Survivors.

by Jean Lorrah.

Chapter One.

THE PLANET WAS CALLED New Paris, for the emigrants from Earth who sought refuge in s.p.a.ce after the Post-Atomic Horror meant their new world to be a planet of light. They intended to found a society where people could be free, healthy, and happy, where the arts would flourish, where love would grow and hate wither.

Unfortunately, when New Paris was rediscovered by the United Federation of Planets in the Twenty-fourth Century, it was far more like the Paris portrayed by Victor Hugo than that depicted by Toulouse-Lautrec. The dream had died generations since; in the struggle first for survival and then for dominion, the inhabitants of New Paris had brought upon themselves the very fate their ancestors had risked their lives in fragile sub-light ships to escape.

In a city that had once been a model of the union of form and function to produce beauty and comfort, a fifteen-year-old girl huddled in the ruins left by The Last War. There were no more wars on New Paris that could destroy on that scale; today's ganglords held power by the strength of their bodies, their numbers, their fighting skills, or their control over food and drug supplies.

Ragged and filthy, the girl held in her arms the one comfort in her life, a ginger cat with whom she shared what food she could find or steal, who in turn kept the rats away from her while she slept-in fact allowed her to sleep, knowing the cat would wake her if anyone or anything came near. One time it had even sprung, yowling, on the neck of a man who was trying to kill the girl for the roasted fowl she had pilfered. It gave her the chance to get her knife out, and while the cat kept the attacker occupied, dispatch him. Needless to say, the cat shared generously in the girl's stolen feast that day.

But the cat, which she had never named because she knew nothing of the Earth custom of keeping pets and giving them names, could not help her now. She had been spotted by one of the rape gangs-and she was only too aware that this time they would not give up their pursuit.

The one and only time they had caught her, she had been barely twelve. That time, they had used her for their own amus.e.m.e.nt, then laughed at her and let her go. She was too young, too skinny, too hungry.

"We're throwin' ya back, gel. Grow up and get some bazooms! Then it'll be worth it t'feed yer hungry belly, 'cause there's allus geezers'll pay high fer fresh meat-an' you'll get nice clothes and lotsa pretties, and plenty o' joy dust t'keep ya happy."

That was when the girl learned to fight. There were girls in the gangs; in fact some gangs were made up of women and girls. But, as she had not been born into a gang, they would not have her while she was small and skinny, weak and hungry. The only way to join a gang was to prove your worth-and she had no worth, as the rape gang had just demonstrated. Well, she certainly didn't want to become valuable in their way! The only alternative was to become strong and skilled, so she could join the warrior women, and never worry about rape gangs again. She turned her shock and fear into anger, her anger into determination.

But determination was one thing; training was another. The girl had no connections with any of the gangs. Her mother had deserted her when she was only five, and the old woman who had taken pity on the starving child was a derelict who had outlived the rest of her own gang. She saw in the child someone to do petty thieving for her, and huddle with her against the cold at night. And perhaps most of all, someone to talk to. She had taught the girl the tricks of a cutpurse, simple lock-picking, and the very important skill of finding the way through the labyrinth of ruined buildings.

She taught the girl to read a little, to be able to decipher the occasional sign still legible in the cellars and tunnels that had survived the holocaust. To the street people of New Paris-the vast majority of the population-avoiding radioactive zones or finding the way through endless miles of identical corridors was the only use for understanding letters. There were no books in their world; any that might have survived had been burned many winters ago for whatever warmth they might provide. Newspapers were unheard of, for the wealthy druglords who lived high above the ruins exchanged their messages by runners or communications consoles. In those few tall buildings left standing, they kept some measure of leftover technology. None of the comcons in the streets below worked, nor electricity, nor plumbing. Such luxuries were only for the powerful few.

So at age twelve, the girl had no skills worth the trouble of a gang to feed and protect her-and so she set out to learn to protect herself. She had a weapon, the old woman's knife that was all her legacy, "And more than ever I got o' me own mother!" the girl had said upon finding her companion dead when she awoke one morning. She had not been able to make herself take her clothes, but had gone through the pockets. The old woman would have expected it. After all, she had no more use for the two coins, the sc.r.a.p of bread, the three pins, and that all-purpose knife, the blade honed to half its original width, left from her gang days.

But the day the rape gang found the girl, just two days after the old woman's death, the knife did her little good. Perhaps sorrow had made her careless, inattentive to the movements in the shadows. The knife was wrenched out of her hand by a laughing man who used it to force her to submit.

They had tied a hood over her head, so she could not see to fight, could not bite, could not see what was happening as she nearly suffocated while they took their turns at her. And then, when it was over, the leader pulled the hood off and scornfully tossed her knife down beside her, knowing she was too weak and terrified to use it.

She had learned from that experience. Care for a dead woman had let her be caught, so she would not think about anyone else, ever again. She made no attempt to befriend the packs of urchins who scorned her as "The ol' witch's slavey." She was no match for a man if he once got his hands on her, so she would learn to throw the knife, to kill from a distance. That she could teach herself, and did; within weeks she could hit a fixed target every time, and more and more often she skewered the rats she aimed at, even when they scurried in the dimness.

Some two years later, when she rescued the cat from a pack of wild children intent on setting its tail afire, it eased her loneliness a little. She didn't really care about the animal, she told herself, except that it was useful. Like her knife. That made it all right to feed the cat, stroke it, be comforted by its purring when she woke from restless dreams.

The way the children had scattered, despite the fact that they could have taken her by virtue of their sheer numbers, gave her confidence. The added wariness she had developed after her painful experience stood her in good stead as she picked locks and crept into the market at night to help herself to the best food, instead of trying to filch whatever she could, along with all the other urchins, in the daytime.

The rape gangs never took her again, although they pursued her. Twice, when she had eluded the bulk of them, one member continued to dog her. She doubled back and lay in ambush, killing silently with her knife, tossing the body down the bottomless shafts that were just another danger in the ruins. She grew bigger and stronger-and then her body betrayed her by blossoming a woman's curves, even though she remained thin and wiry.

It was time, she decided. She would approach one of the women's gangs, show them her skill with a knife, tell them of killing two rape gang members-offer to show them how she did it, for of course the women's gangs and the rape gangs were deadliest of enemies.

She set her sights on the h.e.l.lcats, who controlled four blocks of ruins and had electricity working in the building they lived in and guarded like a fortress. Surely, like all the buildings in the ruins, that fortress had rats. She planned to offer the cat along with herself, as a parcel, for in the rat-infested ruins a cat was a most valuable commodity. That was probably why the children had been so terrified when she caught them torturing it: she might have been part of a gang that would have punished them severely. Carefully, she rehea.r.s.ed her speech: how appropriate the cat would be as mascot for the h.e.l.lcats, how she herself had learned catlike stealth, how she could strike and kill her enemies-As she lay on her side with the cat perched on her shoulder, purring contentedly, the girl thought happily about tomorrow night. Instead of this pile of rags, she might have a real bed in the h.e.l.lcats' fortress. She wondered if they ate hot food every day. Her stomach rumbled and her mouth watered at the thought.

No, she mustn't think about food. Pickings had been lean lately. Even in the market, there wasn't much-so little of some items that she dared not take any, as there would not be enough left to rearrange to hide her pilfering.

So she thought about warm clothes to replace the ones falling off her growing body. She had had to tie front and back of the top of her garment together with bits of string, and it kept slipping down in front, barely covering the "bazooms" which now made her a valuable commodity to the rape gangs.

Some men had seen her today, and eyed her greedily, but she had slipped away, hoping they were not rape gang members. When they did not follow her, she a.s.sumed they were not. Still, being drooled over that way brought back the memory of being caught-She turned over, spilling the cat off her shoulder. It came back quietly as soon as she settled in a new position, purring again. The girl rubbed its head, taking comfort in its warmth, its softness, the way it pushed against her hand as if to say it would take care of her.

Suddenly the cat arched, sat up, then leaped off the girl, hissing and spitting.

She sat up-and saw a glimmer of light down the twisting corridor.

But she was not trapped; she had learned never to be without a bolt-hole.

She picked up the cat and scurried into an adjoining tunnel where she knelt, trembling. She tried to calm the cat, fearing it would run toward their hunters and be killed. When she felt secure that it would come with her out the other direction, she set it down headed the way she meant to go, whispering, "Now run! This place isn't safe at all." She took one final glance toward the corridor where she could see the lights, hear the men calling, taunting her-The ruins were a deathtrap at night, but there was no choice. She had to run, risk falling into one of the bottomless shafts- A hand closed on her shoulder.

She turned by reflex, shock seizing her gut as she recognized the leader of the rape gang, come in the back way- The cat leaped on him!

The man yelled, and the others came pounding in as the girl slashed her attacker's shoulder.

Instantly, she realized her mistake. She should have run out past him; she might have had a chance in the tunnels in the dark.

Revenge had cost her her chance-two men grabbed her from behind, while their leader captured the cat in a hammy hand, then wrested the knife from the girl and before her eyes gutted the only living being who cared for her.

She shrieked, struggled, bit, but it was no use. Again a hood was slipped over her head, drawn tight about her throat. Her hands were forced behind her back and manacled together, and she heard the man in front of her say, "We been watching' you, girl. You growed up nice an' purty. You'll fetch a good price, oncet we've had our own fun!"

Then she was picked up, slung over somebody's shoulder, as he continued, "Let's get outta here. Gotta get this cut fixed afore I do my playin'- an' don't you go gittin' no ideas 'bout havin' her first!"

Struggling was hopeless. Her only chance was to go limp, let them think she had pa.s.sed out. Save her strength. It wasn't all easy going-eventually her captor had to put her down and rest a moment. Even manacled and hooded, she jumped up and ran, barking her shins on something, hitting her head-Pain didn't matter! If she fell down a bottomless shaft, even death would be better than joy dust and a life of being used against her will. Enough joy dust, and she wouldn't care. Wouldn't care about anything, not even her own childlike her mother.

Although in her heart she knew it was hopeless, the girl used rage to keep fear at bay.

A foot was thrust into her path. She fell headlong, unable to catch herself. She turned her face sideways, but her cheek still impacted painfully with solid rock and she came to being partly carried, partly dragged up into the night air, chill against her skin. The man carrying her was swearing and sweating with the exertion, but it did nothing to warm her. Despite her best intentions, shock and fear took her. She shivered uncontrollably.

"Let's rest here," she heard the leader's voice. "d.a.m.n-I'm still bleedin'!"

The girl was dumped to the ground, but did not see the kick coming and so could not avoid it. It caught her in the ribs. She cried out in pain, and felt her trembling increase.

"Wa.s.samatter girl-you cold? Good! You made me suffer, you suffer. Shunta kicked ya-don't want no marks t'spoil yer price. But no reason you should be comfortable."

The girl felt the knife at her throat, but it didn't cut her skin. Instead, the strings holding the top of her garment were severed, and it dropped off. Then the knife was at her waistband, slitting the rest of her clothes, peeling them off as if he were skinning her, while the other men murmured approvingly. The memory of former pain and humiliation refused to be denied. The girl lost contact with her anger and shivered more and more violently- "What's going on here? What do you men think you're doing?" an authoritative voice rang out.

"Who're you?" the rape gang leader responded. Even through her shock and despair the girl heard astonishment and a hint of fear in his voice.

"My G.o.d!" said another voice, this one female. "They're raping her! Dare-stop them!"

"She's mine!" exclaimed the gang leader. "You got yer own woman!"

"Let her go," said the authoritative voice again. "She can tell us whether she's yours or not."

The strange voices were hard to understand; the girl had never heard anyone who spoke just like them before, even though they were speaking her language.

"Lookit!" said one of the gang members. "They got a purty woman, jewelry, an' technic stuff! There's only three of 'em-"

"Shut up! You want druglords' revenge?"

"Drop 'em down the pits. No one'll know. It's only three, Hafe! Look, man, that's gold they're wearin'!"

With her head covered, the girl could not tell exactly what happened, but she could guess that greed overcame fear, and the gang rushed the newcomers, intending to rob and kill them.

Grasping the unexpected chance, she began worming away from the sounds of the fight.

She heard a strange, high-pitched whirring sound, like nothing she had ever heard before, and thuds of bodies dropping, followed by gasps of fear and footsteps running ... away.

Hands touched her. She squirmed and kicked in terror.

"Hey-it's all right!" said the female voice. "We're not going to hurt you. You're safe now."

The hands were untying the hood, so the girl lay still, desperate to be free of it. "Oh, my G.o.d-it's just a little girl!" said the woman. "Honey, you're safe," she repeated. "We won't let them hurt you anymore."

There was light, not torch beams but some strange bright electric light that brought tears to the girl's eyes as she peered up at her new captors.

The woman was at her side, but the girl's eyes traveled past without taking her in, looking up, up long black-clad legs, past some sort of yellow-green pattern on his chest to the face of her new possessor.

To the terrified girl, it seemed a cruel face, staring into hers with eyes as dark and cold as the winter sky. Then the full lips parted, and compa.s.sion she a.s.sumed was false warmed his features as he squatted down beside her. "Poor little thing! Margie, can't you get her hands untied?"

"They're not tied," said the woman. "They're hand-cuffed."

"Can you talk?" the man asked. "Can you understand us?"

"I ... understand," the girl ventured warily. As her eyes got used to the light, she could see the bodies of at least four members of the rape gang lying sprawled within her range of vision. These were obviously very dangerous people. Had to be druglords.

"Good," the man said with warm approval. "We'll get those things off your hands, and then-But you're cold!" he said as a new wave of shivering coursed through the girl's body. He looked around, picked up the remains of her clothing and dropped it at once, dusting his hand against his thigh. Then he touched a glittering gold brooch on his chest. It made a chittering noise, and the girl jumped.

The man gave her a rea.s.suring smile, but what he said was not to her or to anybody there with them. "Adin here. I need a metal cutter and a blanket to these coordinates-and hurry. And send down a medic-preferably female. We've got a little girl here, a.s.sault case."

"Yes, sir," the brooch answered him.

"It's ... a comcon!" the girl said. "Innat teeny thing!"

"Yes, that's right," the man said. "And you know the word for it."

"Yah. But where's the wire?"

"Wire?"

"The wire the sound travels through," she explained. Did he think her so stupid she didn't know how comcons worked?

His lips parted again, this time as if he had suddenly discovered something. "So that's why we couldn't get a response on any frequency! They don't have wireless communications." He looked past the girl to the woman, a question in his eyes.

She lifted the technic thing hung over her shoulder and pointed it at the girl. It made a whirring sound, and something on it lit up. "Reads human," she said, "and the translator didn't kick in. That's why what these people say sounds strange: it's our language, changed just enough to sound different to us." She glanced meaningfully at the ruins around them. "Obviously, they once had a much higher level of technology, too. Dare, I think we've found a lost Earth colony."

"Thank G.o.d," he said. "That means we can take this poor child out of here."

"Dare, you can't-" the woman began, but was interrupted by yet another peculiar sound. A glittering glow appeared a small distance away, and the girl sat up in utter astonishment as out of nothingness coalesced a blanket with another technic thing on top of it.

The third member of this very strange gang brought both over, and the woman did something with the technic thing behind the girl's back. Suddenly her hands were free. Then the woman gently wrapped the blanket around her. It was wonderfully soft, clean, whole. The girl pulled it tight just as the glittering glow appeared again-and this time turned into another woman!

"I'm Dr. Munson," she introduced herself. "We won't hurt you, child." She held up a small silver thing. "This instrument will tell me how badly you've been hurt."

The girl backed off, wondering where the woman meant to stick the thing, but she only pointed it. It made a soft whirring as she held it near different parts of the girl's body. Then the woman looked at it and said, "A slight concussion, one broken rib, contusions, and shock are her immediate problems. But Mr. Adin, you were right to call me. She's malnourished, needs extensive dental work, and is suffering from both internal and external parasites. Please note that the latter means we all go through full decontamination when we beam up."

"No protest on that, Doctor," replied the man that, confusingly, this woman addressed as "Mr. Adin," but the other woman called "Dare." It must mean, the girl reasoned, that one was his name and the other his t.i.tle; he must be the leader of this gang. He rubbed his hand against his clothes again as he asked, "Is it all right for me to ask her some questions before you take her to sickbay?"

"Take her to-?" The woman's eyes widened, her tone of voice a protest.

The other woman said, "The girl and the men we chased off speak a variant of our language. It's an Earth colony, Doctor."

Doctor looked around. Dawn was just breaking, revealing the ruined city. "I can see why your first instinct is to beam the child up, Mr. Adin, but we'll have to have the Captain's permission, and also that of her parents."

Silently, the girl absorbed that. So Mr. Adin/Dare was not the gang leader; he answered to someone else. She had to leave off puzzling that out as Doctor turned to her. "Do your parents know where you are, child? They must be worried sick."

"Parents?" the girl asked.

"Mother. Father. Your family."

"Got no family," the girl replied sullenly. Actually, she had no idea whether her mother was even alive, although she doubted it. Hooked on joy dust, she probably didn't survive more than a year after abandoning her child.

"Who takes care of you?" asked Mr. Adin.

"Take care o' myself!"

He studied her, obviously wanting to ask something else but saying instead, "My name is Darryl Adin. My friends call me Dare. What's your name?"

"Tasha," the girl replied. It sounded strange; no one had spoken her name since the old woman died.

"Tasha," said Darryl Adin. "Pretty name for a pretty girl."

"Don't wanta be pretty!" the girl told him angrily. " 'Tracts the rape gangs!"

"Rape gangs!" exclaimed Doctor. "What sort of place is this?"

"Not exactly the ideal planet for sh.o.r.e leave," Darryl Adin replied. Then he returned to his questioning. "Tasha, do you have another name?"

Tasha thought rapidly. This was a very, very powerful gang. It had more technic things than she had ever seen, and this man, obviously important in gang ranking even if he wasn't the leader, wanted to take her with him. She knew what that meant, had known the moment he said she was pretty.

How was she to escape, when they had weapons to defeat a whole rape gang without any of them so much as being cut? Tasha was exhausted, and still cold despite the blanket. She couldn't fight them, so the best thing was to cooperate. For now.

There were women in this gang, and they appeared to be treated with respect. Maybe she could gain the same respect.

Doctor had said things that suggested Tasha's injuries would be cared for. And Darryl Adin had told her to take the girl to someplace called Sickbay. Maybe he didn't want her with a black eye and broken rib-she remembered what the rape gang leader had said about not marking her. Druglords were particular about their women.