Saved by the Alien Dragon

by Stella Cassy

  Saved By The Alien Dragon

  Galactic Alpha’s Conquest: Book 3

  Stella Cassy

  Contents

  Hey There!

  1. Natalie

  2. Dashel

  3. Natalie

  4. Dashel

  5. Natalie

  6. Dashel

  7. Natalie

  8. Dashel

  9. Natalie

  10. Dashel

  11. Natalie

  12. Dashel

  13. Natalie

  14. Dashel

  15. Natalie

  16. Dashel

  17. Natalie

  18. Dashel

  19. Natalie

  20. Dashel

  21. Natalie

  22. Dashel

  23. Natalie

  24. Dashel

  25. Natalie

  26. Dashel

  27. Natalie

  28. Dashel

  29. Natalie

  Epilogue

  Chapter One Preview – Enslaved By The Alien Dragon

  Free Prequel!

  Saved By The Alien Dragon

  Hey There!

  Cosmic Collector delves into the past, offering a glimpse of Tarion as a hatchling after the death of his birth mother. Through the alternating perspectives of Tarion's sire, Silea, and Alana, a human woman that captured his heart, readers will gain a deeper understanding of the Hielsrane dragons, from their possessive tendencies to their battle-hardened exteriors.

  Click here to download your FREE Prequel, Cosmic Collector, by signing up for Stella Cassy’s Insider Club!

  1

  Natalie

  Terrible drilling, blasting, roaring, and screeching reverberated through the caverns of the N-7 mining colony, doubling back on itself in endless echoes. It was how I imagined it would sound if giant demons did battle with each other in the deepest pits of hell.

  The noise alone was enough to break at least half a dozen humans from every new shipment of slaves. Either they fell to their knees within moments, screaming and clutching their heads as their eardrums bled, or they went insane over the course of several days –going limp, twitching and spasming, gibbering streams of unbroken nonsense just to remind themselves they still had voices, until they were dragged away, never to be seen again.

  Not me, though.

  From the moment I first descended into the gold mines of the planet Nort and my ears were assaulted by the constant racket, I was determined not to let my captors see how much it pained me. I kept my eyes clear and my head held high, even though the sounds gave me a persistent low-level migraine and set my teeth on edge. They also put me in a spiteful mood which never seemed to go away.

  Good. I could channel my anger into my work, I reasoned. The better to please my superiors.

  It was how I'd managed to earn my collar of pure durabilium – the totem of a respected supervisor within the mines, instead of just another slave. To my knowledge, I was one of the only human workers within the Pax Alliance to wear such a collar. Most of the others wore collars of leather or dull chains, with the occasional collar of cheap gold plating, to identify the wearers as entertainers or playthings.

  The Pax Alliance. Not for the first time, I couldn't help but smirk to myself at the irony in the name of my captors. On my home world of Earth, pax had been an ancient Latin word meaning “peace”, but the Pax were anything but peaceful – they'd spread their empire across the known galaxy like an unstoppable blight, gobbling up other planets' resources and violently crushing and conscripting dozens of other races into their service.

  Humans had been one of the easiest species for them to overcome and dominate, which I found blackly amusing. Hadn't a large percentage of Earth fiction been focused on what would happen if we'd been visited by hostile alien forces? You'd think we'd have been better prepared for their onslaught.

  Perhaps we'd been too busy fighting among each other, in the name of pitiful flags and failing nation-states. Too divided to unite and fight back when it mattered the most.

  Still, too late to dwell on such things now. And dangerous, too – I couldn't afford to get lost in my own thoughts while working in these mines. I'd seen too many gruesome accidents happen that way, and I wasn't going to let myself become their latest victim. A slave who loses an arm or a leg can't work, after all. And a slave who can't work...

  Well, I'd seen what happened to them too, and I'd sooner have died than ever let that happen to me.

  I heard a throaty growl behind me and turned around just in time to get out of the way of a hulking Nk'athen as it lumbered past on four legs, hauling several heavy barrows of raw ore. Its lumpen gray flesh looked like it was lined with clusters of hardened tumors and blisters. Its claws were wide and flat like overlapping shovels, capable of burrowing through solid stone or ripping a human in half with a single swipe. It had four beady black eyes set far back in an elongated face, and when its mouth opened, it revealed rows of dagger-like inverted teeth all the way down its gullet, dripping with sticky blue corrosive saliva. Its tongue was like a cobalt snake, slithering in and out as it licked its lips. Like all the Nk'athens in the mines, its face was bound by a heavy protective muzzle of thick leather and metal studs.

  They were, without a doubt, the most foul and hideous creatures I'd ever seen. And not just because...

  No, I thought, shaking my head to clear it. I can't think about him. Not right now, not when there's so much work to do before my shift ends. Later, when I'm alone in the barracks, I can let myself feel weakness. But out here in front of all the others, there's only being strong or being broken. There is nothing in between. And I will not be broken.

  As I tried to maintain my focus, I heard the voice of the Vence droning flatly inside my head as he communicated telepathically with all of the workers at once: Five cleks until mid-shift. Five cleks until mid-shift. The words were automatically translated into English by my brain's speech centers, but the alien's own clicking insectile language lurked and skittered just behind them, like a swarm of scorpions crawling behind a curtain.

  I looked up at the guard tower positioned on the highest ridge of the mine and saw him – Second Officer Korthlo, a six-legged creature with cruel-looking pincers and a set of antennae that constantly flicked from side to side. I'd seen those pincers drag away unruly or defective slaves countless times. They sank into soft human flesh like a hot knife through a bar of Klibnian sweetlard, cutting straight down to the bone. I'd been told by others who were familiar with Vence physiology that most of them didn't move their antenna back and forth like Korthlo; it was a nervous tic among their species, a sign of heightened paranoia or mental disorder.

  That made sense. From what I could tell, Korthlo loved the brutalities of his job with a maniacal devotion bordering on psychopathy. His biggest thrill in life seemed to be retrieving prisoners who tried to escape. There were times when I noticed obvious flaws in the mine's security and reported them to him – only to see a look of sullen disappointment on his chitinous face, and realize that he'd left them there on purpose, daring slaves to take advantage of them.

  My attention was drawn to a figure meandering away from the rows of laboring slaves, and I moved to examine him more closely. He was a human, one of the newer arrivals to the mining facility – Gordon, I thought his name was, though I couldn't be certain. In truth, I'd stopped trying to internalize the names of the new slaves as they came in quite some time ago. It seemed pointless when so many of them were worked to death or driven to madness. It also fostered a familiarity among workers which I generally attempted to discourage.

  No room for friends down here in the slave pits. No purpose in pretending we were individual beings instead of tools to be utiliz
ed by the Pax until we were ground down to useless nubs.

  Or until we proved that we'd never succumb, and were promoted accordingly, as I had been.

  From my vantage point, I could see that Gordon (if that was his name) was casually limping over to the sustenance dispenser – the machine which provided rations of hydro-pills and nutrient pellets to keep the workers from dying before they'd finished their daily tasks. Using the machine with impunity during a shift was expressly forbidden, though.

  And what's more, Gordon knew that.

  I stormed over to him just as he extracted a tiny blue hydro-pill from the slot and slapped it out of his hand before he could put it in his mouth. He looked at me, his mouth still hanging open, his comically wide eyes filled with betrayal and hurt.

  “Why did you do that?” he asked.

  There was a pathetic whine hovering in his voice that made my head ache even more than the mining sounds did. God, worms like him made me ashamed to be human.

  “You heard the Vence's thought-cast,” I replied through clenched teeth. “Mid-shift isn't for another five cleks. Mid-shift is when you're given your pills and pellets. You know that.”

  “Well, yeah, but...” Gordon shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously, as though he had to go to the bathroom. For a moment, I almost expected him to give that excuse next.

  “'But' what? Spit it out fast and stop wasting my time.”

  “But...I mean, I'm so thirsty I feel like I'll collapse without a hydro-pill...and it's only five cleks, and I figured it wouldn't be a big deal, since you're the one working as overseer today.” He licked his papery lips. He did look like he was suffering from severe dehydration.

  Too bad that didn't distinguish him from any of the other workers in the mine, myself included. Too bad it didn't entitle him to any special treatment.

  “And why, exactly, would it make any difference that I'm the overseer today?” I knew what was coming next. It wasn't the first time I'd had to endure this sort of insubordination from one of my own species.

  It certainly didn't make it any less tiresome, though.

  Gordon stammered. “Well, um...it's just that in the last mine I worked, we had a couple of overseers who were...you know...like us...”

  I raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Human, you mean?”

  He nodded vigorously, encouraged that I was starting to catch on. “Yeah! And they didn't rank as high as you obviously do—they wore leather collars, not metal—but still, they looked out for us, right? Because we're all from the same place, yeah? Earth? So they watched our backs, and they were relaxed about letting us have the pellets and pills when we needed them.”

  “I see. And tell me: When those overseers showed preferential treatment to their own race, what did that do for the morale of the other races who were working the mines with you? Did it make all of you a more united work force? Did it increase output and please your masters? Or did it create unnecessary division and resentment, and hinder production levels?”

  His expression darkened, and his fists clenched. I took note of the shift in his stance, the increased aggression and hostility in his posture, and prepared for what came next. As I said, I'd been through this plenty of times before, and it always ended the same way.

  “Look, lady, what the hell do you care about production levels? You're a slave, just like the rest of us! Whose side are you on, anyway? What, you don't give a damn about helping your own people?”

  Some of the other overseers had drifted away from their own posts to witness this confrontation. Good. I wanted them to.

  “First of all,” I began, “you will address me by my earned title of overseer, not 'lady.' Second, from this point forward, you and the others may as well start picturing me a foot shorter and covered in white fur, because as far as you're concerned, I'm not a human; I'm a servant of the Pax Alliance and its interests. Third, you will immediately disclose the previous mining camps you worked in and the names of the humans who afforded you special treatment, so they can be dealt with accordingly.”

  “Lady,” he spat, “I ain't tellin' you a goddamn thing, except to kiss my human ass.”

  Part of me was starting to admire his spirit. Shame that wouldn't stop me from doing what I had to.

  I shook my head implacably. “You can give the names to me, or you can give them to the Moset interrogators waiting to question you in the Pain Chamber. I trust you've heard how ruthless the Mosets can be. Make your choice, but make it fast. And make damn sure I hear you call me 'overseer' the next time you open your mouth. Final warning.”

  “I got your warning right here, bitch!” Predictably, Gordon raised his fist, swinging it at my head.

  Bad move.

  I rocked back on my heels effortlessly, letting the wild punch sail right past me and waiting for Gordon to be caught leaning forward and off-balance for a second. Then, with the speed that came from years of survival in the mines, I moved forward smoothly and drove my elbow down into the nape of his neck. He fell on his face, and before he could flip over, I put the heel of my work boot on the back of his skull and pressed. He groaned a wordless surrender, raising his hands off the ground as far as they'd go.

  Commandant Gohak, the boss of the N-7 mine, appeared at my side. Like all of the Pax, he was around four feet tall, with thick white fur covering his whole body. “That's enough, Natalie.”

  “Fine,” I answered. “I think he got my point. Didn't you, Gordon?”

  Gordon's head moved up and down under my heel, and I released him.

  “Take him to the Pain Chamber,” Gohak commanded Korthlo.

  Korthlo's mandibles withdrew into a nasty grin. “With pleasure, sir.” His pincers clamped down around Gordon's wrists, and the human was dragged off, shrieking in agony and terror.

  “The rest of you, get back to work,” Gohak ordered. “As punishment for this disturbance, mid-shift has been cancelled for the day, and your rations will be halved until further notice.” The other slaves obeyed instantly, returning to their tasks.

  Gohak looked up at me intently, tilting his head. “You really do seem to take a special joy in laying down the law among your fellow humans, don't you? Your sadism is beginning to rival Korthlo's. Some would argue that's a bad sign.”

  I shook my head. “With all due respect, sir, it's not sadism. Merely obedience to you and a commitment to the success of this mining colony.”

  “And it's appreciated, of course. But I must admit, my curiosity mirrors that of the slave you just disciplined. Why do you care?”

  I was taken aback by the question. “Sir?”

  He spread his arms at our surroundings. “Do you have any idea of the current gold reserves of the Pax Alliance? Because I can assure you, we don't. They're far beyond calculation, even by our most sophisticated computers. The same is true of our reserves of silver, platinum, and any other precious metal you'd care to name. We have enough to ensure that the next hundred generations of Pax will never want for anything. And even if that weren't the case, surely you realized some time ago that we have technology advanced enough to operate these mines without the need for slaves. So why do we use them?”

  He was right. It was an equation I'd solved on my own long ago. “To break the spirits of the races you conquer. To exhaust us, instill fear in us, and prevent uprisings.”

  He smiled, revealing rows of small, flat white teeth. “Just so. I knew you'd be smart enough to figure all of this out on your own. You are, by far, the most intelligent and resourceful human I've ever met. Therefore, I must ask again: Why do you care about the mine's output?”

  “To distinguish myself. The collar around my neck means a great deal to me, sir, because I'm one of the few humans who have been chosen to wear it. It, and my responsibilities as overseer, prove conclusively that certain humans can be deemed worthy of advancement. I aim to demonstrate that I am one of those humans, by any means necessary.” I paused, then added, “There have even been...stories...among the slaves. Of h
umans who served the Pax with such loyalty and devotion that they were eventually permitted to return to their own planet. One day, I would like to see my home world again.”

  Gohak put his stubby paws behind his back. When he spoke again, his voice was so quiet that it was almost drowned out by the noise of the mine. “Natalie have you ever considered the idea that it was the Pax who spread such stories? To make the members of your race work harder and even turn on each other, by creating hope where there was none?”

  “No, sir,” I answered without hesitation.

  “And why is that?”

  “Forgive me for saying so, sir, but that seems an unnecessarily subtle and highly implausible psychological tactic for a race like yours, known for dominating through brute force.”

  He thought this over for a moment, then nodded. “You're right, of course. It was merely an attempt at humor on my part one which, I admit, was in bad taste. As you were, Natalie.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  As he returned to his office, I resumed my post, watching the other slaves like a keen-eyed Nimblexican hawk. There were no other disruptions for the rest of the shift. I was quite proud of that. And whenever Gohak’s words drifted back into my mind, I pushed them away again.

  Jokes. Like he said.

  That's all they were.

  2

  Dashel