this,” she told the telepath. “My mind is not a place you
want to go, after what the Envoy did to it.”

He frowned.
“What do you mean?”

“He thrived on
the pain of others. Even I can barely live with what he did to me.
You won’t survive it. That, I promise.”

“I’m sure I’ll
manage,” he assured her, oozing confidence again. “I have a far
stronger mind than you ever possessed.”

“Oh yeah? Then
why weren’t you the one to do battle with that monster, huh?” She
shook off the young doctor’s hands, but he persisted, and the older
man joined in. “You know nothing, any of you. You’re making a big
mistake, and you will pay!”

Between them,
they made her lie back with firm but gentle hands that patted and
soothed. Allowing them to think they could subdue her so easily
bought her a little time, but when the telepath tried to touch her,
she rolled off the bunk and slipped out of reach.