He laughed, a dry, rustling sound. “I know, right? Seriously, though… one of our privateer scouts, a Valkyrie named Sigrid, was cruising the indent camps on Korse, looking for potential talent that the press-gangs might have missed. She spotted this one in an orc Storm trooper training camp. She was holding her own, too. Hiding her gender by using constant latrine scrubbing punishments to clean up alone. And of course, young gremlins and goblins look damned similar to anyone that’s not a goblinoid. It’s a survival trait for them.”
“How young?” I asked, a cold knot forming in my gut. This was veering into territory that violated about a dozen fleet regulations and a few universal moral codes.
Mike shrugged, but the gesture was tense. “Young enough that I am seriously considering washing her out and giving her a medical discharge. Not a child by our terms—her documents, such as they are, put her in her early twenties. But among the long-lived races? She’s just past puberty. The reason the medic at processing missed her sex was because her neo-screening showed almost zero adult hormones. They were convinced she was a neuter. The reality is she’s about the equivalent of a twelve-year-old base human, biologically. A child soldier who doesn’t know she’s a child.”
He leaned forward, his voice dropping even though the room was shielded. “To be honest, the only reason I haven’t given her a ticket to one of the core worlds and a hefty stipend is that she’s also as smart as hell. She basically fooled an entire recruiting station’s command structure into passing her through basic training. If we cut her loose out here on the rim, especially while she’s maturing… in two years, she’d just be another one of the Caliphate’s bond slaves. Pretty, powerful, and utterly enslaved.”
“Bond slaves?” The term was archaic, vile.
He nodded, his face grim. “Yeah. Which is why Admiral Timur himself got her fast-tracked out of the orc-dominated 132nd and into a goblinoid unit. Why she wound up here. Apparently, there’s an entire protected colony on Korse that gets hit by mercs for press-gangs every few years under the ‘economic evasion’ act. Timur’s the AIC attache for the entire rim fleet. He’s been trying to shut that pipeline down for a decade.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“And they shanghai little girls? That’s seriously illegal. That’s not a press-gang, that’s trafficking,” I said, the paladin in me rising up, furious and disgusted.
He shook his head, a world-weary gesture. “The entire Maenad species is female. They breed true with other human types. Boys are the father’s race, girls are Maenads. The slavers round them up as ‘gremlins,’ hang onto them for a few years to ‘ripen’ and finally look like women, and then sell them on the open market to the highest bidder. And they are perfect slaves, by their twisted metrics. Heavy-worlder physiology, fiercely loyal once bonded, and usually incredibly gifted in multiple affinities. A status symbol and a WMD all in one.”
“This one is no exception,” Mike continued, “but she was a late bloomer. She passed as a goblin, and they sent her to boot for the bounty. Apparently, she was wearing some kind of pheromone-retardant coveralls her folks cooked up to try and help her escape the press gangs and avoid… well, disturbing some of the native essence beasts when she was picked up. Wound up in a beanstalk capsule with a bunch of orcs who thought she was just a runty, ugly greenskin.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face, the stubble rough against my palm. The pieces were clicking into place, forming a picture that was both tragic and terrifying. “So what are we supposed to do about… her?” The word ‘her’ felt heavy, weighted with responsibility.
He shrugged. “It’s not the first time they’ve sent females through this school. Usually, they’re weeded out early. Thing is, if the general population finds out she’s a girl, and a Maenad, she might get ‘bonded’ early by some enterprising bastard with a strong will and no morals. And that’s where you come in.”
“Me?” The cold knot in my stomach tightened. I knew what was coming. Paladins are drawn to injustice like moths to a flame; it’s in our code. Mike was striking a match.
Mike nodded. “Yeah, Paladin. You have decent aura control when you choose to exercise it instead of trying to smother the whole scrotting class with your grumpy old man vibe. There’s a reason Maenads were historically called ‘Paladin Triggers.’ A strong aura, veteran level, decent karma… Maenads can be force-bonded with rape, a vile but effective method, but they gravitate towards guys like you. It’s a natural, spiritual attraction. The problem is, she was right… with a few tools, she could probably take you apart and put you together better than new. And if that happens through a natural bond, you’d be blessing every minute of it. You’d be whole again, Dave. And she’d be tied to you for life.”
I sighed, the sound full of exhaustion and the weight of the inevitable. “Let me guess. This is the part where you say ‘Your mission, if you choose to accept it…’”
Mike’s grin was sharp and without humor. “Yeah. This room’s shielded right now. This has to be kept beyond the strictest confidence.”
