Mercenary (35 page)

We rehearsed it. Juana served in lieu of the bride, for this stage. We set her up in the stateroom, and it was my task to carry her to the far end of the ship, the groom's quarters. I dressed in combat fatigues, armed, with a laser-proof vest, and sneaked up on her door. I felt like a thief—or worse, a rapist. The others of my staff would move about the passages randomly; all lesser personnel had been cleared from the region, as we did not want news of this program to become fleet gossip. My bodyguard Heller remained at the border of the groom's territory; once I passed him, I was through the first stage.

I tried the door panel. It was locked. Naturally someone had thought to include this unnecessary trifle of realism! I had to use my Captain's key to release it—never mind how a raider from another ship would have accomplished that!—and there was a little sound. That “woke” Juana; as I entered, she sat up with alarm, turning on her hammock-side light.

She was in a low-bodiced pink nightie that revealed rather more of her lush torso than I was entitled to see, and the light was behind her, making much of the material become translucent. Juana had always been a fine figure of a woman, and I had always liked her, and we had some intimate mutual memories; the sight of her this way really did excite me. I realized that my loyal staff had its fiendishly apt hand in this; they had presented me with a model who was guaranteed to turn me on, while being forbidden.

Realism—ah, yes. Probably this particular touch was Emerald's doing; she had a pointed sense of humor.

But so did Spirit. Women tend to think that a man's easily stimulated reactions to flesh and setting are amusing; I was not amused.

“Who's there?” Juana asked, alarmed, leaning forward. I wish she hadn't done that; her exposed breasts were true marvels of shadowed rondure. I had always been partial to breasts like that, ever since Helse had unbound—

That brought me back to business. I drew my rubber knife and menaced her with it as I approached.

“One peep and I'll gut you, wench!” I hissed.

Juana gazed at me wide-eyed. She began to quiver with laughter. That did more things to her exposed bosom. God forgive me, I wanted to dive into that hammock and take her right then and there, though she was in no sense mine to take, and hammocks are terrible locales for sex; the Tail uses bunks. I was turgid for her, and surely she knew it; we still liked each other more than military propriety condoned, and I think women adapt less readily than do men to the sexual and social requirements of the Navy. She had me, at this moment, pretty much where she wanted me: hot with desire and unable to implement.

I grabbed her by one arm and hauled her out of the hammock. The covering sheet fell away, exposing her fine legs. She was in a shortie-nightie with nothing beneath—the kind of outfit correctly calculated to madden men's minds. I could almost hear Emerald laughing, and as I hauled Juana in to me and picked her up by the shoulders and legs, I knew she was laughing, too. First she took the rubber knife out of my hand, so it wouldn't get in the way; then she put her right arm around my neck, holding herself close, making it easier to carry her. My left hand came around, almost touching her left breast, while my right hand lay against her left thigh. Her nightie, naturally, slid up to bunch at her hips; she might as well have been naked. She tried ineffectively to draw it back down with the point of the rubber knife. She surely had not selected that outfit herself; she was not that kind. But she was enjoying it now.

I carried her out into the passage and down toward the groom's quarters. Suddenly she perked up, remembering something. “I'm supposed to try one scream,” she whispered.

Well, conventions differed on that. “Scream, and I'll gut you!” I said through clenched teeth.

“How?” she inquired, delicately chewing on the rubber blade.

She had a point, literally. My error! “I should have gagged you,” I said sheepishly.

“Too bad!” She inflated, getting ready to scream a good scream. I had to stop her, though well-nigh dazzled by the sight, for I was still in bride territory. Hastily I clenched her in to me and reached my head around to meet hers. She met me halfway, and we kissed—deeply and long. But meanwhile I kept moving down the hall.

In due course she broke, having to expel her chestful of air. “That wasn't fair,” she whispered.

“All's fair in love and war,” I reminded her smugly.

She offered no further resistance, and in due course we made it to Heller's checkpoint. His eyes rounded, then narrowed appreciatively as he spied Juana's dishabille. “With that in your arms, what do you want with any pirate wench, sir?” he inquired.

“Officers don't rape enlisted personnel,” I answered gruffly, averting my eyes. “She's just a stand—in, a dummy.”

Juana forced a frown. “A dummy? I'll have you know I'm just as smart as the next abducted preravished innocent maiden!”

Repro appeared. “Very good so far, sir,” he said. “But you made several errors—”

“Damn it, no one told me she was going to be dressed like this!” I exploded, carefully setting her down.

Gravely she returned my knife to me, while Repro frowned.

“Roulette will be dressed like that,” he pointed out. “If you allow her body to distract you prematurely, you're dead.”

“Point taken,” I agreed grudgingly. “I'll gag her.”

“And tie her wrists and ankles,” he advised. “That pirate lass would use her legs to put you in a headlock.”

“In this sort of outfit?” I demanded, indicating Juana.

“I'd like to see that headlock!” Heller chortled. I glanced at him, and he added: “Sir.” Which hadn't been the point, as he knew.

Repro nodded. “She surely knows all the tricks, sir, and will use them.” He glanced on down the hall.

“Very well, let's get on to the hard part. According to the script, a female relative of the groom sneaks the bride a knife—”

“That's after the rape,” I said.

“No, the Solomons do it the hard way. She has the knife during the rape.”

“She'll cut my heart out!”

“Not your heart, precisely; there will be a more accessible target,” Repro said. That did not encourage me. “You must disarm her, of course, for the act. Afterward, you return the knife to her, and if she remains upset—”

I changed the subject. “Which relative gives her the—”

Spirit appeared. “I am the one. Hope, give me that weapon.”

I handed the rubber knife to her. She turned. “Emerald, take over.”

“Emerald?” I asked.

Emerald appeared. “You didn't think we'd let you rape a nice girl like Juana, did you? I'll handle this chore.”

“I think I'd be better off with the pirate wench,” I said.

Spirit slipped the knife to Emerald. “You poor, innocent damsel,” she said in honey-drip tone. “I cannot stop my evil brother from this cruel assault, for I am only a woman, but at least I can give you some chance to defend your treasure.”

“Bless you, sister,” Emerald said, smiling maliciously. “I'll disembowel him!”

“Hey!” I protested.

“Roulette will,” Spirit reminded me. “Don't trust her for a moment, Hope; that's how she got her other two suitors. She's your enemy—until you conquer her.”

“And thereafter,” I muttered.

“Not so,” Repro said. “She'll love you, in her fashion, once you prove you're worthy of her. That's the pirate way. But you must indeed prove it, the hard way.”

The hard way—in a double sense. But now I was soft, in the same sense. The reality behind this game was anathema.

We went to the groom's chamber. Emerald sat on the bunk—no hammock for this scene!—knife in hand. She was dressed in a tan wet suit, normally used for planetary water action. She might as well have been nude, for the suit cleaved to every intimate contour of her body; perhaps that was the point. She had been slender to the point of lankiness when I had first met her; in seven years she had fleshed out somewhat in breast and thigh and was, if anything, more seductive than before. She was a married woman, and the suit protected her sanctity; it was literally impossible to rape her without first removing it, and, of course, I would not do that. But she looked vulnerable. She was not as lush as Juana, but she was definitely healthy and female—and for her, too, I retained the masculine hankering, remembering the joys of her nocturnal athleticism. It is said in the Navy Book that sex and love are things apart, independent of each other, but for me the separation has never been perfect. I have loved no woman entirely since Helse; but I have loved each sexual partner a little, even those anonymous professionals of the Tail. I knew that Emerald, like Juana, had not forgotten our private shared experience and had perhaps not forgiven its termination.

I shed my outer apparel and stood in brief trunks with an armored crotch. If Emerald scored there with knife or knee, I lost, but this was, after all, only a rehearsal. For the real event I would have to be naked.

Perhaps it is fitting that a man bent on rape must leave himself vulnerable to this type of injury.

“Remember,” Repro warned. "In the normal pirate course, the bride offers only token resistance, just enough to whet the groom's appetite. But there are degrees, and sometimes she really does fight.

Roulette is of the old school; she will be savage. So, to be safe, you will have to knock her out first.

Make sure she isn't faking unconsciousness, too. In fact, bind her arms together and her legs apart. But for this practice session—"

“Faking will do,” Emerald finished. “Mondy will call the points.”

Nothing like having her husband on hand for rape! “Let's get it over,” I said, freshly disquieted.

I came at her weaponless. Theoretically I was here for love, not war; this was the nuptial night. The bride was supposed to be attractively garbed, ready for the conclusion, but under her gown she carried the secret knife, her last defense against the indignity of rape. Theoretically the groom did not know this, but, of course, he did, because it was scripted. Still, some prospective grooms did die, and when that happened, the relative who had provided the knife was required to conduct the ex-bride safely back to her own people. There was no penalty for a woman defending herself from rape; the crime was the man's, for failing to accomplish his mission.

However, if through some mischance of violence the bride died, there could be war between clans. It was better to suffer the humiliation of an escaped bride than to kill her in the attempt.

Actually, I could appreciate aspects of this system. It did have its checks and balances, and it was a fair compromise between violence and cooperation. Pirates needed to preserve their image of barbarism, even when they were halfway civilized. It seemed that the women supported this system as much as the men.

“Stay away from me, you monster!” Emerald hissed with a fighting smile. She was enjoying this a good deal more than I was!

“Remember,” Repro reminded me. “Don't fool with her. First knock her out. It's the only safe way. Pull your shot for this, of course; it will count.”

“I don't like striking women,” I said.

“That's a pirate with a knife aimed at your groin,” he said. “Think of her as a panther who has killed twice and is going for three. This is an arena, man! It's you or her.”

I understood all that, but still I hesitated. I came up to the bunk, hoping to catch her and pin her to it.

Emerald reacted the moment I touched her. One hand clawed at my face, and one knee came at my groin. I dodged aside, my military training serving me well, and she missed both shots. “No score,”

Mondy murmured from the far side of the bed. A referee for a rape!

I approached her again, more carefully. This time she brought out the rubber knife, making a vicious slash at my arm. It touched the skin as I jerked away. “First blood: bride,” Mondy reported.

But already I was bringing my other hand about, catching her wrist. I exerted leverage, twisting her arm uncomfortably. Small leverage against a particular joint at the right angle can be immediately effective.

She was at a disadvantage on the bed. In a moment I forced my wrist down, till she dropped the knife.

“Bride disarmed,” Mondy announced.

Emerald jackknifed, her feet coming up to strike at my face, but my continuing leverage on her arm prevented her from getting at me. I moved onto the bunk, getting on top of her, using my body to pin her upper body down. Her legs remained free but had no purchase; she could not escape. “Bride pinned,”

Mondy said dispassionately.

Pinned but not conquered. I could not rape her in this position. I tried to get my legs on hers but could not; I would have lost my leverage. It wasn't all that easy to rape a resistant woman!

Repro was right: I would have to knock her out. Half-measures just wouldn't do. I closed my right fist and struck at her head, pulling the blow so it wouldn't really hurt her. But she was ready for this and lifted her head as I moved to fall inside my swing. My forearm touched her ear instead of my fist. “No score,”

Mondy said.

She bared her teeth. Her own left arm was free now. She grabbed a handful of my hair and hauled my head down to hers. I feared her teeth and resisted, and in that distraction she got a knee into my side and shoved me away. But this gave me an opening; I flung myself on her, pinning her knee under me, getting between her legs at last.

“Oh, hell!” she whispered. Then she yanked my head down again, turning her face to meet mine; I no longer had the position to avoid her.

But I didn't need to. I had her in the rape position. I jammed my armored crotch against hers, to make the point.

Her mouth met mine and merged with a savage kiss. She was trying to distract me, but I refused to let my victory go that readily. I jammed at her nether section again, determined to receive credit for the point.

Her tongue came through our kiss to touch mine. Her hips moved against mine. Her hand let go of my hair and rested on my neck instead. I felt the softness of her breasts pressing against me as she breathed.

Again I remembered how she had been in the days of our marriage. Often our lovemaking had been violent, like this, and always exciting.