Alien Rogue's Captive

by Viki Storm

  Someone is following us. And they’re trying to board my ship.

  The other ship is sending out a locking beam. We’re just barely out of range, but the beam is pulling us, and it’s causing the disruption in our path.

  My comm-screen is blank, no messages—no threats, no demands. Pirates? Bounty hunters? Brooke is still a wanted fugitive, but what are the odds of a bounty hunter finding her out here in the Blackness? I check the exterior vid feed, but I can’t get any intel on the ship. I push our speed a little faster, not wanting to risk an engine redline. Out here, you blow a cog or a relay circuit and you are screwed. Floating to the nearest planet isn’t an option because you’re usually at least two or three light years away from the nearest star, which may or may not even have orbiting planets. After the advent of supra-light speed travel, we all started to forget just how far apart everything is in space.

  “What is it?” Brooke asks. This poor human. Just when we deactivate her collar and she’s free of the risk of her head exploding at any given moment, this happens. It’s gotta be someone tracking us on Hilf’s orders. Maybe that damned Jirdie sold our whereabouts for a few credits to fund that damned ice-bird’s crusade.

  “A ship’s locked onto us,” I say. No sense hiding the truth from her when she’s going to find out soon enough.

  “Locked on? Like when the Phurusians were chasing us and they tried to reel us in with a slipstream beam? Or is there a big robot hand with a telescoping wrist? What does ‘locked on’ even mean?” She’s scared and trying to hide it with anger.

  “The ship’s engaged ours with a locking beam. It’s like the slipstream beam only stronger and more effective. It’s like a wave of energy that binds to something—in this case, our ship—and then retracts. It’s not made of metal, but it functions much like this robot arm you joke about.”

  “I’m not joking,” she insists. “I’m in no mood for laughs. I’m not sure if I’m ever going to be in the mood for laughs ever again.”

  “I heard a drunken tavern story once,” I say, but she cuts me off.

  “I said I’m not in the mood. No dirty limericks or farmer’s daughter traveling salesman jokes.”

  “This is no joke,” I say. And it’s not. If I’m wrong, then we’re done. “An old Zalaryn raider boasted of escaping a locking beam earlier that day. He was well in his cups, but I was inclined to believe his story. He had the look in his eye of a male who’s stared Death straight in the eye and laughed.”

  “What did the drunken old Zarhoovian say?” she asks.

  “Zalaryn. He said he was smuggling a shipment of… I forget what, but some other raiding party was keen to take it from him. What did you say the other day? No honor among thieves? Anyway, he said that they locked onto his ship, which was a beat-up little Rhotoro-42A.”

  “Oh, a Rhotoro-42A, why didn’t you say so earlier?” Brooke says. “Can you get on with the damned point? These bastards will have us reeled in, gutted and filleted by the time you get to the point.” I ignore her and try to repress a smile. Despite the severity of the situation, her fiery attitude is charming. Who wants a limp dishrag of a female when they can have one full of vim and vigor and a big Fuck You to the world?

  “He said that he was trying to outrun it, which if you know anything about ships, you’ll know is impossible in the 42A. He was redlining the ship and knew it was hopeless. So he cut the engines and applied the emergency braking counterweights, then charged it full speed in reverse.”

  “He went backwards, into the beam?” she asks, and I’m glad that she at least understands that much.

  “Yes,” I say. “All the kinetic energy he’d built up going forward, away from the beam, bounced back, and when he put his ship in reverse, it funneled the energy backwards towards the invading ship. It was enough to push the pursuer back and sever the beam’s hold.”

  “According to a drunk guy in a bar,” she says.

  “Have any better ideas?” I ask her.

  “Nope,” she says. “I got a C in physics, and that was only because I cheated off the girl sitting next to me on the final exam.”

  “I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds dishonorable.”

  “It is,” she agrees. “But you can report me to the Dean of Students later. Try whatever the Zarhoovian said he did. Maybe we’ll get that charming look in our eyes, too, but I don’t think I can muster a laugh even if it is in Death’s face.”

  “Zalaryn,” I correct her again. “They’re fierce warriors and excellent pilots, so if I’m going to believe that someone got loose of a beam, it’s one of those bastards.”

  “Do it,” she urges.

  “Strap in,” I instruct. She pulls the straps on her harness even tighter, and I do the same. “This is going to be a bumpy ride.”

  I set the coordinates for a small star, not wanting to lead these assholes to the Kenorian settlement.

  “Halt,” a voice says through my comm speaker. Finally they want to talk.

  “Who is this?” I ask.

  “You are under arrest by order of the Federation,” the speaker blares.

  “The Federation?” Brooke says. She’s relieved that it’s not the Phurusians come to make sure she carries out her sentence of reproductive servitude. But being caught by the Federation isn’t much better. They usually don’t bother with creative punishments. It’s a big territory they have to police, and their best deterrent is the threat of a swift, merciless, unjust punishment.

  Being caught with stolen goods, that’s a summary execution.

  But I’ll keep that little piece of information to myself. Because we aren’t getting reeled in. I’m not going to let that happen.

  Maybe I’m delirious, intoxicated after gifting Brooke with my seed, the physiological bonds between us changing something inside my brain. But I press down the comm transmitter and laugh. I’m laughing in the face of death, the face of the Federation, the face of the unseen foe that destroyed my home planet. Because for all that has happened to me and my race, I have something that no one will take away.

  I have Brooke. My mate.

  The value of the treasure is proportional to the ferocity with which I’ll fight to protect it.

  The Universe has smiled on me, given me a mate. But nothing is free. I’m being tested. The Universe is making sure that I am worthy.

  I don’t mind a good test. I’ll pass.

  And I’ll take Brooke as my reward. She’s already given me her body, already let me inside of her to sow my seed. She’s mine: body, soul and womb.

  “I am not under arrest,” I say when I’m done laughing at the absurdity of the Federation’s attempt to take me into custody. What do they think is going to happen, I’m just going to turn off the engine, deactivate my weapons, put my hands in the air and wait to be cuffed and collared and executed? They must be sincerely stupid, and that makes me laugh even harder.

  “I think we are,” Brooke says. Humans are so soft, so eager to bend under the pressure of authority. Their planet is plentiful, and their technology has dulled their wits and survival instincts. They have no predators, no enemies, no threats except their own manufactured, meaningless disagreements surrounding various ideologies. When a real threat comes along, they don’t know what to do. They don’t know how to protect themselves.

  “We are not,” I say. “But don’t worry, I will protect you. You don’t need to have sharp survival instincts because I’ll have them for the both of us.”

  “Huh?” she asks, but I don’t have time to explain to her all of my rambling interior thoughts.

  I deactivate the engine and then engage the reversal switches. It’s a jarring halt, and the restraint harness cuts into my chest as I’m tossed forward in my seat. Brooke gasps, but I pay no mind. I’m plugged in, running on my warrior instinct now. I increase speed slowly at first, then work the throttle up until I can initiate supra-light.

  Brooke curses and threatens to void her stomach contents. Every muscle in my body is constr
icted, hard as steel while I wait to see if the old Zalaryn in the tavern was a genius or liar.

  The pull is swift and immediate as our ship moves backwards, speeding with the current of the beam.

  There has been no counter-force. No bounce-back strong enough to sever the beam.

  Turns out that old Zalaryn must have been a liar.

  The Federation ship, it’s still pulling us in… but now it’s reeling us at light speed.

  Chapter 17

  Brooke

  Nothing happens. I feel our ship pulled backwards faster, and the sensation is not unlike the rare occasions you really gun it with your car in reverse. We should have known better. How many honest, non-exaggerated stories are told in bars? Not many. But it was the only thing to try, so I’m not mad at Anax or even the Zala-whatever who was blue-skying after he hit the bottle a little too hard.

  I’m just… tired. Tired of running, tired of being chased, tired of not knowing where I am or what weirdo alien I’m dealing with. I was Los Angeles born and bred; I knew that city—I made it in that city. That’s no small feat for a girl my age. Most of my classmates and friends still live with their parents and make thousand-buck-a-month student loan payments. Me? I was debt-free, in my own apartment, no roommates, working for a superior court judge. I had most of a down payment saved up for a condo. True, I had no family, no boyfriend, no children… not even a dog. But I’m only 26. I still had plenty of time for that.

  I want to go back. As much as I complain about LA (it’s practically a law that all natives have to complain about LA and constantly threaten to move), I want to be back. All the graffiti and garbage and traffic and no parking and high rent and sociopath local politicians… at least it was home. At least it was a place I understood.

  These last few days have been so insane that ‘stressful’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. Stressful is when a pipe breaks under your sink the same week you get a flat tire. Stressful is when you have a project due at work and halfway to completion you realize you didn’t read the instructions in your email close enough and you did it wrong.

  Capture? Slavery? Smuggling black-market goods? Explosive devices around your neck? Supra-light speed travel?

  Not even a language implant coded with the entire lexicon of every known intelligent race in the universe can help me pick the right word for that.

  So, fine. Let the Federation arrest us. Let them send us to the intergalactic Gulag. Let them send me to the Phurusians. I don’t care anymore.

  I can’t care anymore.

  Then out of nowhere, it hits me like a slug in the chest. Literally, I can’t breathe because I’m thrown with so much force against my seat’s chest harness. The nexus where the different straps buckle up presses hard against my sternum, compressing my lungs so I can only take short gasps. And as fast as it started, it’s gone. Only the gentle acceleration backwards is left.

  “Fuck,” I say when I catch my breath. “Did it work?”

  Anax just grunts and starts throwing levers and pressing buttons on the control panel. I can tell by the acceleration and deceleration of the ship that he’s reversing direction again so we can get away. I watch him pilot the ship, his strong hands working the control panels like a concert pianist in the throes of composition. A wave of shame washes over me—but ‘wash’ isn’t the right word because I feel dirty and terrible.

  I was just thinking of Earth and how bad I want to return. How I am sick of dealing with weirdo aliens. How I’m so stressed out and scared and tired that I was ready to surrender and go back to Phuru.

  But what about Anax?

  He’s risked so much, gone through so much trouble to help me. He threw everything away… for me. The sacrifice is staggering. I can’t imagine it. Because I’m a selfish human, used to being wrapped up in my own minuscule, inconsequential affairs—career, bank account, possessions.

  I’ve been measuring my success in the entirely wrong way. I’ve done everything I was supposed to do. School, good grades, job, work hard, be frugal. And what was I rewarded with on Earth? Nothing. Nothing that mattered anyway.

  What really matters? Family, love, legacy?

  Is there anything in my Los Angeles life that matters that much to me? That I would sacrifice everything to save it? Anything in my Los Angeles life that I care about as much as Anax cares about me? Have I ever had anything like that?

  As he gets us free from the Federation, something inside me gives way. Yields. In a way that’s entirely different from how I yielded my body to him. And in that moment, I get it.

  We’re in this together. This. Everything.

  “I—” I start to say. But my voice catches in my throat. I don’t know what to say, how to explain everything to him. I love you? Do Kenorians even speak of love? I’m mated to you? He already seems to know that. How can I explain to him that I get it, that I feel the bond the Universe has constructed, the unseen hands stringing the cord and tying the knots?

  “It worked,” he says, and I’m glad for a change of subject. “We broke the beam and bounced their ship backwards with enough velocity to buy us some time. When we shift to supra-light, we’ll have a big enough buffer to get away.”

  “You did it,” I say stupidly. “You saved me. Again. Thank you. I’m sorry I’m causing you so much trouble.”

  “And I’ll do it again and again and again if I need to, though I hope I don’t need to.”

  “I can’t ever repay you,” I say.

  “I hope you’re not talking monetarily,” he says.

  “No, I just mean, I can’t pilot a ship and save you from slavers.”

  “Nor would I need or expect you to. You will repay me by rearing healthy offspring and taking charge of their moral instruction.”

  “But raising kids is supposed to be fun, a joy or something is what people with kids always say.”

  “As is keeping you safe,” he says. “It’s my pride and satisfaction to know that I’ve bested a flagship Federation ship in order to protect my mate. I’ll be drunk in a tavern telling the tale soon enough, with a smile on my face and many claps on the back. That’s how you know we are bonded true. The services we provide each other are not burdensome. They are joyful.”

  I get an image of me with a hugely pregnant belly, an alien fetus squirming around inside, ready to blast out of my vagina.

  It sorta scares the shit out of me.

  And reality comes crashing back down.

  I don’t belong here. There’s no way I’m supposed to just go live on some planet like Alpha Centauri Prime with Anax, eat whatever crops and livestock they eke from the stony, probably non-carbon-based soil.

  I don’t belong. I’d never make it. I’d rely on Anax for everything.

  I imagine if I had to move to China and I ended up getting married to someone over there. How utterly lost I’d be, a perpetual foreigner with no hope of ever coming close to assimilating. And that’s the same planet, with the same species. This is a million times more extreme. It’d be like when those crazy people take a lion cub or chimpanzee as a house pet. Everything would be fine at first, but it wouldn’t take that long before the discrepancies in our ways of life became too much. A chimp can’t live in the suburbs—and only a fool would try to make it.

  “What about Earth?” I ask, my voice a choked whisper. “Now that the collar is off…”

  “Earth?” he says. I know he’s hurt. I can feel the pain in his voice as if it was a real thing, little daggers floating through the air between us, sticking me and gouging my skin.

  “Yeah,” I say. “You said before that the collar would arouse too much suspicion, but now it’s off, so…” I can’t bring myself to ask, so I let the question hang unsaid between us.

  “Earth,” he says again, this time more of a statement than a question. I can only hope that he can understand the absurdity of my staying… where exactly? He doesn’t have a homeland, and he just burned all contacts on his adopted planet Phuru. “What about Hilf?”

&
nbsp; “What about that bastard?” I say. “What’s he got to do with this?”

  “You don’t thirst for revenge?”

  “Honestly,” I say, “it’s the last thing on my mind. Hilf’s an asshole, but I’d get no pleasure from making him pay. It wouldn’t change what happened. I’m safe now, that’s all I care about.”

  Anax snorts. “It doesn’t change anything that already happened,” he agrees, “but it is a matter of principle. He lied and used us, manipulated us, set us up in a cowardly way. He’s working on some secret Phurusian plot to conquer as many planets as possible—enslaving more people the way you were enslaved. It’s our duty to get him.”

  “It’s not my duty. I’m no warrior,” I say and immediately realize that I sound like a selfish jerk—and maybe I am. Probably I am. But I’m not getting involved in some alien political struggle. What could I do anyway?

  Anax takes a long time before answering. “It’s impossible to take you to Earth right now,” he says. “The orbits are ill-aligned. It would take several years’ travel without a Phurusian-made ship. And that’s if we can even land without alerting Earth authorities.”

  “Oh,” I say. I should be relieved. At least the hope of going home is gone, so I can get used to the idea of my new life.

  But I’m not.

  Never go back to Earth again? Ever?

  I cry. For a long time.

  - - -

  The settlement is a beehive of activity; that much is obvious as we hover in the ship, waiting for someone to tell us where to land. I watch as people rush around on the ground, hurrying from place to place, stopping only to argue with each other.

  “Why are they still here if we know now that Hilf’s a traitor and was just spying on them all this time?” I ask Anax.

  “Because we have nowhere else to go,” he says. It hits me how sad that is. It’s not like they can just get a suite of hotel rooms at the local Holiday Inn while they wait for a real estate transaction to go through escrow. They could relocate to a sparsely populated planet, but even I know that’s not the same as having something that’s yours.