by M. J. Kelley
News from the other family had only been good. Her sister was adapting nicely, and it made Samantha feel less guilty about the pleasure she derived from everyday things.
One of her daily lessons focused on inlari society, the norms and societal rules, the caste system, and the obligations of each inlari.
“It doesn't seem fair,” Samantha responded one day after an inlari etiquette lesson. “I mean, it’s so unfair to treat someone as if they have less value than you.”
Master Zocht smiled patiently, like he usually did, before responding. “You have to remember, little one, this system has been part of the inlari fiber for thousands of years, if not millions. It fosters a balance and follows a philosophy that each inlari is born for a select purpose. Nothing less and nothing more. And so, each inlari, from birth, is honed and trained to function and operate within the paradigm of whatever position or rank has been selected for him or her. It works. It makes for a functioning society that is productive and brings about advancement across many fields. And, you have to remember that, if you know nothing else except the inlari way, then our system seems perfect and fair.”
“I suppose so.” Samantha shrugged. “But what if it’s wrong anyway?”
Master Zocht laughed. “Oh my dear Bol. It is all relative. I’ve taught you about the inlari culture, and I have taught you about the different human cultures on Earth before we arrived. What is acceptable in one culture is not acceptable in another. Justice in one culture could be viewed as atrocity or injustice in another. There are no absolutes in life except time. Not even death is the final step.”
And so it went, week after week. Master Zocht and Samantha would either sat by the dining room table or outside in the garden, with its magnificent views of the harbor and surrounding areas, or else in his study, in front of a line of multicolored screens, where he allowed Samantha access to his information archives. He taught her to write and read the inlari language, Anshahar, and at first it troubled her, but once she understood the logic behind the sounds and signs, she easily progressed.
He taught her about the Great Star, Inlar, who, it is said, created the first inlari nation and would one day reclaim them from the enemy that hunted them. This great evil was known as Rordorah, the Black Star, the Planet Eater and Taker of Life. Other than that, Master Zocht was quite vague when speaking of Rordorah or its mindless minions, the boleeron. He did not expand on their nature or appearance. Samantha saw fear in his eyes when he spoke of them and decided not to push the subject.
Samantha was allowed to grow out her hair, which she was thankful for. Having long hair again reminded her of a time when her mom used to plait her hair and fuss over her. It was a small reminder of a time that seemed from another life.
There was safety and peace in having a daily routine, and with the promise of being united with her sister one day, the throb of loss became dull and distant.
Her collar was replaced each year to allow for growth in her size. Because the collar could only be unlocked at the detention center, Master Zocht had to take her back there, where Matron Salek would fit a new one. Still unsmiling and curt, Matron Salek seemed unchanged by time.
On her twelfth birthday, Samantha saw Carik again at the detention center. Master Zocht had taken her for a collar replacement when she saw Carik exit Matron Salek’s office. Her master was a tall inlari male with fat, stubby horns and jowlish cheeks, clad in a woven robe of deep red and gold trim. A ripple of ice ran down Samantha’s spine when she saw his eyes. Beads of dark menace set in browless sockets leered at her.
Samantha stepped in closer to Master Zocht, who must have felt her fear, for he placed his arm around her shoulders. She shuddered.
“Greetings Drankel,” Master Zocht said in Anshahar, breaking the silence and forcing the other to focus on him and respond in kind. Although Samantha could not yet speak the language fluently, she knew enough to follow the conversation.
“Greetings, Zocht. By the Great Star, you have a fine bellogan there with you.”
“Inlar has blessed me, yes. Bol is an efficient housekeeper and prepares the best meals in all of Lakarta.”
Drankel sniffed and gave a half sneer as he studied Samantha. She felt the intensity of his stare, like his eyes were drilling into her soul. “Yes, indeed, Zocht,” he said slowly, “It seems I have not been granted the same fortune.”
He reached back and grabbed Carik by the arm, pulling her roughly next to him.
Samantha was shocked at Carik’s appearance. Her white-blond hair was tied in a severe ponytail that ordinarily would have accentuated her features, only it didn’t now. It highlighted the bruises and scars on her face. She had lost the youthful excitement Samantha remembered. Carik’s iceberg-colored eyes were now watery and tepid. Dull. Her gaunt face bore multiple bruises in different stages of fading. An old scar twisted from her upper lip, leaving her mouth in a permanent snarl.
“My bellogan does not cook, of course.” Drankel licked his lips as he stroked Carik’s head. “But she is useful in other ways, many other ways.” He gave a short laugh. “Although, I fear she might be getting worn out, and then what do I do?” His eyes lingered on Samantha as he said the words. Carik’s expression did not change, and she remained silent; her vacant gaze saw nothing and no one. “Ah! I hear a new consignment of bellogans arrives next week.” Drankel continued, “I might send this one to the Island if the quality is good.”
Samantha saw anger flash in Master Zocht’s eyes, but he remained quiet. Master Drankel was well within his rights to treat a slave in any manner he deemed fit.
“I would love to continue our discussion, Drankel, but time is against us. I have an appointment. May Inlar bless you with just rewards. You make all inlari so proud.”
Drankel stiffened at the poorly veiled sarcasm but said nothing. Instead, a smile formed on his broad face. “And you, Zocht. And you.”
That night Samantha could not sleep. Her thoughts were filled with Carik’s tortured face and the unspeakable cruelty she must endure daily at the hands of that monster. There was nothing she could do for her; neither could Master Zocht. She had already pleaded with him, but he had told her he was powerless to do anything. Master Drankel was elite. Zocht was larie.
Reuniting with Carik had reminded Samantha that Lakarta was a dangerous place for humans.
For her fourteenth birthday, Master Zocht promised Samantha a trip to the city center. Apart from exchanging her collar at the detention center once a year, Samantha had not ventured anywhere else and led an isolated existence. Her only link with the outside world was the digital information archive that Master Zocht allowed her to study. She had grown into a tall and lean young woman, and with her obsidian-colored hair and dark eyes, she posed a striking figure.
Samantha had dressed in a spotless white tunic with a tan undervest and new white canvas shoes for the trip. The soles were rubber and comfortable, but Samantha gave them no second thought. Fashion, after all, was of no consequences to someone in her position.
Excitement pulsed through her as she thought of the looming day trip. And yet, fear of the unknown—of venturing into a place that harbors only animosity—tempered her mood. Though Master Zocht had assured her that if she stayed by his side and obeyed the rules, she would have nothing to fear, Samantha still felt a jolt in the pit of her stomach—not unlike what it must feel like to step into a den of lions.
She had yet to unite with Kimberley, who would now be the same age Samantha was when they were kidnapped. Although her need to reconcile with her sister still drove her thoughts and haunted her nights, Samantha had grown used to a life of structured routine, and guarantees from Master Zocht that Kimberley was doing fine, and that they would eventually unite, sustained her. She had grown to trust her alien teacher.
Samantha studied herself in the mirror while she plaited her hair. She was a human girl learning alien things in an alien place surrounded by aliens. What chance did she have of ever escaping? Maybe that is why
she had come to accept her own lot. Maybe that was why—
“Bol!” Master Zocht's voice broke her reverie. “Come down quickly!”
Surprised, Samantha called from her room. “I’m almost ready Master Zocht. You’re early.”
Master Zocht had gone to work that morning like any other morning, but he had planned to return in the afternoon to pick Samantha up for the trip to the city. Samantha looked at the tablet on her bedside table. It was still early morning. He had been gone scarcely an hour.
“Forget about the trip. Come down. There is something I need to tell you. Hurry, girl!”
In the five years she’d been living in his house, she had never heard him speak like that, not with this edge of panic to his voice.
Curious, Samantha jumped up, her slender fingers hastily tying the last loose tresses as she hurried to the stairway.
She saw Master Zocht pacing frantically in the entrance hall. His usual lighthearted face was knotted with concern and panic.
“Master Zocht, what’s wrong?” Samantha asked as she came down the stairs.
Master Zocht’s face was pure misery. “They deceived me, Bol. They . . . they lied to me. I’m so sorry. By the Great Star, I am so sorry.”
“Master Zocht, you’re scaring me!” Panic started to set in. “What are you talking about? Lied about what? Who?” Samantha’s heart hammered in her chest. She had never seen him like this, and it frightened her.
“Your sister . . .” Master Zocht began, “she is—”
A loud crash shattered the moment, and three Parhata stormed through the wide front door into the entrance hall.
“How dare you!” Master Zocht began, but he was butted in the face by the lead officer. He fell to the floor, blood running down his shattered nose.
“Secure the traitor,” the officer snapped, “and the bellogan.”
In that one moment, Samantha was nine-years-old again, and an almost forgotten fear rushed back and surged through her like a tidal wave of horror. She gasped and sat down where she stood, her legs too weak to hold her up.
The soldiers were clothed in black tunics with red trim, and each carried a blaster as a sidearm on his hip. One of the officers approached her and hauled her up by the hair. Samantha gasped from the pain and grabbed at his hands. He shook her and she yelped. The pain was excruciating. It felt like the alien was tearing her hair from her scalp. The officer pulled her towards the front door; caught off balance, her legs dragged behind her on the tiled floor.
“This is unnecessary! How dare you touch me or my bellogan!” Master Zocht was on his knees, supporting himself on his arms when he spoke. Blood ran freely down his face and pooled on the tiled floor. “You have no authority to enter my domicile and abuse me like a common bellogan. Do you know who I am?”
“Oh, but we do. Traitors have no rights.” The lead officer grinned. “But you know that.”
“What are you talking about?” Master Zocht sat up now and pulled a handkerchief from within his tunic. He dabbed at the blood trickling from his nose.
“Keep your mouth shut, traitor. You’ll have time to explain soon enough.”
The third soldier produced two metal bracelets that he clasped around Master Zocht’s wrists and pushed closed. A tiny blue light flashed on the one, followed by a dull clunk, and Master Zocht’s wrists were secured by the electromagnetic handcuffs.
The leader brutally kicked him in the face, and he fell backwards.
Samantha screamed and tried to dislodge the soldier’s hold on her hair. “Stop! What are you doing? Master Zocht has done nothing wrong! Please, leave him alone!” She pleaded with them in Anshahar, but the soldier holding her just yanked her away and continued outside, where he bundled her into the back of a bulky black six-wheeled vehicle. “Where are you taking me?” Samantha asked, her voice small and fragile.
“Keep quiet!” The officer spat and slammed the door shut. Through the back window, she saw Master Zocht, flanked by two soldiers, exit the house. They held him by his arms as he tottered unsteadily between them. His face was a bloody mess. They pushed him headfirst into the back of the second vehicle and shut the door, then signaled the driver of Samantha’s vehicle to go, while they went back inside the house.
Fear blazed in Samantha’s mind and seized her body in an icy grip. Master Zocht looked dispirited as he sat in the vehicle, chin on his chest. He must have felt Samantha’s eyes on him, because he lifted his head and smiled at her. The smile was weak and miserable. Samantha saw great sadness on his ruined face. Master Zocht’s lips formed the word “sorry” as Samantha’s vehicle accelerated out of the driveway, away from the place she had called home for the last five years.
Electricity surged through Samantha’s body in heated waves, contorting her limbs as muscles spasmed and jerked. Then it mercifully stopped, leaving her useless on the floor, sucking in mouthfuls of air into screaming lungs. Her muscles ached and burned, and she tried to lie as still as possible, for each movement brought fresh agony to her battered body. Her heart shuddered wildly and felt like it was boring a hole through her ribcage.
“Get up!” The voice barely registered in Samantha’s consciousness, so focused was she on her misery. “Get up or taste another lesson.” The voice belonged to the inlari officer who had assaulted Master Zocht.
“This will happen every time you lie to me. Do you understand, human?” In his hand he had the silver disk that operated Samantha’s collar. “Now get up and sit down on that chair. Do it now.”
Samantha sobbed, but she complied and crawled with difficulty to the chair. Her joints felt stretched and torn. With great effort she hoisted herself onto the chair. Her hair had been shorn off roughly, and dried blood from a half dozen cuts was visible on her stubbled head.
The aliens had taken her to a compound somewhere in the city. So she had at last seen the city, but she should have known it would not be under happy circumstances. They had brought her to this building, seemingly molded from a solid block of concrete, where they tossed her into a cell with only a metal bunk low against the one wall and a small hole in the corner to use as a toilet. The cell reeked of disinfectant and reminded her of the detention center. They came for her after a week, and then the interrogations started.
They had dragged her to a small sterile room containing only a metal chair. After two days, her clothes were stained by her blood and urine. They had beaten her, and she had pissed herself, and they had laughed.
And then they started using the discipline ring.
They kept asking her about Master Zocht, about what he had told her and what her duties were at his house. Although she fully explained what she did—how he had taught her about inlaris, and how she taught him about human nature—they did not believe her. She told them he allowed her to watch movies made by humans, but they did not seem to care about that. They kept asking the same questions, and she gave the same answers. Sometimes she responded too slowly and a hand would split her lip as reward; or, a question would be whispered in her ear, the officer prodding the side of her head with his horns, and when she didn’t answer, he would flick his head, and the horns would butt her hard enough to bruise her skin.
Samantha cried and whimpered and pleaded with them to stop, and somewhere during the interrogation she started calling for her dad. Something she hadn’t done for years. At one stage, she saw her dad reaching out for her, and she laughed and tried to take his hand, but then a slap tore the image away, and she found herself back in the interrogation room.
On the third day of interrogations, they asked her about Aster Radek Guttor. They had given her a little water that morning, and Samantha had to pour it into her mouth because her lips were so bruised. The cold liquid stung her mouth and streamed down her chin.
A female inlari entered the room. She too was dressed in black with red trim. Her horns swept over her forehead and curved at the nape of her neck. The female’s sharp cheekbones sported a bony ridge that curved around the eyes and melded with
her horns. Her lips were thin and severe, her eyes so small Samantha could not determine their color—but then, her own eyes were swollen half shut, so she wouldn’t have been able to see them clearly, anyway.
“What do you know about Aster Radek Guttor?” The alien showed Samantha the silver disk in her hand. The meaning was clear. She had better answer truthfully, and so Samantha did.
“My sister, Kimber . . . I mean Sand . . . had been placed with his family as playmate for their daughter. Master Zocht told me that. Please, just ask Master Zocht. Please don’t hurt my sister. She didn’t know I was looking for her. Please. She had nothing to do with my wanting to see her.”
The inlari stared at Samantha with an odd expression and moved closer, placing her index finger underneath Samantha’s chin, lifting it, inspecting her face closely.
“What did Zocht tell you about Aster Radek Guttor?” The alien’s voice was almost a whisper.
“Nothing!" Samantha cried. “Just that he and his family live on an island because his work is secret; otherwise I would have united with my sister already.” Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and poured over her bruised cheeks. “Please, I’m telling the truth.” Her shoulders shook with fear and grief and pain, and the alien officer studied her for a long moment before stepping back and placing the silver disk back inside her tunic pocket.
“That was never a possibility. Your sister died during the first year of her captivity.”
Samantha gasped.
Time froze.
Her heart skipped what felt like many beats. She had trouble breathing. “No, it’s not true. Master Zocht said she was safe. We just had to wait until they came back to Auckland.”
Samantha searched the alien’s face for signs that all of this was just one big misunderstanding.