The Alien's Captive

by Ava Sinclair

  He reached out, moved his hand across the scanner again and the elevator began to move. Phaedra did not fight now. She’d heard the threat coupled with the thread of excitement in GilAman’s voice. She was as helpless to him as she’d been to the general; resisting and fighting could get her raped where she stood.

  Her mind raced. She’d survived so much, more than she’d thought she could. Phaedra considered pretending to want GilAman, but she sensed he was far too intelligent and calculating a being to be so easily misled.

  When the elevator door opened, she found herself facing surroundings obviously reserved for the cream of the abductee crop. The women here were nearly as beautiful as the ones on Trao X39. Several were in the company of Savusian males who Phaedra surmised must be among the elite on this planet. By the looks of regard given to GilAman, it was apparent that he, too, was in this class—a flawless double agent who moved between two worlds.

  “Is it done?” A Savusian with bluish skin approached them.

  “It is.” GilAman bowed his head respectfully to the taller alien.

  “Well done, brother.” The other alien looked at Phaedra, his dark eyes unnerving her. “You deserve the beautiful reward you’ve returned with. Enjoy her, and we will welcome your sons.”

  “Thank you, FaMar.” GilAman bowed again and turned away. He had hold of Phaedra now and was walking her to a doorway. It was a cell, with a simple bed, a toilet, and a small table, all seeming to have been sculpted from the floor. Clever, she thought. No way to disassemble anything here and use it as a weapon. Or to kill oneself.

  “I have business to attend to,” he said. “And quarters to prepare. As a mated pair, we’ll be given better housing, an honor I’ve been promised. The mating chamber will be elaborate.” He took her hands and smiled. “I can’t wait for you to see.” Then he turned serious. “I want you to care for me,” he said. “I want to see the welcome in your eyes, the submission, that I saw you give to Augustus Bron. I will be patient, and will try to be gentle. But if you cannot give me what I want, you will pay a terrible price.”

  The steel in his words terrified her, and Phaedra said the only thing she could to assure her survival. “I will try,” she promised, and then watched as the alien who would be her mate left the room. Then, and only then, did she allow herself the luxury of sinking to the floor in sobs of despair.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As Bron stared down at the small blistered and charred corpse on the table, it was obvious to him that she had suffered. It was obvious that nothing could have been done to save her.

  It was also obvious that, despite what he was being told, the grotesquely human remains did not belong to his pet.

  Beside him, Matron Sharad was sobbing softly. “It’s my fault. I stepped out. I shouldn’t have left her alone, but who would know given her performance in the arena, her show of submission and devotion, that she would do such a thing? She had us all fooled…”

  Bron glanced over, his brow furrowed. Her comments were, word for word, the same as she’d delivered only hours earlier on a telecast. That had been Bron’s first clue that things weren’t as they seemed.

  He’d been pulled from his meeting by a peacekeeper, a young Traoian male transitioning back into civilian life after serving as a soldier. The job consisted of handling minor disputes, investigating the rare crime and notifying family and friends in the event of accidents or deaths. He’d been shaking as he’d delivered the news that Bron’s pet was missing and a search was underway.

  Bron had joined the search, but with an uneasy feeling. Within an hour, the InfoBoards were broadcasting Phaedra’s picture, and interviewing Matron Sharad, the last known Traoian with the human pet. The matron had described how she’d been mixing a soothing ointment for the pet’s body rub when she’d been struck from behind. As she’d fallen, the matron tearfully said, she’d seen Phaedra turn and run from the room. She said the girl had yelled that she’d rather die than live another day in captivity.

  It seemed to Bron that the news story had developed too quickly. The matron’s lines weren’t the only ones that seemed rehearsed. When asked for a reaction, the senator had been positioned against a backdrop of a technology center he’d lauded among one of his successes. And although his pet didn’t usually appear with him during a workday, Dakara was conveniently at his feet, and off-leash.

  “I was so sad to hear the news,” he’d said, his voice smooth and concerned. “As I look down at my sweet, loyal pet, I can only imagine the distress that General Bron must feel at knowing she ran away. We can only hope that she will be found safe and sound, and that he can convince her to stay by his side.”

  It had all seemed too rehearsed. Even now, the news that the tissue chemistry on the dead girl was a perfect match for Phaedra seemed rushed.

  “I’m so sorry,” an attendant said, handing him the report. Bron looked down at the bottom to see the signature of his friend, Dr. GilAman. Now his heart sank. If GilAman had signed it… He looked back at the charred corpse. The attendant was covering it now.

  “Where’s Dr. GilAman?” he asked. It dawned on him that this didn’t make sense, either. The Savusian physician was among his closest friends. Where was he? Why the cold formality of a report when this news could have been delivered in person? Was it his imagination, or did the attendant and the matron exchange a glance?

  “I’m not sure,” the attendant said.

  “I believe there are new pets coming today,” the matron hurriedly said. “He’s probably dealing with them.” She stepped over to the general, her three heavy breasts heaving with emotion. “This is all so very horrible. Perhaps you should just take the day to deal with your loss, General Bron. Seek out your friend when you’ve had some time to collect yourself. I’m sure the public will understand if you withdraw for a bit.”

  Bron looked down at the sheet. Beside his hip, out of sight, his hand clenched. But he adopted a sad, worn expression when he looked back at the matron.

  “You’re right,” he said. “No amount of information will restore what I’ve lost.” He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Or what I stand to lose. I’m going home. I need time to figure out how to address this. No one should expect to hear from me for the short term. So if anyone asks…”

  “Of course.” Matron Sharad laid a hand on his arm and it was all Bron could do not to jerk away.

  He spoke to no one else, not even Jollin other than to say that he would be retiring to his chamber, and to tell any media member who inquired that he would be making a statement at the next senate session.

  In his bedchamber, Bron moved his hand in front of a hidden sensor and stepped back as a panel in the wall slid down to reveal an arsenal of hidden weapons. Although not paranoid, he believed in being prepared for anything, including an attack from other civilizations given the ill will his government’s warmongering had drawn in recent years. The weapons he had hidden were intended to use against enemies; now Bron faced using them against those he’d trusted.

  He did not need further proof to know that GilAman was involved in an effort to fake Phaedra’s death. Matron Sharad and whoever else was involved had made a tactical mistake in over-planning for the eventuality of questions, for if Phaedra had found her way out, why would they need that kind of proof to convince them of her death?

  That kind of dedication to hiding the truth would allow for no possibility of his pet being spotted or seen. Trao X39 was a small planet; he knew every inch of it, and they knew that. She could not survive outside the dome, and that meant she was off the planet.

  Bron grabbed a harness with two back holsters. A plasma sword went into one, a decimator gun into the other. On a leg harness he strapped on two knives.

  The next step was to sneak off his own planet. While Bron had security clearance on every transport bay on Trao X39, he knew it would raise questions for him to leave. He exited his quarters through a back elevator he rarely used and then, raising the hood of his robe to shield hi
s face, he carefully navigated his way to a little used cargo bay full of vehicles seized in various campaigns.

  A Savusian transport vehicle had been repaired and stored here for some time awaiting return. Bron knew it would attract no attention. He looked at the back as he got in. The interior glowed from the bright green lights, illuminating the cages that held humans abducted over hundreds of Earth years.

  The mounts securing him to the seat were made for the slimmer aliens, and Bron uttered a muffled curse as he adjusted them before reaching overhead to flick various switches and dials. As the engine roared to life, Bron punched in a code on a device at his waist to open the bay door. Space loomed before him, and in the distance, beyond what his eye could see, was Savusia and, he believed, Phaedra and the false friend who’d taken her. He knew what happened to humans on Savusia, and remembered the look on GilAman’s face as he’d remarked on his pet’s beauty and passion. It was three Earth days until the next senatorial session. Traoians would think him secluded in his home before they started asking questions. Three days. Would that give him time to save her before…?

  He would not let himself think of it as the ship left the bay and jettisoned itself into space in a blast of speed. “I’m coming, my pet,” he said. “Hold on.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  On the first day of her captivity on Savusia, GilAman visited Phaedra three times. The oddly beautiful alien male arrived to see her dressed not in the garb of a Traoian medical officer, but as a Savusian leader. She knew this only because he told her, quite proudly, that he’d been advanced to the rank of regent, and that the amorphously colored, cassock-type robe fitted to his slim form was a sign of his elevated station.

  Phaedra tried to hide her resentment from GilAman. It turned her stomach to think he’d not only kidnapped her from the one she loved, but was reaping the rewards from his plot to destroy an entire civilization. As the minutes ticked by, the knot in her stomach wound tighter as she thought of the destructive device secreted under the floor of the Traoian dome.

  “Don’t you want them?” GilAman’s solicitous tone interrupted her thoughts. He’d brought her Savusian fruits. Phaedra stared down at the misshapen forms, some covered with what looked like nodules, others coated in what looked like mold. When he’d brought Phaedra her first meal, the alien physician had told her he’d disapproved of the Traoian practice of adapting her meals to familiar Earth fare.

  “You’ll be my mate here,” he’d said. “I won’t coddle you as General Bron did. You’re to be the mother of Savusian-sired children, and to consider yourself a Savusian. That means accepting all of what my planet offers. You’ll eat our food, wear our clothing, and learn our language…”

  Now, as Phaedra sat staring at the alien fruit, she knew she could not eat, not with the ball of fear taking up so much room.

  “Eat, my little one,” GilAman said. “You need nutrition so you will be strong when you swell with my child.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  GilAman held out his hand. “Very well. Come with me.”

  Phaedra looked at the smooth palm, the long fingers. She swallowed her revulsion as she placed her small, warm hand in his. The flesh was smooth and cool; she tried to imagine how those hands would feel on her body. She thought of the pronged penis beneath his robe.

  Bron, help me! Her mind cried out the words she knew he couldn’t hear. Bron. The master who had trained and cared for her. The master who now thought she was dead. The master who, within days, would be dead himself.

  GilAman led her by the hand to a door panel at the end of the hall. There was something that looked like a button on the sleeve of his robe, and he passed it in front of the panel, proudly boasting that his cloak was also a passkey to any door in the Savusian complex. It also, he said, gave him the ability to operate any pod or small transport ship in the fleet.

  “I can fly you to the other side of Savusia,” he said. “You’d like that. We can hover so you can take in the wondrous creatures. This is the time when the meat-eating beasts savage the herds before the deep frost. The carnage is exhilarating. I will show you.”

  She glanced over at him, wondering at the excitement in his voice. Did GilAman think she’d enjoy such a spectacle? Again, Phaedra sought to control her revulsion.

  This doorway they walked through led to another hall. Phaedra tried not to be too obvious in her observations of her surroundings. Unlike the hegemony of the Traoian complex, the Savusian layout was different. They passed other hallways that veered off to different centers of activity. Through a window, Phaedra could see they were close to a docking station and watched as ships flew in and out of a cavernous bay.

  They boarded an elevator destined for a place—as GilAman put it—he thought Phaedra needed to see. The section of the complex was quiet. In a hallway they stopped outside another door.

  “This is the punishment chamber,” he said. “It’s for the human breeders kept by the elite, the ones who would be our mates. I’ve taken a gentle hand with you so far. I know you are new, and will need time to adjust to what is expected of you. But now the time has come to make you aware of what will happen if you resist or disobey.” He passed the jeweled button on his sleeve over the panel by the door and it opened.

  Phaedra heard the screams even before she saw into the room. Once GilAman led her in, the sight that greeted her elicited a cry of distress. A pretty, long-legged redhead was secured face down to an X-shaped table of the same design she’d been strapped to when Bron had punished her. But this punishment was like nothing she’d seen on Trao X39. A network of what looked like tentacles waved above the restrained woman. Some of the tentacles had wide, paddle-shaped or rod-shaped ends that slapped the woman’s thighs and bottom, and judging by the welts on her bottom and upper legs, the punishment had been going on for some time. But even worse were the tentacles with probes that pushed into both her pussy and bottom hole. As the other arms struck her with loud, sickening smacks or thwacks, the probes moved in and out of her, the length and girth seeming to change shape and size as they did.

  The redhead’s face was a mask of sheer distress, and she was begging incoherently, her plaintive eyes fixed on another beautiful Savusian male standing just to her left. There was a small wall panel beside him, and Phaedra realized he was operating the controls to the monstrous gadget suspended from the ceiling.

  “She refused to breed.” GilAman leaned over, saying the word quietly in her ear. “She was treated kindly for as long as was able, but eventually her mate decided that she needed to be… motivated.”

  “Please!!” The woman was wailing, her bottom gyrating to the extent that it could as if to escape the probes and blows. “I’ll do as you say! Please!!”

  “Make it stop!” Phaedra turned to GilAman. The beautiful face with the almond eyes stared down at her almost impassively.

  “Only her mate can make it stop,” he said quietly. “He is the ultimate authority, and can punish her for as long as he likes.” He paused.

  “I don’t want to see any more!” Phaedra tried to turn away, but GilAman grasped her roughly, pulling her back to his chest and restraining her with a strong forearm while holding her chin so that she could not turn her head.

  “You will see more,” he said. “You’ll watch if he takes her off and puts her on the wheel, or throws her in the pit with the male slaves we’ve taken from other planets. I wager, my dear, that they are hungrier than any machine, and more brutal. Women never come out. I’ve heard that the males—not all human—are so desirous of female flesh that the disobedient Earth women are sometimes torn apart and consumed after copulation.”

  Phaedra was shaking now. “If they aren’t obedient as mates, why not just put them in the breeding colony?”

  He laughed in her ear. “My little human… to be chosen as a Savusian mate is an honor. Reject it and you are punished. Reject it again and you will die the most awful of deaths.”

  GilAman was an evil, sick member of an
evil, sick race. And she was expected to sit at his side, submit to his attentions, bear his children? Could she love such offspring? A tear of hopelessness trailed down Phaedra’s face. In the center of the room, the redhead’s bottom was so covered in welts and stripes that Phaedra’s own bottom tingled in sympathy. The woman on the table had stopped fighting, but the probes moving in and out of her continued. The screams had subsided to the moans of a victim moving into acceptance. Or shock. Phaedra considered it a kindness when GilAman finally released and turned her away.

  “Let’s go,” he said, moving her back through the doorway. “Such an awful place. But you are smarter than that human. You will not resist me and sadden my heart by making me do such terrible things to you.” His arm was around her shoulder, his hand rubbing her with false reassurance. His voice was kind, which made the threatening message he delivered all the more surreal. “I chose you because of your beauty, but also because you are intelligent enough to make wise choices. You know it would grieve me to shove you into a pit of mad savages. And you are far too gentle to hurt me in that way. I saw your caring for Bron, who is just as much a savage as you must think I am. And I know if you can love him, you can love me, too.”

  GilAman turned the conversation to other things then, speaking to Phaedra of the planet’s special ceremonies and traditions. She tried to pretend to listen, even as her mind raced for ways to extricate herself from her predicament. She was running out of time before she ovulated. Phaedra knew the signs in her body, had learned to chart her own fertility. Soon he would come to her, this cruel, heartless alien. And, she knew, she may not have the power to pretend to want him. She thought of bearing GilAman’s child. She thought of the room, the pit, and death. And she wondered which was worse.