Reaching the piles of stones that served as a dock, the lieutenant noted that the green lantern hanging from the tide pylon had been extinguished. Good.
PT 264 was rocking in the waves, tugging against the mooring lines, wisps of smoke rising from the flue as the crew in the hold stoked the boiler as a preparation to departing. On the stone dock, Thor stood with his Weatherby resting on a shoulder, closely watching a slim girl kneeling on the hard stones, hands folded, head bowed, her long hair falling down to hide her face.
“That the one?” Brandon asked, stopping a few feet away. The rest of the sec men moved around him to haul the table and other items aboard the boat.
“Think so,” the sergeant answered. “Ain’t said a word yet.”
The lieutenant went to the slave and nudged her with his boot. “Stand,” he commanded.
The female rose like dawn, and the officer saw that her eyes were as green as the summer sea, her face a flawless pearl. Beautiful seemed inadequate a word, and he had trouble speaking for a few moments.
“You set the lantern, girl?” he asked, much more polite than was usual.
She nodded vigorously, pointing at the lantern then herself.
“How did you know a green light was the way to signal us there was a traitor in the ville?”
Timidly she lifted her skirts until it was obvious there was nothing under the thin clothing.
“A gaudy slut, eh? Yeah, we make sure they all know that. Teach them one at a time.”
The slave violently shook her head.
“Okay, used to be.” The man smiled benignly. “Why ain’t you talking? Somebody cut out your tongue?”
She touched her throat and gestured outward, her hands falling by her sides.
Oh, a simp. She never had been able to talk.
“Well, you did us a favor,” Brandon said, snapping his fingers, “and the lord baron always pays his debts.”
Thor placed a heavy leather bag in the officer’s hand, and he passed it over to the girl.
“Two pounds of powder, one blaster, with bullet mold, ten rounds, two flints,” he recited. “You find anybody else doing science, and I’ll pay the same again.”
Incredibly she offered him the bag back and touched the brand on her bare satiny shoulder.
“Your freedom?” He laughed scornfully. “Have to do more than find a traitor for that, girl!”
As if waiting for those words, the slave pressed her warm body against the officer and cupped his face to passionately kiss him, her small hands teasingly moving across his body, invoking responses the man had never felt before with a willing partner. The sergeant chuckled softly at the sight, but never turned away, his grip firm on the loaded longblaster.
Minutes passed, and when the couple was forced to break apart for air, she nuzzled his cheek, her forked tongue encircling his ear, flickering inside and out.
Gasping at the sight, Thor worked the bolt on his weapon and aimed it in her direction. Equally shocked, Brandon grabbed the woman by the arms and pushed her away for a better view. Wantonly, she writhed to be against him again. He squeezed until she stopped moving, then looked hard into her eyes. There was no doubt that she was a mutie, but unlike anything he had ever encountered before. He felt drunk with lust. The urge to take her right there in front of the troops almost drove him mad.
“Okay, freedom,” Brandon huskily agreed. “Come with us to Cold Harbor ville and right afterward I’ll—”
At the name of the ville the slave fought to get loose of his grip, terror distorting her features. Her nails raked across his face, leaving bloody furrows.
“Bitch!” he cursed and threw her to the dock. The girl fell to the deck, kneeling before the sec man in a fetal position.
“Stupid, slut! I would have set you free!” Brandon spit furiously, touching his cheek. “Didn’t I just prove we pay our debts? How dare you strike a sec man of the lord baron!”
Cowering in submission, she started to crawl away, and he planted a boot on her back, crushing her to the stones.