T Southwell - Prophecy

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Rayne stared, fascinated, as a hinged portion of the mask allowed the glass to touch hidden lips. After a pause, she sat opposite him, uncertain of what to say. His sudden anger had sent her hard-won confidence scuttling into a dark corner of her mind, leaving her timid and unsure. An uncomfortable silence ensued, which the re-entry of the serving girl with lunch broke. The Shrike watched her, and must have noticed the icy glance she shot Rayne.

After the maid left, he poured the wine and passed Rayne a plate of roast pseudo-fowl and steamed vegetables, leaving her to stew in her curiosity. He slid aside a portion of the mask to eat, but the darkness within was too deep for her to glimpse anything. About halfway through the meal, he asked about her life on Earth, and appeared to be interested in her stories. After several tales, she decided to see if he would respond in kind.

"Why did you rescue me from the store guards, that day on Earth, and why didn't you capture me then?"

"I wasn't there looking for slaves or booty. I was just curious, and stopped over for a few hours, no more. I pitied your people and their fate, but I didn't want to interfere. I admit, I was tempted to take you away from that terrible place, but I wasn't sure how you'd react. Some people prefer to die with their world. Saving an intelligent being isn't the same as rescuing a starving Versar kitten. That awful place might have unhinged you, or the shock of being taken from your world might have driven you mad.

"I didn't want to be responsible for that, and my ship wasn't equipped for acclimatising or decontaminating aliens. The environment you lived in was pretty hostile. It gave me a nasty rash, even though I was only in it for a few minutes. I did you a small favour, which I hoped would help you, but I couldn't do more than that. Besides, the place was getting crowded, and the Atlantean ship was coming dangerously close to detecting mine."

"You were lucky they didn't see you. They had me under surveillance," she commented.

"If they'd been watching, they would have done something about it if they wanted to collect you. I watched the chase for several minutes before I intervened. I hoped you'd escape on your own."

She smiled. "When you appeared in front of me, I thought you were an autocrat."

"Tell me about them."

Rayne obliged while she ate her lunch, whose flavour was far superior even to the finest pseudo-meat she had consumed on Atlan. The Shrike appeared to be interested, made a few comments and asked questions. The wish to see his face redoubled as she talked, for she could only guess at his mood, other than polite interest. She wanted to ask him again to remove it, but sensed that he would not.

As soon as the flirtatious slave girl cleared away their empty plates, he left without explanation, only saying that he would see her later. She seethed inwardly at the unwelcome reminder that she was only a slave and unworthy of any kind of excuse, to be left alone when he felt like it, with no concern for her feelings. Her anger set her once more upon her endeavour to escape, and she set to picking the door lock with a thin-bladed knife she had purloined from the lunch table. She pried open the panel beside the door, but the mass of crystals and wires that resided within it confounded her. She prodded it with the knife, hoping to hit the right short circuit, but only succeeded in giving herself a nasty shock.

Rayne was nursing her tingling hand and glaring at the ruined panel when the Shrike returned. He noticed the damaged panel and shook his head.

"So, you've been busy again. Did you hurt yourself?"

She scowled at him. "I'll live. Do you think I'm just going to sit here and do nothing?"

"You won't have to do that much longer."

Her blood turned cold. "You're going to collar me."

"No. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Slaves usually get collared, don't they?"

"Usually."

"So why should I expect anything different?"

He made a sound of disgust and turned away, sinking into a chair. "No reason, I suppose. Anyway, you're going to get your wish. I'm going to sell you. The sales been set up. It will take place within the next few hours."

A wave of intense dismay and terror swamped her, and she sat opposite as her legs shook. For some insane reason, perhaps because he had been so evasive before, she had not expected this. She fought a strong urge to beg him not to, her emotions conflicted. Her sale offered a slight hope of rescue, unless her next owner turned out to be the killer Drevina had hoped for. At least the Shrike did not seem to be such a person, yet she had asked to be sold. Now that it was about to happen, the prospect terrified her. He studied her stunned expression.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

"No! I want to go back to Atlan."

He nodded. "Of course, but that's not an option. You'll be quite safe, I assure you."

"How would you know? Once I'm sold, anything might happen to me."

"You wanted me to sell you."

"I've changed my mind. I'd rather stay with you. At least you're not a psychopathic killer, or so you say."

"I might have lied," he pointed out. "You also know that the Atlanteans have a better chance of finding you if I keep you, don't you?" She shrugged, and he continued, "Which is exactly why I have to sell you. I don't need the aggravation. You'll be safe, I promise. As soon as you're sold, I'll contact Tallyn and tell him who's got you, then he can rescue you."

Her brows rose, a stab of bitterness spoiling her joy. "That would be generous of you, if you weren't so obviously killing two birds with one stone. You make a profit and destroy a rival at the same time. A neat plan."

"What makes you think it's a rival and not a customer? How do you know I'm not just doing this to throw Tallyn off my trail? Or maybe even to help you, as I did on Earth?"

She hesitated. "If you only want to help me, why don't you just let me go?"

"I must admit, I do want my money back. But passing the information to Tallyn is to help you."

"And to get him off your trail."

He shrugged. "That too. But my reasons are irrelevant. The end result will be the same. You'll be returned to Atlan."

"Unless you're lying, or your rival decides to kill me before Tallyn can save me."

"Are all humans so pessimistic and suspicious?"

"I have my reasons," she said.

"Yes, I suppose you do. I debated the wisdom of telling you anything. Perhaps I shouldn't have. The damage is done, I suppose."

"You're a cold bastard, aren't you? You don't care what happens to me. I hope Tallyn does find you. I hope he kills you. In fact, I'll do all I can to help him."

The Shrike tilted his head, as if considering her, but she sensed no hint of his mood. She regretted her words, and wished she could call them back. Apart from the fact that she did not want him to be killed, for reasons she did not care to contemplate, her threat also gave him every reason to ensure that she could not help Tallyn. Not that she could do much, other than describe the world on which he had his base, but arid planets around yellow dwarf suns were common.

For some reason, his decision to sell her was hurtful, yet she did not understand why. Her confusion brought a wave of homesickness and self-pity, mixed with an unhealthy dose of shame at her worthlessness. A logical voice demanded to know why she would imagine a man like the Shrike, an alien, an outlaw and a slaver, would care about someone like her, but it did not salve her emotional reaction.

Two tears escaped down her cheeks, and she scrubbed them away, then glanced up when the Shrike rose and headed for the door. He paused there as if to say something, then turned and left.

Rayne rubbed her eyes, her emotional turmoil now including anger and embarrassment at her show of weakness. Going into the bathroom, she splashed her face, then returned to sit in the lounge and contemplate her future. If the Shrike kept his word, she would soon be back on Atlan and reunited with Rawn. If not, she could face any number of horrors. She regretted her ill-advised threat now, and resolved to take it back when next she saw him.

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