by L A Warren
Aomi was one of the few Asian women taken. The virus had been particularly devastating in the Asian countries. Asia died within days. She was young, nineteen, thin as a rail, and had long, flowing black hair. Quiet, meek, perfect little Aomi, with her dark walnut eyes and porcelain complexion, kept a secret from the Vendel. She didn't have perfect recall, but her IQ was off the charts. The Asian beauty entered college at twelve, and already had two doctoral degrees under her belt, both in obscure branches of biotech. Her shared passion for learning ensured a close friendship with Elise. They bonded instantly once they could communicate.
Elise squinted at Chandra. It meant Sorry. There was a lot more squinting going on now that the code was taking off. Their shared pain became a fountain of solidarity and a silent core of strength.
Chandra shifted in her seat, her discomfort obvious, as was the fresh whip marks covering her back. Sneeze. Wogs whip. No fair. Deep blue eyes narrowed in pain. Her blonde curls bounced over her shoulders as she tried to find a comfortable position. Her hair was too short to tie into the mandatory braid.
Elise envied Chandra’s freedom of not having to confine her hair. Funny how the littlest things mattered.
Strength. She needed to refine the code. It took forever to communicate anything. They were limited to the clipped conversations of five-year-olds. That frustrated her.
She brought her attention back to the classroom and her assignment. Professor Ziddak came to stand behind her and peered with interest at her screen. "Where are you in your study manual, 10-2?" She cringed at the false display she'd chosen to hide her real work behind.
Professor Ziddak was not a lor' or vlor’lord, but rather a common man. She wasn't sure if it was because of his slight stature, or because he wasn't one of the lords, but she liked him. He seemed genuinely interested in his students and eager to teach his language. He reminded her of Professor MacCabe back on Earth, and it was impossible to hate him.
"Sir, I was doing a drill on time and dates."
"Ah," he tilted his head and clucked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "Excellent. How about we review for the whole group?" He turned to the classroom. "Ladies, let's begin with minutes and progress up the timescales all the way through to the Sun cycle."
Class began with another drill. She activated a visual of the timescales and dutifully followed along with the sounds of the class, reciting along with them. Language class ended two hours later and her throat was sore from attempting to make the sounds unique to the Vendel tongue. At noon she was released, not to attend her usual two-hour session with the High Tender, but for something much more enjoyable.
Yoga.
As she walked to the exercise fields, her mind muddled over the problem of the clunky code. She changed into the grey and white exercise clothes and headed to the large yoga room. At a glance around the room, she stumbled to a stop. There were easily over two hundred women present. She hadn’t seen a single one of them before.
A quick look confirmed why. These were s'lor, lower Ranks with only two or three bands encircling their arms. A few had only one. Yet another form of control? She'd only been around those of Fourth and Fifth Rank these past three weeks.
A thin woman greeted her with warm eyes and a delighted smile. The girl's gaze latched onto the five bands of Rank Elise carried on her arms and her eyebrows lifted in surprise.
412, Sharon Hightower.
10-2, she tapped out, Elise Comwell.
The girl smiled, gestured to the empty space next to her, and rolled out her yoga mat. Elise did the same and put her towel neatly in the upper corner.
In front of her, a series of scrapes sounded. It took a minute or two before her mind placed it into code. It had been a relay. Passed on through several individuals.
Elise? 3-Day?
The class filled as more women took their places. The mandatory exercise would begin soon. Her breath caught. Yes? You?
The tapping spread out along with a hushed excitement building like a wave. With barely over a thousand women collected, the likelihood of any two knowing one another was nearly impossible.
The return response was Alice.
When had Alice learned of her last name? Not that it mattered. What the hell? Her heart double-timed with the realization of what this meant. Alice was alive!
The instructor walked to the front of the class and started the breathing exercises. No one said a word. Everyone sat perfectly still, in yoga pose, as the covert message was passed. But excitement buzzed in the air.
Elise risked the wrath of the WOR-guards and faked a coughing spasm. She rose and staggered to the WOR-guard gesturing to her throat as she approached.
The glower in the man's eyes faded when he saw her distress. He released the whipstick from his hand and nodded.
She walked to the water dispenser. Her eyes flicked furiously over the rows of women. Not a single one of them moved, but she made out a tall, seated woman with a shock of white, blonde hair. It couldn't be, but her friend was there.
She wasn't alone. She had a friend. Someone who knew her, someone she could lean on for support. Moving back to her mat, she joined the others in Warrior pose.
Sauna. Meet?
Yes!
Chapter Seven
Gambit, Day 21
After yoga, the women were excused to the bath facilities to wash and change for their afternoon studies. Long rows of benches easily accommodated two hundred women at one time with plenty of elbow room. Neatly stacked towel bins lined the edges of the large square room. On the floor, lines marked off individual areas at each bench space. Every woman had a five-foot buffer zone around her in which to undress and not talk.
All very regimented and controlled.
Finding Alice in the large space might have seemed daunting, but towering at six-feet tall, Alice stood out in any crowd. They locked tearful eyes when they saw each other. Elise stood across from Alice, not more than a few feet separated them, yet it felt like a vast chasm. The women surrounding them stared, then quietly turned to give them a moment of privacy. A mere ten feet of space. It was a boundary neither would cross. The WOR-guard did not patrol in the bath facilities, but that did not mean it wasn’t monitored. Oddly, the bath facilities were the only structures on the Confinement Deck to have ceilings. She was certain it was to provide an illusion of modesty for the women.
Neither of them drew attention to themselves as they undressed.
Alice tapped, Sauna, and Elise nodded. The steam would hide them.
They grabbed their gray and white exercise clothes and dropped them down the designated laundry chutes. Elise wrapped a thick towel around her body and padded off to the steam sauna. Thick billowy clouds engulfed her in dry heat.
The door opened and several women entered. Alice?
Here!
She went toward the sound until she found her friend. They hugged and for a moment just held each other. Alice cried and Elise joined in, letting all her grief pour out. However, she pulled away, breaking contact. This was too risky. They sat down on the wooden benches.
"I can't believe it's really you," Alice said. "I'm so happy."
"Shh, be careful," she said in a whisper. "They can't find out we know each other."
Alice lowered her voice. "Why not?"
"I'm sure they'd never let us near each other again. They control everything."
"Yes, but now that we have this code, we can organize and fight them."
"Thanks, I took it from a history lesson."
"You started the code?" Alice's voice rose and she gripped Elise's hand. "I heard it came from the Master Tender's s'vlor." Alice gulped. "Oh, no. That's you? I’ve heard such bad things."
"About me?"
Alice's whisper grew cold. "There's this girl, Sarah, Second Rank, one of the last brought on board, 10-4. She told me about the woman who was in processing before her. She said…well, she said you screamed for a really long time."
Memories of the braklav and what High Ten
der Marcus had done flashed in her mind.
"Is he really your Tender?"
"Yes."
Alice continued in a low whisper. "She didn't say much more, except the doctors mentioned how he was good with difficult s'vlor."
"I doubt the physicians would've spoken so freely."
Alice shrugged. "She said they were talking amongst themselves. That one of them said when High Tender vlor'Vardhal wielded the braklav he could bring s'vlor to the brink of death and back again without leaving a scratch. That's almost an exact quote of what she told me, but she likes to exaggerate. No one likes her. She's a horrible person. I've learned the hard way to steer clear of her."
"Dear God." Elise sat up straight. "Does she know the code?"
Alice snorted and said, "Someone would have to brave a whipstick to teach it to her. She likes to kiss ass and has ratted out everyone at least once. I don't think anyone will bother."
"Good." That's the last thing any of them needed. To be stopped so soon would be devastating. "Look, we've been in here too long. Some WOR-guard is going to get suspicious."
"Right," Alice stood. "How are we going to get together?"
"When are your meals?"
"I have third breakfast, first lunch, and second dinner."
"I'm first, third, and fifth."
"Ouch, that's a horrible schedule. Why did you pick that?"
"It wasn't my choice. High Tender Marcus made the decision."
"Oh," she paused. "Sorry."
Elise shrugged. "I'm sure it was intentional. What about your exercise time?"
"Noon yoga, obviously, and then I work out during first breakfast."
"Any way you could move that? Say, after fifth dinner or before first breakfast?"
The hour chime warning bell rang. They were running out of time.
"Look," Alice said, "I'll go every third morning just before first breakfast. We can run, if that's okay. Talk with the code. Anything more and it might get suspicious."
"Deal."
Elise exited the sauna first and walked to her bench. She stared at the floor, her emotions spinning with the thrill of finding one person among Earth's survivors she knew.
She wasn't alone.
Such a small thing, but it meant the world. Like a seed, it took root in her heart, filling in the holes left behind by the unspeakable loss of everyone she ever cared about, and the faceless billions who perished at the hands of the Vendel.
It shouldn't mean so much, and it didn't change anything about the hopelessness of her situation, but it mattered. They hadn't taken everything.
Her mind shifted as a tantalizing aroma of spice filled her nostrils, sending heat racing through her blood. Between one step and the next, her heart hammered in her chest as she gulped deep lungfuls of the intoxicating scent. She couldn't help but breathe deeply. A prickling sensation danced across her skin and goose bumps spread up her arms. Her head snapped up as her nose sought the source of the exotic cologne.
Gregor waited at her bench, a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face. His silver eyes flashed in the bright lights, and over his left brow his imperial tattoo danced as if alive.
She shook her head to clear her senses. It had been three weeks since she'd seen him and she wasn't prepared to fight her body's response. Her legs trembled. She wanted to devour him, trace her hands over every chiseled muscle, kiss those lips until passion replaced that heady smirk. God, she wanted to wrap her legs around his waist, strip him out of his dark uniform, and have him right there on the floor.
Her hand flew to her mouth, suppressing a gasp.
She flooded her mind with other emotions, remembering anger, hatred, and resentment for the man. Desire faded, remaining muted perhaps, but with every breath his unique scent threatened to unravel her self-control. She struggled to ground herself and pushed the unnatural desire for the man aside.
His absence these past three weeks had been a blessing. A part of her had dismissed him, focusing instead on the Vendel history and culture classes she'd been required to attend. In many ways, it had been a relief to attend to intellectual pursuits while ignoring the reality behind her true situation. It dulled the pain of unspeakable loss.
With him standing in front of her, black uniform wrapped tight across a broad chest, dark, wavy, bed-head hair, so sexy—she groaned as lust surged anew and the need to be claimed by him drowned her—she couldn't pull her eyes from the firmness of his square jaw or the strength of his gaze.
Alice padded softly behind on bare feet and walked over to her bench. She glanced at the silent man making the room feel small just by his presence. Her eyes widened and her mouth parted. She toweled off and tapped out silently. High Tender?
No! Emperor! Go!
Chapter Eight
Gambit, Day 21
Stunned by Gregor's sudden appearance after a three-week absence, Elise could only stare. Around her, the other girls dressed quickly. Modesty had long since been taken from them, first from the processing they'd all had to endure, and then by the lack of privacy over the ensuing weeks.
Alice dropped her towel and slipped into her gown. Grabbing her things, the blonde made a quick retreat. Other girls hurried to dress as well, and soon Elise and Gregor were very much alone.
She stood, clutching nothing more than a towel. Heat burned her cheeks.
He vented a soft laugh while running his gaze down her body with a deliberate pace. "Opés, you're trembling."
He wore the same dark jumpsuit as the WOR-guards, but on him it was so much more. The WOR-guards blended into their surroundings, silent with their whipsticks, invisible, watching and waiting for the women to make a mistake. By contrast, Gregor filled the room just by breathing.
She managed to croak out the appropriate greeting, his first name, an intimate form of address. A weak, "G-Gregor," stuttered from her lips.
He rocked back on his heels, taking his sweet time bringing his gaze back to her face. It bothered her and, by the suppressed mirth in his eyes, he knew it.
"You look well."
"It's rude to stare."
"I see you haven't lost any of your fire." He shook his head. "Get dressed. I'm taking you out." He gestured to a neatly folded gown on the bench.
The one she had put on this morning had been green and there was no sign of it. This one was deep scarlet. Matching slippers had been placed on the floor.
He watched the play of expressions on her face as if reading her every thought.
She hated being so transparent.
"While the green highlights the color of your eyes, this shade compliments your skin. I haven't yet decided which color I prefer."
"You've been picking out my clothes?"
He reached out, gesturing to the towel. "I'll take your towel."
"Turn around."
Memories of the braklav came crashing into her mind. High Tender Marcus's words sounded loudly in her head. Obedience was required. Shivers of remembered pain rioted through her body, but she'd be damned if she would drop the towel.
His brow arched, making the imperial tattoo dance. "That wasn't a request."
She took a step back and firmed her chin. "You've taken everything else away. Do you have to take my dignity as well?"
There went his brow again. Seemed it was his response to everything.
There had to be some humanity in him. "Please, turn around."
He picked up the scarlet gown.
Her skin burned beneath his stare. Such blatant scrutiny made her feel very much like property. She forced her hands to stop trembling as he advanced.
He held the fabric up.
With the constant vigilance of the WOR-guards, obedience had become second nature, and modesty had long since fled. It was different with him, though.
He positioned the opening of the dress over her head, the demand certain in his eyes. While the silk and gauze fabric fell down around her shoulders, he yanked the towel out of her hands, baring her body to the chill air of the
room. He stared hard into her terrified eyes, not once looking down at her naked flesh. He made his point, while she shrugged her arms into the sleeves of the gown and settled the cloth to cover her nakedness. It might have been a concession on his part, it was hard to tell. The message was clear. He chose, not her.
He drew his finger along her jaw and cupped her chin. "Choose to resist and you will lose. Accept your place by my side and things will be easy for you."
Neither of those options appealed to her. She would pick a third option and fight to win. Their eyes locked and waged a battle of wills, one he broke with a shake of his head.
"I do admire your spirit, opés. Be glad we are alone."
"Why?" She didn't feel safe alone with him.
"Because, if High Tender vlor'Vardhal had been here, you would be on your knees with the braklav stroking your flesh. He is not nearly as forgiving as me."
"You're no better than him. You're both monsters."
He took in a breath and blew it out on a heavy exhale. "I intend to spend the rest of my life convincing you otherwise." With a spin, he had her turned around and his fingers began the deft task of lacing the corseted ties to the dress.
She'd been so distracted she hadn't noticed how very different the cut of this gown was from those she'd worn previously. The dress snugged her body, cinching in her waistline and accentuating her breasts. The plunging neckline dipped very low indeed, and it had a back.
"Come, opés." He pressed a hand to the hollow of her back. His other slid down her arm. The heat of his palm warmed her flesh, grazed over the bands of Rank on her arm, and traced a trail of fire to the curve of her elbow. Eventually, his fingers found and clasped hers, resulting in a surge of electricity pulsating between them. An involuntary breath yanked her gaze upward where she met an answering intensity in his eyes.
"That is the bond thrumming in our veins," he said. "It's what ties us together."
"I don't know what that means."
He escorted her out of the bath house, around the long rows of circular sleeping areas, and brought her to the base of the large stairs leading up to the observation platforms. He stopped in front of a gel-pad. "Press your palm here."