by Viki Storm
I don’t tell her that after she reaches the age of infertility she will be reassigned to another job. I don’t tell her because a calm comes over me.
This is not going to happen to her.
“Anax?” the Grand Elder says.
“No,” I say.
And that one word changes the rest of my life.
I don’t care. I can’t do it. This Phurusian system is disgraceful. They talk about efficiency and everyone fulfilling their proper role in order to best contribute to society, but so many of their policies are hedonistic and self-serving. Like taking this exquisite, rare human and debasing her like a common whore. It’s like using a priceless tapestry to wipe your ass.
She’s alone and pitiful, removed from her home, and her new status in life is greatly diminished from what it once was.
Just like me.
And all the other Kenorians after our home planet was decimated.
“It will be okay,” I amend, whispering softly so no one can hear. “Trust me. I’ll get you out of here.”
“For the love of never-ending Blackness,” Herko says. Herko is another mercenary, working on Phuru to capture convicts just like me. He has a cruel streak and enjoys the work. “I’ll do it if you’re too soft. Grand Elder, may I?”
“Of course,” the Grand Elder says. “Strip her, collar her, and take her to the Senator. Use her as you will, but do not pollute her womb with your barbaric seed.”
“Understood,” Herko says with a sycophantic smile.
The few Kenorian mercenaries on Phuru are second-class citizens on this planet, spurned openly for what the Phurusians perceive to be our lack of intellect. Because we are physically strong and agile, mentally tough and disciplined, the Phurusians can’t imagine that we also possess high-level intellect. How wrong they are. The Kenorian body is a temple, a reflection of the minds that we train as hard as we train our bodies. Kenorians are allowed certain privileges in Phuru society and banned from others. Like the pleasure slaves. We are ‘allowed’ to couple with the pleasure slaves as long as we do not penetrate the vagina. We are consigned to the other unnatural orifices to prevent accidental breeding. Kenorian DNA is strong, every trait dominant. If we were to impregnate a Phurusian or human female, the offspring would be, for all intents and purposes, a Kenorian.
And the Phurusians fear us. Fear our population rebuilding. Two-score Kenorian warriors could overthrow this entire society.
But there are not even that many of us left. Not anymore.
“Christ, just get this over with,” Brooke says. She starts taking her clothes off, flinging the garments to the ground haphazardly. “Here, I’ll help you along.” She unzips her skirt and wiggles it down around her waist. I don’t know why, but I’m not prepared for the small undergarments underneath her shirt and skirt. She wears a tight-fitting apparatus around her breasts, ostensibly to hold them tight during vigorous movement, and the little fabric thing under her skirt hides her sex and makes me desire seeing it all the more.
“I promise you,” I say, struggling to keep my voice low.
Herklo rises from the audience pews and approaches Brooke. “Not so fast,” he says. “Let me have the honor.”
“You think I’m stupid enough to trust the asshole who brought me here?” she says to me. But she’s keeping her voice low, too, so she at least has enough hope to maintain the conspiratorial tone.
“I’m not like them,” I say. More to myself than to her.
She makes a dismissive noise with her lips.
Herklo reaches for her and unfastens the clasp at the back of her chest-harness. She casts the undergarment to the ground with spite. Herklo reaches for her again, but the sight of another male with his hands on her has done something strange to me.
It’s as if something inside me has been jarred awake by a rude hand. A cog has slipped into place, and the machinery is now running smoothly.
This female is mine.
I put my hands around her hips. It’s involuntary. It’s like there’s ferrous metal inside her and my hands are made of magnets.
“Hurry up and get me out of here,” she whispers. Her eyes plead with mine, and I know that I will do everything in my power to get her out of this trouble. It’s my fault she’s here, so it’s my responsibility to keep her safe.
Even if she is a murderer, I remind myself.
But at this moment, I don’t care. So what if she is a murderer? It’s not like I’ve never spilled blood in battle before. If she kills someone, she probably has a good reason.
“I will,” I say. And I mean it.
This female, she is not just a convict that I feel sorry for.
This female, I think she might be my arlo jzumak—my bonded mate.
It’s absurd. The stuff of legends. When was the last time a Kenorian had a bonded mate? A hundred years or more.
Have I lost my mind? Am I delusional? Self-absorbed? Why do I think that after centuries, after our planet was destroyed, that the Fates would see fit to bestow a mate upon me?
Then again, the Fates do have a streak of cruelty, as we all know. What’s crueler than gifting a warrior a mate who has just been sentenced to a lifetime of reproductive servitude?
That’s okay. Kenorians like a challenge.
She’s in my arms, and everything feels perfect, like this moment was supposed to happen.
Then Herklo snaps the collar around her neck and yanks away that scrap of fabric covering her sex.
She’s nude, collared and in my arms. But I will get her away, despite the collar. Once activated, I have no idea how to deactivate and remove it. The collars are equipped with biological monitoring to scan for health problems, geopositional tracking—and a self-destruct feature.
If the user tries to remove it, a small explosive charge will ignite, vaporizing the convict immediately.
Did I say I like a challenge? I take it back.
“Dismissed,” the Grand Elder says.
“Change your mind?” Herklo says. “We can both take her at the same time, if you want. Human females like that sorta thing. Isn’t that right?” he asks her. “Want two hard cocks at the same time? One in your mouth and one in your ass?”
That’s when I take Brooke by the hand and start to walk as fast as possible without arousing suspicion. Herklo is shouting behind us, but the Phurusians will pay no mind to the squabbles of the barbaric Kenorians. We don’t have a lot of time, and with the collar it will be easy to send someone to locate her.
She jogs slowly behind me because she is still wearing her odd Earth shoes with the long pointy things protruding from the heels. The shoe produces a biomechanically inefficient gait, increasing knee flexion and spinal lordosis, decreasing balance and speed and altering the center of mass.
“Take off your shoes,” I say.
“Now you’re concerned with what I’m wearing?” she says. She’s trying to cover herself, using her long hair to cover her breasts and her arms and hands to cover her sex. Her modesty is arousing me. And also enraging me. I want to sweep her up and wrap her in the nearest swath of fabric to cover her. The thought of other males leering at her nude body is sending a surge of rage through me that I didn’t know was possible. But I can’t dress her, can’t do anything to draw any more suspicion.
We make it out of the Hall of Justice and onto the street. “Take off your shoes,” I tell her.
“I can walk just fine in them,” she says, but she’s still taking small, unsteady steps, and we travel slowly. I’m irritated by this; my sense of urgency is compounded now that we’re out in the street in the light of day.
Any Phurusian male could stop her and demand his privilege with her body.
And I’d have to clonk him on the head until he’s unconscious. Or dead.
She stumbles on something and starts to fall. I reach out and grab her arms, steadying her and saving her from scraping her knees on the ground. She stands back up, but I have had enough. I hoist her over my shoulder and carry her, paus
ing only to take off her foolish shoes and throw them to the ground.
“What the hell are you doing?” she says. “You going to carry me off to fuck me in the ass before you give me to the Senator or whoever? Because your kind isn’t allowed to, what did he say, spill your seed in my womb? That’s what he meant, right? They don’t want to share their pussy with the lowly Kenorian bruisers?”
“Your foul language does not shock me, Earth female,” I say. But it does. She’s cut to the heart of it—that the once mighty Kenorian race has been reduced to being the hired thugs of the degenerate Phurusians.
I am able to travel much faster now that I’m not slowed down by her tiny, off-balance steps anymore. But the way that she’s bent over my shoulder is driving me insane; her rump is inches from my face, and her breasts are pressed against my back. I want to flip her around, wrap her legs around my head and start licking and sucking until she’s dripping wet all over my face.
This is more than just physical desire. This is something altogether different, more powerful, more primal.
We go to the landing bay where I left my ship earlier today. Could it really have only been a few hours ago? It feels like my whole life has changed.
“Is this where we landed?” she asks.
“Keen eye,” I say. “Yes.”
“Are you really going to get me off this planet? Will they let you just leave?”
“We’re going to find out,” I say. It’s true I don’t have the authority to take a convict off-planet, but I think I can lie convincingly enough.
Failing that, I have weapons.
“Can you get me back to Earth?” she asks.
“One thing at a time,” I say. Earth? I don’t know if I can take her back to Earth. Not if she’s my mate.
“Or will they send someone else after me?”
“Stop worrying,” I say.
“Sorry,” she says. “But in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been abducted by aliens, stripped naked and sentenced to a lifetime of sexual slavery. I’d have to be brain-dead not to worry.”
“Fair enough,” I say. “We’re almost at the ship, and we’re going to have to get flight authorization from the traffic clearance officers, so be quiet and go along with whatever I say.”
“You have a plan?”
“I think so,” I say. I feel the beginnings of a plan starting to materialize. It just might work. It’s hard to outsmart a Phurusian, but not if you know what buttons of theirs to press. “But you really need to go along with anything I say. Anything. When they see a newly convicted female—a human female—they’re going to want to assert their privilege on your body.”
“They’re going to what?” she shouts. “Like right now?”
“Yes,” I say. “Probably four or five of them are on duty right now. And you’re going to have to let them do whatever they want to you.”
Chapter 5
Brooke
Okay, now I can rest easy. I was starting to think that this Anax alien guy was different, that he was actually going to help me. It was disconcerting to have someone go out of their way to do something for me, but I don’t have to worry about that anymore. Because he’s just like the rest. He doesn’t understand what this is like for me, doesn’t seem to think that this is a big deal for me. All the alien bastards on this planet assume that I’m a murderer and I deserve whatever I get.
I’m not a murderer. Yet. But these assholes might just drive me to it.
Anax just said that he can smuggle me off the planet. That’s when my Spidey-Sense started to tingle. Why is he doing this for me? Why is he helping me? Could he possibly be different? Could be possibly care?
Then he said that I’m going to have to buck up and let the traffic controllers do whatever they want to me.
Because I’m a convict. I have no rights. Any male alien on this planet can do anything he wants to me, and it’s all nice and legal.
Anax doesn’t care. Doesn’t think I’m an actual worthwhile lifeform. Nope. Just let them do it; you’re a human, after all, and a murderer besides.
He leads me through the hangar, and I marvel at the number of ships. Actually, I marvel at the ships themselves.
On Earth, we canceled the space shuttle program. Out here (wherever here is) they have spaceships capable of intergalactic travel parked in rows like Corollas and Accords in the parking lot at the mall.
“Here,” Anax says. He points to a ship that I don’t recognize, but then again I wasn’t really paying attention to the vehicles earlier. There are a few mechanics working on it, two Phurusians with little computer screens in their hands and some other alien with a red collar like mine. I don’t know what species the convict is, but the two Phurusians have him crawling inside the engine with some tools. He’s covered in grease head to toe. Probably doing the sort of work where could lose you an arm if you aren’t careful and it gives you lung cancer even if you are.
I look at the Phurusians, wondering if I’m really going to have to let them… Do they even have dicks? I guess they must, but the Phurusians look like they wouldn’t have something so primitive and crude. I guess it would be worth it to get back to Earth. I mean, isn’t that what’s supposed to happen when you get abducted by aliens? You’re supposed to get probed, right? If it can get me on the ship with Anax… and if Anax can actually get me back to Earth.
Anax said he had a plan. I want to trust him, but his plan thus far has involved abducting me, transporting me to another planet, delivering me to the Hall of Justice for that sorry excuse for a trial, then telling me to bribe the transport clearance officers with sex.
“Is the ship ready?” Anax says to the Phurusian mechanics.
“Momentarily,” one of the Phurusians says. “The convict will finish greasing the rotator bearings, and we will send your inspection certificate to the clearance officers.”
“Hurry it up,” Anax says. “One of the Senators off-planet has requested the Earth female and is expecting her tonight.”
“Of course,” he says. Anax grabs my hand and takes me towards the central hub of the hangar. I guess the mechanics aren’t high enough on the social ladder to pull rank and demand time with me—but the clearance officers surely are. I mean, they have ‘officer’ in their name.
“Shut up and do whatever I say,” Anax says. “And do whatever they say. It will put them in a good mood, and they’ll be more likely to believe the flimsy story I’m going to tell to get our flight clearance.”
“But…” I say. And realize that there’s nothing to say. What could I possibly say?
“Let’s get it over with,” he says. His eyes are stony, his face fixed into a scowl that may or may not be permanent—I’ve yet to see those lines between his eyebrows relax or his lips un-purse.
Yes, let’s. I’ll get it over with.
I’ve held onto my virginity for twenty-six years, hoping to find the perfect guy. Turns out that I was waiting for a horde of creepy translucent aliens all this time.
So yes, let’s get it over with.
But not without a fight. What are they going to do? Sentence me to a lifetime of degrading sexual servitude? Oh, wait, they already did that. Maybe they’ll have the technology to resurrect me and then sentence me to two lifetimes.
Anax pushes open the door, and there are three Phurusians sitting at a large screen that takes up the entire huge wall. There are little lights and lines that I assume denote flight courses and maps. These guys probably are important if they control all entry and departure in the bio-dome. You’d have to have brains, even among a supposedly super-smart race like the Phurusians, and you’d have to have clout to land a position like this. Unless clout doesn’t exist on this planet. Anax was talking about efficiency and everyone having to work according to their skills and station. Nepotism probably doesn’t exist here.
“Ship number 652-421-22,” Anax recites. “Requesting permission to depart immediately.”
“Flight authorization?” one of them asks.
“Reason?”
“Transport of convict off-planet for labor.”
The Phurusians haven’t bothered looking at us yet, but at this, they all turn in their chairs. I had almost gotten used to walking around this strange planet without any clothes on, but now, under their leering gazes, I feel my nudity more acutely than ever. I want to shrink down and curl up into a little ball, pull my knees up to my chest and cover myself up. But I can’t. I must stand as tall and proud as I can muster, even though my face is burning red with the shame.
And the fear. And revulsion. These creatures are going to take me, probably all three at once. And this isn’t going to be the last time, either. I have sixty more years of this to look forward to. Any male, any time, until I’m impregnated and spawn another one of these vile beings. I wonder if breeding slaves get any maternity leave. Sixteen weeks with pay?
“Is this the convict for transport?” one Phurusian asks.
“Yes,” Anax says. “Senator Yix has requested her at his residence in Norsk.”
“Has he?” the Phurusian asks. “For what purpose?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I say.
“Perhaps,” the Phurusian says. It’s so brightly lit in here that as he speaks I can see the ligaments in his jaw moving up and down. He points an overlong finger at me, and I notice for the first time that the tip is smooth, without a fingernail. “Why is this convict so ill-mannered?”
“She’s a murderer.” Anax shrugs. “I wouldn’t expect her to be polite.”
“When was her sentencing?”
“Just now,” Anax says. “She’s new, that’s why the Ambassador wants her.”
“But surely he wouldn’t mind if she’s been broken in first,” the second Phurusian says.