by Elin Wyn
ALIEN MERCENARY’S DESIRE
1
Sharla shook the bars of the cage. It hadn’t done anything the first time she’d tried, or the third, or the fiftieth. She was probably somewhere at try number three hundred and seventy two, but she’d lost count.
Nothing she did made a difference. She was stuck in a small room, bars across the width connecting the walls, imprisoning her on the wrong side. An open door seemed to lead to a short connecting hall, and then a busier corridor, but a strange red light filtered the opening, and she only caught shadowy glimpses of her captors as they passed back and forth.
Take a deep breath. Look around. Find something. Anything.
It didn’t matter that she’d talked herself through the same exercise approximately two hundred and forty three times in the hours that she’d woken up, fully dressed from her blind date, head splitting. And in a room she’d never seen before. If she didn’t do something, she’d start screaming again, and her throat still hurt from the last time she’d lost it.
Take stock. What’s here?
Small room. Bars too narrow for her to pass through, embedded into the wall. A shelf jutted out from one wall. She tried again to lift it, ran her hands underneath the smooth surface, but it refused to budge. Despite waking up on the shelf, there was no bedding, no sheets, nothing soft. Nothing movable.
She examined every inch of the cell again, convincing herself she must have missed something, a clue, a possible weapon to use against her mysterious captors.
Nothing.
Only a faint hum under her hand when she pressed against the wall, as if the vibrations of a giant machine.
And that told her nothing.
Another deep breath. If they got her in here, there had to be a way to get out. And she went back to the bars for try number three hundred and seventy three.
She lost count before the red haze blocking her view of the outside corridor stuttered like the static on an antique television set. For a moment, she couldn’t make out anything other than a tall, blocky shape. She tensed her muscles, ready to fight, ready to run.
But the moment she made out the form heading towards her, she shrank back, curled up on the shelf, pressed into the wall.
It was like all of the old science fiction abduction films, come to life.
Pale grey skin emerged from beneath a dark blue jumper that Sharla could see no fastenings on. But she wasn't really looking that hard at the design, as her attention was riveted to the creature’s almost featureless face. A mere split of the skin where a nose might be, the barest suggestion of ears, and most disturbing of all, large dark expressionless eyes that fixed on her with an unwavering stare.
It didn't move for long moments, but Sharla felt cold malevolence radiating from it.
"Finally you wake. We had begun to wonder about your dosage." The creature did not move, but those eyes filled with darkness seemed to crawl over her form.
"It has been too long since we have harvested from your planet, and perhaps the records were out of date."
Sharla blinked. Harvested. From her planet. And even though she knew he wasn’t speaking English, or Spanish, or even anything from her rusty high-school French, she could understand him.
"You can imagine our pleasure when we realized that not only are you a healthy female of breeding age but are also untouched. This will bring a nice bonus. I believe we have already found a match for you."
His voice was disturbing enough, flat, dispassionate. But his words were the stuff of nightmares. Sharla’s voice chocked in her throat.
The creature placed a long finger along the side of the cuff he wore on his left wrist. Immediately a red haze appeared in the cell, bisecting it, keeping Sharla curled against the wall on her bunk. The air around it crackled, and seeing the red haze close up made her certain she did not want to touch it.
The creature flicked the cuff again and the bars of her cell withdrew. He turned and took a tray from a low table she hadn’t noticed before and placed the tray and its contents inside of her cell. He stepped back, tapped commands into the cuff again, and in sequence the bars reappeared and the red haze holding her back faded into nothingness.
"You should eat and maintain your strength."
Sharla didn't move. She looked at the orange block on the tray sitting on the floor in front of her and shuddered.
“The meal has been calibrated to your nutritional needs. It would be foolish for you to resist. If you refuse to eat, you will be sedated and forced."
Without another word the creature turned away from her and left the room. The red haze flickering to let him pass into the hallway beyond.
Sharla swallowed hard, and shivered as she stared at the stuff sitting on the floor in front of her.
Poisoned?
Probably not. From what the alien had said (alien! screamed a small voice in the back of her head), they needed to keep her alive and healthy. Because she would…
She froze. Healthy female. Of breeding age. And… she wrapped her arms around herself. Untouched. There was only one reason she could think of that would make anyone be interested in all of those things. All of those science fiction abduction films just got real.
Hysteria clawed through her throat, and she shoved it down. If that was the reason she’d been kidnapped or not, it didn’t change anything, not right now.
Options. One, this was a dream, and everything would be alright. So, it would be safe to eat if she was hungry. And, suddenly, she was ravenous, as if the terror of waking up in the cell had blocked out all other worries.
Second option. This wasn’t a dream. Which meant the alien was real. And she was about to be trafficked, sold to the highest bidder. And also, her stomach lurched, probably meant she was in space.
Which would have been fabulous, if it wasn’t for the whole sex slave thing.
Focus, Sharla.
The first thing was to decide about the food. If it was food.
More facts. She could understand the alien, and she shouldn’t be able to. Which must mean that they’d done something to her. And, they knew she was a virgin.
She brushed down the navy fabric of her good skirt that she’d worn on a stupid, pointless blind date that was beginning to seem like the last normal memory she’d ever have. She was dressed now, but…
They must have examined her. And, if they were going to sell her, they’d want her healthy. And should know what would make her sick.
Hell with it. Dinner time it was.
As she chewed on a corner of the dry orange brick, the panic rose again, choking her. How the hell had she gotten here, anyway?
The last thing she remembered was driving home after yet another bad blind date from yet another online site. It wasn’t that she’d meant to stay a virgin all these years, just somehow it had never happened. Twenty years old, and still a virgin.
She'd gone out with plenty of guys, but there was never any real connection, no spark. What the hell was wrong with her? She couldn't be that difficult of a person to love... Or maybe the problem was her, after all. Maybe it was her own standards that were too high.
Last night’s date had been nothing special in terms of its badness. It wasn't like he’d thrown up out of nervousness, or said something racist, or stuttered anxiously, or anything like that. Honestly, he seemed like an okay enough guy. But was that all she was interested in? “Okay enough?” Who the hell cared about “okay enough?” Lots of people were perfectly fine with “okay enough.”
But was she? Surely she was worth more than “okay enough,” right?
Maybe she was too picky. If she got serious with a man, it would have to lead to intimacy sooner or later. And after all t
his time of waiting for Mr. Right, Mr. Okay Enough just wouldn’t do.
She'd almost considered going home with the guy last night, just to get it over with. But she couldn't go through with it. Just looking at him, she could almost see the entire rise, fall, and demise of their relationship in his eyes. Maybe a two week fling at best, but nothing more. Nothing with a future.
She chewed on another corner of the orange brick. Maybe a two week fling with no future would have been better than traded across the galaxy as a mail order bride. She’d have to keep that in mind, if she ever had a chance to make that decision again.
2
Kordiss flicked the switches to bring up the screens for his latest job, letting his mind wander a bit. For the most part he’d tried to stay on the right side of the law, not, he thought randomly as he rechecked the specs for the attack, out of any particular sense of morality, but because society could be so convoluted. Really, it was easier to stay away from as much of it as possible. Having berserker tendencies run in the family could make career choices difficult.
So he kept himself to himself on an old freighter he’d bought from a retiring family of Velarian traders, and took jobs that seemed like he’d be out of the mix of things. As a guiding principle, he tried not to contribute to the chaos, and maybe even clean up a few messes along the way. And it seemed like there were a hell of a lot of them.
Like this job. Generations ago, the coalition his planetary system belonged to had outlawed the sale of women from primitive planets for illicit purposes. You could still take a bride, but only if the mating was consensual. Didn’t seem that complicated. But not long ago, he’d been told by a distant cousin of a new planet that seemed to be experiencing an influx of raiders.
His cousin had even ended up taking a mate after rescuing one of these primitive women from their clutches. Kordiss wasn’t looking for a mate, but it was interesting news. That, plus an alert that the government had put a reward up for women rescued and returned to their home planets, and he figured he’d found a job that could fill in time between more profitable clients.
So here he was, suited up and armed to the teeth, reviewing the layout of the Nargest ship again. Their species had long been a nuisance, raiding and thieving across most of settled space. Good business, they called it. Luckily their ships tended to hold to a common design, just scaled up or down as needed. He’d tracked this one as it hurtled along its path, its speed suggestive of illicit cargo.
He added another round of explosives to the front of the small, aged craft he’d purchased for just this sort of job. The Nargest fought dirty. He grinned, white teeth flashing against golden skin.
That was alright, so did he.
Their ship was faster, but required frequent fueling. He’d made a calculated guess as to which dying star they’d use to fill their ramscoop, and had plotted a risky course through unstable wormholes to get ahead. His gamble had worked, and now he waited, just out of sight, his own ship’s signature masked by the ambient radiation.
Another glance at the map on his helmet screen, then he patted the little away ship. It wasn’t much of a ship, but probably deserved more than a one way trip, and to be used as a battering ram.
“Cheer up, old thing,” he muttered, vaguely aware that talking to ships was probably a sign he’d been alone for far, far too long. “As least you’re going out on a mission of mercy. A hero, really.”
And then he strapped himself in, and slapped the launch button.
Go time.
3
Sharla fought the urge to throw up the bits of orange stuff she’d just manage to gnaw. The entire deck lurched, rocking about. She clung to the bars, screaming at the figures running down the corridor.
The red haze that had cut off the room of her cell from the hallway, flickered, faded away. Another jolt came and she was thrown backwards, her head hitting the shelf jutting from the wall with a sickening crunch.
For a moment the world went quiet, and all she could hear was the thudding of her own pulse in her ears. This would make for a crappy late night movie, she thought. Virgin in Space. Probably a porno. Not even a good one. All it needed was...
Another explosion rocked the ship, and she wrapped her arms around her head. Was there a crash position you’re supposed to get in? Shouldn’t she have been given one of those stupid cards you find in the back pocket of the seat in front of you on the plane?
She laughed, and then shrieked as a new shape barreled down the short corridor toward her. It looked like a man, taller than any she’d seen, but it? he? was covered in some sort of tight grey fitted clothing, and an opaque helmet shrouded his face.
Without a word he took a laser cutter to the bars of her cell, slicing them neatly apart. He held out a gloved hand and shouted “Come with me! I'm here to rescue you!”
Sharla blinked. It was another language, she could tell, but still, his meaning was clear. But now wasn’t the time to think about the impossibility of that. She looked at his hand. Five fingers. Did that mean he was human, like her?
“Come on! You can either trust me and survive or stay onboard the ship and be killed for sure. Your choice, lady!”
Although she didn’t care for his tone, the stranger did have a point. Right now, he seemed the lesser of two evils.
She pulled herself free from the cell, and as she followed him down the corridor was thankful she’d worn semi-practical shoes for her date. Heels, sure, but at least with a strap across the top, keeping them on her feet as she tried to navigate around the pieces of debris that had fallen during the explosions.
The stranger turned back every few paces to make sure she was keeping up, and he sighed with exasperation as she continued to fall further and further behind. “Come on!” he snapped, reaching back, and grabbing her by the hand.
Great. Now snapped at and dragged through rubble and explosions, while being rescued from being sold as a sex slave by aliens. Could the day get any worse?
They careened around a shoulder and stopped cold.
Dammit. Why did she ever say that? It could always get worse.
Ahead of them was a small mob of grey men, blocking the way she assumed her rescuer wanted to go, if his muttering was any indication.
Sharla glanced around, as if an opening would appear from nowhere. A closet, a niche, somewhere to hide. Nothing. Except… on either side of the corridor were inset smooth silver panels, almost like elevator doors. And to the right side of each pair was a smaller, square box that flashed, just a bit.
“Here!” she shouted, and slapped one, just as her rescuer pushed the one at the opposite side of the hallway.
“No!” he replied as he saw what she’d done. Sharla looked around, confused at his reaction, but just then the door slid opened to a room filled with rubble. She felt the stirring wind, as all the air in the corridor rushed past her to the destroyed room, and started to slide towards the door.
He grabbed her, tucked her against his chest with one arm and pulled them into the opposite room with the other. Even braced against him, the force of vacuum tugged at Sharla, and the screams of the grey men as they skidded down the hall and into the gaping void echoed in her ears.
Once they were past the threshold he hit a matching panel on the interior of the room with his elbow. The door slid closed, but ground to a halt just as a sharp pain lanced through Sharla’s ankle.
One of the grey men had grabbed hold of her.
“Get. Of. Off. Me!” she screamed, his icy grip crushing her ankle.
For a moment she paused. She’d never killed anything before, unless you counted spiders, and then only in the house.
But right now it was a fight for survival, and the aliens had already proven themselves not to be particularly motivated by her best interests. With all the force she could muster, she stomped down with her free leg, driving the heel of her shoe into his wrist.
With a blood curdling scream he let go, and the door slid s
hut, cutting off all sound. Sharla and the stranger slumped to the ground, no longer fighting the force of vacuum. She gasped, trying to clear the sound of the dying man from her mind.
“The other door will automatically reseal shortly to protect the rest of the craft,” the man said flatly, breaking into her thoughts. “We’ll want to leave as soon as we can, before anyone else comes this way. In the future, try not to vent us, all right?”
Sharla bristled. “How was I supposed to know that was an airlock, or whatever it was?”
He shrugged. “You weren’t. It wasn’t.”
“What?”
“That wasn’t an airlock. That was the room I crashed my ship into.”
“You did what?”
He tilted his head, face still hidden behind his helmet. “Needed a way in. They weren’t exactly about to allow me to dock with the rest of the pods.”
“Then how are we getting out?”
“It’ll be fine. Just this time, don’t hit any buttons without checking with me first. Agreed?”
Sharla counted to one hundred, horribly aware she was skipping numbers as she went, wishing she could be as calm as the other guy seemed, squatting on his heels, staring at the door. At least she assumed he was. The helmet obscured his feature, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like under there. Was he cute? She shook her head. Let’s start with the basics, Sharla.
Was he even human? Or look remotely human? For all she knew, another type of grey man, or some sort of snake man, one that just happened to have five fingers to a hand.
Iguana man. Gecko man. Would he have those odd slitted pupils that looked like a vertical row of pupils?
She fought back a giggle, but apparently not well enough, as the stranger tilted his head in her direction.
“I’m sorry, it’s been a crazy day, and I think it's catching up with me.”
He nodded. “I’m sure you’re tired. We’ll be out soon.”
He stood and stretched, and Sharla couldn’t help but imagine the play of muscles across his broad chest, even under the suit.