by Ivy Barrett
“I don’t know an exact number,” Tarn admitted, her voice growing cold. “Several hundred, at least.”
Lorna nodded. She was dying to know more about the rebels. Maybe Celeste could finally motivate the Ventori to intervene if she had current information to barter. How many ships were in the rebel fleet? Was it just the Yashonty or had other species joined with them? How large was the average crew? Lorna sighed. Most of what Tarn had said so far was generalized concepts. It was obvious she was reluctant to give out specifics. The first step was earning her trust. And she wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
“May I ask a personal question?” Lorna asked with a soft smile. “You’re the only Yashonty female I’ve ever met, and I’m curious about your life.”
“If I’m offended, I will not answer.”
“Fair enough.” Lorna paused, carefully considering her words. “Did you choose to be a comfort-giver or are you not able to—”
“No one chooses to be a comfort-giver,” Tarn snapped. “It is every female’s sacred duty to bring forth life, especially now that so many of our species have died.”
Many humans felt the same. Priorities and aspirations tended to shift when survival became everyone’s primary motivation. “Please don’t be offended by my ignorance. I honestly know very little about your society.” She motioned to the ship surrounding them. “This technology is much more advanced than my people have produced. Can’t Yashonty scientists and doctors assist with infertility?”
“In many cases, but not in all. Not in mine.”
Lorna accepted the information with a nod. She was beginning to understand the pain reflected in Tarn’s eyes. “What about orphans and children who are not being cared for by their biological parents?”
Tarn pushed back from the table and stood as well. She looked intensely uncomfortable. “I knew Earth dwellers were primitive, but your question infers something unthinkable to the Yashonty. Abusing a child, any child for any reason is punishable by death. It is simply not tolerated. And orphans are gladly taken in by the blood relatives. Shaping our young is a privilege, an honor, not an obligation.”
Hoping to deescalate the flare of tension, Lorna moved to the padded bench—the Yashonty version of a sofa—and sat. Tarn’s description sounded so idealistic, so utopian that it was hard to believe. Especially when juxtaposed against their utter ruthlessness. “And if an orphaned child has no blood relatives?”
Tarn moved into the living room but remained standing. “They are cared for by a friend of the family or...” Tarn’s voice broke, and she quickly averted her gaze. “In rare cases, a male and his comfort-giver will make the child their own. This elevates the comfort-giver to life-bringer, so many are anxious for such opportunities.”
Some inner instinct made Lorna ask, “Have you known comfort-givers that were able to make that transition?”
Tarn cleared her throat as she nodded. “My sister did. She was evacuated with the other life-bringers. I provided comfort for one specific male for many celestial cycles. We had been approved for the program, but he was lost to the Skarilians. The child was granted to another.”
“Oh, Tarn, I’m so sorry.” Lorna stretched out her hand, but Tarn remained out of reach. Lorna lowered her arm, but her heart continued to ache for the other female. Tarn had lost everything: her male, her only opportunity at a better life, and a child she was hoping to love. Instead, she’d been assigned to a spaceship filled with sexually aggressive males. Tears blurred Lorna’s vision, but she quickly blinked them away. It was already obvious that Tarn wouldn’t welcome her pity.
After regaining her composure, Tarn looked into Lorna’s eyes. “There is nothing more important to my people than the next generation. Each of us would gladly lay down our lives to save any child.”
It was hard to argue with that sentiment, but other aspects of their society were more problematic. “What percentage of Yashonty females are comfort-givers?”
“In the time before or now?”
It was a common distinction among victims of the Skarilians. Reality often changed completely after a planet was targeted by the invaders. The Skarilians enslaved populations who passively surrendered, but any resistance, no matter how mild or fleeting, was met with swift destruction. They had no regard for life and abandoned each planet once the natural resources had been stripped away. The enslaved populations were sold to other species or left on their desolate planets to starve. It all seemed arbitrary and amoral, utterly merciless. The Skarilians were either soulless monsters, or there was some twisted purpose behind the destruction that no one understood. Most believed the first.
“Nothing that existed before matters,” Lorna said, a conclusion she’d resisted for over a year. “Humans learned that the hard way.”
“As did the Yashonty.” Their common ground gradually made Tarn more willing to share more specific information. “Only sixty-two comfort-givers survived the massacre. All the other females are life-bringers.”
“You said there are more males than females now. How disproportionate is your population?”
Tarn sighed, but answered, “Our ratio of males to females is approximately ten to one. That’s better than most. How is it with humans?”
Males made better slaves than females, so a common tactic of the Skarilians was to annihilate women and children as punishment for any male who dared to defy them. The despicable practice had become so common that many planets surrendered the moment they saw the Skarilians approaching thinking they would be shown mercy. They were wrong.
In some ways, it had been irrational, but Lorna was glad the human race had united and stood their ground. The rebellion had cost them dearly, but it had also allowed the Ventori to arrive and drive off the Skarilians.
And yet you’re still a slave to alien masters. Stubbornly, Lorna ignored her inner voice.
“Because we don’t have spaceships, human males were harder to separate from females,” Lorna explained. “But despite what you think, our males did a pretty good job of keeping us safe. We lost two-thirds of our population before the Ventori arrived, but there are actually more females now than males. In fact, our ratio is about the reverse of yours. There are ten or twelve females to every male.”
Tarn shook her head, staring past Lorna for a moment. “No wonder Earth has drawn the attention of so many. Not only does the planet hold an unusual concentration of females, but without the Ventori, you are also utterly helpless.”
A fact that wasn’t lost on human females.
Rather than allowing Tarn’s attitude to distract her, Lorna digressed. “Are comfort-givers...” She wasn’t sure how to ask this without insulting her potential informant. “Do you choose which male to comfort, or does the male decide?”
“Comfort-givers are available to any male who wants them until they are claimed, which I have been. In case you were wondering. I comfort Prime Medical Officer Noj Estin. His rank is even higher than Marshal Ruaz’s.”
Marshal Ruaz? Was that Belton’s name and title? Rather than admit she didn’t know, she asked, “Are comfort-givers able to find another male if the one who claims them is cruel or a poor provider?”
“Any male who mistreats a female or does not provide and protect her will be severely punished by the other males. Yashonty females are extremely important to all of our males.” A certain change in her tone made it obvious the distinction had been intentional.
“But only Yashonty females? Your males are allowed to mistreat and neglect alien females all they like?”
“Have you been mistreated or neglected?” Challenge arched Tarn’s snow-white brows and made her purple eyes gleam. “You were claimed by Marshal Ruaz, and it is likely he will only offer you to Magister Lark. Do you understand how fortunate you are?”
“I don’t know what those titles mean. I barely speak Ventori and have never met a Yashonty until today.”
“Magister Lark is second only to Ram himself. Marshal Ruaz is very important as well. All of
the other security officers answer to him. He is responsible for the safety of every person on this ship. You will serve two of the most powerful males in the entire Yashonty fleet.”
Okay, so Belton was head of security. It didn’t surprise her. He had the penetrating stare of a cop. She’d already figured out that Moxtel was way up the food chain, but she still wasn’t clear on his actual job. “What does a magister do? The title doesn’t translate well into Ventori.”
“He is Ram’s top adviser. His knowledge base is extraordinary, and his intelligence unrivaled. He is an esauntre. Most consider him the best.”
That Yashonty word didn’t translate into Ventori either, but Lorna heard oracle in her mind. She tensed at the implications. Moxtel was a fucking oracle? As if he weren’t intimidating enough already. “The English word my translator suggested has mystic elements. Is this true of your esauntres? Do they sense things not apparent to others?”
“Some do. Magister Lark certainly does. He can tell by the sound of someone’s voice if they speak truth or lies. You better not lie to him.”
Lorna had wondered if Moxtel was empathic. He reacted instantaneously to things that shouldn’t have been obvious to him. He was a living lie detector. What other abilities did he possess? “Thank you for explaining. I don’t want to anger them without meaning to.”
Tarn actually smiled. “But you will mean to anger them from time to time?”
“It’s human nature to challenge authority. Especially for Americans.”
“I should go.” Tarn looked at the door then offered a tentative smile. “Shift change is nearing, and my master will expect me to attend him and his cabin mate.”
Lorna returned Tarn’s smile as she walked her to the door. Tarn rattled off an authorization code, and the barrier rolled out of her way. As the door closed again, Lorna couldn’t help thinking, if comfort-giver is so different from body-slave, why do we both have masters?
Chapter Three
Moxtel crossed his legs and accepted the drink Ram handed him, trying hard to appear relaxed. They sat in the outer room of Ram’s private quarters, both more than ready to unwind after a particularly hectic day. Ram wasn’t just Moxtel’s commander. They had also been friends for many celestial cycles. The opportunities for them to sit back and share a drink were few and far between, so Moxtel forced thoughts of the human female from his mind. It wasn’t easy. Her tantalizing image had haunted him for the past five hours. He couldn’t wait to return to the cabin he shared with Belton and continue her initiation into Yashonty life.
“Should we postpone this conversation until after you’ve fucked her?” Ram asked with a knowing smile. He moved to the backless chair facing Moxtel and sat. “Your thoughts are clearly on Belton’s new body-slave.”
“She’s a distraction, I admit. But I’m dying to hear how the Tavorians reacted to your proposal.” The Tavorians were the latest victims of the Skarilian scourge. The Tavorians were separatists dedicated to peace and neutrality, so the attack had been particularly confusing. As usual, the Ventori rushed in offering help and support to the refugees when they should have responded with lethal force, preventing the Skarilians from ever striking again. Ventori compromises and half-measures were nearly as frustrating as the irrational butchery the Skarilians practiced. The war would be over by now if the Ventori would get their priorities straight.
“Vikrin, the prime gatekeeper, is interested,” Ram told him, “but Minister Nomani is useless. His loyalty is to the Protectorate now. I knew this would happen as soon as Savator put him on the high command.”
Moxtel sneered. The Ventori chancellor was the most exasperating of all. Savator commanded a force even greater than Ram’s, and yet he refused to use that power to permanently end the slaughter. Sacrifices would be unavoidable, many innocents would die. But their deaths would pave the way for lasting peace. That was the nature of war.
“Savator bribed Nomani with a mate,” Moxtel reminded Ram. “Most of our men would switch sides for the opportunity to continue their bloodline. Damnation, I might abandon your ass in exchange for a mate.”
Ram nodded as he stared down into his drink. “Have you been able to confirm the rumors? Have the Ventori created some sort of universal breeder?”
Moxtel knew nothing about human biology, so it was hard to judge the validity of the information he’d received. “According to our agent, the rumors are exaggerated but true. They have not created a human who can breed with any species. They’ve developed a process by which human females can be reengineered for genetic compatibility. Contrary to what is widely believed, each species requires a unique code specific to their genetics. It cannot be done in one fell swoop.”
“But the process is basically the same regardless of the species?”
“That’s my understanding. I’ve yet to see the actual data or witness the transformation, so it’s still theoretical, in my opinion. Apparently, human DNA is unusually tolerant of recoding.”
“Has it been attempted with a Yashonty?” Though subtle, the hope in Ram’s tone was unmistakable.
“It’s doubtful. I’ve asked our agent to transmit the actual data, but it may take some time.” Ram’s only response was another thoughtful nod, so Moxtel asked, “What’s the next step with the Tavorians? This inactivity is driving everyone crazy.”
“The gatekeepers must be handled carefully. They were unpredictable before they lost their planet. Now, they’re also traumatized.”
“We can’t attack without them.” Ram’s only response was an impatient look. He knew. They both knew what needed to happen, and how improbable it was that they’d succeed.
Moxtel had been investigating an anomalous energy surge when one of the probes inadvertently captured images of a massive Skarilian outpost. In fact, he might have stumbled across the Skarilian home world. The only problem was it was in a different dimension than Earth, and the only way to reach it was to fly their fleet through a mega-gate, an interdimensional portal that took multiple Tavorian gatekeepers to create.
“Vikrin asked for a week to convince the other gatekeepers to cooperate with us.”
“You allowed it?” That didn’t sound like Ram.
“I told him I would, but I haven’t decided. The Skarilians don’t know we’ve located the base and it will take at least a week to lock in the other aspects of a major offensive. If I’ve accomplished everything I need to accomplish and they’re still jerking me around, I’ll simply send ships to collect the gatekeepers and move forward with captives rather than allies.”
Moxtel chuckled. Now that sounded like Ram.
“Did you locate the younger sister? What was her name? Breena or—”
“Brianne,” Moxtel supplied. “And I’m not sure.”
“What does that mean?”
“I spoke with our hunters, and they remembered the night in question. Two of the three females were claimed immediately. All three were officer quality. Brianne, however, was also a virgin, so she was sold to Exotic Pets.” It was standard practice, so Ram couldn’t be surprised.
“Fuck.” Ram drained his glass and went back to the beverage station for a refill. “Does Xarr still have her, and if not, who bought her?”
“You know Xarr. He’s cagy as all the torments on a good day. Today he was obviously lying, but I’m not sure why. At first, he acted like he knew nothing about her, then suddenly he remembered her but said she’d been sold in a private exchange shortly after her arrival, but he wasn’t able to divulge the buyer’s identity. Company policy, you understand.”
Ram returned to his chair but set the new drink aside. “What do your gifts tell you? Does the son of a whore still have her or not?”
“I can barely read Xarr when I’m in the same room with him. I absolutely sensed deception, but who knows what he was hiding. Auctions take time to arrange, and it’s only been six days. If she’s as special as the hunters said, it’s likely she’s still on Xarr’s ship or in one of the training centers.”
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br /> “Any chance you can get your uncle to bid on her?”
Moxtel cringed. His mother’s youngest sister, Carrella, had been pressured into ‘choosing’ King Eltor Sarnak of Rylar as her mate. She’d gone kicking and screaming to the politically motivated bonding, but the charming young king gradually won her over. After a tempestuous courtship, they’d been happy for six years. Then Carrella died suddenly, leaving Eltor alone with two young children. It changed the devastated king, made him cold and emotionally unapproachable. It hadn’t hindered his appetite for sexual comfort, however, so he was a frequent customer of Exotic Pets. Moxtel’s family refused to have anything to do with Eltor now, but the royal connection was beneficial to the rebels, so Moxtel maintained the relationship.
“I know I can convince him to buy her,” Moxtel said. “The question is how long will he enjoy her before he gives her back.”
“We might not have another choice. If Xarr sells her to anyone else, your lovely body-slave will never see Brianne again.”
“Lorna is Belton’s slave, not mine,” Moxtel pointed out.
“Why is that?” Ram watched him closely, eyes narrowed and assessing. “This is the third time you’ve forfeited your turn on the rotation.”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Moxtel countered. “You can fuck any female you want, comfort-giver or body-slave, yet you don’t touch any of them. Have you lost your taste for females?”
“Hardly,” Ram scoffed.
“Then why are you living like a Trilorian monk?”
Ram shrugged as he retrieved his drink. “I’ve had all the casual pussy I can stand. I’m holding out for a life-bringer. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m a selfish bastard,” Moxtel confessed with a grin. “I’ll just enjoy Belton’s slaves until the perfect female crosses my path.” Even as the boast left his mouth, Lorna’s image filled his mind.
“Then you’ll reinstate your turn on the rotation so you can claim her.” Ram nodded his approval.