by Renee Rose
I suck air and walk fast to the next craft, hover in the shadows created by the vast wing, peering into the distance. Yes! About 800 yards from me I recognize the logo of the InterTrack passenger shuttle. Other slaves whispered about this being the transport that takes anyone, no questions asked, no need for pesky paperwork.
I straighten my shoulders and stride forward, keeping my head high, my gait strong. When I reach the craft, I nod to the Falladian standing guard at the base of the entry station. “I’m looking for passage.”
He stares at me with all three eyes, scratching his head with one tentacled arm. His other arms cross over his chest. “We’re full.” His gaze slides past me, then back.
I extract a bag of coins from my voluminous jacket. Gold I took from Benn’s bag. “I can pay in gold. No taxes, no fees. Just pure stein.”
He blinks, his blue eyelids closing like those of the lizards that ran around on my old planet. “Full is full.”
“Double.” I shake some coins into my gloved hand.
When he doesn’t react, I raise my eyelids. “With a bonus for you.”
He doesn’t move for a long time, and bile rises in my throat. Every sound behind me is like a shot to my gut. Are they coming after me yet?
Then he blinks again, that slow open and shut. “Triple. And only as far as Tellurex. I don’t want to know your final destination. You can get another transport there.”
“Done.” I resist the urge to glance over my shoulder. A re-fueler pod zooms past, making sloshing and clanking sounds, like some gears are worn, and disappears around a craft further down the tarmac. I see various beings around, and my unease grows—I need to get out of sight, fast.
“Weapons will be checked and stored for the duration of the flight. To ensure the safety of all passengers.” His long, thin mouth curves up into a grin, revealing long, razor sharp, whisper thin talons, in tapered rows of three, on both upper and lower jaws.
“Of course.” I tense my thighs, clench my fist. Resist the urge to shudder.
“We depart in one hour. You can board now—”
He breaks off, stepping backwards, his eyes widening. I whirl around, heart in my throat, and panic when I look right into the flat-featured, ugly face of a squat Ocretion.
“What do we have here?” the Ocretion asks, eyes glittering as he examines me, his gaze far too sharp for my liking.
The Falladian shrugs. “Transport passenger. Who’s asking?”
“Prison Specialist X23-G.” The Zandian flashes a badge. “Looking for runaway slaves.” He raises a sleek flashing device. “Surely you don’t mind if I do a quick scan, just to ensure your passengers are all legal?”
The Falladian stiffens, and his eyes redden. “This is a neutral way station, guard. I don’t care who you are, my passengers are off limits.” His body starts to swell and expand before my eyes, his muscles puffing out into hard ridges. An acrid sweaty odor fills the air. He glances at my pouch of gold. I know he only cares about my money, but I’m grateful for his resistance to the Ocretion.
The Oc doesn’t move at this display. “It won’t take but a second.” He grins, an oily nasty smile that leaves his eyes flat and cold. “As we Ocretions now own the local prison, we have additional rights to look for escapees on the planet.”
I suck in air and cough, the acrid fumes burning my lungs. There’s probably not enough oxygen here for me, and I feel dizzy and cold, hot, sick. But something in my gut twists, something hidden and mysterious, telling me I need to react —
I sense it before it happens; the Ocretion reaches out, serpent fast, his clawed nails flashing in the lights from the trans craft, and I’ve already leapt aside. Anticipating. I guess my reflexes are still working.
“Mother Earth!” I whirl and run, coins flying from my fingers like sunbeams, falling to the parched ground. Adrenaline gives me speed, and I fly, racing around obstacles with ease, my mind moving fast to plan my route.
But he’s faster. It’s only seconds before I feel his hands on my jacket, and the breath is wrenched from me as he stops me in my path, whirling me around roughly to face him. We’re back at the transport craft, and I could weep—my salvation so close, yet so infinitely far.
“You’re a human,” he spits at me, his foul breath making me gag.
“I’m not. Take your hands off me,” I snap, struggling in vain.
“If you’re not, then what’s that on your neck?” He leers at me. “The first digits signify human.”
Mother Earth. My headgear has come loose, exposing my barcode. I grab the scarf and rewrap it. “None of your concern.” I need to get onto that trans ship—once I’m on, he can’t board. Nobody can, unless invited by the craft owner.
“You’re done.” He laughs. “Your life is mine. Don’t fight it, or I’ll make this far, far worse.” His ugly sneer brings bile to my throat.
I take a deep breath and turn to run again, but he grabs my arm, pressing in hard with his repulsive hand, and I scream now, with all my might, although there's nobody here who cares. Not even the Tellurian—he wants easy money; he won’t get involved in a spat with an Ocretion. No sane being would.
My head spins with terror, and then, to my utter surprise and relief, there’s Gorde. Strong, panting, anger and concern in his eyes. “Let go.” With one vicious punch, he drops the Ocretion, and I’m pretty sure I hear cracking bone as the monster falls to the ground, his hand loosening on my arm like a hideous flower blooming open. I know he’s dead before I see the dark maroon spread of his blood.
“Danica. We need to get the veck out of here, now!” He grabs me, but I’m not capable of moving.
Frozen, I stare. “I…”
“What are you vecking thinking?” he roars into my face. “You’re coming to Zandia with us. You have no right to wander around this vecking desolate shit-hole of a monstrosity full of violent creatures whose lives are worth less than nothing. ” He spits at the Ocretion on the ground.
I have no love for Ocretions. But his words remind me why I needed so desperately to get onto that transport shuttle.
“Let me go!” I scream, tugging, scratching at his hands with my nails. “I need to go. Let me go.”
“Go where?” His breath mingles with mine, both of us panting. His face is an inch away. “With this creature?” he gestures back at the transport ship, to the Tellurian, who’s hovering in the shadows, still inflated, watching. “Who will probably murder you or sell you back to a slave auction the vecking second you depart this planet?” His eyes are fierce and wild. “You’re defenseless, Danica. You can’t run around like this. You’ll be killed in a heartbeat.” Even in my panic, I notice that his face is tired. And that purple blood trickles from a wound on his temple.
His grip tightens. “And you belong to me, now. To me and Benn. Let’s go. Veck.”
He starts to walk, and when I resist, he simply grabs me and tosses me over his shoulder, like I weigh nothing.
“You don’t understand.” I slump over his shoulder, all of my strength gone, my muscles quivering. “I can’t go with you. Please.”
He doesn’t respond, but quickens his pace until he’s jogging. My head pounds from the jostling and the stress, and by the time he reaches the craft, my skull is splitting.
He dumps me unceremoniously back by the wall and attaches the cuff.
“Let’s go,” he snaps, and Benn immediately sets the craft into motion. The departure is faster and rougher than any I’ve experienced, and although the AirPulse keeps me safely in place during the sharp ascent, I suck in my breath, dizzy, as we escape orbit.
“Are we clear?” Benn’s voice is taut.
“Yeah. I dropped the Ocretion who identified her as a human when I found her.” Gorde gestures at me. “No one followed us, either, and by now we’re far enough away that they can’t, even if they try.”
“So we’re not going to get any surprise visits to Zandia,” drawls Benn. “Looking for missing property. That’s a relief.”
I hear gentle beeps from the side area, and see that the med pod appears to be occupied. Although I crane my neck, I can’t see who—or what—is in the pod. I shudder as the craft leaps forward, anxiety and relief mixing with nausea.
“Another breeder for you?” I snap. “I hope she fought back. I wish she’d given you a worse injury.” I scowl. “Also, you both smell terrible.” I put my free hand over my mouth, as a new wave of dizziness rolls through me.
Neither Zandian responds.
“I need fluids.” I suck in a breath. “I don’t feel good.” I blink, the scene in front of me blurring and softening into a watery landscape. My cuff doesn’t move with me this time, and when I slump down, my whole arm goes taut as I hang forward and gag, my shoulder twisting.
“Help her,” snaps Benn. “I’ve got this.”
Gorde is at my side in a flash with a flask of clear liquid. “Here.” He adjusts me so my arm isn’t being strained and fixes the cuff so it can slide. He sits down, cradling me in his lap, and holds the tube to my mouth. “Drink it.”
I gulp all the sweet juice and wipe my eyes. “The air on that planet…”
“Is harsh. We told you.” His voice is hard, but I hear something else in his tone, and his eyes scan my face. “Veck. You could have ruined your lungs if you were there longer. It’s not for humans, Danica.” He reaches up and rubs my face. “You’re crying.”
“No, I’m not.” I look away. Damn. It must be the hormones. I never cry.
“Why did you run?” He taps my chin, and his tone sharpens. “We told you to stay. How did you get out of the cuffs?”
I shrug.
“Tell me.” His hands tighten.
“Ow.” I pull back, and he loosens his grip immediately. “I don’t know how, Gorde.”
“Don’t lie to me.” He scowls at me. ‘You’ve got one punishment coming already for your escape. Don’t double it.”
My stomach flutters. “I’m telling the truth. I just…” I blink.
“You just what?”
“I looked at the cuff and I wanted it to release. And it did.” I bite my lip.
“That doesn’t make sense. Do you have some magnetic implant I don’t know about?” He grabs my free hand, turns it over to examine the underside of my wrist. We both look at my pale, unmarked skin.
“Not that I know of.” I shudder.
He narrows his eyes. “So you did it with mind-control. Really, Danica?”
My eyes fill with more ridiculous tears. “It must have malfunctioned.” I shake my head. “Lucky for me.”
“No. Not lucky at all,” he snaps, then softens his voice. “Where did you think you were going?”
“To the only place humans can live free.” I look across the room to the med bay, where the pod flashes soft red lights.
He scoffs. “You’d never make it there a quarter of the way, alive. It’s impossible, Danica. Even we have trouble getting there undiscovered. Don’t you know how…” he breaks off. “Do you realize how fortunate you are that we found you before you got on that transport ship?”
“I didn’t know. I thought if I could get onto that ship…” I touch my stomach. “It was instinct. I’m tired of being a slave.”
He looks away and his body clenches under mine. “Too bad, Danica. And disobeying us will only make it worse for you, so I suggest you obey in the future.”
“So you’re going to punish me?” I look up at him. His features excite me, even at this moment when all I should feel is fear. Maybe it’s the way he’s holding me against his chest, so firm. Maybe it’s the way he released me when I said ow. Or perhaps it’s the look of concern in his eyes. Most likely adrenaline from the escape.
He leans in until his lips are nearly brushing mine. His voice is low, and his eyes flash. “Yes. We are. You’re not going to like it, either.”
“What if I just said I was sorry?” I can’t look away from his gaze.
“Oh, you’ll apologize.”
“I will?” I breathe out the words.
His hands soften on my arms, and he circles my wrists with his strong fingers, holding gently. “Repeatedly. You’ll beg for mercy over my lap, Danica.”
I blink. Over his lap doesn’t sound too frightening. Besides, his face burns with passion, not anger.
“And after that?”
“After I spank you? Then Benn will take a turn.” He smiles. “Until we’re both fully…satisfied that you’ve been thoroughly and sufficiently disciplined.”
I shiver, but it’s as much from arousal as anything else.
He runs a finger down my cheek. “Don’t worry. You’ll learn your lesson well enough.” He gives me a wicked smile. “And we’re going to vecking enjoy every second of teaching it to you.”
My traitorous body thrums with desire. I don’t know why his threats arouse me.
“Perhaps there’s a better way to teach me the lesson,” I suggest, my voice low. Our lips are practically touching.
He smirks. “No, a spanking is usually the very best thing.” Then his lips brush mine, so softly it’s like air. But before I can kiss him back, the med pod beeps in a new pattern, louder, aggressive.
He jumps into action, sliding me from his lap, getting to his feet.
“Check it,” orders Benn, but Gorde’s already striding over.
He leans over the pod. “He’s fighting the Replenish.”
“Then it’s set too high. Adjust it.”
“Already done.” Gorde types rapidly on the pod controls, and the beeping goes back to the previous pattern.
“Who’s in there?” I lean over, still cuffed to the wall. “You said he? It’s a male? Why do you want a male slave?”
Neither of them answer, and I tug at the cuff. “Can you let me go, please?”
Benn leaves the console and joins Gorde; the two of them peer at the pod, then talk in a low voice. I tilt my head until I can hear. It’s a gift; all I need to do is turn my ear in the right direction and I can catch the softest sounds, if I really focus. I only noticed that I could do it since…I frown, unease filling me.
“He’s stronger. Look at his horns. They’re normal again. And the blood transfusion worked.”
“When will he regain consciousness?”
“Let’s telecom with Dr. Daneth. We need his advice on what to do next. Thank veck he created this med pod for our rescue missions.”
“Or else he would have died.” Benn gestures at the pod.
I sigh and lean against the wall. Then I look at the cuff and focus. Release. Let me go.
Nothing happens, so I try again, focusing harder, but only manage to make my head hurt.
I glance again at the Zandians. What did happen before? Maybe the cuff malfunctioned right when I wanted to leave...the other options really don’t make sense. Especially since I can’t replicate it.
Benn comes over and sees me pulling at the restraint. “I’m going to release you to clean up, wash, eat. You can’t overpower us, so don’t try.”
“I won’t.” I hesitate. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” He gives me an even look.
I duck my head, thinking of how best to answer, but he just shakes his head, leaving me alone.
After I’m clean, have used the medikit and dressed in a flowing dress—apparently they no longer trust me with boots and camo gear, even though we’re in the middle of space—I sit quietly in the module chair while Benn and Gorde talk. They glance over at me from time to time, and although I can hear them clearly, I can’t understand now that they’re speaking in Zandian. I speak Ocretion, one of the most common trade tongues in the galaxy, and the language my master uses. Former master. I shudder.
From across the craft, the two Zandians notice. Gorde scowls and snaps something, and Benn shakes his head. “Are you all right?” he calls, out, then approaches me. His brow wrinkles. “Are you still feeling ill?”
“No. That passed. Thank you.” I glance at the pod.
“Your lungs are all right? Yo
ur breathing?”
I nod. “The inhaler worked. I’m fine, now. Just a little shaky from the whole experience, I guess.” I look again at the pod.
He follows my gaze. “A rescue.” He crosses his arms. “Since you clearly won’t stop asking until we tell you.” I think I see the slightest hint of a smile.
“Not a slave?” I bite my lip.
“No.” His expression darkens and he looks away. “A Zandian. Don’t go over there. Don’t touch the pod.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so.” He scowls. “Safety. His and yours.”
“Fine.” I put up my hands. “I have experience dressing wounds. That’s all.”
“You do?” He narrows his eyes and tilts his head.
A cold shudder goes through me, as memories rush my mind: Akron lashing out with his claw-like nails, full of rage, but controlled. Always controlled. Slicing where it won’t show. Inner thighs. Belly. Leaving me to think about my transgressions, and to clean my own blood, tape up the thin, deep wounds correctly. Taking me to the medic to laser away the scars, only so he could have a fresh canvas.
I put my hands on my legs and take a deep breath. “That one on your forehead. You need to wash it and apply ointment. If you hold it together and affix the wound tape, you can line it up to make the scar thin, nearly unnoticeable.” But when I look closely, I see that although the dried purplish blood is still there, mixed with dirt, the wound itself looks smaller.
“Are you healing that fast?” I’m amazed. I reach out to touch his head and he lets me. “Still, you should wash it to avoid infection. Especially if it’s sealing rapidly.”
“We have more med kits.” He points. “I’ll use it later. I’m fine.”
“Use it now.” When he raises his eyebrows, I lift my chin. “Master. Please. I can help.”
A beat goes by, while he looks at me. “All right.” The corners of his mouth turn up. “Do it.” He looks at me, then his jawbone flushes with a deeper purple. “I’ll get the kit.”