Cosmic Captor

by Stella Cassy

  In the meantime, I need to find some tools to get this slave collar off my neck. I have no idea what it will take to get this piece of shit off my neck because all my masters have been very secretive about that piece. Blindfolding us or even rendering us unconscious was standard operating procedure when switching out a collar. Therefore, I’m just kind of imagining what might get the job done. My first choice would be something to disengage the lock, but I’d resort to cutting it off if I could find something that cuts through metal. It’s unfortunate that the guard I killed didn’t have his fingerprints keyed to my collar. That was above his pay grade. The longer I wear the collar, the more I’m in danger of being tracked and captured. Once I jettison this piece of shit, they won’t be able to track me with it. Undoubtedly, this ship has some useful supplies.

  As I scramble around looking for tools, I run across a waist pouch. Snapping the empty pouch around my waist, I continue to rummage gathering up a vacuum pack of clothing, a half-eaten food bar, a tiny dermal healing unit and some bottle caps. Yep, they have those on some worlds. The look totally different deepening on which world they came from. These are square, made of pliable metal and the four sides have been pried up slightly to get it to release from the bottle. It has the logo from a famous Akal maker. I’ve had Akal exactly one time. It comes in a clear container and looks like colorful seeds. You drink it straight from the container and it turns to liquid in your mouth. Each color has a different but delicious flavor. They come in fruit, vegetable and even grain flavors. The memory makes my stomach growl again. I gather them up as the metal can be sharpened, and that makes it useful. Finally, I find a tiny laser torch. Regardless of how tall the alien I took the key fob from was, the beings who last owned this ship must have been diminutive. Everything I’ve found was designed for small hands.

  I head back out to the control room to check on the autopilot, shocked that everything is just fine. I grab the laser torch and am about to burn this irritating collar off when I think better of it. Taking a minute to dig through the ship’s archives, I look specifically for information related to slave collars. The collars similar to mine are designed to constrict when tampered with. Gods of chaos, I’m glad I didn’t try to get it off. I hate the feel of it around my neck. The thrill of finally being free is marred by the fact that I’m still wearing such an overt sign of slavery.

  Skimming through the archives, I find a manifest of what’s sitting in the cargo hold. Though there is an assortment of foodstuffs, unfortunately none of it is Akal, nor any other food I recognize except pressed food bars. The obliquus bars are made of whatever happens to be plentiful on the world who processed them. Mostly, they’re made of grains, but some are made of insects and stuff humans don’t care to eat. Thank goodness there is hydration fluid. I smile, they’re in exotic flavors that I’m not normally permitted to have. There are three crates of cloning supplies. I perk up at discovering they are carrying some clothing destined for use on one of the pleasure planets. With any luck I might be able to find something that will fit my smaller frame. The last item on the list is a cue of chromite, one of the most valuable metals in the verse.

  Making my way down a tiny ladder to the holding bay, I rummage around looking at all the crates. They have pictures depicting the contents as well as a short listing of what’s inside in the six languages most prevalent in this sector of space. Since I can’t read any of them, I go by the pictures. After eating three food bars the size of my index finger and drinking tiny bags of tasty hydration fluid, I feel my strength returning. Cramming my waist pouch full of food bars and bag hydration fluid, I climb back out of the hold.

  Since the cleansing unit is only big enough for about a fourth of my body, I made due with a bird bath. The creepy neon green cleaning fluid that comes out doesn’t smell bad, so I dip a cloth into it over and over again, scrubbing every square inch of my skin. Dipping my long hair into a basin of it, I get as clean as I can. It feels amazing to be grime-free at long last.

  Eagerly tearing open the vacuum sealed pack of clothing, I’m disappointed to find that it’s one of the long slinky gowns worn by harlots to attract customers. Since nothing else aboard this ship comes close to fitting me, I pull out the long silver garment and slip it over my head. It comes almost down to my ankles and shimmers like liquid. In one of the small pockets, I find something soft. Pulling it out, I hold up the small scrap of fabric in a clear wrapper. After opening it, I determine that the tiny swath of fabric is meant to go between my thighs and the top has pieces that tie at the waist. It looks brand new, so I slip it on, wishing I had something to cover the slave collar. The undergarment looks and feels super weird.

  I could never wear this get-up to a trading station. This is a real problem because I’m eventually going to need to trade for food and other supplies. I won’t make it very far without backup fuel rods. A lot could go wrong for one person flying along in the black of space in a rickety ship. What I really need is a nice out of the way planet with an operational space port and proper mechanics.

  That seems like a one shot in a million as I curl up on a large mat and try to get some sleep. Tossing and turning, I know my dreams will be filled with memories of my mother merged with images of her being in danger and my imagination’s best guess at what she must look like after all these years. In my waking hours, I pray that she’s managed to escape and is living in a small community on some distant world where no one bothers her. I have much less control over my dreams and that’s the place were all my anxieties and worries manifest themselves.

  It’s been almost four lunars and I’m running out of just about everything, even though I’ve been rationing like crazy. I haven’t eaten in several days and I’m dehydrated from rationing my tiny hydration fluid packets. Heck, I even ran out of the strange neon green cleansing fluid. I’ve felt death knocking on the door a few times in my life, but none more loudly than now.

  I drop down at the console to readjust my heading. If I’m reading the star map correctly, there should be a small non-aligned world less than a planetary rotation away. If I can just make it there, I might be able to trade some chromite for the supplies I need to stay alive. I’ve come up with a plan to make a call to the trading center to purchase what I need outright. It’s an expensive way to get what I need, since no face-t0-face haggling will take place, but it will protect my identity.

  The ship suddenly jerks violently. That can only mean one thing. Double-checking my controls, I verify that my newly acquired heap of space trash is caught in a tractor beam. Unfortunately, the other ship is much more powerful, making it impossible for my small craft to break free. I didn’t find any weapons on my little walkabout either. Checking my controls, I see one huge battle ready ship. What’s worse, it appears to be flanked by dozens of smaller ships.

  Why can a girl like me never catch a break? You would think the laws of probability would dictate that I win at least occasionally. Bending forward, I bang my head gently against the control panel. Whoever this is will kill me or take me to the nearest slave trading planet, which, incidentally, is the one I just escaped from. It looks like I’m destined to be breeding stock, whether I like it or not.

  Turning my head sideways, I wonder what species captured me in their tractor beam. If they are small like whoever had this vessel before me, maybe I can overpower them. Sitting up, I increase the magnitude of the scanners. My eyes fly over as much information as possible. I’m seeking any tidbit of information that might help me escape from whoever now has me in their clutches.

  2

  Winners and Losers

  ~ Tarion ~

  Sitting in the captain’s chair aboard my glorious flagship, I can barely quell my excitement. My sire always said if you are patient and quiet the prey will come to you. It seems the devious dried out old scale was right. My crew and I have been hiding behind a nearby moon scanning the same twenty parsecs of space for the last lunar. This particular area is thick with invisible shipping routes. After
only a few days, we have yet another ship trapped in our tractor beam. It is the fifth one so far, making this the most profitable run of my life.

  Tapping my talon on the data pad built into the arm of my chair, I pull up all the information we’ve gathered on the targeted ship. It’s an older D-class mini freighter. The scans pick up one being on board; a rare species, classification human. I’ve encountered them before. Human males are weak and therefore insignificant.

  The human’s ship is a different matter altogether. To the uninitiated, it wouldn’t have drawn interest, even from the most desperate of captains. It was an older ship with a solid design that someone had taken the trouble to intentionally distress. I can tell because the patches are cosmetic and the dents superficial and not where one would expect from battle or heavy use. Making one’s shiny new ship look old has to be the oldest smuggler’s trick in the book. It’s what drew my notice to this Seratian light freighter. I’ve always admired freighters with extra cargo space and hidden compartments.

  Running my claw down the list, I discovered that in addition to the rare human creature, there was almost a cube of pure chromite, not to mention the coating of chromite covering the ship itself. I’d have noticed the distinctive black metal on sight it it hadn’t been covered with Cu. Wrapping my hand around the dragon necklace hanging around my neck, I hold it up to see the tiny flecks of silver in the chromite. Some might consider wearing chromite a bit of an eccentric luxury, but not me. It’s my favorite metal and now I have full a cube for all my own.

  In any event it’s a highly controlled substance that would fetch a fortune on the black market, making this small ship is our best catch so far. To be honest, the fuel rods alone make it worth the risk of grabbing. Inverted risk verses reward situations are my favorite. Why risk getting a scratch on my proud vessel if I don’t have to?

  Coming gracefully to my feet, I command, “Pull the ship into our cargo hold. I want to get a look at the human beast. Perhaps he is capable of being taught to load and unload cargo for a while. If not, the slave markets will fetch a tidy price for such a rare specimen.”

  Lehar sounds off, “Yes, sir. Retracting target now.”

  I watch the vessel grow larger in my view screen. It’s difficult to feel a true sense of pride at such an easy victory, yet somehow I manage it. Or maybe that’s avarice. I’m no good at identifying my own emotions, since I seem to have so few of them to bother with. Emotions are for the weak.

  Smoothing down the baroque seam on my resplendent uniform, I tuck my wings neatly behind me and stroll off the bridge to inspect my newfound treasure.

  Such situations always hold my interest because one never knows what might be discovered on older freighters. They often have hidden compartments shielded from scanners. I won’t know for sure exactly how valuable this haul is until our crew takes the vessel apart. My feet are always a little lighter after a successful clandestine operation. Even my cauda is twitching with anticipation.

  Stepping into the loading bay access corridor, I watch through the viewing window as the ship floats in through the huge bay doors and is lowered gently to the floor. I’m gratified to see the crew is careful with my merchandise. It takes a few moments to re-pressurize the bay and flood it with sanitation microbots. I use the time to look over my new prize. She’s nothing to look at, but since I plan to strip her bare and disassemble the craft, it matters not.

  When the shiny metal door slowly slides up to allow entrance, I momentarily admire my handsome continence in the reflective surface. The Hielsrane clan is littered with strong handsome males, but it is a well-known fact that I am head and shoulders above the rest. Though I haven’t shifted into my dragon form for many lunars, in my veins runs the blood of a true dragon warrior. Females want to claim me for their own and males all desire to be more like me. It’s not my fault the Drakon are so highly revered or that I am feared and adored in equal measure among the beings of this sector.

  The open door distracts me from my own magnificence. There is loot to sort and stow away in my holds. Striding into the bay, I approach the warrior in charge of securing and maintaining my various acquisitions.

  “Greetings and salutations, Grondonolan. The preliminary scans revealed chromite and fuel rods. Did your targeted scans reveal anything else of value?”

  “A close scan reveals the being inside is a female.”

  Barely able to contain my glee, erotic hedonistic images float through my mind. “A human female is a rare find. The communi-channels are brimming with new studies that suggest that most of them are brooders.”

  “I’m aware. Once we got her aboard, we were able to run a limited medical scan. She has an intact reproductive system and appears to be of brooding age.”

  “My sire’s primary mistress is a human female.”

  “I’ve heard they are creatures of delicate beauty.”

  “Oh they are, my friend. Alana has beautiful smooth skin as dark as the night sky. Her jewel encrusted strands of hair are soft and scent like heaven. She’s sweet, obedient and practically worships my crusty old scale of a sire.”

  “He is Drakon Prime, sir.”

  “As am I, Grondonolan. Bring this frail dark quivering beauty before me, in order that I might see her with my own eyes.”

  Gesturing to my assistants, the smartly uniformed warriors quickly pop the door on the ship and clamber aboard. After some time, more males climb aboard. Pacing back and forth it worries me that it takes so many of warriors to bring the human out. Running my hands through my hair, I stare at the door of the small craft. My dragon stirs, sensing this situation is harbinger of bad things to come. I pace back and forth, impatient for my first glimpse at the delicious creature. Her life is in my hands. I can keep her to warm my bed or sell her on for a nice profit. Of course, I’m only pretending to myself there is a choice. Tarion of the Hielsrane has never been one to choose personal comfort over profit. Therefore, no matter how delectable the gentle little brooder is, she will be sold off to the highest bidder.

  Disappointment wars with amusement when I see that what my crew drags off the small ship is no brooder. She is human all right, but she’s neither a dark beauty nor docile. She is wearing the garb of a prostitute and not filling the costume out very well. What’s more, she’s fighting like a feral animal. My poor crew is forced to pull her out using catch poles around her neck and on each wrist. Stepping closer, I see what the problem is. She’s wearing a slave collar. Clearly, she is not fertile enough to be a brooder and is being used as a comfort slave instead.

  Unable to contain my amusement at the hilarity of the situation, I cackle with laughter. “Calm yourself, harlot. You are now the property of Tarion of the Hielsrane.”

  Tossing her long stringy hair back out of her face, she snorts derisively. “I’ve never heard of you.”

  “Impossible. The Hielsrane name is whispered in every corner of the verse. We are feared and revered for our courage and daring in the face of insurmountable odds.” Putting my hands on my hips, I spread my wings in a display of absolute dominance. “I am the Drakon warrior responsible for single handedly turning back the horde of Ulan raiders at our southern border.”

  The wicked little sprite does not seem properly impressed and responds almost gleefully. “Nope, I’ve never heard about any of that and I grew up in this sector.”

  Stalking up to the still struggling little spitfire, I tip her head back with one sharp claw as three of my men worked to keep her under control. Staring down into her deep blue eyes, I look into her soul. The little creature is soft like my sire’s human. However, instead of smooth skin, she had battle marks the likes of which I had never seen. One long scar tears across the side of her neck disappearing into the side of the nearly shredded garment and comes out between her breasts. Her face and shoulder are peppered with tiny cuts and scars. My eyes skip gleefully from one to the other of her glorious marks. She’s fierce and what’s more, her big apprehensive eyes tell me that I am her whole
world at this particular moment in time.

  The little beauty scents like fire and defiance, yet I alone know her secret. All her fears are bubbling just below the surface, hidden from the eyes of normal folk, but not from the eyes of Tarion of the Hielsrane. I can see her pain, panic and dread at being captured by such a fearsome enemy.

  Something about her heaving bosom and the now tattered clothing of a seductress barely clinging to her curvy form captures my notice. Drawing one claw down her neck, I can feel her pulse beating wildly against my fingertip. My dragon is now alert and clawing to get closer to this new human. Leaning down slightly, I allow him to exhale over her soft mounds. Her nipples immediately draw into tight points. No female can resist the call of a Drakon Prime, least of all this lovely little morsel. Primes are the largest and strongest of our kind, making up less than five percent of all Drakon warriors.

  A small knee comes out of nowhere and catches me squarely between the legs. The pain is nothing short of excruciating.

  “Get back you crimson demon. Don’t ever lay another slimy claw on me or so help me God, I’ll make you regret the day you were fucking born.”

  Grabbing a handful of her hair, I jerk her head back. With the vulnerable column of her neck fully exposed, an expression of terror jumps in her eyes. It’s gratifying to see how quickly the little hellion switches gears. Rather than sinking my fangs in her pale flesh as my kind are wont to do, I lean down to her ear and whisper. “Never dare to touch my distinguished personage again. I am a Drakon Prime. You are a foolish slave. The punishment for abusing me is death. Remember that if you wish to survive long enough to be sold to a less imposing master.”