His Human Pet

by Stella Rising

  “Quiet,” he snarls. “Or the hood goes back on.”

  Forta, tell him I won’t do it! You can’t make me!

  I won’t let that happen, he replies, but you have to act like it will. Kaizel wants the humans... incentivized.

  I look away a moment to hide my relief and summon up a fresh swell of anger. Though I’m comforted by Forta’s promise, I’m fucking livid at Kaizel. I don’t need to act at all.

  Kaizel turns back to the gathering audience. “What do you say? Will you be here tonight?”

  The people roar, fists raised in the air. Several leer at me, and I wish I could disappear.

  “Go,” he commands. “Find weapons. Practice. Decide if you’re willing to die tonight.”

  Forta fits the hood back over my head, gagging me again. Then a shoulder plate on Kaizel’s armor opens up, dispersing a stream of liquid metal into the air. The stream begins to form an empty square that flies up and over me. As more metal flows, the figure elongates vertically, with bars running from top to bottom. In just a few seconds, a complete cage forms around me.

  I scream into my gag, wishing I could strangle Kaizel. Not only is what he doing to these people disgusting, I hate being caged by him. Only Forta gets to do that to me, I don’t care what arrangement the two have made. Outside I see several men turning in my direction; I must be loud enough to hear. They smile, approaching the cage and laughing.

  “Keep it up, Melody,” says Kaizel. “They love to hear girls scream, and there are so few women here. This could be their last chance to have fun ever again.”

  I hang my head low, shaking my head in disbelief. He’s a monster, Forta. How could you come from the same faction?

  Forta glowers; his lip twitches. That’s part of why I left it, pet. The faction has been shrinking for centuries, and more Dominars will leave it in the future, I promise you.

  I hope so, I tell him.

  “Come, Forta,” says Kaizel. “Let’s go see the rest of Taski City.” He turns to me with a smirk. “Don’t worry, Melody. It shouldn’t take long.”

  * * *

  I don’t see them again for hours. My body aches from confinement. When I’m too fatigued to stand up straight, I try leaning against the bars, but I can’t get comfortable. Moving very slowly, I attempt to lower myself to the ground, but I can’t bend enough to get down without risking a fall. My plugs also throb when I move at all—and if I lie down, there’s no way I’ll get back up on my own. I have no choice but to stay upright.

  Making matters worse, the villagers crowd around my cage, yelling their taunts and laughing like hyenas. Several show off their weapons—axes and screwdrivers, heavy chains, even branches whittled into spears. A few show off their fighting skills, swinging blades and punching the air. One tries to stick his carving knife through the bars of my cage, only to receive a jolt that numbs half his body.

  Too many describe what they’ll do to me when they win, ensuring I’ll have gory nightmares for years. Thankfully, nanites suppress my nausea.

  Only one thing keeps me from collapsing to the ground and crying: despite everything that I’ve seen in the last day, I still trust Forta will keep me safe, and that doing this will make things right between us. He’ll have his home, and I won’t have to feel guilty.

  And what about this tournament? How many of these men will die tonight? Won’t there be any guilt from that?

  Should there be? These are the dregs of humanity, after all—murderers and tyrants, and worse. I’ve been listening to their disgusting threats for hours—after that, it’s hard to be particularly sympathetic toward them. Yet, tonight they’re going to fight for a prize they’ll never receive. How is that fair? They may deserve to be stuck on Cetaski, but that doesn’t mean it’s right to trick them into fighting for nothing.

  Then again, maybe I don’t need to take sides. What if I just hold on, doing my best to get through this, and let Forta worry about everything else? Considering the situation I’m in, there’s not much I can do anyway. Running miles in circles in my head won’t solve anything.

  Lost in an endless well of uncertainty, I don’t even notice night falling, followed shortly by Forta’s and Kaizel’s return. Hundreds of humans have gathered to fight; more than that arrive to watch. Nerves and bravado buzz in the air.

  My cage breaks into pieces and rearranges itself, creating a chair. While Kaizel takes his throne, Forta sets me down on my knees and removes my hood. The night is cold, but I’m glad to be rid of the gag. Nanites help the ache in my jaw subside, but I’m still thirsty and exhausted. Forta holds me steady, and Kaizel waits as the assembly quiets down.

  I look to my master, who stares out into the crowd, his face an impassive mask.

  “Where did the two of you go?” I ask.

  “Kaizel wanted to meet more of the prisoners. He’d never met humans in person before you, and wanted to see if others were as insolent as you.”

  I can’t help a soft chuckle. “How’d that go?”

  Forta grins a little too. “As expected. The prisoners reinforced Kaizel’s hatred for humans. The people here are willing to fight and kill one another for a chance to possess you. I’d be disgusted too, but in fairness I would also fight and kill for you.”

  “Thank you, Master,” I say, blushing. So you’re okay with Kaizel tricking everyone? I ask by nanite, not wanting to be overheard.

  I neither condemn nor condone. He is a Dominar; Dominars do as they please with inferior species. I would not do this myself, but Kaizel can if he wishes. Plus, you know what kind of people they are.

  I nod, their vile, horrific promises still echoing in my thoughts. Yeah, I’ve met them. I doubt any of them will be missed, but... it doesn’t really sit right.

  He rubs my shoulder. I’m not thrilled, he says. But we’re not forcing them to fight. The tournament is voluntary.

  “Does your human have an objection?” Kaizel interjects. “The two of you look very pensive.”

  “Melody’s not completely comfortable with this,” Forta answers.

  “Did you tell her that participation isn’t mandatory?” he says, speaking as if I’m not standing four feet away.

  Forta shifts his jaw, eyes darting back and forth. “I did, but now I’m not sure. Gang leaders could be forcing their men to win him the prize. Some may try to win Melody so they can sell her and pay off a debt. We don’t know everything about everyone here.”

  “True,” Kaizel admits. He strokes his long black beard and looks out at the growing assembly. “You could be right. However, these humans are here because of their terrible crimes on Earth, because of their hatred, avarice, and hypocrisy. They had countless opportunities to change. If there was a shred of decency in them, they wouldn’t be here.”

  He turns to me, exhibiting an almost kind expression. “There’s no need to feel any compassion for them, Melody. They have none for you. Their willingness—no, their eagerness—to fight over you proves it.”

  Most of the men have gone silent now, waiting for the fight to begin. We hear notes of laughter and stray coughs, but little else.

  “But you’re offering the prize to make them fight. Doesn’t that make you just as bad?” I ask Kaizel.

  Forta’s mask breaks a little; a quick grin lifts a corner of his mouth. “I think she has you there,” he says.

  “That’s nonsense,” Kaizel seethes, his nostrils flaring. “I’m nothing like them.”

  “Is that so?” says Forta. “Why don’t you prove it? Show us and these humans you’re not the bloodthirsty alien overlord they think.”

  Kaizel scowls. Thinking it over, he stares out at the crowd. “Fine.” With a dismissive wave, he adds, “You tell them.”

  Forta carefully sets me down on my knees, then stands and raises his arms. “Attention!” he thunders. “The rules of the tournament have changed: no weapons, no killing. If a single fighter dies, the tournament will be canceled, and no one will win. Is that understood?”

  The humans turn t
o one another, confused and upset.

  I wonder, do they think this is a trick? In their place, I might think so.

  However, they begin to lay down their weapons, which thud in the dirt one by one. A few men leave, perhaps no longer liking their chances; no one stops them.

  “Thank you, Forta,” says Kaizel. “It’s true—as a superior being, it is incumbent upon me to show mercy, even to those who haven’t earned it. These humans will learn an important lesson tonight. None will be permanently hurt. Are you satisfied?”

  “I am,” Forta replies.

  “How magnanimous of you,” I spit.

  I suppose I can live with seeing these assholes beat each other up, and if Forta approves, that’s what really matters.

  “Good, that’s settled,” says Kaizel. He turns to the hundreds of waiting combatants. “Humans of Cetaski,” he roars. “The tournament has begun. Prepare to fight!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Two of Kaizel’s speaker drones hover down above the assembled fighters, each illuminating a single man. “Come forward, both of you,” he says, beckoning them to the front. “Ready?” he asks when they approach. Both men nod, sizing up the other. Kaizel smiles. “Then fight.”

  The men raise their fists, though they seem hesitant. Both have similar builds, and are roughly the same age—neither has a clear advantage. As the crowd starts to call out at them to go, they close in and start throwing punches.

  As they carry on, Forta reaches underneath me and opens my catsuit. He takes out my plugs and releases my bindings; the pain from both is excruciating, but I grit my teeth and ride it out, helped by the nanites quickly getting to work. Forta lifts me into his lap and lets me lie down. Despite the sounds of fists on flesh, fatigue catches up to me, and I doze off into a shallow sleep.

  * * *

  I wake to the smell of fresh bread, sliced apple, and some kind of meat. A plate of food rests on the bench next to Forta and me; he munches on the bread and fruit while watching. Kaizel eats from a drumstick of some kind, its juices dripping down into his beard.

  “Hungry, pet?” asks Forta.

  “Thirsty,” I say.

  Forta nods, and a human hands me a clay cup.

  Is it safe to drink this? I ask.

  Your nanites will destroy anything that would make you sick, Forta replies, sipping his own drink.

  I try a little of mine, testing it out; the water tastes like it came out of an old rubber hose, but it’s potable. Once I’ve finished the cup, I take some apple. I’m hungry enough to finish the whole plate, but I force myself to nibble. I don’t ask about the meat—watching Kaizel is enough to put me off it for at least a week.

  “Do they grow apples here?” I ask, trying not to hear the grunts of pain as fists pound against flesh.

  “No. I brought them from Earth,” says Forta, not taking his eyes off the two men fighting. One is short but very muscular; the other isn’t as developed physically, but he moves swiftly and anticipates well, clearly skilled in hand-to-hand combat.

  “Really? I thought you hated human food.”

  “I brought it for you, in case you refused to eat anything else. I’m giving them to the winning fighters, to give them a taste of home.”

  “That’s sweet of you,” I say. “Maybe they could plant the seeds and someday have apple trees.”

  “Maybe they would, if they cared about anyone but themselves,” Kaizel interjects.

  I want to argue with him, but the prisoners of Cetaski aren’t giving me much to work with. Several of the defeated fighters lie in the dirt, sprawled out and gasping. No one helps them. A circle of winners watches the current fight, cackling with each hit. Tempers flare among those waiting their turn in the tournament, with several breaking out into brawls. They’re lucky no one has died—yet.

  “How much longer is this going to take?” I ask, not really caring who hears. I’m too tired, and too drained—physically and emotionally.

  Kaizel laughs. “Melody, take a guess at how many humans are here right now.”

  “Why?”

  “Humor me.”

  Ugh. Whatever.

  I’ve never been that great at guessing big numbers of things, but I look around and take a shot. “About two hundred?”

  Kaizel smiles, baring his excessively white teeth. “Two hundred and sixteen. Do you know how many humans live on Cetaski?”

  I shrug. “No. How many?”

  “Several thousand, in tiny towns all over the continent. We’re going to visit one each day and hold a tournament like this. And when every human on the planet has had a chance to fight for my entertainment, then we’ll leave, and our deal will be fulfilled.”

  I nearly scream.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  Forta’s deal was never going to be easy to fulfill; I knew this from the start. Yet, I’m still caught by surprise. This could take weeks! Every day, we’ll witness hours of violence and deceit. Forta and I will have no choice but to wait and watch.

  How many times did I tell myself I’d do whatever it takes? Too many to remember. This is the price I agreed to pay.

  Are you okay? Forta asks by nanite.

  Yes, sir.

  Forta creates a holographic knife and starts cutting up another apple. “Eat, pet.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I let him feed me a little more, sating my hunger despite the guilt burning behind my eyes. More than once I see the prisoners eyeing our apples; I’d gladly toss a whole bushel out to them, but I doubt Kaizel would be happy.

  I hide my disgust for him as we watch several fights; Kaizel applauds the winners and laughs with nearly every punch. Forta’s not giving any sign that he’s enjoying or hating this, and he pays more attention to me than the fights. I force myself to remember that these are not nice people—they deserve to be here. I try not to pick a favorite or root for anyone. This isn’t a sporting event or a game show—this is not fun. A few of the participants go into their matches confident and excited, but not many. They’re just desperate and sad.

  Do you think Kaizel will make us tour the whole continent? Won’t he get bored of this?

  Forta sighs. Maybe. Not likely. True blood sport is hard to find in the Dominar Empire. There are places one can go for it, but this is a much better alternative.

  I guess that makes sense; I doubt Dominars would want to fight each other for real in most circumstances. It’s so medieval.

  What places? I ask. Other planets?

  Yes, but not in the Dominar Empire. Outside of it. In the Blight, Forta explains.

  The Blight?

  My nanites introduce the information into my mind: a territory on the outskirts of the galaxy known for being utterly lawless, chaotic, and dangerous. It’s for people who would rather struggle every day of their lives than accept Dominar authority. Dominars do not visit without a good reason.

  So, Kaizel’s not going to get his fill anytime soon, I think.

  Forta shakes his head.

  Wiping a tear from my cheek, I lean my head against his shoulder. At least we’ll be together.

  I want to kiss you right now, he replies.

  I want to do more than kiss, I say.

  He grins. Later, when we have some privacy.

  I’ll look forward to it.

  Feeling a chill, I glance over at Kaizel; he’s watching us. There’s a sick smirk on his face that turns my stomach, but then it’s gone.

  He goes back to the spectating tournament, which is growing sadder with each bout. By now, most of the fighters have participated in five or six matches. They don’t have much strength to continue; some of the winners have even given up, too battered and bruised to go on. The end of the tournament comes quickly, with the final fights only lasting a few blows. I don’t know how Kaizel manages to stay so entranced, so excited—how is he not bored by this tedium?

  The last two men can barely stand—their fight quickly devolves into the two of them throwing weak punches and
kicks from the ground. I have to look away, or I’ll start to cry. No matter how vile these men are, this is still too sad to watch.

  Eventually, one of the fighters rises to his feet; when his opponent stays down, he turns to Kaizel and asks, “Is it over?”

  “Congratulations,” Kaizel replies, nodding. “You’re the winner. What is your name, human?”

  “Ivan,” says the burly, hairy man. He leers at me, his few remaining teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “My prize?”

  Townsfolk approach as murmurs carry in the wind, no doubt spreading the news that the tournament is over. Earlier participants who have recovered thread their way to the front, edging past one another to find out who won.

  Telerings rise from Kaizel’s suit and lock around my body. “She’s yours,” he says.

  “What!” I scream.

  “This was not the deal,” Forta says, positioning himself between me and Ivan, his hands locking into fists.

  “You said—” I start, but Kaizel cuts me off.

  “It’s the deal now, Forta. The men of Cetaski will taste your human night after night, or you will never see Dokkedex again.”

  The crowd rumbles, ringing alarm bells in the back of my mind. Ivan steps forward, but one look from Forta scares him back. I said I’d do whatever it takes, but how can I do this?

  I turn to Forta, wanting to tell him I’m not going to let him down—I want to stay true to my word. I want to show him how much I love him, to prove that I am his, no matter what—that I’ll do anything for him.

  “Forta, I—”

  “No,” he says, interrupting me. He’s not looking at me; he’s focused on Kaizel. “You dishonor us,” Forta continues. “You’ve broken your word about our deal, and you insult me by presuming I would even consider participating in such cruelty.”

  Forta takes my hand and squeezes it softly. “I know you want to fix what was broken, Melody.”

  I nod, not caring that tears are falling to my cheeks.

  “I’m not letting Kaizel do this to you; I don’t care if that means I never see Dokkedex again. You’re more important to me. There are thousands of planets I can call home, but only one of you.”