"On the Leash"

[OdileCondacin 0]

O'd'yl, formerly of Condacin, sat rather uncomfortably perched on a bench, focused most unintently on a case of filthy test tubes. They didn't retain their old labels, which worried the Xenexian. After all, the Elasians didn't exactly give their slaves protective gloves, and gods only knew what toxins and abrasives had been stored in them.

 

Warmth at her back was her first clue that she was no longer alone. The second clue was the voice directly in her ear. "Boo."

 

"I'm not frightened," she announced flatly, turning to the arrival. "sir."

 

"Of course not, pretty pet," he replied, tugging lightly at a strand of her hair. "After all, you're the fierce Xenexian warrior woman."

 

She continued her scrubbings, ignoring him for a moment. "Fierce" was right. "Xenexian" was accurate. "Warrior" was correct, and perhaps most appealing to the trash, "woman" was dead-on. Was she supposed to disagree, or otherwise apologize for part of said correctness? Or verbally and haughtily agree, and likely be smacked? O'd'yl selected silence.

 

He picked up one of the cleaned test tubes and eyed it critically. "Of course, based on this, I think lazy, careless, useless slave is more accurate." He tossed the tube back into the case of dirty ones.

 

"I already cleaned that," she remarked, reaching back into the case and withdrawing the tube without so much as a glance at either

implement or Elasian.

 

"If that's what you call clean, slave, it might be worth taking you to medical." He caught her chin and forced her to look at him. "Clearly those golden orbs are failing."

 

Unblinking, she stared back at him. "I think not. They see you plainly enough, and you are but a speck on this ship."

 

His fingers tightened painfully on her jaw. "Speck? You piece of Xenexian filth, how dare you speak to an Elasian like that? You should be grateful to have a place on this ship, with food and clothes. You could be like the rest of your people, dirty, half-naked animals grubbing in the streets for scraps."

 

She shrugged as best as she could under his grip. "If I might disagree? They aren't the beasts you seem to think," she replied, deceptively diplomatic.

 

"They are what I say they are, slave," he snapped, leaning down to bring his face inches from hers.

 

"Of course they are. And you have both the background and the power to back that up," she replied, sarcastically.

 

In one fluid movement, he released her and straightened up, then drew back his arm and slapped her across the face.

 

Recomposing herself from the blow, the Xenexian looked up at him once more. "Brute force? From such a philosopher and analyst? I am thinking that I should be shocked, but I'm lacking that sentiment at present."

 

He glared at her coldly. "Clearly, you are not nearly as smart as I thought you were. This --" he waved a derisive hand at the dirty glassware "-- must be almost beyond your abilities."

 

She stared at him dumbly, doing her best to appear absolutely moronic. "It must be at that, Sir."

 

"You could have a patron, pet," he told her, twining his hand in her hair. "A protector. Someone who would see to it that you don't waste yourself on jobs like this. Someone who would keep the others on the ship from hurting you. But no..." He shook his head. "No, you have to insult and atagonize your betters."

 

"I do not want your patronage. I do not want the Regent's patronage, nor do I wish for the patronage of any other Elasian. I merely to be left alone to my cleaning."

 

He sneered at her. "As you wish, then, slave. And if you take so much pleasure in it..." With one sweep he knocked all of the clean glassware back into the case. You may start again. And this time, clean them properly." She spoke quietly, belying her frustration. "Those were cleaned properly, Sir. I ask you not involve yourself in matters not your affair."

 

"One swipe with a dirty rag doesn't make them clean." He smirked lazily, folding his arms across his chest. "Even a slave as blind and stupid as you should be able to tell that."

 

"Surely insults are beneath you. Most of the other men on this ship can do without."

 

"It's not an insult if it's true, pet."

 

"I am not," she whispered through tightly closed teeth, "your pet."

 

A wicked smile grew on his face. "Sweet pet," he said, sauntered closer to her. "Pretty pet." One hand stroked her hair, a little too firmly to be pleasant. "Tame pet."

 

One fist balled at her side, and the Xenexian dug dull nails into her palm to keep from unleashing the blow due the scum. "Please, stop now."

 

"All you need is a little collar and leash to complete the picture," he told her, stooping to whisper in her ear. "Cute little pet walking to heel."

 

She turned her head to his, drawing back slightly out of disgust. "Do you have a deathwish, Elasian?"

 

The smile remained on his lips, but his eyes darkened. "You seem to," he replied. "Remember which of us is the slave, Xenexian." He spat the word as though it were an obscenity.

 

She pretended to think about it for a moment before nodding. "Is it me?" Her face brightened slightly in a farce. "I do so love fifty-fifties. I seem to have good luck guessing the correct answer!"

 

"Good for you," growled the Elasian. "Now, perhaps you'd like to guess whether or not you'll wind up getting yourself whipped?"

 

"No, you wouldn't have the nerve to lay a whip across a slave your Lord Regent hand-selected."

 

"I won't need to, if he hears of this."

 

She silently chided herself, bringing her temper down a level. "Is that necessary?"

 

"You tell me.... pet."

 

"No." It was unclear, from her voice, whether it was an answer, or a tired reprimand for the continuation of the 'title's' usage.

 

He placed a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up. "If you were sweeter, pet, we could put this behind us."

 

"Sweet?" she asked, disbelievingly. "I think you mistake me for the Risan that I saw wandering about the other day."

 

Shaking his head sadly, he stepped back. "And here I was beginning to think you were clever after all. Best get back to work, pet; the Regent will want to see you soon, I'm sure." He waved jauntily at her as he turned away.

 

She didn't reply, just sat there, annoyed, a trifle insulted, and most of all, starting to worry just a bit about the oft-malevolent concept of repercussions.

 

(Many thanks to my cowriter, Colonel Harper, for playing the Elasian baddie. :-) )