by Corin Cain
“There – you can share,” he says, obviously pleased with himself for finding a solution to my complaint about being served too much.
Moments like these really highlight how… alien Marcel truly is.
I mean, of course he’s alien – they’re all aliens. All three of the Aurelians are towering, marble-skinned warriors from a planet in the center of the civilized universe called Colossus.
But it’s easy to forget that mind-boggling reality when you’re with this triad. Lucius, for example, acts like a big, cocky jock to me.
Quint, on the other hand, remains in his own world. Who knows what goes on behind those haunted eyes of his? He barely even speaks – and when he does, it’s as if those few words join just a handful he’s uttered during the entire last decade. His eyes stare at me, but then flicker around the room – constantly searching for a threat even in the safety of their living quarters.
Marcel, though… He’s just awkward. Not in an unattractive way. More like he’s not used to having conversations with humans – real conversations. From the way he looks at me, I’m guessing Marcel hasn’t had to learn how to make a real conversation with a human female, since no doubt he has dozens of them throwing themselves at him on his homeworld, begging to join his harem.
It makes me wonder why he’d bother coming to this disgusting Toad mothership, or risk execution by his own people, all for the sake of purchasing slaves.
Quint suddenly stiffens, snapping me from my thoughts. It’s as if he detected something my human eyes and ears are oblivious to. Maybe he did…
Maybe these living quarters on this Toad ship aren’t so safe, after all.
Tessa is oblivious to my concerns. She pulls out a chair and sits beside me. She’s taller than me by at least six inches, so she doesn’t struggle to look over the table quite as badly as I do. Even in her makeshift toga – made from that bedsheet, with her hair mussed and tussled – she somehow manages to look elegant and wild. Tessa is an effortless, feral beauty – very different to the sweaty mess I feel like sitting beside her. What makes it worse is that I had an ice-cold shower not ten minutes earlier; and already I can feel the sweat beading on my brow again.
There’s something very unusual about Tessa – something she’s clearly keeping a closely guarded secret. She knows how to swim, for example – a skill which isn’t taught to ninety-nine percent of humans, as it’s not that useful a skill on industrial or desert worlds, where swimming in clean water is an indulgence reserved only for the wealthy.
More than that… There’s a regal air to her. Tessa and I told each other we wouldn’t talk about our past – but the longer I spend with her, the more I’m suspecting Tessa came from money; which makes her presence aboard the Elnor transport ship that much more mysterious.
My thoughts are the loudest sound in the room. In fact, there’s dead silence otherwise – except for the Aurelians chomping away on their huge forkfuls of bloody meat.
Tessa takes a few experimental bites from my heaping plate, and sighs contentedly as she chews.
“I’ve gotta know,” she finally asks, feigning indifference to their answer the same way she feigned cheerfulness earlier. “You three don’t seem like Rogue Aurelians to me. Why the hell are you on a Toad mothership in the first place?”
Wrong question.
The mood around the dining table instantly darkens.
The Aurelians stop eating. Their mouths are full of half-chewed food, and their forks and knives are paused mid-action as they wait, turning their attention to Marcel.
Even more seriously than before, the leader of the Aurelians narrows his eyes and murmurs:
“We’re not here by choice.”
Of course! They answer her! While all I get is flippant little jokes and lingering glances.
“We took a job,” Marcel continues. “Shipping for Aurelian Priests. I don’t know how much you know about politics, but there’s tension between the Elites of the Empire and the Order of Priests.”
That’s an understatement.
Ling told me all about the resurgence of the Old Ways. More and more Aurelians were objecting to being ruled by a human female, Queen Jasmine, and their resentment was rapidly transforming into something that approached open rebellion.
“Shipping?” I stare at Marcel, wondering if he’s told this lie so many times, he’s actually started to believe it. “Is that a more pleasant word for smuggling?”
The Aurelians pause, forks in hand. Each of them stares at me, practically open-mouthed.
“Oh, c’mon, Everybody and their womp-rat knows about the tension between the Priesthood and the Aurelian Empire. It’s pretty fucking hard not to when the news-comms are broadcasting holovids of Priests actually calling for “a return to the Old Ways.”
Marcel blinks. His eyes harden as he stares at me. He was so gentle when he tended to my headwound last night – so much so that he didn’t even wake me up. But looking into his slate-grey eyes now, I realize there’s no kindness left in them. Not after what I’d just said.
Finally, he speaks.
“You don’t know what you speak of, Jamie.”
I’m intimidated, I’m not going to lie – but I nevertheless scowl defiantly.
“I know what I bloody well speak of! Everyone knows it! The Priests believe in the Old Ways, and if you’re working for them – smuggling something between the Priesthood and the Toads – it means you’re Rogue, through and through.”
The accusation hangs heavy in the air – but I don’t pause.
“The Toads are the Aurelian Empires greatest enemies – and you’re working with them! The Priesthood are practically ready for open revolution, and you’re smuggling things for them. Possibly things from dozens of rebel factions within the Empire.”
When they still fail to respond, I add: “You bought us at a fucking slave auction! Don’t you pretend you’re not one of them; no matter how much you try to wriggle out of it!”
Quint suddenly slams his fist down on the table, shaking our plates and making me jump. The rest of my tirade dies instantly in my mouth. I realize I’ve said too much. There’s now dead, uncomfortable silence...
…but I have to press on.
“I don’t know how you guys got roped into whatever it is you’re mixed with, but you have to get us off this ship. That Bullfrog who tried to buy me? He’s bad news – especially for me. I’m not safe here – not as long as he knows I’m still on board.”
Marcel narrows his eyes. For a moment, he’s silent – and I wonder if my rant about the Bullfrog is enough for the leader of the Aurelians to kick me out of their living quarters entirely; or perhaps deposit me right back into the hands of that scarred, slimy bastard.
Eventually, though, Marcel nods in understanding.
“You’re right,” he concedes. “If we don’t hear from the Toads in one hour that the shipment is ready, we’re leaving. It will cost us a fortune – it might even lose us the contract – but we won’t have you unsafe.”
I bite back the curse poised on my tongue – a barbed comment about that ‘fortune’ being nothing but blood money. I can’t afford to care how the Aurelians make their living. I can’t afford to care about anything – not as long as my compliance is all that ensures they get me off this ship and away from the Bullfrog who murdered Ling.
That ugly scar on the slimy bastard’s shoulder is nothing compared to the ugly hatred glowing in his bulbous eyes. If that Bullfrog gets his revolting hands on me…
Tessa smiles, suddenly breaking the tension.
“Thank the Gods! You’re knights in shining armor!”
I turn and look at her, and it doesn’t take a detective to see how hard she’s working to project that smile. She was practically born to play the role of ‘damsel in distress’. She’s just the right combination of strength and vulnerability.
Meanwhile, my own heart is pounding in my chest, and I’m feeling nauseous – the meat turning in my stomach. Yet, as Tessa continues
talking, it can’t help but lighten the mood. Her calming voice is almost hypnotic – and I can tell she must have been taught diplomacy from a young age; further scenting my suspicions about her background.
It’s not my place to judge, though.
Instead, I turn back to the Aurelians and ask another accusatory question:
“Okay – then tell me this. Why do you guys keep the heat on so high? It’s like a desert in here.”
Lucius leans back in his seat, and his stern expression softens to that familiar grin. Wiping his bloody lips with the back of his hand, the huge warrior scoffs:
“If you find it uncomfortable, just imagine how a Toad feels! They don’t come here unless they absolutely have to.”
As if scripted, that’s the moment three loud thuds echo at the exterior door.
We all freeze.
Marcel stands, his chair dropping backwards and hitting the floor.
“Bedroom,” he orders. “Now!”
He glances from Tessa back to me, waiting for us to nod in confirmation. I don’t argue – already picturing that hideously scarred Bullfrog on the other side of the door, with some convoluted excuse for why he has the right to reclaim me.
I grab Tessa by the hand and rush her to the bedroom, pulling the door almost shut behind us.
But I keep it cracked – just a fraction. I need to know what’s happening. Maybe I can’t do anything about it – but I’m tired of being a spectator to my own destiny. I’m tired of letting things just happen to me.
Tessa and I huddle together, peeking through the thin crack. My heart pounds in my ribcage as we wait for the Aurelians to open the exterior door.
They don’t do so immediately. As if still serving their hundred years of military service, the three Aurelians peel off – Quint and Lucius each flanking opposite sides of the doorway. Marcel steps back, to stand in the middle of the room like a towering statue. With Quint and Lucius at either side of the doorway, drawing their Orb-Blades from their waist, a very deadly trap has been set for whoever stands on the other side.
Now, suddenly, I realize I’d read this whole situation all wrong.
The Aurelians aren’t guests of honor – they never were.
They’re prisoners as much as Tessa, or myself. They’re only here because of this shipping contract between the Priesthood and the Toads – and until their cargo is loaded, and they’re permitted to leave, it’s no less potentially deadly for them.
I have a bad feeling about this.
If we don’t get off this ship soon, something horrible is going to happen. I can feel it in my bones.
Marcel spits out a word in the Toad language – one the AI doesn’t need to translate – and the big doors open.
On the other side is a horror – an abomination.
It’s a Bullfrog, nearly as big as the one I left adorned with that hideous scar. The creature is a huge mass of warty, glistening power. Steam lifts from his gleaming hide as the dry heat of the Aurelian’s rooms burns away his natural layer of slimy moisture.
The moment Tessa sees the beast framed in the doorway, she pulls back with a barely-stifled gasp. Her eyes don’t return to the crack in the doorway. She can’t bear to look at that hideous creature.
After she was nearly sold to one of them, I can hardly blame her. Even without that hanging over your head, it’s hard enough to even look at them. It’s not a Bullfrog’s ugliness that scares me. It’s their sheer size. Toads are cunning and cowardly, using deceit to achieve their aims. Bullfrogs, on the other hand, have all those Machiavellian tendencies, in addition to brutal strength to force others to give them what they want.
The Bullfrog in the doorway rises until he fills the entire space.
“Lord Oblog, Finger of King, commands you to Great Hall!”
Spittle leaves the Bullfrog’s huge mouth as he gurgles out the order in barely-comprehensible Common speech – his yellow, uneven teeth as crooked as tombstones.
I gulp.
I’m not on a Toad mothership – or, rather, just any Toad mothership. I’m on the vessel of one of the ten most powerful Toads in their confederacy – the ‘Fingers’ who rule beneath only the King himself.
I clamp my mouth shut before a sound can escape my lips. This is bad. Really bad.
At the same time, I feel a tug at my dress. I glance to see Tessa’s big eyes staring up at me.
“Look,” she hisses. She pulls me away from the barely-cracked door to the viewport.
Through it, the emptiness of space stretches out into infinity – utterly indifferent to my plight.
Only, wait…
…it’s not empty.
A thin, green ship slides through the dark void, shearing towards this Mothership like a dagger. The vessel is surrounded on all sides by Toad attack ships – swarming protectively like flies around a big pile of dung.
I pull myself away from the viewing port, rushing back to the door to peek through the crack once again. More than ever before, every cell in my body is screaming that I need to get off this ship.
Outside, Marcel is staring down the looming Bullfrog. Despite the creature in the doorway being one of the few in the universe who match an Aurelian’s size or strength, Marcel doesn’t so much as flinch.
“We will come immediately,” he says coolly – as if responding to an invitation to tea.
The Bullfrog nods, and then remains lingering in the doorway. His bulbous eyes scan the room – looking endlessly around, as if searching for something.
For us.
I know it.
When he eventually spots nothing to satisfy his curiosity, the lumbering Bullfrog just grunts.
“Bring the women! The slaves! You must!”
Marcel’s hand drops casually toward the hilt of his Orb-Blade, hanging at his waist.
“The women are our property. They’ll go where we want them to go.”
The Bullfrog snorts, and then looks both left and right – sizing up the two Aurelians stationed on either side of the doorway. Lucius and Quint are ready to rip him apart. The Bullfrog might be big, but he’s still no match for all three of the Aurelians – especially with their Orb-Blades drawn and activated.
Part of me wants to see it. The sliver of vengeance in my heart would like nothing more than to watch the Aurelians cut this Bullfrog down.
But the rational part of my brain knows that if they did, every Bullfrog and Toad on this vessel would turn their murderous attention to us; and when the Aurelians were cut to ribbons, Tessa and I would only be able to pray we shared their fate – lest an even more grim outcome awaited us, back on the slave block or a Bullfrog’s aquarium.
The Bullfrog senses Marcel’s hesitation, and changes his tune – adopting a more respectful, submissive tone of voice.
“Honored guests,” he gurgles. “Come.”
Marcel nods. This is a more acceptable invitation.
But then the Bullfrog insists:
“Must see. Must see the women! Bring them.”
To the Bullfrog’s credit, he doesn’t step back as he makes this demand.
Marcel’s broad back faces me, so I can’t see his reaction to this – but I imagine it’s not good. I watch as his fingertips graze the hilt of his Orb-Blade. I know he’s just aching to draw it, and cut down this disgusting, insolent creature.
As much as I’d like to witness that, I pray Marcel won’t succumb to the temptation – and, in doing so, kill us all.
Instead, he growls: “What if we don’t want to bring our women?”
The Bullfrog looks left and right again, counting the Aurelians ready to rip him apart. They still number just two – Lucius and Quint.
His jowls jiggling, the Bullfrog gurgles:
“Lord Oblog orders you. I just deliver order.”
As he says that, the Bullfrog backs away slowly. Once he’s safely out of immediate reach of the Aurelians’ Orb-Blades, he turns and lumbers down the corridor.
Fuck.
Fuck!
> When the Bullfrog said ‘honored guests’ he wasn’t referring to the Aurelians, despite the luxury of their living quarters on board this ship. Whoever these ‘guests’ are, I’m willing to bet they’re arriving right now, in that sleek, green ship we saw through the viewport.
Just a day ago, the news would have floored me. Now, I take action, instead.
The second the exterior doors hiss closed, sealing us from the Bullfrog and his entourage, I burst out of the room.
The sudden movement makes Marcel turn sharply around, his Orb-Blade activating.
I freeze.
Suddenly, I’m face to face with seven-feet of bloodthirsty, indignant alien warrior – ready to kill at a moment’s notice. Marcel’s Orb-Blade hums with energy and nothingness – a blue-black field that crackles and fizzes malevolently.
Malevolent is the only way to describe it – malevolent and endless.
I find my eyes drawn to the blade, and within it I can see the deepness of the universe; sinking endlessly into darkness, and coaxing me to follow it.
I can’t tear my eyes away. It captures me in the same way it must have caught the Toads and Scorp – the ones who’d lain eyes on that same blade just moments before getting cut down by Marcel.
Then, just as instantly, the blade blinks out of existence.
I’m free.
I shake my head, feeling as if I’ve just snapped out of a trance.
“My apologies,” Marcel says coldly – but not so coldly that I can’t read the emotions behind his slate-grey stare. He’s losing his composure.
“It’s okay,” I raise my hands. “It’s okay – I know you didn’t mean to scare me.” My eyes narrow. ”Are you being summoned to the Great Hall to take a new shipment?”
I ask the question out of hope – sweet, poisonous hope that this is merely a routine request.
Yet, I know it’s not. From the way the three Aurelians are standing, it’s very clearly not a routine request – and the fact that ‘the women’ were demanded to be brought along makes this invitation even more sinister.
Marcel shakes his head slowly, confirming my fears. I wince – but press on.
“We saw a ship approaching,” I gesture towards the viewport in the bedroom. “It was coming in to dock.”