Chapter 8:
Clara deliberately took her time setting up a table, keeping the closed light lit as she thought about what Renall had told her. How had he done it? How had he gone from being a slave in a mine to being the incredibly wealthy being that he was then?
It was mind-boggling.
No wonder he treated his people so fairly,she mused as she hit the light to signal her table was open for play. He was fair, even if she railed against the fact that so much of what she earned had to go to satisfy so many debts she had run up just by speaking for her family, and then Dana’s.
Not that she was paying much in the way of debt to Dana and her daughters. The women were accomplished and the clothing they made wonderful. The Gurley girls gleefully bought the creations and the profits were already piling up and eradicating their debts to Renall.
The table filled. The game began. Clara pushed thoughts of Renall away, knowing she had to concentrate hard now.
The day waxed and waned. Night set in, signaled by the thinning of the air and the gathering of larger crowds. The wine flowed freely, as did the harder spirits. The Gurley girls ended their shifts, and fresh dancers came onto the stage. Clara was engrossed in a table that was made up of either the very wealthy or the very stupid; she was not sure which. The stakes were incredibly high. Nearly thirty thousand credits were on the table, and she had what was a good hand, but not a winner. Still, the house percentage would be high too. She folded then dealt swiftly, knowing the end was coming. All but four players were gone now. Two were hanging in out of sheer stubborn determination.
Clara knew a rube when she saw one and worry began to set in when the last three players took the next ante. The creature, one she’d never seen before, shook all over, it was so excited. It was humanoid only slightly, with a long face peeking out from around a boxy-framed skull and with four arms and three legs, one of which was off center and appeared to be more appendage than actual limb.
It was clearly over its head but not letting go.
The Habbit that had been at her table the night before called, laid his cards, and came up with a full house. The Outlander from Orbitary slapped his down and came up with a full house, two but his face cards were higher in value, and he had three-eyed kings while the Habbit had two-eyed queens. Clara looked at the creature. “Your down.”
The creature shrieked. The noise, a whining and thin cry, cut through the din. It rang against her eardrums, setting them to throbbing. A sliver of pain crashed into her skull, right between her eyes, blinding her.
The Habbit stood, one hand already going to its laser. The Outlander was on his feet too. The shriek kept going. All over the hall people were slapping their hands over their ears, and Clara did the same but she couldn’t get that scream out of her skull now that it had lodged there. Pain rolled through her, bringing queasy sickness.
Renall appeared, flanked by security, all with drawn lasers. Renall snapped, “Lay them down.”
The creature flung the cards, still shrieking as it did so. Clara’s eyes filled with tears that ran down her face. The sickness spread, floated up toward her teeth. The creature stopped the shriek and shouted, “It cheated in their favor!”
It directed another burst of that sound, and right at Clara! The noise scraped past her white-knuckled fingers. Agony stole over her. Darkness swam in. Pain lanced across her entire body, and she went limp, unable to stay upright in the face of that onslaught.
The Habbit drew, but it was too late. The security officer fired. The creature fell dead to the floor in a spill of bile and organs. The sound stopped, but the pain stayed. Clara retched and gagged. The Outlander grabbed her. She heard his voice come from around the edges of the pain. “That damned Terristal scraped her skull good.”
Clara sagged lower in the chair. Arms went around her. She closed her eyes, but a wild careening and looping sensation swallowed her up, making the vomit rise higher. Acid burned her throat.
Renall said, “It’s all right. I have you.’
His arms lifted her from her seat. Her limbs would not move. All over the floor beings lifted themselves and spoke in low whispers. The dead thing stayed dead, she was glad to see.
Renall carried her out of the hall and into the dim and quiet hallway. The pain began to abate but other things set in. His arms, so strong and long, felt so good on her body. He carried her so easily that she nestled closer, reveling in the feel of smooth muscles working and flowing beneath his tunic as he toted her up the stairs and down the hall that led to her chamber, calling for wine and a compac-press.
In her chamber, he deposited her on the bed and leaned over her. His scent filled her nostrils. She gazed up at him, unable to move still.
Wine and the compac-press arrived. Renall took it and sent the indentured one who had brought it away. His hands were tender as he lifted her from the hard pillows and held the cup to her mouth. “Slow,” he said softly.
She took a few shallow sips. Her eyes closed again. She was sure she was about to throw up, but the wine stayed down and settled her trembling stomach too.
The compact-press met her forehead, cooling it and shredding away the last of the pain there in her skull. Her eyes still watered and ran though. She mumbled, “What was that thing?”
His lips flattened. “A Terestrial.”
She managed to pry her eyes open. “What did it do to me?”
“Skull scraped you. They can focus that voice of theirs to one person. At first, it stunned the room, but then it just went after you.”
“I’ll say.”
Renall leaned back over her. His cool fingers met her wan cheeks. Desire worked its way back through her yet again despite the miserable feeling left from the skull scrape.
His eyes met hers and held. She drew a shuddering breath. Desire grew, intensifying. His mouth came down on hers, demanding and fierce. Their tongues met and danced. Clara’s fingers went to his hair. The scrape of his beard across the lower half of her face was exciting and sexy.
