“It’s all right, doc.” Greta said, shocking Beth. To Niktus, she said, “May I speak to her alone?” He nodded.
“Kill the U.T.,” she told Beth, who pressed the button to mute the unit.
“You can’t possibly want to do this,” Beth said.
“No, listen. Our plan relies on us getting the bag—or at least the phasers. If I’m there, I’ll have a much better chance of doing that. Besides, I’m kinda the third wheel here, if you know what I mean.”
Beth reddened again. Yet what she said made sense. She didn’t like it, but if they were to escape and get back to the pod, they had to work fast—and smart. Finally, she nodded. “OK. You’re right. But I don’t like the look of that Gorshun. He could be a real bastard.”
“I hope I’m not there long enough to find out,” Greta said. She was thinking something else entirely. Being around Niktus and Beth, listening to their wild couplings, made Greta envious. If she got laid while on her mission to recover the phasers, well, it was a small sacrifice to pay, she decided. Her loins pulsed at the thought.
Allyson sat behind the desk, crude marker in hand, adding up columns of figures while Pitus stood over her shoulder, watching intently.
“According to this, you took in 322 quitnums last month—but you spent 353. Not good,” she told the huge man.
He frowned when the U.T. translated her words. “Are you sure? Is this some slave trick?”
She shoved the paper at him. “See for yourself. Don’t take my word for it.”
He looked over the figures. From his expression, Ally could tell they didn’t make a lot of sense to him. Like the 16th century people of Earth, most were illiterate, yet many could manage numbers in order to trade goods. Ally guessed that Pitus probably kept track of his business in his head and never wrote anything down because he couldn’t.
Now he was being confronted by his lowly slave, and told that he was losing money. A Baktu’s pride is second only to his greed and Pitus was facing that dilemma directly. If he got mad and punished this upstart slave as his instinct told him to do, he would continue to lose money.
His greed won out. “What would you do?”
“If it were me, I’d either raise my rates, or cut my expenses.”
“What you mean, expeenses?” Apparently it didn’t translate well.
“Well, look at this,” she said, pointing. “You spent 88 quitnums on food for you and your staff. That’s going to go up because you bought me. That’s one-third your expenses. Do you really need four slaves to run this hotel? I spent most of the day sweeping—there was nothing else to do. Why not sell one or two slaves and cut down on slave ownership costs?” In her head, she was thinking, I won’t be around, so you’ll save on my food bill.
Pitus pursed his lips.
“You could raise your rates a little and charge your guests more for food and you’d have a lot more money,” Ally went on, knowing that the more times she mentioned “money,” the better off she was.
“You, uh, help me fix?”
Ally smiled. “Yes, as long as you treat me well. For example, no sex with the guests.”
His eyes narrowed. He looked the naked woman up and down. Allyson could tell he was remembering her from her exposed position yesterday. After Beth left, he had moved his loincloth aside, exposing his rock-hard cock and rubbed it against her dripping pussy. Ally, still in the glow of her orgasm from Niktus, didn’t struggle when he pressed the tip into her. She merely sighed and tried to adjust as best she could. When he plunged into her, she came again immediately with an even more powerful climax. For a huge man, his cock seemed just the right size.
Pitus stroked in and out rapidly until he came in a rush, braying like a mule. Ally felt his sperm gush out of her when he pulled back. His attitude changed then. He untied her and seemed to treat her with more deference.
Was I that good? she wondered. Regardless, she was able to use her sex—and her smarts—to show Pitus her value. Still, it was hard for the man to admit a woman—a mere slave—might have more talents than he did.
Ally waited, watching him decide, then held up the sheet, showing him his profits eroding away. Finally, he sighed and nodded. Another seven-foot tree, felled by a short, but smart and sexy woman.
“All right. But you no tell others. They get angry, get lazy.”
Ally waited until his back was turned before she smiled and stuck out her tongue.
Chapter 27
Kate and her two companions rested by the trail. Sulala and Lilani weren’t tired, but Kate was exhausted. She had been in decent shape when she left Earth, and assumed seven months asleep affected her more than she realized. Kate could also tell she was also about to get her period, dammit. It made her irritable. It also made her wonder. Do the women here get periods too? Are we that much alike?
She asked, tentatively, feeling a little ridiculous and was surprised to hear Sulala confirm that women here also bled regularly. They even had a name for PMS, horanga, which roughly translated into “slave’s anger.”
As they sat, Kate thought of ways she might ask them to help her understand how backwards people like the Baktu could overpower one to three people armed with phasers. She couldn’t explain the weapons to the women; they wouldn’t understand. Yet she knew the answer would be key to helping her rescue her crew instead of ending up just another prisoner.
“Besides their size, what makes men have such control over women?”
“They are very strong. We can’t fight them.” Sulala said.
“Don’t they ever fight amongst themselves or with men from other tribes? How do they overcome them?”
“Oh, they expert at paratan,” Lilani said.
“Pa-what? Paratan? What does that mean?”
“Hunting. Throwing rocks,” Sulala put in.
“What? They hunt by throwing rocks?” Kate was dumbfounded.
“Yes, many are quite good. That is why they are better hunters than we are. We throw like girls.”
“They throw rocks hard enough and accurate enough to knock down an animal?”
The native women nodded.
Jeez, no wonder Ally and the others had trouble. And I had to send her down alone!
“But we are learning,” Sulala said. “That’s how the hunting party you saw captured the tomlatka.”
Kate remembered the small, furry animal that had looked like a raccoon. It wasn’t much of a meal for the entire camp. “You don’t use spears?”
“If we can,” Sulala said. “But animals too fast. Rocks work best—if you can hit them in right spot—like in head.”
“So the men can hit a small animal in the head while it is on the run?”
“Yes. I have learned some. I show you.” The camp chief gathered up a few small rocks and stood. “That tree with the broken branch? See it?”
Kate nodded. The slender tree was about forty feet away. The trunk looked like a soda straw from this distance. Sulala whipped her arm in a sidearm motion. Kate watch the rock whiz past the tree, missing by a couple of inches.
“Ahh. I’m out of practice,” she said. Her next rock thumped into the center of the trunk.
“May I try?” Kate had to see just how hard this was. She had skipped many a rock with her father at the pond behind their house in San Antonio. Taking a rock, Kate tried to use that same sidearm motion that she recalled from her youth. The rock missed the tree by three feet.
“Shit! That’s hard.” She tried again, adjusting her aim. The second shot missed on the other side, although by a closer margin.
“Not bad for first try,” Sulala said. “Keep practicing. You will do better.”
“The men are really good at this?” It was hard for her to believe.
“Yes. They have contests. There is one slave trader that travels through woods. He can hit a bird on a branch from fifteen lumniks. Many of my girls have been recaptured by this man and his partner. He hits them in head, foot—wherever he wants.”