by Loki Renard
One, the girl we found alone on Earth, comes rushing into the room. She is dressed in a silver jumpsuit, her red hair tied back behind her head. She has an expression of concern on her face, which quickly turns to fear as the girl in the corner lets out a blood curdling scream and rushes toward One with what I can only assume is murderous intent. From frightened to feral, she switches gears dangerously quickly.
Unlike me, One is vulnerable to damage and requires immediate rescue.
“What’s wrong with her?” One squeals as I swing her out of the way. One is used to having the run of the ship, but that is about to change. She’s going to have to start respecting another female’s space, otherwise this will not be the last conflict they experience.
“I have a lengthy report,” I grunt. “She just woke up. Why are you here?”
“She’s trying to hurt me!” One avoids answering the question entirely.
“REAPER!” I hold One squirming above my head and carry her out of the room with the other female bouncing at my side, trying to get to her.
Reaper shows up quickly.
“What’s this?”
“One wandered in just as my girl woke up,” I explain. “I think we should keep them separate.”
“ONE,” he growls. “You know better than to wander off. I told you to stay away from the new human.”
“I didn’t wander anywhere! I heard her scream and tried to help.”
“You don’t need to help. You need to do as you’re told,” Reaper growls sternly. He plucks her from my hands and I am able to turn my attention back to the new little human who is still doing her best to attack One.
Humans can be strange when it comes to their interpersonal relations. They can be friendly and generous to a fault, or they can be vicious and cruel for the same lack of apparent reason. I don’t know why this new girl seems so angry to see One, but experience tells me it could be for almost any reason at all.
Reaper and I spent much time on Earth across the centuries, visiting it many times, but we never truly understood the species, even as we watched humanity grow.
One is taken away, squirming and complaining and declaring that she has done nothing wrong. This other human seems to disagree. The sounds that are coming out of her are damn near non-verbal, howls and cries of rage.
Fortunately, the second One is out of the way, the little human calms down. She backs away from me and retreats to her corner, curling up on herself once more.
“That wasn’t very nice,” I say, wondering why the words are even coming out of my mouth. What do I care if she is nice? Niceness has never been a quality admired or encouraged by scythkin. We are creatures born to kill and to die.
Saying things are nice or not is a human trait, not a scythkin one. Reaper says that having One changed him. Is this girl already changing me? Making me more human?
I crouch down, try to make myself small like her again. That seemed to work the first time. Maybe it will work again.
42
The big creature gets back down on the floor a few dozen feet away from me and contorts his body into a strange shape. If he were human, it would be like he was crouching, but the way the sharp planes and ridges of his body move when he does, he looks like some kind of transforming weapon. My pulse races as I wonder if he is going to retaliate for my attack, but instead of throwing sharp spines or rolling toward me in a big crushing ball, he makes small mouth noises which are gentle and kind.
“She’s not going to hurt you, and neither am I. We’re going to help you get better,” he says. “You’re sick, and I know you’re scared.”
How could he know how I feel? Scythkin are not like humans at all. From what I have seen, they are incapable of fear or pain. My life has been nothing but both of those emotions as far as I can recall. Even now, everything hurts, and what doesn’t hurt is coursing with adrenaline.
He says I’m sick. I know I’m hurt. There are injuries all over, inflicted by the cruel handlers who tried to break me into being a willing exhibit and worse. The only thing I have learned to do over the course of my captivity is fight.
The second I saw the girl with the red hair, I felt myself fill with rage, senseless fury which demanded I attack. I am cursed with a lack of memory, but every now and then my body will tell me something with feelings or impulses and I follow them, because they are my only guide in a world of confusion.
“Nobody is going to hurt you,” he says, repeating his earlier assurances. His words mean nothing to me, but his actions do. He is not moving toward me. He shows no sign of anger. I never thought a scythkin would be the one to show me mercy. They are the most brutal, ruthless species I saw in all my time in captivity.
“I don’t believe you.”
I don't know how to talk to a scythkin. He doesn’t seem to know how to talk to me either. There’s a stiffness and concerned formality which I guess I like, as well as the way he’s keeping his distance. He doesn’t want to scare me. Not like the last group of aliens who wanted nothing but to scare me.
“Just relax,” he says. “I’m going to take care of you.”
“You,” I say. "Who are you?”
“I’m Tarkan,” he reminds me.
“You’re a scythkin.”
“Yes.”
The last thing I expected was to be rescued by someone massive and covered in blades who also seemed somewhat awkward around me. I am still terrified, but it’s hard to stay frightened when there’s ten feet of pure death trying to make itself look as unthreatening as possible.
“When a scythkin says he’s going to take care of you…”
He smirks, his face becoming incongruously sexy. It’s not possible to be attracted to scythkin. They're not made for fucking. They’re made to make you want to run away screaming. But there’s something about this one. There’s a warmth to him, some kind of humor I didn’t expect. When he held me in his arms, I felt a rush of safety.
Maybe he is good. Maybe he will help me.
“I’m going to make sure you're okay,” he says. “Help you recover.”
“I feel a lot better already.”
“That’s the medication I gave you. It will wear off and you’ll need another dose. Why don’t you sit up on the bed and get comfortable?”
Comfortable. That’s something I haven't been in a very long time. But I am tired and I am still hurting, though not as much as before. Comfortably numb. Is that a good thing? I don't know.
I crawl up onto the bed, which isn’t very soft, but it is so much softer than the hard floor where I was kept, and I look at the one who calls himself Tarkan. He is clearly uncomfortable being so folded up, but he keeps hunching in an effort to try to stay small.
“You’re weird.”
He looks at me, and lets out a laugh. “Weird by what standard, little human?”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I tell him. “You can stand up.”
“You are a feisty little thing,” he observes, straightening with obvious relief. At full height, the top of his horned head brushes the ceiling, which means he’s tall even for a scythkin.
“Most humans are afraid of or disgusted by my kind.”
I stare, swallow, and try to think of something to say that doesn’t betray the very non-disgusted thoughts I have. I didn’t think I’d ever feel the stirrings of desire again after what I’ve been through, but his presence is an aphrodisiac. Or maybe he slipped me something. I feel very different than I did just an hour ago. I feel awake. My mind has been hidden in a haze of pain and whatever it is they’ve been forcing into me.
“Most humans aren't kept locked and chained for months on end.”
His expression shifts to a more ferocious one.
“No,” he growls. "They're not.”
He’s angry on my behalf.
I’m puzzled by that. Why should he care? Why did he take me? What is going on?
“You killed those things. The aliens. That held me captive.” I call them aliens because I know they wer
e not like me. They called me alien. They called me human. Both felt like slurs.
“I did,” he says.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Okay, bye then.” I push my way off the bed.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
“Wherever I want. Thanks again for the rescue,” I say, giving him two thumbs up, just as a woozy spell takes me and threatens to send me crashing onto the floor.
Right before I bite whatever the ship is made of, Tarkan sweeps me up into his arms, rescuing me yet again, and deposits me lightly, but firmly, onto the bed.
“Stay,” he says in firm tones, emphasized by the slight extension of the fangs which sit at the corners of his mouth.
I feel the instant instinct to rebel, but I also lack the strength to carry my rebellion through.
“I want you to know that if I wasn’t so tired I’d be getting up and leaving this ship right now. I won’t be your captive.”
He laughs, and it is a deep, honest, truly amused sound.
“You’re not my captive. Don’t worry. You’re my guest.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but how can I hope to intimidate a creature who used the spines and skulls of his enemies like a pair of maracas? He is dangerous. No matter what he says, I know I am his captive. There can be no doubt that I am in his possession. There is a door behind him which is firmly sealed and I know even from the little of my life I can remember that nobody does anything for nothing. Tarkan wants something from me the same way my sideshow captors did.
Tarkan
She doesn’t trust me. I can’t blame her. The hell I pulled her out of isn’t going to leave her bones any time soon. I know what dark places do to a person of any species. They sink into your skin, writhe into your flesh. They become part of your DNA. Sometimes, if the pain is deep enough, it can be passed on to future generations, written in the code which knits your offspring together.
I don’t know her at all, but already I think I am starting to understand her. She’s braver than she should be. She’s stronger than she looks. And those blue eyes hold trouble for anyone who crosses her.
“Do you want to rest? You must be tired.”
“I’m not closing my eyes while you’re still here.”
“Are you hungry?”
She hesitates, and I can tell she wants to say no, but there can no denying her hunger. It is the second most obvious thing about her besides her pain.
“We have food of all kinds,” I say. “Human friendly food, because of One.”
She lets out a little snarl at the mention of the other girl.
“Territorial, already?”
“I don’t like her.”
“You don’t know her.”
“She looked at me funny.”
“Probably, she’s curious. She’s also the only reason I knew you were there to rescue, so maybe you should be nice to her. She’s a nice girl.”
42
I don’t like the way he says she’s a nice girl. I didn’t like seeing her in his presence at all.
He’s mine.
I don’t know why I think that. But I do. I know very few things in this universe. When I fight to try to remember what happened before I woke up chained, I can’t. So I’ve been reduced to following feeling and instinct. And my instinct told me that any other female coming anywhere near Tarkan had to be chased off aggressively.
Maybe she is a nice girl. I don’t know. My lack of memories makes me crazy, and the confusion of being here now, feeling mental clarity without memory, it’s almost worse than just being completely out of it.
“Why are you smirking?” He asks me.
“You’re a scythkin. A murderous rampaging beast known for destroying planets in a swarm, and then using those planets as brood sites which then spawn thousands more of your kind.”
I know what he is because I read the Scythkin description tag after the rogue one escaped the sideshow. I was free for a few minutes in the chaos. After reading several paragraphs of text I remembered wondering at the time why any sane creature would ever try to capture one and put it on display.
“So?”
“So you’re the last creature I thought would tell me to be nice.”
He smiles and my heart flutters in my chest. Am I about to have a heart attack? Am I sick? What is going on? I feel sick, but not nauseous. It’s a strange bubbling feeling which makes me feel fizzy and light and just plain weird.
“I might not be what you think I am,” he chuckles, his voice rumbling through me in a way which activates parts of my psyche which have been dormant since I became conscious.
“You’re not really scythkin?”
“Oh, I am really scythkin, but that might not mean what you think. I didn’t take you to hurt you. I took you because you are human, and humans are precious.”
Precious. That’s what the aliens trying to sell me thought I was, at first, at least, until I refused to allow every passing stranger to touch me and use me. I fought back at every turn, I repelled them with everything I had, and when they tried to force themselves on me, I made them regret it. That was how I ended up in chains.
Tarkan shows no sign of forcing himself on me. He is staying at a comfortable distance, one which almost makes me want him to close that distance and touch me again. I’m curious about him. I’m hungry for more than food. I’ve got to get a grip on myself. There is next to no chance that this creature is going to be good for me. He says I’m precious. And that means that he’s going to try to capitalize on me at some point.
“So you’re hungry?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “No.”
“You have to be hungry,” he says. “I’m getting you some food.”
“You can get me food, but I won’t eat it.”
Tarkan
"How is she?” Reaper asks the question when I emerge from the medical bay, making sure to seal the door. The last thing we need is another encounter between One and the girl I’ve just found. One was wild enough when she was taken, but this girl is on another level.
“Petulant, contrary, hostile, frightened, I could go on,” I say. “What's the best food for her?”
“Pizza,” One pipes up. “With pineapple.”
“Is that really your honest recommendation? Or are you mad she tried to hurt you?”
“Little from column A, little from column B,” One smirks. She’s sitting on Reaper’s lap, clearly over her fright, but just as clearly not forgiving the occupant of the medical bay for her vicious attack.
Reaper’s hand smooths over her back to cup her bottom warningly. “Don’t,” he growls softly. “We’ve talked about this already.”
One squirms and gives him a mischievous look. “Fine,” she says. “I don't know what you should give her. Probably something bland if she’s not used to eating well. Rice and apple and chicken, but not all at the same time.”
“I’ll check the database,” I say, sitting down in front of our ship’s computer.
“You never do research,” Reaper says. I can hear the surprise in his voice. He’s right. I don’t usually do research, because I don’t usually have a hurt little human depending on me. I want to make sure she’s fed properly. I want her to come to trust me, though I know that won't happen quickly. I’m pleased she is talking to me. I’m even happy about the attitude, it shows she’s not too afraid of me. I have always liked feisty humans, the ruder the better. All the more reason to dominate them.
Images of what I could do to her flash through my mind. I can see her tender body spread out before me, the soft lips of her sex flowering around me. If I were the invader I used to be, if I gave into the base animal which drives my conquering desire, I would already be inside her.
It has been many, many years since I mated with a human. The last time I did, I didn’t appreciate what I was doing. I thought there were endless women and there always would be. I was a fool who didn’t know how to appreciate innocence, beauty or the tendern
ess of a human heart.
Behind me, Reaper and One are talking about me and my new mate, a woman who doesn’t know what I have in mind for her, how very much I want to claim her. It is a struggle to put my vicious mating instinct aside to look after her more immediate needs - but I’m going to do it.
“She’s mean,” One whispers to Reaper.
“She’s not mean,” I say over my shoulder. “She’s sick and she’s scared, just like you were.”
“I never attacked anyone.”
“You’re different.”
“Better get that girl in line,” Reaper growls.
I look over at him, raising a serrated brow. “Excuse me?”
“She needs a firm hand. Discipline.”
“She needs food, and sleep,” I say. Reaper is always obsessed with discipline. First born scythkin usually are. I like to think I’m a little more reasonable. Sure, I’ve crushed worlds, but I can let some things slide. I don’t expect my human to be perfect, especially given she has only just been rescued.
42
They’re talking about me. I can hear them through the walls. My senses are heightened by whatever was given to me, the opposite of a sedative. An accelerant of some kind. It makes my heart beat fast and my skin tingle all over. I rub my fingers over my lips, taste the filth of my captivity and am reminded that no matter what this place looks like, it is another cage with another locked door.
I push off the bed and walk around the room opening every closed thing. What I see behind the little doors does not give me confidence. Sharp things. Weird things. Pills. Liquids. This is the kind of room where things come undone and are never put back together again.
I feel the walls start to close in on me. I sense the world itself crashing down around me. A sense of doom so great I know it can only herald the end of everything starts to clasp at my heart and my lungs, making it hard to breathe.
“Let me out!” I call, grabbing at things. “Help me!”
I am whimpering and I am crying, the sudden solitude and the unbearable strangeness of my existence absolutely crushing me. I wish I knew just one thing about this place, but the more I pull at the walls and yank at the items I am locked in with, the less anything makes sense.