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.The no-ship’s winding corridors were wide enough to accommodate the movement of heavy machinery such as Guild Navigator tanks.Built out in the Scattering, much of the vessel’s design was driven by needs and pressures that were no longer relevant.Support struts curved overhead like the ribs of a huge prehistoric beast.Adjoining passages plunged off at angles.Storage chambers and unoccupied quarters were dark, and most of the doors to the main passenger areas were sealed but not locked.With only their own refugees aboard, the escaping Bene Gesserits rarely felt the need for locks.But something was here.Something dangerous.Inside her head, the voices from Sheeana’s past clamored for her to be careful.Then they backed off into necessary mental silence so that she could concentrate.She sniffed the air, took two steps farther down the hall, and stopped as the warning instinct grew more potent.Danger here!One of the storeroom doors was dark and almost closed, but not quite sealed.The tiny crack was just wide enough that an observer hiding within could keep watch on anyone who passed by.There! That was where the scent of blood came from, and a rank, musky, animal smell.Intent on her discovery, she could not hide her reaction.The door burst open, and a muscular dynamo stood there naked, pale flesh dusted with reddish-brown hair, a mouth widened to accommodate thick, tearing fangs.The muscles beneath the tight skin were as tight as coiled shigawire.One of the Futars! His curved claws and dark lips were stained with a bright splash of fresh blood.With all the force of Voice she could put behind a single word, Sheeana snapped, “Stop!”The Futar froze as if a leash around his neck had suddenly been yanked taut.In the bright corridor light, Sheeana stood motionless, non-threatening.The creature glared at her, his lips drawn back to expose long teeth.She used Voice again, though she was aware that these creatures might have been bred to resist known Bene Gesserit skills.Sheeana cursed herself for not spending more time studying the beasts to understand their motivations and vulnerabilities.“Do not harm me.”The Futar remained poised for attack, a bomb ready to explode.“You Handler?” He took a deep sniff.“Not Handler!”In the dim storeroom that the Futar had chosen for his den, Sheeana caught a glimpse of white flesh and torn dark robes.She saw pale fingers curled toward the ceiling, loose, in a repose of death.Who had it been?Until now, the four captive Futars had been surly and restless, but not murderous.Even when they had been held prisoner by the Honored Matres—their natural prey—they had not killed the whores, because apparently they would not act without instructions from their true masters.Handlers.But after their rough treatment by the Honored Matres, and then years of being held in the brig of the no-ship, could the Futars be breaking down? Even the harshest inbred training could grow fuzzy around the edges, allowing “accidents.”Sheeana focused on her adversary, forcing herself not to see the creature as something unstable or broken.Don’t underestimate him! At the moment she could not concern herself with how the creature had escaped from its high-security brig cell.Had all four broken free to roam the halls, or was this the only one?In a careful gesture, she lifted her chin and turned her head to one side, baring her throat.A natural predator would understand the universal signal of submission.The Futar’s need for dominance, to be the leader of a pack, required him to accept the gesture.“You are a Futar,” Sheeana said.“I am not one of your old Handlers.”He crept forward to draw a deep sniff.“Not Honored Matre either.” He growled, a low, bubbling sound that demonstrated his hatred for the whores who had enslaved him and his comrades.But Bene Gesserit Sisters were something else entirely.Even so, he had killed one.“We are your caretakers now.We give you food.”“Food.” The Futar licked blood from his dark lips.“You asked us for sanctuary on Gammu.We rescued you from the Honored Matres.”“Bad women.”“But we are not bad.” Sheeana remained motionless, nonthreatening, facing the coiled danger of the Futar.As a child she had confronted a giant sandworm and shouted at it, heedless of her peril.She could do this.She made her voice as soothing as possible.“I am Sheeana.” She spoke in a lilting, hushed voice.“Do you have a name?”The creature growled—at least she thought it was a growl.Then she realized that the confined rumble in his larynx was actually his name.“Hrrm.”“Hrrm.Do you recall when you came to this no-ship? When you escaped from the Honored Matres? You asked us to take you away.”“Bad women!” the Futar said again.“Yes, and we saved you.” Sheeana edged closer.Though she wasn’t entirely sure of its efficacy, she controlled her body chemistry to increase her scent, trying to match some of the markers exuded by the Futar’s musk glands.She made sure he smelled that she was female, not a threat.Something to protect, not attack.She was also careful not to give off any odor of fear, to keep this predator from thinking of her as its prey.“You shouldn’t have escaped from your room.”“Want Handlers.Want home.” With a longing in his feral eyes, Hrrm glanced back at the dark storage room where the torn body of the hapless Sister lay.Sheeana wondered how long Hrrm had been feeding on the corpse.“I need to take you back to the other Futars.You must stay together.We protect you.We are your friends.You must not hurt us.”Hrrm grumbled.Then, taking a big chance, Sheeana reached out and touched his hairy shoulder.The Futar stiffened, but she stroked carefully, seeking pleasure centers along his vivid nerves.Though startled by her attentions, Hrrm did not draw away.Her hands drifted upward, moving with a gentle intensity.Sheeana touched Hrrm’s neck, then behind his ears.The Futar’s suspicious growl became a sound more like a purr.“We are your friends,” she insisted, applying just a hint of Voice to reinforce it [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]