Krysty shivered, a wave of nausea sweeping over her. Her hair coiled tight, then sprang loose, and for a moment she thought that she may pass out. She slowed her breathing, willing the wave of nausea to pass. What, she wondered, had caused that? It wasn’t the old man, so it had to have been…
Glittering, raven-black eyes bored into her. Krysty felt the wave begin to swell once more and fought back, fighting at the tendrils of fear that began to wrap themselves around her mind. Her mind! That was what was happening: the woman accompanying the baron was attempting to reach into her mind. Krysty could feel that same doomie, feelie instinct that she herself possessed to a small degree: the woman in front had sensed that in her, but had a stronger ability and was trying to gauge Krysty’s strength.
The flame-haired woman fought back mentally with all the willpower she possessed, closing off sections of her mind as she felt the tendrils of the other touch them. She used every trick she had learned from her mother.
“Krysty, are you okay?” Mildred whispered urgently. Standing just to the rear of her, the older woman had noted with alarm the sudden tension in her friend’s body, and the minute muscular contortions as Krysty’s mental struggle was reflected in microcosm.
The raven-eyed woman standing beside the baron abruptly looked away as she saw Mildred lean toward Krysty, and the link was broken.
Krysty suppressed a gasp, and whispered over her shoulder, “Okay now. I’ll tell you later.”
The ville’s baron sat on the highest of the chairs, the woman seating herself at his right hand. She looked younger, with long raven hair to match her eyes, and sharp features that would have been classically beautiful if not for the hint of something sadistic around those eyes. She appeared to be temperamentally opposed to the baron, who now spoke.
“So, Harv, you couldn’t bring them back alive this time,” he said softly, with a warmth and sadness in his voice.
“‘Fraid not, Alien,” the sec chief replied. “Bastards have got blasters, too. Good thing we ran into these here folks. Cyclops here is a good fighter. So’re his people.”
“Really?” the woman said in a voice that was silky, but with a biting undertone that hinted at sarcasm. “Not up to the job yourself, then?”
“Stop riding him, Jenna,” the baron said softly, with a hint of indulgence in his voice. “Harv usually does okay. Averages means we lose a few.”
It wasn’t lost on Ryan or any of his companions who the real power and ruthlessness may be in the ville of Raw. For Krysty, this was particularly alarming, she needed to get the others where they could talk.
But not yet. While she pondered this, the baron confirmed what they had already gathered. He introduced himself as Alien, and the woman as his wife, Jenna. Her smile on being introduced was cold and saurian. She came out from behind the table, stepping delicately past the pile of chilled flesh on the floor, and walked among the sec party, examining the newcomers.
She stopped when she was in front of Mildred. “Interesting,” she said to herself, then louder,
“We’ve never had a black here. It’ll be interesting to talk. How many of your sort survived skydark, I wonder? Have you little communities?”
Mildred was less than inclined to discuss her past, let alone her racial origins. It was all she could do to stop from punching the lights out of the baron’s wife. From the corner of her eye, she caught J.B.’s warning glance.
“I was on my own when I joined my friends,” she said shortly, through gritted teeth. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, later, then,” Jenna replied, losing interest. “Are we going to cremate now, dear?” she asked, turning to the baron. “The poor things will start to stink us out otherwise.”
“Good point, my dear,” Alien replied indulgently.
To the companions, he said, “Please, after the ceremony you must join us. I want to know more about you.”
He turned to Harvey. “Get the fires ready.”
The sec man nodded and directed his party to activities they obviously knew too well for their liking.