by Tracy Lauren
“Put it on the table,” he says, eyeing my hands. I look down. My palms appear as if they’d been dipped in silver. I look back up at Narron. I could be imagining it, but he looked a little…scared.
Both men stare at me. It seems like they’re waiting for my instruction.
“I’ll take that one.” I point to the feathery design. I never wanted a tattoo before, and hell, I don’t want this one. But the least I can do is pick a style I can live with.
My heart races at the thought of going under the needle. I try not to let myself think of the dingy green homemade tattoos my mom had or how disappointed my grandma would be to know I’ll be getting this full-body art.
“It, uh…I have to begin on the scalp,” the Aritine guy informs us, no longer making eye contact with me.
“My scalp? But how—” I start to laugh at his nonsensical statement, but then I see Narron unfolding a cloth and pulling out a little box that looks remarkably like an electric razor. I clap my hand over my mouth and try to stifle a sob. I shake my head, no.
“Sit.” Narron motions toward the only seat in the room.
“No! Narron, please, you can’t make me.”
“No. I cannot make you. If you wished, you could leave right now. You could go back to the ship that your male came here on and you could leave this place. I couldn’t stop you even if I tried. But I wouldn’t try.” Narron sounds as defeated as I feel. Hot tears spill from my eyes and I shuffle toward the stool. When I look up at Narron’s scarred face I recognize the disappointment in his eyes. “It is what he would want,” he adds.
“Forget it, Narron. I’ll never leave him.”
“As you wish,” he growls at me, flicking the switch on his razor. I stare at the floor and watch my hair fall into chaotic piles. When he’s done, Narron wipes away the stray hairs clinging to my tear-streaked cheeks.
“You see this tattoo, yes?” he asks me. I nod. “That is part of what you are getting, but it is not all. You need to have his coloring too”—he jabs a finger toward the Aritine tattoo artist—“and the subdermal prosthetics. Nearly every inch of your skin is going to be touched by the needle. Afterward it will take more shots to help accelerate the healing process. You were not conscious for your last shots, so I must tell you, small sister, they will be about as pleasant as your tattoo will be.”
I nod my understanding.
“When this is done you will no longer be a goddess!” Narron bellows, trying to find some way to talk me out of going through with this.
“Don’t be a fool, Narron. I never was a goddess,” I tell him, dejected.
“Fine,” Narron growls, slamming his fist into my chosen art piece on the wall. There is a resounding boom when he does. I don’t even jump anymore.
“Do your work!” he barks at the tattoo artist before leaning against the wall, massive arms crossed over massive chest.
“Take off your clothes,” the guy tells me. I look up at him. His jaw is swollen to shit. For some silly reason I’m surprised at his request and it takes me a second to comply. Of course, I need to take off my clothes for this. The tattoos will run from the top of my head, over my shoulders, down my back and sides and spill all the way down my legs to my ankles. Can’t do any of that with my clothes on.
I fumble with all the alien hooks and straps, cutting my eyes over at Narron every few seconds, but his gaze is glued to an arbitrary spot on the wall. I squeeze my legs together and try to cover my breasts with my hands.
“Now what?” I ask, my stupid voice coming out shaky.
“The straps there on the back wall, grip them,” the Aritine tells me.
I shuffle to the spot, pressing close to the wall to give myself some semblance of privacy. I wrap the leathery strips around my hands. “Are you going to fuck with me because I kicked you in the face?” I ask over my shoulder.
“What would you do if I did?” he questions.
“Honestly?” I sigh, thinking it over. It’s been a long few months and I’m at the end of my rope. “I’d kill you,” I tell him.
“Then no. I’m not going to fuck with you.”
Chapter 43
Narron
Once she turns her back to me, I watch her. I watch as she wraps the straps so tightly around her hands that her knuckles go white. It won’t be enough to distract from the pain though. It might be bearable for a few minutes, or the first hour for a particularly strong-willed person. But this process will take hours on end. Perhaps she would consider it a favor if I knocked her out.
What a stupid thing this human is, I think to myself as the gentle hum of the needle cuts through the tense silence of the bunker. She should leave here and let that Nev mutt do his duty. He should have been protecting her better. If she were in my care I would have never brought her to a dangerous world like this one and sat at the table of a male as ruthless as The Oscillion.
She could run, but instead she remains here in her ruined hotel suite, sleeping on the floor like an animal, waiting for The Oscillion to play out his latest game on her. I cross my arms over my chest, the muscles in my neck tense. She’s no more than a novelty to him, a fleeting interest. He pushed too hard and too fast sending her after Drykn like that and she almost died for it. The fact that she still lives is beyond me. At least now that she has the TASE she will always be able to protect herself. It is but a small conciliation to the life he is locking her into.
“Aghh!” she groans through gritted teeth, her knees buckling. Her arms strain to hold her upright and sweat beads down her back. The artist is finally finishing her skull. There’s still so much work to do. Not to mention the prosthetics. Aritine body art wouldn’t normally take so long, but the artist is practically having to paint her as well, in order to make her flesh tone mimic his people. She presses her forehead against the wall and sucks in air.
“I need to see your face now,” the artist tells her.
“No. She’ll wear a full breathing apparatus.”
“I should at least color it, though, to make her look more natural?”
“I said skip it!” I bark at him.
“Fine. Let’s move on to the back.”
It isn’t until the artist gets to her ribs that she starts screaming out in pain—sobbing. Blood glistens on her skin. By the time he moves to her legs her body is slack and out of fight. Next come the prosthetics, the small round nodes the Aritine wear under their skin. He cuts open her flesh, and V makes unconscious attempts to block the wounds with her TASE. She is learning quickly, but her will is on the decline. The Aritine glances at me nervously as slivers of alloy skirt across her skin.
I wonder if she knows that now, with this new weapon The Oscillion has so brazenly given her, she could easily kill us all. Our master is the only one who is any match for her with such a device embedded into her nervous system. Let us hope she does not learn the magnitude of her strength until her allegiance lies with us. If that ever happens…
“You need to stand. I can’t do it without you upright,” the artist is telling her. She groans, seemingly only half conscious and she makes no attempt to put her weight back onto her feet. She dangles from the leather straps.
“Put her in the chair,” I grunt. The artist looks at V’s body with a frown. I can see as well as he can that she shouldn’t be sitting with her body in its current state. Her flesh is inflamed and covered in a thin crust of blood. Instead of the warm gold color Aritines are known for, she more closely resembles an angry sunset.
“There’ll be shots afterwards, to accelerate the healing,” I offer, but the Aritine is still not persuaded to put her in a chair.
“What’s left?” I ask.
“Nothing…” she mumbles.
“Just the thighs and the bones along her lower leg. She’s almost Aritine. Or Aritine enough anyway,” the artist answers.
“What do you need from me?”
“Hold her upright so her legs are straight,” he instructs me. I frown at the prospect. Reluctantly, I assess her b
ody, looking for a place to hold her that will not hurt her. Not to mention the fact that even in this half-conscious state she could accidently run me through with her TASE.
“Get between her and the wall, you can hold her up under her arms here. Let her weight fall on you,” the artist tells me. I maneuver my body near V’s and carefully wedge between her and the wall.
“No…” she fights feebly.
“I am going to help hold you up,” I explain quietly to her. “Think relaxed thoughts and do not kill me.”
She blinks a few times at this, trying to focus on my face. “One day I’m going to kill all of you.”
“She’s delirious,” the artist notes.
“No. She isn’t.” I inform him, my eyes still locked on V’s. She’s dead serious.
Gently, I hold her. My rough hands can’t help but notice the softness of her flesh. I grit my teeth and look at the ground.
“Don’t worry, small sister. It is almost done,” I whisper next to her ear.
***
Dax
I have been meticulous during my time in this cell. I blindly run my claws along every stone lining the floor and walls. I will find a weak point. I will find a way out. I have been able to break links off the chains that bind me and conceal them from the guards. I’ve bent those into makeshift chisels. While I have no concrete plan, I do have two small tools now. It’s a start.
Some days I am able to break my chains, and in the short time before the guards come in to replace them I work to loosen the hinges on the door. Unfortunately, the lapse in my restraints is always quickly noticed and I have not been able to make much progress on that front.
I wait for an opportunity, but I have lost track of time here in the darkness. How long has been since I last saw my mate? With every passing day there is a growing sense of dread in my core. Wherever she is, whatever is happening, she needs me. I must save her. I just pray she knows I am coming for her and that the knowledge is enough to sustain her.
Chapter 44
V
The next time I open my eyes there are three faces staring down at me. Narron, the tattoo artist, and another male alien.
“She’s coming to,” the stranger says.
“I’ve never seen anything heal so fast,” the tattoo artist breathes out in amazement. “Where can I get some of those steroid accelerators?”
“I can give them to you at 100 thousand creds per injection,” the stranger informs him smugly.
“There’s only one man on this planet who can afford that,” he responds, though more to himself than to Narron or the other guy.
“I’d hardly say they’re worth it. I still feel like shit,” I say, trembling with discomfort.
“Looks like they’re working fine to me,” the stranger says, packing up a small bag. He’s the doctor, I guess.
“Can I stand?” I ask him.
“Female, with all that tech inside you, you can do anything you want,” the doctor tells me over his shoulder.
“When can I tell The Oscillion she’ll be ready?” Narron growls.
“It will take time for her to learn the tech, that cannot be rushed,” the doctor says, and they all look pointedly at my flesh. I follow their gazes to my arms where I see little droplets of metal beading like sweat on foreign-looking skin.
“But as far as her wellness,” the doctor continues, “The Oscillion can put her to work tomorrow.”
The doctor takes his leave of us and I struggle to get onto my wobbly feet. “You got a mirror?” I ask. The artist flips a cupboard door open, revealing an old and clouded mirror. My heart drops and an alien stares back at me.
I didn’t want to be Prudence. I never wanted to be that girl. But who am I now? Is this V looking back at me? If another human saw me like this they’d think I was nothing more than another alien, just like the ones I had been so afraid of after my abduction. They’d look at me and see a monster…and they’d be right. I’ve spent all this time trying to run away from myself, but in the end, I didn’t escape anything. I just tore away everything that was soft and good and gentle about me. Now look at what’s left. Nothing but darkness and hatred. The same extremes I suppose all humans might be capable of given the right circumstances, that’s what I’ve been boiled down to. As horrible as my reflection is, I can accept it. At least there’s nothing left for me to fear. Hell, I’ve become what I most fear.
“Go wait outside,” Narron tells me, breaking my gaze from the thing staring back at me in the mirror.
Numbly, I listen to him. He tosses me the cloak and something else too. I tuck it under my arm and climb the stairs, my legs feeling stronger and more solid with every second and my mind feeling more resigned.
I step out into the alley and shake out the cloak. A heavy gas mask-looking thing falls to the ground. I pick it up and inspect it. Looks like a Hannibal Lecter type of a fashion statement. I shrug, seems fitting. I pull it on and it blocks the majority of my face.
Suddenly, a noise down the alley catches me by surprise. I look up. My breath hitches. There’s a familiar little boy staring at me from the shadows. My fan from my first days here with Dax. He’s watching me. Suddenly I feel ashamed, almost like I’ve been caught red-handed. Though the child’s eyes are free of judgment. I hurry to scoop the cloak back up and throw it around my shoulders. When I look back, the kid is gone and Narron is coming up the steps. He stops there at the top, looking down at me and letting out a long and pained sigh.
“Did you kill him?” I ask.
“Yes. He could connect you with The Oscillion, we can’t have that getting out.”
“I didn’t ask why,” I tell my trainer, climbing onto his bike.
“Would you rather have done it yourself?” Narron asks, clearly annoyed with me.
“I don’t know that I would care either way,” I tell him thoughtfully, wondering how I feel about that.
Narron climbs angrily onto his bike in front of me and starts it up. Instead of taking me back to my hotel room he brings me to The Oscillion’s fortress on the hill.
“Tell me about this weapon inside of me,” I ask him as we dismount.
“It is expensive. It is dangerous. It will cage your flesh to shield you from an attack. And it will protect you whether that attack comes from a fist or a gun. It aids your muscles as you move, making your motions more powerful. And, as I’m sure you’re aware, you can form it into a weapon, like a sword or spear.”
“Why did The Oscillion give it to me? I mean, you’re like his favorite guard, right? Why don’t you have one?”
“Perhaps he likes you more?” Narron suggests, seemingly uninterested.
“He has one too,” I say.
“He does,” Narron agrees.
“Then why doesn’t he just kill this guy on his own?”
“He needs an alibi, of course,” Narron tells me.
“Where will he be?”
“Off Quar for the day.”
“When will it happen?”
“Tomorrow,” Narron answers, squinting up at the setting sun and wiping at his heavy brow.
“So soon? Seems like he should train me more for such an important job.”
“Maybe that is part of his game. Maybe he wants to see you struggle.”
“When do I get to talk to Dax?”
“Early, I suppose. Before…” Narron trails off, busying himself with his bike.
“How is this all going down then?” I press, wanting to know more about the plan. I toss off the cloak but leave the mask on.
Narron looks at me, frowning, but answers nonetheless. “Vigere is set to arrive on Quar tomorrow. He is a man who follows certain patterns. The first thing he will do is visit the brothel. Already there are rumors circulating that a real female will be there—”
“Wait, what do you mean by real female?”
“It is illegal to have anything besides sexbots at the brothels.”
I scoff, “And Quar is so full of law-abiding citizens—”
> “It is a different kind of law,” Narron insists harshly.
“Fine, whatever.”
“People have heard about you, V, they are talking far and wide. They speak of a female on Quar who can do…erotic things…on a pole. Vigere will want to see this.”
“Isn’t he part of this human trafficking ring? Doesn’t he have enough slaves to satisfy those kinds of desires?”