“And what answer did the lady…”
“You think he tells me all that? All I can…” It was drowned out in a burst of drunken laughter, then one of the men stiffened.
“What’s that?”
“Mouse or rat, probably. Pass me the jug, you-”
Magda froze, but the first speaker got up, suddenly strode straight toward where Magda huddled in the shadow; she turned to slip away, missed her footing and fell full length. Above her she heard a great shout of laughter. The next minute hard hands came down on her and she was picked up bodily and carried into the center of the circle of men.
The man holding her set her on her feet, guff awing loudly.
“Some mouse or rat, Jerral!”
Magda saw that her- captor was the big burly mustachioed man whose eyes had frightened her when she first came into the shelter. He bent toward her, taking her chin in his ham-sized hand.
“Tired of sleeping alone, chiya?” He used the word for “little girl,” which in family intimacy is affectionate; elsewhere, contemptuous. “Which one of us you got the hots for, hey? Bet it’s me; saw you looking at me before.”
– Magda was wildly trying to get her breath, to think. She would not; she could not struggle and plead with these men!
“Yeah, we’ve all heard about the Free Amazons,” said a big, black-bearded man, digging Magda’s captor in the ribs with a wicked leer. “Let’s wake up the rest of the girls and get them to join the party! What about it, little rabbit, did you come to ask if there was a drink for you here?”
Oh, God, what have I done? I’ve been responsible, for breaking the shelter-truce, if I’ve involved the other women in this, made these men think . . .. Furtively she felt for her knife; realized, in horror, that she had left it lying by her saddlebag.
“What’s wrong, chiya? Not a word to say? Well, we’ll loosen up your tongue, soon enough,” said the big man who had grabbed her, and she felt his fetid, drunken breath hot on her face, the evil, bristling mustachios brush her cheek. He jerked her under tunic down around her shoulders. “Hey, a pretty one, too. Stop shoving, Rannar, you’ll have your turn soon enough-I caught this one. You want a girl, go wake up one for yourself!” He ran his hands down her bared body. Magda jerked away, caught him by the arm, tried to wrench him hi a judo throw; he sidestepped, with a leering shout. “Hey, pretty, I know a trick worth two of that! So you’re a fighter, too? We can really have some fun with this one,” he said, leering. Magda’s arms felt numb.
What’s the matter with me? She felt him take her shoulder, twisting it cruelly; she could not keep back a cry of pain.
“Now let’s not have any more nonsense, precious. Just be a good little girl and we won’t hurt you, no, we won’t hurt you at all,” he muttered, running his hot hands down across her breasts. She backhanded him, hard, across the mouth; rearing back in drunken rage, he struck her a blow that flung her, half stunned, to the floor. “Damn it, you bitch, none of that! Hold her, Rannar-”
She fought and struggled, gasping, silent, afraid if she opened her mouth that some word of Terran Standard would escape her. The men clustered around, shouting encouragement to the men who held her. Magda had been trained in unarmed combat since her sixteenth year; she tried to catch her breath, to find the strength to strike effectively, but she found herself held too hard.
Why can’t I defend myself? How did I get this far? Suddenly, as a drowning man’s whole life is said to flash before his eyes, Magda knew the answer. I’ve psyched myself, for years, into behaving like a normal Darkovan girl. And they’re too timid to fight-they expect men to protect them. I’m conditioned to that, and it canceled out my Terran agent’s training. …
She hardly knew it when she started to scream….
Chapter NINE
Suddenly a light flared in Magda’s eyes; a torch came down, blinding the man who held her. He reared back, yelling. Then there were half a dozen knives, it seemed, bared and leveled at Magda’s captors.