Alien Captive's Abduction: A Sci-Fi Alien Abduction Romance

by Zara Zenia

  "Vespula, please calm yourself," Actian said, his gaze icy. But the wasp ignored him.

  "It was you who contaminated the incubations chambers, wasn't it?" Vespula snarled at Ixion. "You did this for petty leverage! Thief!"

  It stabbed out at Ixion with its stinger, and Ixion reared back onto its trunk-like hind legs with surprising dexterity, swinging out at Vespula with its longer, clawed forelimbs. He secured a grip on the Hymenopteran's useless vestigial wings and tore, but not before the close quarters allowed Vespula to bury its stinger in the larger alien's exposed gut. Ixion went pale and fell to the ground almost at once, his skin turning dry and papery. Vespula stepped back with a cruel grin.

  "The auction WILL go on as planned," Vespula demanded, striding toward the throne where Actian still sat impassively. Atropos started to step forward, but Actian stopped him. Vespula pointed its still-bloody stinger at Actian menacingly. "Tomorrow. Or when the Swarm arrives, it will take this planet for a nursery, and your flight will bear our eggs alongside the humans!"

  "A day," Actian replied, unmoved. "Plans will have to be adjusted. You will have your auction the day after tomorrow."

  "We will have it today if I demand it so!" Vespula shrieked, lunging with its stinger.

  Actian moved so quickly that, from her place at the other end of the room, Amber could not even tell what had happened until it was over. The Hymenoptera was bent backward over the arm of the throne, screaming. Actian bent over it, wings unfolded vast and luminous behind him, one hand on Vespula’s throat, the other at his side, holding its stinger, ripped out and dripping ichor. His pale hair fell across his elegant face, still serene and cold as a marble statue, as he held the thrashing, howling wasp in place. It clawed uselessly at his arm, leaving ragged, bleeding gouges that wept green, but Actian hardly seemed to notice.

  When it finally stopped screaming to gasp for breath, Actian spoke.

  “Representative Vespula, you are embarrassing yourself,” he said. “And your threats are as empty as your venom sacs. Yes, if the Swarm came for us, it would overwhelm us eventually, as it overwhelms everything. But not before we cut such a swath of destruction through it that it would take the devastation of a thousand planets to restore your numbers. And not before we had obliterated Earth and left not so much as a meteorite for you to hatch your young on.”

  Amber trembled in the doorway at the calm certainty with which Actian spoke of destroying her planet. She thought Vespula might be trembling too. Actian leaned over it, glaring directly into its black, compound eyes, so close his hair brushed its cheek. He still held the stinger idly, as though at any moment, he might impale the aggressive Hymenoptera on it.

  “The Lepidopterix have traveled these stars since before your species crawled from your first hives,” Actian went on. “This ship bears weapons that make the Swarm’s most powerful warriors look like hatchlings with rocks and sticks. Things even we barely understand. But if you are interested in seeing them demonstrated, I would be pleased to arrange that for you.”

  The Vespula didn’t reply, just choked and buzzed with anger and humiliation.

  “Very well.” Actian moved away at last, releasing Vespula, who hurled itself away from him as though afraid Actian still intended to gut it. “The auction will take place the day after tomorrow. I look forward to seeing you all there.”

  Dull-colored Lepidopterix wearing the mark of healers were already carrying Captain Ixion away, ashy and twitching. Others began to urge Vespula after him, presumably toward an infirmary. Actian watched them go, expression unreadable. Then his gaze settled on the Immortal, who hadn’t moved and seemed to be watching him.

  For a moment, there was only silence between them. Then the Immortal raised several of its thin red limbs and began to clap, the sound clicking and dry, echoing in the high chamber. It was an eerie but unmistakable applause. Just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped and scuttled away, back to its inscrutable business.

  Actian, still holding the Hymenopteran’s stinger, exchanged a few terse orders with the other Lepidopterix in the room, then turned to his brother.

  Amber closed and hid the door as the room began to empty, her heart racing. How could she get Erin and the other humans off this ship before the auction? And even if she did, by the looks of what had just happened, doing so might trigger an interstellar war and get her planet destroyed anyway. What was she supposed to do? Was there no right answer?

  She wished she were braver. She wished Erin were here instead of her. Erin was smart and beautiful and brave. She would have known how to save everyone. Amber couldn’t even save herself. She was trying so hard to pretend she was confident in front of Atropos, but she was terrified.

  She could barely look at Actian, let alone stand up to him, especially after seeing him take apart Vespula as though it were nothing. She shuddered, then ordered the computer to make her a hallway around to the other side of the room. She needed to hear what he was saying to Atropos. Maybe she could figure something out.

  She opened a small door behind the throne where Actian and Atropos stood talking, the room having emptied out now.

  “I do not have a choice, Atropos,” Actian said, his voice strained, the cool façade he’d so effortlessly maintained during the audience fallen away. “You saw what happened in there. If I show an ounce of weakness, they will tear all of us apart!”

  “But to hold the auction before the Gifting—” Atropos protested.

  “I know!” Actian cut him off, his wings rattling in frustration. “It is either face the wrath of my own flight or risk the survival of my species on the anger of outsiders! You know better than anyone the position I am in. They will have their auction and two or three humans apiece, and in the process secure a real future for our people, one where we aren’t forgetting a little more of ourselves with every generation. If I cannot explain the value of that to my own flight brothers, then I am a failure as a leader.”

  “There has to be another way,” Atropos said, almost pleading.

  “Then please, tell me what it is,” Actian snapped, his wings half opening as he stepped closer to Atropos. “By all means, enlighten me!”

  Atropos stepped back, wide-eyed.

  “Brother,” he said gently, reaching for the other man, and Actian’s wings lowered at once.

  “I apologize,” Actian said, retreating. “You are not to blame for this. No one is. Our species has been doing whatever was necessary to cling to survival for so long that we cannot even recall the disaster that set us on this path. Of course, trying to move past that is dangerous. But we have no other choice. A day is coming when we will no longer understand how to operate this ship, the computers that feed us, the weapons that protect us. We must adapt, or we will fade from the face of the universe.”

  “You know I support you, Actian,” Atropos said, an ache in his voice. “But I fear that in changing to survive, we will lose who we are. I do not want to become a scourge like the Swarm, or fall in with the pirate fleet of Foloi, or become so distanced from life that I can no longer understand it as the Immortal has. I fear the path you’re setting us on. I fear that perhaps . . . fading might be preferable.”

  "Atropos." Actian sounded both hurt and scolding. He reached for his brother, taking him by the shoulders. "You must not give into hopelessness. It would be easier to lie down and accept defeat, certainly. But I don't have it in me to let the proud history of our people end with me. I have to try."

  Atropos looked away, uncertain, and Actian shook him slightly, encouraging.

  "Besides, we will not fall into such violent indulgences," he assured his brother with a smile. "Because you will be beside me, reminding me of the nobility of which our kind is capable."

  He pulled Atropos into a hug. Over his brother's shoulder, Atropos's expression was fraught with concern. A concern which grew when he spotted Amber watching through her door behind the throne.

  As their eyes met, Amber closed the door quickly and hurried away,
knowing she would likely be in trouble when he returned. But her thoughts were more preoccupied with what she'd seen of Actian, both during and after the meeting.

  It would have been easy to dismiss him as a villain, a cruel and unfeeling alien blithely dooming her species. But the more she learned of their species and the more she saw of him, especially with his brother, the more apparent it became that he was neither of those things.

  He was a leader frantically trying to save his people. He was callous, perhaps, or narrow-minded in his inability to see human beings as more than animals. But he also genuinely believed he was doing the best thing, the only thing, he could do to save his family.

  Perhaps she had been callous as well, pushing for the possible extinction of his race to save her own. She and Actian might have a lot in common, after all.

  Chapter 14

  She was back in Atropos's rooms before he returned.

  "I gather that you saw everything that happened?" he asked as he landed, closing the curtain behind him. She nodded.

  "Will that centaur, Ixion, survive?" she asked.

  "He will be good as new before the day is out," Atropos assured her. "His species is very resilient, and our medical technology is second to none. As for Vespula, they regularly lose their stingers in their prey. They will regrow it in a few weeks. Nothing hurt but their pride."

  "And Actian?" Amber asked more cautiously.

  Atropos's expression soured, lined with guilt and worry.

  "You saw," he said. "He will proceed with the auction. He is more certain than ever that this is the best course for us."

  Amber looked away, troubled. Because in a way, Actian was right. This was the best course for the Lepidopterix. The humans were merely collateral damage.

  "We must free the other humans," Atropos said, startling Amber out of her thoughts. "Tonight, if we can."

  "Are you sure?" Amber asked, stepping closer to reach for him. He frowned at her, confusion in his eyes. He had expected her to be more certain than he was. But Amber felt as though she were standing on sand, the foundation of self-righteous justice she'd thought she stood on sliding away.

  "I mean, he's right," Amber said, looking away. "He is just trying to save all of you. And he's your brother. I'm asking you to do something that might drive your species extinct. Hell, if it pisses off those aliens enough, it might cause a war."

  Atropos touched her chin, lifting it to make her face him.

  "He is my brother," Atropos replied gently. "And he is right that our ways must change. But not this way. If I allowed this to happen, I would no longer be myself. I would no longer deserve the future he wants for us. We will find another way."

  Amber smiled at him, touched the hand on her cheek, and pulled him down to kiss her.

  "But first," she said when they parted, "we have to get those people out."

  "Tonight," he promised. "They will have increased the security."

  "Then we'll just have to be more careful, “Amber said. "I doubt they will believe it was a computer error this time."

  They spent a few frantic hours putting together the best plan they could. There wasn't time for anything complicated. Before long, Amber was plotting a route down to the abandoned sections of the ship to the vault where Actian was keeping the humans for the auction.

  They made their way through the dusty halls of the unused labs and offices in tense, anxious silence, both knowing how dire this situation was and how woefully unprepared for it they were. They could not even know what changes Actian had made to security.

  As they neared the place where they'd entered the vault before, they slowed down, nerves making them overly cautious.

  "Look, the dust," Amber pointed out in a tense whisper. Where there had once been clear footprints, now the dust on the floor was gone entirely, and the lights no longer flickered. People, and a good number of them, had been through here recently. Atropos gave her a worried look and they hurried on.

  The door was locked this time, but Atropos opened it with a few taps on a hovering screen.

  "Won't that leave a record?" Amber asked as he did it. "Won't the computer be able to tell them you were here?"

  Atropos looked at her in confusion.

  "Why would it be able to do that?" he asked. Amber wasn't sure how to answer. Maybe that was something they'd lost over the generations. Or maybe tracking everyone's computer usage was a human thing.

  They slipped into the vault without trouble. Amber felt painfully tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop. They had to be missing something.

  "Erin," she whispered, forgetting her distress as she saw her friend, hanging in the air exactly as she had been the last time.

  "Hurry," Atropos urged her on, his antenna high and twitching. "There are others in here, guards. We don't have much time."

  Amber left Erin behind reluctantly, following Atropos as they rushed toward the control podium. Amber took over, searching for the protocols to send the hosts back. She frowned, hands beginning to shake, as the computer threw up denial after polite, chiming denial.

  "It's locking me out," she whispered. "It won't let me change anything!"

  "Let me try," Atropos said, but though she stepped aside, he made no more headway than her. "Actian has changed all the security requirements. I think I can still get past them, but I need—"

  "Someone's coming," Amber said, her hair standing on end as she heard footsteps approaching.

  "Run." Atropos pushed her away. "Back into the halls! I'll distract them."

  There was no time to argue. Atropos could likely get away with being down here, but not her. She ducked back into the hidden passageway, only to hear others approaching from the direction they'd arrived in. More guards, talking idly to themselves. She hurried in the opposite direction, her heart hammering, and kept running until, out of breath and shaking, she collapsed against the wall of a hallway much nearer the center.

  This one was still used, and fairly often. In her research, she'd learned not all the Lepidopterix had their rooms in the center sphere. Some were kept back here. The dull, out of sight and unobtrusive as ever, had their homes in these tunnels. It was a broad, street-like corridor lined with marked doors. Some had small plants and flowers growing around them, but overall, it felt far more utilitarian than the lush elegance of the center sphere. Like the dull themselves, it was plain.

  There were a few of those in the hall as she looked up, catching her breath, but they quickly looked away and hurried on when she met their eyes. She was fairly certain they wouldn't tell anyone they'd seen her. They didn't want trouble. She stayed where she was, waiting for the shaking to stop.

  Had Atropos managed to finish the job? She hadn't heard any alarms. But she was sure he must have gotten away. They'd meet back up in his room and try again now that they knew more.

  She had almost recovered when she heard a familiar voice.

  "Are you lost, little thing?"

  She looked up, tensing like a hare about to sprint as she saw Captain Ixion approaching her. He looked no worse the wear for his nearly dying earlier.

  "Where is that big, ferocious protector of yours?" he asked, looking around as though he expected Atropos to be hiding behind a corner. "You aren't out here alone, are you?"

  "He's close," Amber said at once, watching the stranger warily as he came closer. "He'll be here in just a minute."

  "Oh, so you can speak!" Ixion said with a pleased chuckle, still moving toward her with the unhurried persistence of something predatory. "And you can lie too. How clever."

  Amber backed up closer to the wall, considering asking the computer to open a passageway.

  “I’m glad you recovered so quickly from what happened earlier,” she said, playing for time. Atropos might not be far behind her. “I was worried you would die.”

  “Oh, you saw that dreadful business?” Ixion clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “How sweet you are to worry for me. But one does not enter negotiations with a Hymenoptera with
out expecting to be stung. I’ve tasted that poison a dozen times at least. Potent stuff, and quite remarkably painful, but easily countered. I was not afraid. Were you, little pet?”

  “Of course,” Amber replied, feeling her way along the wall behind her for a good place to open a door. “I didn’t want to see anyone die.”

  “I would very much like to see you afraid,” Ixion remarked, his tone just as calm and genial as ever. His eyes were intense, pinning her in place like a butterfly to a collector’s board.

  “W–what are you doing down here?” Amber asked, her heart racing, looking past him at the corridor in hopes of spotting help, or at least somewhere to run. The place seemed deserted. Ixion was uncomfortably close to her, all but trapping her against the wall.

  “Well, after my spill earlier today, I thought some recreation was in order,” Ixion answered, joviality incongruous with the glint in his eye. “I had planned to take advantage of one or two of these quaint little moths. After all, they were so very accommodating of the Immortal’s entertainment the other night. But they hardly hold a candle to the novelty of one such as yourself.”

  He moved so swiftly Amber had no time to react before he had her arm in a painfully tight grip. He yanked her closer, peering at her hand and ignoring her surprised cry, which became a scream as, a second later and with no apparent effort, he broke her wrist.

  “Such delicate bones,” Ixion said with a pleased chuckle. “I had a feeling you would break easily. The sound is a bit shrill though. Perhaps a gag until you’re better trained.”

  Amber could hardly process what he was saying over the pain, white-hot and electric, and her own screams. She’d never broken a bone before, never felt a pain like this in her life. Her vision swam and she thought she might faint. She welcomed it as an escape from the terror of this situation. Instead, Ixion slapped her cheek, shaking her back to alertness.

  “Come now, we’ve only just begun,” he chided. “Actian claims your species are quite . . . flexible. I’m looking forward to seeing just how much you can take.”