Part 3

"For HaKan's sake, will you be still!" Faliir Kranoch bellowed at Beauday. The pacing heavy jerked to a halt and looked up at the captain. Kranoch regarded him for a moment, seeing worry - no, fear - etched plainly on the heavy's pale face, then glowered, and with unusual consideration restrained his usual acerbity. "You're wearing a furrow in my floor."
       "Sorry."
       He didn't look or sound it, but Kranoch, who usually ran both his ship and his squad with an iron hand in a granite glove, ignored the tone.
       "Get to your quarters. You're making my crew jumpy."
       Beauday would have argued - but Koorlee had made it plain that any insubordination would be cause for disciplinary action when the operation was over. Worse, it could mean his being left behind when Bedemnos's cruiser was boarded. Confident of his own ability in a fight, the heavy had scoffed at the idea - until he'd seen the Faliir's internal security team. M'taurs. Big. Very big. And very hard. They made him look like a yearling. It was reassuring to know they'd be part of any attack on Bedemnos.
       Kranoch was still watching the heavy, his expression hardening. He had made it very clear from the start that he expected instant obedience. Beauday raised his hands in surrender and left the control room.

His quarters were small but reasonably comfortable - Kranoch occasionally had cause to carry 'taurs seconded to his normal crew - but in his current frame of mind they felt claustrophobic. And certainly too small for pacing. Resorting to his customary activity when action wasn't an option, Beauday yanked open his jacket, lowered himself to the padded sleeping area, and pulled out his maser.
       The image of his partner filled his mind as he disassembled the weapon for general maintenance. Koorlee had insisted that Doyaal look the part they had devised for him; pampered but troublesome slave to a wealthy upper caste Prognopper ambassador.
       Beauday had objected.
       "'taurs aren't slaves! None of us would agree to such a thing..."
       Doyaal had interrupted. "It's been known."
       The heavy's mouth had dropped open. "You're joking."
       The hunter shook his head. "Nope. There's an entire herd on Prevalst that provides slaves for carefully vetted Vips. 's an ancient family business. Very hush-hush, of course: you have to know the right people in order to make contact. I've met a couple of them. Nice folk, on the whole. Don't seem the least bothered by their status or what others think of them."
       Beauday was shaking his head. "You're a veritable mine of information."
       Doyaal grinned. "Lots more where that came from!"
       "If you two have quite finished?"
       They turned to Koorlee, who was watching them with some impatience.
       "Sorry sir."
       The controller nodded, and handed Doyaal a package. The hunter took it, frowning at the weight.
       "What is it?"
       "Your 'disguise'."
       Intrigued, Doyaal had opened the package, eyes widening.
       "Sir?"
       Koorlee nodded as the hunter pulled a long strand of exquisite starseed opals from the padded box. Beauday whistled appreciatively, but Doyaal frowned and inclined his head to the controller.
       "You know you probably won't get them back?"
       "Aye, we know. But it'll be worth it to wipe out Bedemnos. You've no need to worry - about the stones, anyway. Now, are you clear about the operation?"
       Both 'taurs nodded.
       "Very well. You'd best get going."
       As the pair turned to leave, Koorlee added, under his breath, "And all our prayers be with you."

Beauday had helped his partner prepare, his heart sinking. Always a striking creature, adorned with the jewels Doyaal had looked startlingly beautiful, perfect bait for a being with an insatiable lust for 'taurs...
       He knew his hands were shaking as he braided the last strand of the opals into the silky red-gold length of Doyaal's tail. Worse, he knew Doyaal was aware of it. He stepped back to regard his handiwork, and the hunter twisted to frown at him.
       "You OK?" His voice sounded a little rough, courtesy of the operation to implant the transmitter. The heavy winced at the thought, even though Doyaal had assured him several times it didn't hurt.
       "No, of course I'm not OK."
       Doyaal sighed in exasperation. "Beauday... It'll be OK."
       "You don't know that."
       "You're not makin' this any easier for me."
       Beauday ran his eyes over his partner's small, slender frame, forcing himself not to shudder at the thought of what the Ostlacchin's heavy claws could do to that sleek golden skin.
       "I don't want you to go."
       "Too late to back up now."
       "It isn't."
       "I'm goin'."
       Beauday lowered his head. "I know."
       The hunter laid both hands on his partner's shoulders.
       "You gonna be there?"
       Beauday scowled at him. "Stupid bloody question. Where else would I be?"
       "Then there's nothin' to worry about." Doyaal lowered his hands, swivelled to check himself in the mirror and grimaced, determined to change the subject.
       "I look bloody stupid."
       "You look gorgeous. Exactly the sort of thing Bedemnos likes best."
       Doyaal caught his partner's eyes in the mirror.
       "And you?"
       Beauday regarded him silently for a moment before turning away to hide the fear and yearning in his eyes. He folded his arms, lowered his head and began to pace. Doyaal shook his head sadly, and turned back to the mirror for a moment. And while he had to admit that the strings of smoky shimmering gems plaited into his mane and tail, and twisted into heavy, many-stranded bracelets for his wrists, looked good against his skin, they really weren't his sort of decoration - far too fussy, and uncomfortably heavy. He smiled to himself. Wearing a small fortune in gemstones and all he was worried about was how much they'd slow him down...

They'd tracked Bedemnos to Grinthas on Brith 6, not quite able to believe their luck. Of all the cities on all the civilised worlds, Grinthas was definitely the place for a stray slave to be picked up. Which might, of course, be the reason the slaver had travelled there in the first place.
       They slotted into orbit just hours after their quarry had arrived, and a short while after that the Prognopper - a genuine ambassador, who owed Koorlee a favour - was settled in the shuttle, awaiting the drop to the main spaceport. Too soon - far too soon for Beauday - it was time for Doyaal to join him.
       The hunter was, understandably, nervous. He hid it well, but it was impossible to keep his feelings from Beauday. It always was; his partner knew him too well. The heavy had gazed at him for some moments, then pulled him into a bone-creaking hug, burying his face in Doyaal's fiery, grass-scented mane.
       "Don't go." The hunter only just made out the murmured plea. He pulled back a little and rested his forehead against his partner's.
       "I have to. For you. For me. For everyone else that byastart has ever hurt..."
       Beauday was trembling, he realised. Really trembling, with a deepdown selfless absolute fear for his partner. He'd been there, and knew what Bedemnos could do. If they could have changed places, Beauday would have done so in an instant.
       "Come back to me. Come back whole."
       Doyaal only just heard the whispered words, tear-roughened as they were, and was awed yet again by the depth of the heavy's fiercely protective love. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the operation, and gently pulled back from Beauday's arms.
       "Think I'd leave you to manage by yourself? You can't even set the bloody alarm without waking up half the neighbourhood."
       The heavy snorted, half laughing, and ran his hand very gently down his partner's cheek.
       "I'll hold you to that!"
       "You're on..."

Beauday slapped the charge chamber into the maser and hauled himself upright, restlessly, his anxiety almost a living thing, coiling and griping in his guts.
       Five days. It had been five days.
       And nothing from Doyaal.
       Which meant that -

              1 - everything was going according to plan, or
              2 - Doyaal was hurt and incapable of making contact or
              3 - Doyaal was already dead.

       In which case, nothing mattered anyway.
       Beauday shook himself. Refusing to believe the worst. Refusing to accept anything but the first alternative...
       He knew, from first hand experience, that Bedemnos liked to toy with his prey: that his victims would be starved went without saying. First he terrified the unfortunate with threats, then lulled him - it was always a male - into a false sense of security with an apparent change of heart and a show of sympathy. Then came the physical violence, mild to start with, interspersed with periods of rest when he appeared to be quite friendly, keeping his captive off-balance. Later still came outright torture. The rapes didn't start until he'd either broken his victim's spirit or, as had happened with Beauday, grown tired of trying to do so.
       Beauday shuddered and pulled back from those memories, focussing on his partner instead. For all his apparent frailty, Doyaal was tough and wouldn't give in easily, which should guarantee his relative safety for a week or two.
       If Bedemnos hadn't changed his habits in the four years since he'd left Beauday to die on Fintiin Prime. The heavy fought down a sudden feeling of helpless panic and told himself that it was very unlikely. Psychopaths like Bedemnos didn't usually change.