Crown of Slaves

'She's in,' Lieutenant Gohr said softly into her com, as soon as the hatch closed. The shuttle's pilot was already beginning to disengage from the Felicia. The lieutenant, like the House of Winton itself, belonged to the Second Reformation Catholic Church. 'May the Virgin in Heaven watch over her.'

Receiving the signal, Watanapongse grunted. Like most officers in the Solarian Navy, he was a hardboiled agnostic. 'The 'virgin' be damned, and 'heaven' is in another universe. That girl's got something way better, in the here and now. Hell's Pure Bitch is coming-and she's not more than a kilometer distant.'

'A kilometer full of corridors and compartments like a maze,' Imbesi cautioned, 'not to mention a spider's web worth of security barriers.'

Watanapongse didn't seem impressed. 'Hell's Pure Bitch, I said. There's a reason, you know, that Captain Rozsak wanted that Marine officer on his staff, once Colonel Huang brought her to his attention. She's not even thirty years old, but with her record-and decorations-she'd have been put on the fastest possible track and probably even been a major by now, if she didn't come from an OFS planet. You watch.'

* * *

At the moment, as it happened, Berry Zilwicki's fate was in the hands of a young woman who, if not a virgin, wasn't really all that far from it. Like most young people in most royal families in history, Ruth had labored under a degree of chaperonage she'd often found exasperating. The fact that the Winton dynasty put all its youngsters through extensive sexual education and training made it downright frustrating- because the dynasty was just as careful to keep an eye on their children avoiding premature emotional entanglements. A lot of theory, and… not all that much in the way of practice. In a modern society whose members were usually sexually active by the age of sixteen, the fact that she was twenty-three and as inexperienced as she was-though not in the least bit naive-was a source of considerable disgruntlement.

'And I'll be just as easy,' she muttered, as she broke the security code on the entry hatch within fifteen seconds, 'when the right young fellow comes along.' Sourly: 'Assuming I can get away from the eagle eyes of my mother and aunt.'

She watched the hatch swing smoothly open. Pleased, by her easy success in the actual deed at hand; frustrated, by the symbolism of it all.

'What was that?' asked Thandi. There was a trace of amusement in her voice. Ruth had forgotten that Lieutenant Palane had restored the com circuits.

'Nothing,' she said, flushing a little.

Her embarrassment increased when one of the Amazons chimed in.

'Must be man trouble. You want help, girl? Just say the word, and I'll hold him down for you. Help you get him up, too, if he's pretty enough.'

Thandi led the way, gliding into the entry with a gracefulness that the Manticoran princess still found a little shocking, coupled to such a large and powerful body. Even in a skinsuit, in deep space maneuvers, Thandi Palane reminded Ruth of a two-legged tigress.

'This is no time for sexual fantasies,' the commander of the strike force stated firmly. Sternly, even.

An odd little gurgle seemed to echo in the com circuits, as if several voices at once had just managed-barely- to suppress laughter.

Ruth was one of them. She'd seen Thandi at her fantasies, after all. And while she hadn't watched for the three minutes Berry had accused her of, she'd certainly not watched for a mere three seconds, either.

It had been… impressive.

And now, in its own way, also reassuring. Ruth made the transition from weightlessness to the ship's gravity field with the grace of someone who'd participated in deep space sports since she was a young girl. But since she'd followed directly behind Thandi, she'd watched the Solarian Marine officer make the same transition with something that went far beyond 'grace.' The sight, coupled with the one Ruth had gotten of Thandi at play, brought a different predator to mind.

If she's skilled and experienced enough, a human can be graceful passing through an airlock on her way to an assignment with violence. An anaconda simply pours herself through.

Chapter 35

'I strongly suggest you keep your eyes on me.'

Another man might have hissed the words, or half-shouted them, or… somehow, tried to make them emphatic. But Victor Cachat simply stated them. In the same cold and empty way in which Berry had seen him, the day before, state to three men shackled to chairs that he was going to kill them if they didn't do exactly what he wanted. Now.

The voice had pretty much the same effect on the Masadans assembled on the Felicia's bridge. Their gaze, which had been focused on Berry herself, was now firmly riveted on Cachat.

'Ignore the girl,' he continued, in that same tone of voice. 'She is now irrelevant to you-provided she isn't harmed in any way. Have her taken out of here and put in with the cargo. She'll keep there, well enough, while you and I discuss whether or not we can reach a suitable arrangement. Your lives-and your purpose-now depend entirely on my good will. My purpose, I should say. My 'good will' is nonexistent.'

Some part of Berry's brain which remained capable of calculation registered Victor's use of the callous word 'cargo.' That was a term which only Mesans and their underlings used to refer to the shipment of human slaves. Very subtly, it was a signal to the Masadans that, in some way or other, the grim man staring at them through flat and dark eyes shared at least some of their attitudes and thought processes.

Mostly, though, she was just fascinated. Mesmerized, even-as the Masadans now seemed to be. They'd only been brought onto the bridge half a minute since by the three Masadans who'd taken them into custody. And, already-despite being unarmed and to all appearances at their mercy-Cachat was wrapping the Masadans around him. It was as if a human black hole had entered the room.

On a purely personal level, Berry was immensely relieved. The last thing she wanted was to have Masadans focusing their attention on her. The Masadan version of the Church of Humanity Unchained was indeed, as the Graysons claimed it to be, a heresy. Not so much in terms of religious doctrine, as simple human morality. Patriarchal religions were nothing new in the universe, after all. Most of the human race's major religions had contained a great deal of patriarchal attitudes-and still did, as witness the fact that almost all of them routinely referred to God as if 'He' were naturally male. (She and Ruth had once enjoyed a pleasant few minutes of ribaldry, trying to visualize the size of The Almighty's penis and testicles.)

But the Masadans had twisted patriarchy into what could only be called a sick perversion. However stern and autocratic they might be, 'fathers' were not rapists. And it was essentially impossible to describe Masadan doctrines-and practice-toward women as anything other than sanctified rape. A bizarre and bastard concoction, made of equal parts lust and misogyny, all of it dressed up in theological gibberish.

Until Victor spoke, every Masadan's eyes had been on her, not him. And that wasn't half as bad as the 'weapons inspection' one of them had put her through almost as soon as she came aboard the Felicia. The man's hands groping her body-as if that skin-tight outfit could have concealed so much as a penknife-had left her feeling half-sick and clammy.

'And who are you to be giving orders here?' demanded one of the Masadans. Hosea Kubler, that was, one of the two pilots and the one whom Watanapongse guessed was now the leader of the small number of survivors in Templeton's gang. Kubler was red-faced with anger, but his voice had a slight tremor in it- as if the man was deliberately trying to work up a rage in order to overcome his own intimidation.

Cachat bestowed the flat-eyed stare upon him. 'I'll show you who I am. More precisely, what I am.'

He glanced around the bridge. Other than the Masadans, there were four other men on the bridge. All of them, unlike most of the Masadans standing near the center, were seated at various control stations. From their