by Tristan Vick
In a split second, Jegra landed on top of the Knight, her meaty thighs straddling his waist. Dialing it up to eleven, she attacked in full-on rage mode. Her fists pounded the Knight’s armor with such fierceness they shot up sparks.
Her knuckles began to bleed under the severe force of each Herculean blow, but she kept on bashing the Knight’s armor, regardless.
Determined to crack him open like a walnut so she could reach in and drag out the sniveling nosed weakling hiding inside and beat him to a pulp, she gritted her teeth and fought through the pain.
“My only sin today will be killing you!” she growled above the clang of her fists reverberating off bent steel.
Then, raising both arms high above her head, she clasped her hands together and brought them down with the force of an anvil dropping from a passing airplane. Then another. And another.
The Knight’s armor finally cracked, and this only incentivized Jegra to hammer him even harder.
“Wait!” the Knight finally pleaded, raising his hand and extending his fingers in a request for clemency.
But Jegra wasn’t going to simply give up. She was going to turn whoever was inside into bean paste and send the rest of the Knights of Caelum the message that you don’t mess with Jegra, champion of the arena, the Jewel of Dagon, and Gladiatrix of the Galaxy.
She screamed out again as her hair picked up in a breeze and waved behind her. Her every muscle rippled with the full force of her raw energy. At last, the crack in the armor was big enough for her to cram her fingers into. And she did. Grunting out loud, she pried apart the armor.
The metal whined as it was sheered away from the body inside. Jegra ripped the chest plate off and tossed the two separate pieces aside.
Eyes filled with the frenzied look of a warrior who had reverted back to their basic instincts, she gazed down at the man inside with smoldering brown eyes. Her arms hung limp at her sides, blood drizzled from her battered knuckles, and her chest heaved as she wheezed to catch her breath. Amazingly enough, in all this furor, her shredded suit managed to stay on her body.
Jegra wanted to reach into the gaping opening she had made and grab the man by his scrawny neck and snap it, except her arms were too heavy to lift and her hands were too numb to feel. She’d overexerted herself.
Although she didn’t have anything left to give, she knew she couldn’t let the Knight know that, so she bluffed. “Any last words before I send you to meet your maker?” she asked with a snarl.
“Just one,” the man inside replied. “Please, allow a Knight the honor of a merciful death.”
“Mercy?!” Jegra scoffed. “Do you not know who I am? I’m Jegra! The Merciless!”
But the Knight wasn’t asking for her mercy. Rather, it was a secret code. Knight. Honor. Mercy. Death. The moment he had uttered the words, beams of light lit up all around her.
Six Knights arrived in the teleport and took position around them, enclosing Jegra and her opponent in a tight circle. The middle Knight was decked out in all black armor and had a black cape with a red lining. As he stood looking down at her, his cape flapped gently on the breeze.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Jegra sighed.
Drained of all energy, she fell off the Knight and hit the ground with a thud. Exhausted, it took every ounce of strength she had just to roll onto her back. She grunted from the pain and looked up at the black Knight who, in turn, gazed down at her from behind the narrow slits of his visor. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking behind that visor of his, but she could take a couple of good guesses.
Then Jegra did something she never thought she’d do and spoke the words she swore to herself she would never speak. “I surrender,” she said, at last.
It hurt her pride terribly to admit it, but she was defeated. As much as she wanted to stand back up and show them her iron will, she couldn’t. She wasn’t fooling anyone. Not with her tits about to burst out of the strands of what was left of her outfit and bloody hands the consistency of applesauce. No. She was done for now. That much was for certain.
The black Knight raised his hand and the other Knights took a couple of steps back, giving her room. Just then, several red beams of energy came down from above to gather them all up and take them back to the ship. Including Jegra.
20
Scared, Jegra scrambled to her feet but immediately collapsed again. Kicking frantically, she scurried on her back to the corner of the teleporter room so as to have a better position to defend herself and kick wildly.
If she got lucky, she might nail one of the Knights right in their nut-sack. If they even had nut-sacks. For all she knew, as religious fanatics, they may have all become eunuchs.
But to Jegra’s astonishment, the Knights ignored her entirely. Instead of coming for her, they tended to their friend. Two of them dragged away their wounded comrade by his arms, his armor scraping along the floor as they went. She watched the wounded Knight’s feet slide out of the door and then turned to face the others, but they merely followed after them. Only the black Knight remained behind.
Alone in the room with a single Knight was bad enough. It took all her strength and fighting prowess to take down just one of them. There was no way she would be able to do it again and assuredly she had no desire to try.
The Knight reached up and flipped a couple of latches on his helmet. It was a power-suit, but also an environmental suit. A hiss of decompressed air shot out as he removed his mask.
Jegra let out a gasp of astonishment. Beneath the mask was a gorgeous, black haired man with porcelain skin that made him look more like a doll than a person. He had a broad jaw, was clean shaven, and had mysterious black eyes that lacked irises, pupils, or any amount of white, for that matter.
All but for the haunting eyes, however, he looked human. There was also a subtle speckling, like blue painted freckles, that ran down from his temples and neck and, she mused, perhaps the rest of his body as well.
With as many horror stories that she’d heard involving the nefarious, blood thirsty Nyctans, she half expected a monster. Not a gorgeous hunk that resembled one of the gallant vampires of an Anne Rice novel.
“My name is Galahad,” he said, looking down at her with an expressionless face.
“Of course, it is,” Jegra replied, a subtle smile forming on her face. Not only was he an actual space-knight, but this knight also had a knight’s name. She wondered if there was any connection to Earth’s own Arthurian legend or if it was just a strange coincidence.
Galahad took a step toward her and she tensed up.
“Don’t worry,” he said, cautiously raising his hand. “I will not hurt you.”
“How do I know what you are or aren’t willing to do?”
“As a Knight of Caelum, I’ve sworn to protect all possible candidates. You will not be harmed aboard this ship. You have my word.”
“Candidate?” asked Jegra. She covered her breast, realizing that it was making him divert his gaze at an awkward angle so as not to be staring right into her nipple.
His eyes slowly came back to hers. “Every seven years, our oracle gives a list of two names. Each name is a possible match for the resurrected form of Hastur. This year, Sanakar, picked your name as one of the candidates.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Jegra said. “But if I were a god, I think I’d know it.”
This seemed to amuse Galahad and he smiled. “No,” he said. “You’d merely be the vessel of our Lord. You would undergo conditioning and then, in our most sacred ritual, your essence and his would be melded.”
Although Jegra didn’t too much like the sound of that, she was in no position to argue theology. She merely sat on the floor looking up at the fair skinned knight with black eyes, and blinked.
He reached out his hand and offered to help her up. She reluctantly took it, but as soon as she did he pulled her up to her feet. She was still weak from her fight and stumbled forward and he caught her. She still clutched her chest, so as not to be im
modest, and he helped her wrap her other arm over his shoulder.
“This way,” he said, guiding her out of the doors and into the corridor.
Unlike a Dagon ship, which was all brushed metal and blinking lights, the Nyctan ship was white with a black touch panel running the whole length of the corridor. The floor was a pleasant, tan carpet with a burgundy triangle pointing outwards from each door that led into the corridor.
The lighting was soft and atmospheric and reminded her of the church her mother used to drag her to when she was a little girl.
Luscious paintings with a baroque style that reminded her of Caravaggio, Rembrandt, and Ruben hung on the wall about every fifty meters or so. This surprised her.
“Are these scenes from your religious book?” she asked.
“Some are,” Galahad replied. “Some are depictions of our holy wars. This one,” he said, nodding at the painting nearest to them, “was the third crusade into the third star system, where the Knights first encountered the Dagons.”
“I’m surprised you brokered a deal with Emperor Dakroth at all,” Jegra said. “He’s not the most pleasant man in the galaxy to deal with.”
“And yet, you married him,” the Knight said, giving her a peculiar look.
“It’s complicated,” she informed him, glancing away.
“Most relationships are,” he said.
After another fifty meters, they came to a large doorway and paused. He tapped on the controls and the doors opened. Waiting inside were three women attendants. They were petite, and all had porcelain skin. They looked like china dolls with big, mysterious black eyes. No pupils. No irises. No color of any kind. Just glossy black alien eyes that stared back at her with an equal amount of curiosity.
All three women bowed as one as Jegra and Galahad entered. Glancing around the room, Jegra’s jaw about hit the floor when she saw how lavish everything was. There was even a pool in the middle of the room which was fed by an artificial waterfall.
In addition to this there was a fireplace, a sofa, and a mini library with a book shelf that ran from the fireplace all the way along half the back wall. It was chock full of books that were probably all written in languages she couldn’t comprehend.
Perhaps the most lavish aspect of the whole room was the bed, which had golden covers and golden sheets with matching pillows cases. The bed was topped by burgundy pillows that complimented the glistening gold. It looked like the royal suite of the most expensive five-star hotel she’d ever seen.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“This is your room,” Galahad replied.
“Bullshit!” Jegra exclaimed.
Galahad stepped back and looked about his feet as though he actually had stepped in manure.
“No,” Jegra said, laughing slightly. She touched his arm. “It’s just an expression of excitement.”
“That is a very strange expression,” Galahad answered.
“I suppose it is.” She laughed again. To settle any doubt in his mind as to her feelings on the matter, she added, “I think it’s lovely. More than lovely. It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad you approve.” Turning to the three women who had been quietly and patiently standing by, he said, “And these are your servants. Feel free to use them as you please.”
Each of the women had a different color hair, all in bright colors. The first girl had claret colored hair, and the second had Byzantine blue, while the third had pitch black hair.
She didn’t know if Nyctans dyed their hair or if their natural colors were this vibrant, but the bright hues of their hair really complimented their black eyes and white skin.
“I could use a bath,” Jegra finally said, rolling her neck across her tired shoulders.
One of the women stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Mistress, my name is Estan, and I am a medically trained nurse. I can see to any wounds you may have.”
The second woman standing in the row came forward and Estan stepped back into line. “Mistress,” she said, “my name is Ellia, and I will handle all your fashion and beauty requirements. I am also a professional masseuse and stylist.”
As Ellia stepped back the third woman came forward, she bowed her head. Rising back up, she blinked her black eyes and said, “I am Laquiea, and I am your cultural advisor and tutor. Consider me an ambassador to the Nyctan people and way of life. If you ever have any questions, do not hesitate to ask.”
This was very much different from her treatment by the Dagons. The Dagon people seemed to tolerate her, but she always had the distinct feeling they were always looking down their noses at her and whispering snide remarks behind her back.
However, since the moment she arrived aboard the Nyctan vessel she hadn’t been treated as anything other than a very important guest.
Galahad cleared his throat and she turned to him.
“I apologize, Mistress Alakandra, but I must return to my duties.”
“I didn’t tell you my last name was Alakandra,” Jegra said. She was somewhat taken aback by the fact he knew her full name even though she hadn’t divulged such information. Then it dawned on her. The derelict ship adrift in space.
“Wait,” she murmured, the memory coming back to her. “It was you aboard that ship, wasn’t it?”
Galahad smiled, and then without replying, he bowed and took his leave, his cape flowing behind him.
Jegra turned around and looked at the three women standing before her. “So, what does a girl have to do around here to get a hot bath?”
Estan gestured for Jegra to follow her. “First, I’m going to run a full biomed scan.”
“How long with that take?” Jegra asked.
Estan ushered her to the corner of the room and she reached up and tapped a panel on the wall. It slid open and she took out a little handheld scanning device no bigger than your average smart-phone. As she waved it across Jegra’s body, a little blue light was emitted from the scanner along with a faint beeping as it collected her vitals and other important details.
“You have three hairline fractures to your ribcage, a torn rotator cuff, and a broken collar bone.
“Scan me again,” Jegra said with a smile. “Just to be sure.”
Estan scanned her again and stared at the medical scanner. She tapped on its side, as if it were broken, and then looked up again. “I don’t believe it. The wounds have miraculously healed themselves.”
“It’s not miraculous,” Jegra replied. “I just heal fast.”
“Amazing,” Ellia gasped. “Glory be to Hastur.”
“Glory be to Hastur,” they all said in unison.
Jegra drew back, her neck flexing. This was the first strange thing she’d experience since being brought aboard. But they were a religious people, so she shrugged it off as one of the eccentric rituals of a highly devout people.
“Come,” Ellia said, gently helping Jegra peel off her clothes. “Let’s help make you presentable.”
Nimble fingers stripped her bare, and taking her by the hands, they lead her to the edge of the pool. Jegra sank down to her shoulders and then turned to watch what the three women would do next.
Laquiea set some black satin pajamas on a side bench and bowed. “These are your evening clothes, milady.”
“Thank you,” Jegra replied.
“You must be exhausted,” Ellia said.
“We’ll let you rest,” Estan added.
“If there’s anything you need,” Laquiea added, “Do not hesitate to summon us. All you have to do is touch the green panel by the door and it will open a direct link to our quarters.”
“I would love some food, if you don’t mind,” Jegra said.
“Of course, you must be starved,” Ellia said. “I’ll get you something. What would you like?”
“I would die for an Earth cheeseburger and Coke right about now,” Jegra said. “But I doubt you have anything like that here.”
“Let me see,” Ellia said. She walked over to a small inlet in the wall that lo
oked like a tray return booth. She touched a panel and said, “Earth cheeseburger with a Coke.”
The computer chimed and asked, [What style of burger do you prefer. Regular or deluxe].
She glanced over her shoulder and shot Jegra a confused look.
“Deluxe,” Jegra blurted, her mouth beginning to water and her eyes widening with excitement.
“Deluxe,” Ellia replied.
[Would you like fries as a side order]?
“Yes!” Jegra cried out, wading through the bath to the edge where she climbed out. Drying herself off with the towel that Estan handed her, she quickly threw on her pajamas and rushed over to Ellia who was pulling a tray out of the food synthesizer unit. Sure enough, it had a burger, a side of fries, and a bottle of Coke.
“It appears we do have some limited Earth cuisine on file,” Ellia said. “You can search the data bank for anything else you may desire.”
Eyes as big as saucers, Jegra didn’t even wait for her to hand her the tray. She snatched the burger off of it and began scarfing it down like a starved animal.
Barely able to keep the food from flying out of her mouth, she grabbed the bottle of Coke, kicked back her head and guzzled it. Finishing it off in one go, she turned her head and belched loudly.
The three women watched her with amusement, but said nothing. She knew that Cassera would have balked, made a disgusted face, and called her a loathsome toad or some other degrading term. But the Nyctans just watched and studied her.
It made her feel a little self-conscious, but she was positive she could get used to the weirdness given enough time. After all, they were an entirely different culture and people, so culture shock was bound to be inevitable. She still had a lot to learn about them and they her.
“Anything else, milady?”
Her mouth full of synthesized burger, which tasted as real as the genuine thing, she pushed the wad of food into her right cheek and, with her mouth full, replied. “No. I’ll be fine.” She shoved fries into her mouth, took the tray from Ellia, and sat on the floor.