by Marie Dry
“Could the doctor with the ugly hair and spots on her face be responsible,” Zacar asked.
Viglar didn’t understand his relief to be able to refute that idea. She obviously hated them and may have detonated the bomb that was supposed to kill him. He should kill her instead of always looking at her. Obsessing about how soft her skin would be. “No, she is not trained well enough. The trainees accepted by their so-called university study through their TC for two years, then they have classes and some sort of inefficient practical for six months, before they are deployed to hospitals.” He bared his teeth. “Most of them shouldn’t be able to call themselves doctors.”
“Monitor her. More indications came that the resistance is operating out of Helen. If we follow her, we might find the resistance.”
Viglar looked at the map of the continent the humans called North America. “They would have more resources in New York or Washington. There are doctors in New York trying to find a cure for their drug-resistant illnesses.” He kept an eye on the doctors in that plague-infested city. They lacked training and knowledge, but could still be a threat.
“Helena is closer to our stronghold,” Zacar said.
“They want to release the virus on us the moment they think it might work,” Viglar agreed.
Transport was difficult for humans and few people owned private cars. It made sense for the resistance to want to be close to their target. They’d want to be on the scene to grab what they could of Zyrgin technology and run--and, in the process, they could harm the breeders with their actions. Something no Zyrgin warrior would ever allow to happen.
“Yes.” Zacar instructed the map to display the city of Helena.
Neglected high-rise buildings and potholed roads came into view. Zacar gave another instruction and a picture came up of the hospital as it was before Viglar had started the renovations.
“It’s a miracle their species still survive.”
The human species was falling apart. They’d eaten and overbred themselves to the brink of extinction.
Viglar sneered at the picture. “Before I took control, I doubt anyone going to that hospital for any kind of treatment came out alive.” His human worked hard at being a good doctor, but she lacked knowledge and training.
Humans were truly pathetic. Without Zyrgin rule, they’d wipe themselves off the planet in decades.
Zacar instructed the computer to show the hospital as it was now--enlarged with a domed roof and most of it freshly painted. Viglar had decided to let the humans use their primitive time-consuming method of painting. In his experience, idle humans were dangerous.
“I cleaned out the city of undesirables.”
Within the first few days after he moved into the hospital, he’d had several reports of women attacked on the streets. Obviously, the humans saw nothing wrong with that, because no effort was put in to stop it. He still could not understand how they could allow drug dealers to operate out of their hospital.
Zacar turned to him. “How long before the hospital is completed?”
“If I had Zyrgins working with me, one human month. With most of the labor human, I doubt I could do it in six months.” He pulled back his lips to sneer. “They rest all the time.” Giving humans hospitals served no purpose that Viglar could see, but to prolong their pathetic lives. He did not appreciate the new approach to conquest. “Their primitive building techniques are time consuming. Unlike our steel, their walls cannot be programmed, but have to be painted by the lazy humans.” He bared his teeth, he’d like to see any them last through one day of warrior training. Though his red haired woman might be stubborn enough to do it. “They take breaks all the time. Instead of working with efficiency, they work in a way that allow them to talk to each other and interact socially instead of accomplishing their tasks.”
“Information is flowing from that hospital. I want answers by the time the hospital is finished and fully operational again,” Zacar said.
Viglar smiled, a smile he knew would drive terror into the hearts of humans. “It will be done. I will speed up the building of the hospital and find and eliminate any threat to us.”
He’d get those lazy humans working and, if the human Madison was involved with the resistance, he’d find a way to get her away from them. To claim her without losing honor.
“The three warriors with you will have to be enough. I need all the warriors I can spare working on the project in space. The Zyrgin won’t be preoccupied with Sarah forever,” Zacar said.
Viglar nodded. Sarah was a friend of Zacar’s breeder, Natalie. Sarah had disappeared a few years ago. They’d spent almost a full Earth year looking for her in raider camps before rescuing her. A few months ago, she went to their home planet, to the leader of all the conquered territories of her own free will. Viglar suspected the Zyrgin had talked to her and convinced her to come to him, but Viglar had no doubt The Zyrgin would’ve had her brought to him by force if she refused.
The Zyrgin had seen her image and recognized in her the prophecy that a woman would come from a planet in another galaxy to redeem his honor. A few months ago, she’d left for their home planet. While the Zyrgin was focused on reclaiming his honor with his human breeder, it would allow Zacar time to get his project in the space dock completed.
“There is another development among the humans.” Zacar pointed to the wall and a news cast appeared of humans reported to dress and act like Zyrgins. Viglar stared at a very thin human painted green and dressed in a badly made silver uniform, strutting around with a strange scrunched up expression on his face. His head and those of his companion--among them women--had their heads shaved with odd blobs stuck on it. “Are those supposed to be head bones?”
“Yes, and look at the expressions on their faces. We do not look like that,” Zacar said.
Viglar held up his hand. “No, I do not want to acknowledge this.”
“I prefer humans like the spotted one that speak out against us to these creatures,” Zacar said.
Viglar definitely preferred Madison to these humans. She was at least interesting to look at and she was brave. “She was afraid I would eat her.”
“Who?”
“Madison Johnson. After the bomb explosion, when I healed her, she begged me not to eat her. I was tempted to chance the stomach infection.” He didn’t tell Zacar how it had felt as if her big green eyes looked into his soul. “Any progress on finding the humans making the films that convince them we eat humans?”
“No, but this is a different group from the one that escaped with Parnell’s technology. I don’t think they are involved with the virus plan either. They are focused on propaganda.”
“Lies are the kind of tools humans would use. Spreading false information rather than fighting with honor.”
“Your human saw this and believed what she saw. That might be how the resistance got to her.” Zacar gave another command and the image changed to show Madison, her hair glinting unpleasantly in the sun, vehemently speaking out against the aliens occupying her world. She stared into the camera with vivid green eyes that appeared cold and burning at the same time. It was as if she held him captive with that direct gaze.
She vibrated with energy. “These aliens are indiscriminately killing humans and have the gall to act as if they rule us.”
“She will be mine.” Viglar would monitor her and find out if she was with the resistance, but no more would he stare at her spots and wonder how they would feel. It was his right to touch them whenever he desired. “We do rule you, human,” he said and then felt like an idiot talking to a recording.
In her agitation, she pulled off her cap and red hair spilled down to her shoulders and flamed around her face in the harsh sunlight. She stood in front of the hospital in Helena. His stomach turned at her eye-colored hair framing her spotted face and falling on her shoulders.
“Her hair is even uglier than Margaret’s used to be,” Zacar said with obvious disgust. “And those spots are odd.”
Viglar
nodded. “Humans calls it freckles.”
“Maybe she is disfigured,” Zacar said.
“There is a scientific explanation for the color of her skin,” Viglar observed. It suited him that the other Zyrgins found her skin odd. He did not want to have to kill a fellow Zyrgin.
She was slim and appeared small compared to the journalist. He’d looked up her skin condition and knew it was not dangerous, though he would ensure she had protection against the sun.
“I have to kill her brother,” Viglar told Zacar before he could stop himself.
“Why?” Zacar had given strict instructions that no human will be killed without his sanction. Sometimes during conquest, blood lust took over and many innocents are slaughtered before the leaders could restore discipline. It is something Zyrgins never spoke of.
“She is to marry him.” He wouldn’t tolerate a human male near her.
Zacar appeared skeptical. “That does not make sense. Natalie told me humans do not marry their closest blood.”
Even while Viglar spoke to Zacar, he couldn’t look away from the woman with the stick like arms and legs, didn’t know why she held his gaze captive. From the first time he’d seen her, he had the strangest sense that he’d met his destiny.
She stared directly into the camera. “We should all work together and kill these invaders until their only choice is to slink away with their tails between their legs. Back to whatever planet they crawled out of.”
Zacar growled low in his throat and Viglar couldn’t stop his own growl. No one told a Zyrgin warrior to tuck their tails between their legs and crawl into a hole. Nobody.
On the screen, Madison looked into the camera. “They could be reptilian for all we know. From everything I’ve seen, they seem cold blooded and incapable of emotion. How do we know what their agenda is?”
“I will observe her and make sure she is followed when I cannot do it. She’s been asking to speak to me. Came to my office many times.”
“She may be deliberately gathering your interest with her interesting spots and bravery to infiltrate us the way Margaret did. She has the same colored hair. Maybe she comes from Parnell’s machine as well.”
“You have your own breeder. Why do you call mine interesting?” For the first time he understood why the warriors barely tolerated him healing their breeders.
Zacar’s sigh was eerily human. “It is merely a phenomenon to me. I do not want your breeder. Never forget that she might be from Parnell’s machine.”
It was a sobering thought. “I will be careful.” Even with her twig-like figure, she was a dangerously interesting woman. He had to be careful, or soon he’d be naming cities after her and adopting small humans.
“Natalie and Julia requested that you go to the orphanage once a month to doctor the children,” Zacar told him.
“It will be done.” The orphanage was another consequence of human overbreeding and laziness. If not for Natalie taking over the running of the place, the small humans would have starved to death. When he had trained doctors, he would assign a permanent doctor to the orphanage.
“Margaret also requested that you go to the shelter on your way to the orphanage.”
“No.” She was a crazy human and he didn’t like what he read about her voodoo.
“It is an order.”
“It will be done.” Viglar had to go to the shelter, that didn’t mean he had to put up with that human and her voodoo.
Zanr ran inside. “Zacar its Alissa.”
They ran, Zacar not even hesitating or asking questions. Outside the cave, they emerged into a chilly spring day. Eleven warriors practiced with their swords, the mild spring sunshine shining down on their ridged heads. They moved in perfect formation. Four in a row with two in the last row and a space between the two warriors.
Viglar battled the strong sense to be somewhere else. Where there should be a space between the two warriors, a tiny six-year-old human girl--looking like a stick figure between the muscled Zyrgins--practiced in perfect synchronization with her companions. She held a wooden sword that was too big for her, but gamely made all the moves the warriors made.
Viglar noticed she needed work on the left side, but he had to admit she had good form. She was about six years old and still small and fragile with her spirit that of a Zyrgin. That little human was going to grow up to want to be a warrior and, if Natalie wanted that too, Zacar was going to be in a difficult position. Viglar planned to be busy elsewhere that day.
“Warriors, halt,” Zacar ordered.
The warriors stepped back into resting position with smooth efficient moves. Alissa echoed their movements with the same grace. She could almost be a miniature Zyrgin.
“How did she learn to fight and where did she get the sword?” Zacar bit out.
No one answered. Viglar stepped back. He was considered an exceptionally clever Zyrgin and he proved it by taking another step back where he could observe without being drawn into the situation.
“She enjoys it so much and Viglar said she needed exercise,” Natalie said. “She’s using Larz’ old practice sword.”
Viglar did not appreciate her getting him in trouble.
Zacar crossed his arms and gazed at the small human standing with her shoulders back, her hands at her side in the resting position. Fierce concentration, warrior pride in her gaze. “Exercise and warrior skill are not the same things.”
“I don’t want her there, it’s dangerous, but it will break her heart if I make her stop,” Natalie said.
She was an exceptionally soft-hearted human. Viglar appreciated that. His own breeder had a strong will, but she was soft in the heart as well.
“Alissa, come here,” Zacar ordered.
The little girl ran to him and, coming to a stop in front of him, she executed a perfect salute. Again, Viglar had to admire her skill.
Zacar swore in Zyrgin and Viglar kept his face straight with trouble. He would not want to be the Zyrgin caught between Natalie and Alissa. Natalie might be soft, but she could be stubborn. The only Zyrgin in more trouble than Zacar was the one who trained Alissa in warrior moves. And that warrior would never be caught.
“Who trained you?”
“A Zyrgin warrior never betrays a fellow warrior.” She stood with her chin raised proudly, like a Zyrgin warrior, her lips firmly pressed together.
Zacar stared down at Alissa, obviously trying to intimidate her. “You are not a warrior, you are a human female.”
She lifted her little chin even more and Viglar could’ve told Zacar he was about to lose that argument.
“I am a Zyrgin warrior. When I go through my first change I will be bigger and stronger and you will have to give me a sword.” Her voice sounded odd. She’d developed the habit of talking like Zacar. Trying to duplicate his deeper rougher voice and imitating the slight accent he spoke with. She’d tried speaking their language, but her warrior skills far exceeded her language skills.
Natalie made a sound that she quickly turned into a cough, covering her mouth with her hand.
“A warrior does not sleep in a warm bed at night and they do not live with their parents. They don’t have tea parties and pretty dresses,” Zacar said.
Viglar had to admire Zaqcar’s quick thinking. He might actually win this argument.
She frowned up at him, her lip trembling, and several warriors took a step back. Viglar thought Zacar wanted to step back as well, but didn’t want his warriors to see him back down from a tiny human female.
“I will be a warrior,” she said, but she didn’t sound that brave anymore.
“You will train with Larz for half an hour every morning for the next year.”
Alissa saluted, a big smile on her face. Natalie reached up and kissed Zacar.
Zacar might think he dealt with the problem and gained his breeder’s approval, but that little human would rule them all if they were not careful.
“I will leave for Helena in the morning,” he told Zacar and left for his quarters.
>
He would not stay around to endure the fallout of the tears. She’d learned early on how to use tears to her benefit.
“Warriors don’t cry to get their way,” he heard Zacar tell Alissa and walked faster.
He had living space beyond the infirmary, deep under the mountain. He looked around the walls the human females called silver. It had several rooms in preparation for when he had small warriors. Human females prefer to keep their small warriors close and he had decided to indulge Madison in this. He’d observed Madison with small humans in the hospital and noticed that she had a soft heart, like Natalie.
What would Madison think of his quarters? He was a deviant warrior because he kept thinking of arranging that ugly hair during a first knowing. He thought about that a lot and, from the moment he saw her, it was always Madison he saw himself having the first knowing with. He did not plan to allow his breeder to choose the number of hours he spent with her in their sleeping place. It troubled him that Madison was small and delicate. She wouldn’t be able to endure hours of lovemaking. He would be afraid of breaking her. He swore in Zyrgin and forced his mind away from her to his work.
He’d researched the medical situation on Earth when they first came. He now reviewed his files and looked at anything that could give him clues about the virus the humans were trying to develop. He smiled, a grim smile he knew would send the humans running. Their days of six-hour work days and privileges were over. The human doctors now earned their money. He accessed their pathetic database and was surprised to see that Madison logged many overtime hours she didn’t get paid for. She was the only doctor who consistently worked sixty hour weeks before he took over. He narrowed his eyes, double checked the figures. She also only received payment every third month.
He and Jacobson needed to have another discussion about Madison. She seemed to be an unusually hard working human. Like hair, spotted skin wasn’t something they knew in the galaxies they’d conquered. Freckles--they were called freckles--were caused by melanocytes damaged by the sun. Spots was a much more accurate description. He got up and synthesized a protection layer for her skin. He’d make her wear it every day.