Enslaved - Book 3: Trek Mi Q'an

by Jaid Black

  Certain images contained within this e-book have been digitally marked by Digimarc Corp. If you purchased this e-book from a source other than Ellora’s Cave or one of its known affiliates, contact legal@ellorascave.com immediately. Please note that reading this e-book without first purchasing it through legitimate means is illegal and can result in heavy fines. As always, our authors thank-you for your support and patronage.

  Warning:

  The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers. “Enslaved” has been rated NC-17, erotic, by four individual reviewers. We strongly suggest storing this electronic file in a place where young readers not meant to view this e-book are unlikely to happen upon it. That said, enjoy…

  To Marty Mathews:

  If you can’t tame Kil, girlfriend, then nobody can ;)

  Prologue

  Planet Tron, Toron Galaxy

  Border-World of the Seventh Dimension

  5993 Y.Y. (Yessat Years)

  “’Tis glad I am that you accompanied me on this trek to my homeland, my son.”

  The Empress Jana glanced up at her six-foot-three, two hundred-thirty pound boy and smiled. Squeezing his hand affectionately, she led him from the holo-port situated at the rise of the prosperous village and into a Q’ana Tal floating conveyance that drifted down towards the main trading centre below.

  Four warrior guardsmen assigned to their protection led the royal procession in a conveyance directly ahead of the mother and son’s vehicle, whilst four more warrior guardsmen brought up the rear in a separate conveyance behind them.

  The glowing blue eyes of Kil Q’an Tal surveyed the bustling sector centre looming closer and closer on the horizon. He looked down at his mother who was seated beside him and grinned. “’Tis a passing fair place, mani.”

  Jana reached up and ran a hand over her son’s plaited braids, smoothing a stray one back behind his ear. She smiled as she regarded him. “You grow more handsome by the Nuba-minute, Kil. ‘Tis the image of your sire you already have.”

  He blushed at her words, looking away.

  Jana laughed. “Mayhap such a compliment is an embarrassment to a man-child who has seen but ten Yessat Years, but in a few years more you will be happy for your good looks.”

  Kil grumbled at that. “Why should I have a care o’er such nonsense, mani? ‘Tis becoming a hunter that is important.”

  She grinned. “Ah but when you find a special wench, the one destined to be your hearts’ true mate, you shall realize that ‘tis more to this life than the warring arts.”

  He harrumphed, doubting her words. But loving her as he did, he would not think to backtalk her.

  Jana clutched his large hand in her smaller one and let the subject drop. “My mani and sire have not seen you in nigh unto two Yessat years. ‘Tis why they asked for you to accompany me on this trek back to my homeland.”

  Kil smiled, warmed at the idea of seeing his grandparents once again. “Aye. The last time they traveled into Trek Mi Q’an I was gone off to Joo with papa.”

  Jana nodded, then released his hand to point out various familiar places she saw hovering below them. Kil listened intently, his gaze scanning the trading stalls and homes dotted about the picturesque landscape of the blue-tinted world they had landed on.

  “And there,” the Empress said excitedly, “is my birth home.” Her sigh was wistful. “Your aunts and uncles and I spent the most carefree of youths in this village.” Her lips widened into a nostalgic smile as she brushed a long golden lock over her shoulder.

  As he studied his mother’s face, Kil thought to himself that never had he seen a more beautiful visage. He wasn’t certain if she appeared that way to the rest of the galaxies or only to him, but it mattered not. She was perfection. She was his mother. “Do you miss it here, mani?”

  Jana’s eyes widened in surprise. “By the sands, nay.” She shook her golden head and smiled. “I carry many a fond memory of my childhood, my love, yet am I more content than ever I thought possible at your sire’s side.” She took his hand in hers and squeezed. “If I had never left Tron,” she said gently, “then never would I have had you.”

  “Would that have been bad?” he asked seriously, his large body a mask for the simplistic and needy ten-year-old child dwelling inside of it.

  Her eyes softened. “’Twould have been a fate far worse than death, my son.” She placed her other hand atop his as she studied his face. “I love you, Kil.”

  Satisfied, he grunted arrogantly. He turned his head and watched the activity below them, too embarrassed by love words to return his mother’s exclamation of caring.

  Jana stifled a smile, opting to bite her lip instead. She knew her second-born son loved her. Mayhap even more than her other children did, which was saying a lot. But Kil, he had always been the neediest. He had always demanded great shows of her affection where the other three boys were content with the occasional kiss to the cheek and loving embraces.

  Not Kil. He needed constant gestures to reassure him of what lay in her hearts. And just as importantly, he needed to hear the love words, even if he was too embarrassed to return them. ‘Twas what made their relationship so strong and so special, she supposed.

  Fifteen Nuba-minutes later, Jana and Kil strolled hand-in-hand through the bustling trading centre, stopping occasionally to purchase a trinket or two. Kil released his mother’s hand when they arrived at a holo-game booth and eagerly sorted through the offerings until his gaze found the one he most coveted. “May I purchase this one, mani?” he asked, glancing over toward where she stood a few feet away at the next booth spraying her neck and cleavage with a sweet-smelling scent.

  “Aye.” She looked up briefly and winked conspiratorially before returning her attention to the perfumes. “You may have whatever your hearts desire on this trek.”

  He grinned, deciding on the spot that traveling with his mother was far more enjoyable than traveling with his sire.

  Kil was about to turn back around to make his purchase when an odd intuition passed over him. His stomach muscles clenched inexplicably as his gaze meandered toward a warrior guardsman standing behind his mother. The warrior’s fully-grown height, he noted, surpassed his own by more than a foot.

  Kil frowned. He had not a care for the way the warrior guardsman was regarding his mother. The warrior’s eyes continually flicked over the empress’ backside, insolently sizing her up as though he had the right of it.

  Jana picked up one scent after the other and sniffed them, unaware that she was being ogled from behind. Her gaze settled on a bejeweled flask of perfume a shelf down and, bending over to retrieve it, her qi’ka molded to her buttocks, leaving nothing of what lay between her legs to the imagination.

  Kil’s eyes narrowed menacingly as the warrior in question stepped towards his mother and pressed his erection against her buttocks.

  Jana gasped as she stood upright and immediately whirled around to face him. “How dare you!” she spat. Her eyes widened fractionally as she studied the warrior’s face. She gulped. “Who are you?” she asked in a shaky, nervous tone.

  The warrior’s lips parted into a mocking grin. He bowed irreverently then stood up and, his expression changing to serious, ran a large hand over her breast and squeezed the nipple. “The last fuck you’ll ever have, Excellent One.”

  Kil’s nostrils flared as his mother began to back away from the warrior. His entire body shaking in rage, he released the holo-game he’d been holding and made to go and retrieve Jana from the vile man.

  A telekinetic punch in the mouth made Kil reel back. Holding his jaw, he gasped as crimson red blood trickled from a large cut on his lip.

  His anger building, Kil growle
d as he lunged toward the warrior, knowing ‘twas he who had struck him. But then, as if he had been plucked out of mid-air, two sets of hammy hands slammed down on him, throwing him to the ground and holding him pinned to it.

  “Let her go!” he bellowed, his eyes darting up toward his mother.

  Jana cried out as the first pretender warrior struck her, blood spurting from her nose as it broke. “Please,” she begged, as her qi’ka was then ripped from her body, “do not do this before my son!”

  Kil struggled against the hold the other men had on him, tears of horror and frustration gathering in his eyes as he watched his mother get thrown to the ground. The man who had struck her chuckled at her fright, then raised his foot and kicked her in the ribs, causing three of them to break upon contact.

  Villagers began to scream, running from the trading stalls within the city’s centre. The pretender warriors laughed at their fright, knowing as they did that the entire sector was now under insurrectionist control.

  “Nay!” Jana sobbed as their leader mounted her broken body from behind. “Nay,” she whimpered, “please—do not.”

  “Aye,” the insurrectionist leader panted out in between thrusts, “your begging is sweet music to my ears.” He grabbed her by the hair and shoved her face into the dirt, momentarily suffocating her as he raped her.

  “Mani!” Kil cried out. “Nay—mani!”

  Kil wrenched his body from under the hold of the other insurrectionists, his anguish giving him a strength which under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have been old enough to possess at ten Yessat years. When he was free, he ran toward her at top speed and, with every bit of power he could wield and then some, he kicked his booted foot directly into the mouth of the man raping his mother.

  The man bellowed in pain as he clutched his jaw, but ‘twas not enough. Before Kil could do aught else, two sets of hands seized him and hurled him to the ground with enough brute force to crack one of his ribs.

  “If you know what ‘tis best,” one of the warriors chuckled as he kicked Kil in the side, “you will hush your tongue that our leader will grant you a quick death.”

  Panting from the intense pain, Kil found the strength to narrow his eyes and spit at him, blood and mingled saliva hitting the insurrectionist square in the eye.

  The man growled as he swiped the spittle from his face. His jaw clenching, he raised his foot, preparing to finish the young king off with the serrated blade that pointed out from the toe of one of his boots.

  Kil turned his head at the last possible second and, with sheer luck, sideswiped a fatal stabbing that like as naught would have killed him. The twisted piece of sharp metal found his cheek instead, slicing open the side of it like a piece of meat on a platter.

  “Goddess help me.”

  The voice was weak, broken, the words more piercing to Kil’s hearts than the serrated blade had been to his face. “Mani,” he said quietly as tears tracked down his cheeks. Restrained by the insurrectionists, he could only turn his head to look at her, watching in cold horror as the leader stepped away from his mother and granted followers who had just joined him turns at raping her.

  Jana’s entire body was fiercely battered, her face hideously distorted by a broken nose and jaw. Her breathing was shallow, coming slower and slower. The force of the blows she’d been dealt must have caused something to rupture inside of her for she was fading quickly.

  Kil closed his eyes briefly, realizing for the first time that she was going to die. His mother who meant everything to him—she laid there dying whilst vile men thrust in and out of her body for sport.

  “Nay, mani,” he softly cried whilst the tears continued to track down his cheeks unchecked, “do not leave me.”

  Jana’s eyes strayed slowly toward Kil’s. They were so dim he knew that the light in them would extinguish at any moment. Her breaths came slower and her face muscles relaxed as the overwhelming pain numbed her until she felt no more.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, as if the movement was so exhausting it took her last reserve of strength, his mother’s lips curved softly to speak to him. Though he’d heard not a sound, he had known what she had said.

  I love you...Kil.

  “Mani,” he whimpered. He opened his mouth to give the love words back to her, the words she had told him so often, the words he had always been too embarrassed to return. But, perversely, ‘twas too late.

  The lights in her glowing eyes dulled and dimmed, and the Empress Jana passed through the Rah and on into the next realm. The warriors continued to spill seed inside of her, oblivious of her death in their sickening frenzy to copulate within her.

  Kil closed his eyes and sobbed as his body shook in anguish. She was dead. His beloved mother was dead.

  And he’d never told her that he loved her.

  Chapter 1

  Washington, District of Columbia

  United States of America, First Dimension Earth

  July 4, 1967 A.D. (Anno Domini)

  Having removed the poncho top she wore, twenty-one-year-old Martha “Marty” Mathews turned proudly on the erected stage to face the sea of paparazzi. She was clad only in jeans, a brassiere, a pair of Birkenstock sandals, a wreath of sunflowers about her head, and a lot of indignant attitude.

  Her bravery faltered a bit when she noticed that the photographers gathered around the podium that stood near the gate leading to the White House were snapping pictures of her more quickly than she could blink. Could she really do this? she asked herself a bit warily. Could she really see this Independence Day protest through the way she and Jeannie had planned for it to go?

  No justice! No peace!

  No justice! No peace!

  No justice! No peace!

  Marty’s nostrils flared in remembered anger as the fellow women’s rights protestors began to chant. She mentally ticked off a list of the reasons that had brought her from Ohio to march on the Capitol to begin with.

  Equal Rights.

  Viet Nam.

  Women in positions of power.

  Freedom of expression.

  The right to choose.

  No more pantyhose at work—arrg!—the damn things always ran.

  Growling low in her throat, Marty fervently told herself as her fingers lifted to unclasp the bra she wore that she would definitely see this protest through to its fruition. The sunflower Jeannie had painted onto her cheek twisted portently as she ripped off her bra and, with an ear-piercing roar that would put Tarzan to shame, tossed it onto the lit bonfire.

  The thousands of women’s rights supporters swarming below began to cheer, giving Marty the gumption to raise two angry fists before the reporters and scream like a banshee. A banshee with naked breasts. “No justice! No peace! No justice! No peace!”

  The crowd began to cheer, the ruckus soon turning into a loud chant. Filled with triumph, Marty cocked her head to signal to Jeannie, letting her friend know that it was time to join her center stage and burn her bra for the assembled throng.

  Jeannie’s eyes widened nervously. She gulped as she glanced down into the sea of faces below. She made no move to join Marty out on the platform, opting instead to slink away unseen and scurry down the back of the podium steps.

  —Arrg!

  Marty’s nostrils flared as she watched her friend run from the demonstration as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. This entire bra-burning scenario had been Jeannie’s idea, she thought grimly. And yet when push came to shove, Jeannie had left her to do the deed alone.

  Turning back to face the crowd, it dawned on Marty for the first time that she was the only person in the entire assembly who was both female and topless. Nobody else had said that they planned to burn their bras with them today. She had just assumed that by the time she and Jeannie had both burned theirs, the others would get worked up into a frenzy and do the same.

  Marty’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the crowd chanting below her. Plenty of them were worked up alright, but not even one of them had remov
ed their shirts.

  —Arrg!

  * * * * *

  Marty cursed under her breath as she walked briskly through the camp that had been set up by the protestors as a communal housing facility during their stay in the nation’s capitol. The commune lay just twenty minutes outside of Washington D.C. in a forested area of Virginia.

  Determined to ferret Jeannie out and kill her, she was frustrated and more than a little disappointed when a male protestor who went by the nickname Peaceman informed her that Jeannie had already packed up and went back home.

  “I don’t believe it!” Marty snapped, her hands flying up to find purchase on her hips. “She went back to Toledo?”

  “Jeannie’s jig was up,” Peaceman declared in low tones, his eyes flicking suspiciously back and forth to make certain no police were looming in the vicinity. “The fuzz must of threatened to take her in to get her to leave.” His lips tightened. “I hate the damn cops!”

  Marty sighed, realizing that Peaceman was as high as a kite. She doubted she’d get much useful information out of him. And she also doubted that Jeannie had fled Washington to elude the police. No, she thought with down-turned lips, she had probably fled to elude Marty’s wrath. Jeannie, she conceded grimly, was smarter than she looked.

  “You know, Marty,” Peaceman slurred, his green eyes scanning over the poncho top and bellbottoms she wore, “that was one bitchin’ show you put on today.”

  Marty nodded, warming to the topic. She had worked long and hard to make certain everything would go off today without a hitch. And for the most part it had. If she overlooked the fact that she’d been chanting on a podium bare-breasted and alone.

  “It came from my soul, Peaceman.” Her eyes narrowed in speculative contemplation. “It was past time to show the pigs in government that the women of this country will be oppressed no more. We will subvert the dominant paradigm and reclaim our ancestral rights as foremothers to this nation and people.”

  Peaceman’s hazy eyes clouded over impossibly more. His face scrunched up into a look that clearly said he had no idea what she was talking about. “All I meant was you’ve got a great set of tits.” He scratched his head as he regarded her, the leather headband he wore with a peace sign carved into the middle of it crinkling along with his forehead. “But the rest of what you said sounds pretty groovy too.”