Starport: Zeta Prime (Alt)

by S. A. Jackson

  Once his tribe, and he, was appeased and comforted by the knowledge that their village would not be ransacked, then he could make his special announcement.

  This was all a very necessary exercise if his plans for the woman were to be realized. His mind was made up and her future now decided.

  The sun was starting to fade back in the village, and subsequently the heat from it. Even though her security uniform was thick, Jillian started to feel a chill and pulled a piece of fur from the pile to huddle under. She looked on enviously as groups of the aliens–mainly women and children, she noted curiously—made their way into the largest of the huts.

  She deduced that it must be some kind of communal dwelling, and the envy came from the fact that the orb of orangey light flickering inside made it look cozy and inviting, and also because they had each other, while she had no one.

  The loneliness was an aching throb inside her and provided the motivation she needed to start looking for weaknesses in her prison, the village and the people that were holding her there. She felt hopeless, just sitting there, not knowing what was going to happen. Surely a well-trained ex-soldier could figure a way to escape from a primitive camp such as this?

  She examined the cuff on her wrist. It was solid metal, and fastened tightly with screws, but it was loose. On a whim, and if she was honest, more to give herself something to do, she tried pulling her delicate hand through the metal ring. Her skin bunched up under it and turned an angry red as she yanked. A couple more minutes of pulling was all she could bear, and she sat back on her fur, slightly breathless from the exertion.

  She fantasized about her freedom, and how she would clear her name and prove her innocence back at the colony. She knew that they would not be able to prove her involvement…but then she could not prove her innocence either. If this rebel operation had occurred from inside the military, she was sure that they would have covered all bases in setting her up to take the fall for the gateway’s destruction.

  Unless Mikey had managed some sort of miracle to convince the leading powers otherwise…but he just was one man, against a powerful group of goodness knows how many. Jillian wanted to go back home, wanted to go back to Earth and try to rebuild her life. Sorrow stabbed her, but even that was not even a possibility now–even if she could have waltzed right into a colony who considered her a terrorist–the gateway was no more. The re-construction would take decades, at least as long as a rescue ship back to Earth. Every human on Zeta Prime was now totally cut off, and would have to find ways of surviving without support.

  The gooseflesh on her arms had nothing to do with the cooling of the day, and she had to bite her lip to prevent the prick of tears in her eyes developing into lonely, desperate sobs. A noise ahead of her made her raise her head, and she saw the unfriendly female again, this time carrying food.

  Once she had placed the bowl down, Jillian was flashed a false smile, which she faked back. Going about her duties as she’d been asked by her leader, Misha lit the fire in the center of the prison hut, turning Jillian’s smile to a genuine one, grateful for the warmth.

  “This is my last visit tonight, so make hat food and water last. I do not care for attending to you like a slave when you are so undeserving.”

  Keeping the shock from her face, Jillian gave the alien an expression that she hoped portrayed a lack of understanding. She understood her prisoner status, but she was treated with so much more apparent kindness from the male. The cold interactions with this woman did not fill her with much hope, and she’d not seen the male the whole day. Had he just left her here? Did he not feel any compassion towards her? She had thought, last night … no. She shook the memory from her head, realizing she must have misjudged it. She felt … rejected.

  As the female left her alone once more, Jillian tucked into her meal, fears about her internal compatibility with alien food long forgotten. Although she had done nothing but sit and think all day, she found she was hungry, and enjoyed the food as much as she had that morning, paying no attention to the female’s warnings. She would eat tonight and then sleep. Tomorrow she would deal with when it arrived.

  By the human prison bunker, Faron and his brother observed the men patrolling around the invisible fence protecting it.

  “They don’t seem to have any undue concern.” Camil leaned in to speak to him.

  Faron gave a short nod, the men acting as guards walking without any haste or urgency, exactly as he had thought. After a while of watching, noting nothing of any significance, Faron motioned to his brother that they should move on. He wanted to check one more place, and then his mind would be set at ease.

  The whole area felt nostalgic to him now, heading to the site where he had first noticed the woman. As they swung through the trees, a familiar journey to them both, Faron suddenly froze atop a branch and held out his hand to stop Camil.

  “Slow down. Something feels wrong,” he whispered. He was not sure what it was, but an overwhelming atmosphere of despair had crept up to him. Moving much more slowly, as the massive clearing that had become the invaders workplace came into view, Faron saw why.

  The giant, circular construction that had been erected over the years that the colony had been on Zeta Prime was now a gigantic pile of broken boulders, dust and rubble. He had no idea what this meant or what it was–but he knew enough to see and feel that the ruin before him was not an intentional design. He had witnessed the careful work that had gone into building this strange-shaped object, sure that they would not have knocked it down intentionally.

  “This looks bad,” Faron commented. Camil, looking as stunned as he, had to agree. The scene ahead of them was full of the small-eyed beings, some simply staring at the wreckage, touching each other in comfort, others trying to make headway into clearing the stones with large, noisy machinery, while some paraded–appearing to be on the lookout. Faron saw a male who he had seen spend a lot of time with the female now residing in his village. He had obviously taken her place as leader–pointing and guiding others to places around the site.

  Faron tapped his brother on the shoulder. Time to go.

  “They have enough going on here–too much for them to be concerned over a missing female. Let’s return. I have news for the tribe.”

  Just as she entered the fuzzy state between dreaming and wakefulness, Jillian became aware of much movement from up in the village. Mentally exhausted from the worry and theorizing over the last two days, she didn’t have the energy to pull herself from the oncoming slumber to take a look and see if she could access the noise. It was far enough away for her not to feel in imminent danger, and as she rode the final wave to unconsciousness, she could have sworn that she heard cheers erupting from the main building.

  As the men returned, passing fresh carcasses of fat mammals to some of the women to start preparing, there was a great buzz surrounding the tribe in the moonlit cool of the late evening. Faron waited patiently in the communal hall while the candles and fires were lit, and his men greeted their loved ones.

  The light from the flames reflecting off of the scarlet floor made the space feel womb-like and safe. As his people sat down at the tables, Faron made his way to the head of the room to inform his people of his plans.

  “It has been witnessed that we are in no danger from the invaders.” His voice commanded quiet from the crowd. The men who had been out with him nodded in affirmation of his statement.

  “You do not need to be concerned about the safety of our village, or the trustworthiness of the female I have taken. They seem to be unconcerned with her location.” He omitted the fact that he had seen great destruction within the colony, deeming that it would create unnecessary worry as to retribution.

  “I have some important news to share with you all, and although it’s unique, I wish for you all to respect my decision as your leader. There will be a great celebration tomorrow–a big feast and much joy.”

  As Faron told his news, the villagers all cheered and congratulated him. It was a n
ew thing for the tribe, but they knew his choices came from a pure heart and a loyal commitment to them, and they had no need for questioning. It would be the start of a new evolution. Zeta Prime was changing, and so would the people inhabiting it. The change invoked excitement, for centuries everything had been kept the same–now their tribe was part of radical, forward thinking times, and there was a great deal of positivity around the fresh new Chapter in their history.

  Positivity that stemmed from all but one. In the farthest corner of the room, Misha looked sullenly at her people, feeling detached from their rejoicing. Bitterness rose in her like poison and she backed out of the room. Faron caught her eye sternly and she felt ashamed at her emotions being caught so obviously. Worried about being shunned and certainly not about to display herself as disloyal, she took a deep breath and planted a smile onto her face, joining the tribe once more.

  Chapter Eight

  Waking to the sound of drumming, Jillian prized opened her eyes and stretched luxuriously on her fur. For a moment, she felt relaxed and refreshed from the night’s sleep, then reality filtered through and she snapped herself upright. Drums. She had felt something in the air last night, and the methodical beat did nothing to allay her fears. For some reason—gut instinct, a mystical ‘feeling’—she had known that today was the day she would discover her reason for being brought here, for being taken from the colony. The drums sounded ceremonious. Something big was about to happen.

  Leaning her head to take in a view of the village, she saw a lot of bustle. Women carrying what looked like large, woven trays containing bright scarlet and evergreen leaves round to the back of that large hut, and Jillian swore she heard an undulating, squeaking noise that sounded very much like laughter.

  Butterflies flit wildly in her stomach. She was nervous—knowing somehow it was her day of reckoning. Three women emerged from the building Jillian stared at, each holding large, plaited foliage, fashioned into a sort of bag—carrying items she could not see. They slinked over to where she sat, open-mouthed and unmoving. She had never been approached by any other of the aliens before—just the unfriendly one and her male. They looked very similar aesthetically, chestnut skin and yellowy hair reflecting a white strip of light from the bright morning sunshine, but as they got ever closer, she saw that they were smiling. Not the forced, cold stretch of the lips that she had seen before, but wide, open-mouthed smiles, showing gleaming teeth and pointy incisors. They would have been almost vampiric, if they hadn’t looked so happy. Their long legs protruded from makeshift fur skirts, the small mounds that she supposed were their breasts also covered by the same cloth.

  Talking all at once, Jillian could only make out the odd few words from their excitable chatter as, to her astonishment, one of them bent to lift her wrist and released it from its cuff.

  “Beautiful hair.”

  She managed to understand that comment as the smallest of the three stopped to stroke Jillian’s head. Rubbing her wrist and flexing her palm in a stretch, she could do little but look at these creatures, confused that they seemed to fawn over her.

  “Get up, get up.” The one who had released her insisted. Mindful of her pretense of ignorance of their language, Jillian remained on the floor.

  “She can’t understand you. I’ll do it.”

  She was gently pulled to her feet with the greatest ease, their strength definitely a trait apparent in the whole of the species. Standing now, these females still towered over her and intimidation crept back–if they wanted, they could do anything to her. Something in the atmosphere dispelled the thought. There was almost a fizz of happiness between the women. She could detect no threat or malice. For now, at least.

  The shortest one slipped her hand into Jillian’s and held it. The skin was so wonderfully soft she had to restrain herself from moving her fingers across it out of curiosity. Then she was led out of her prison, finally, into the warm, fresh air of the village.

  Although she had been able to poke her head from her hut, there was something refreshing and free about finally being able to stand outdoors, to feel the gentle breeze flow over her. Jillian tilted her head backwards to the sky–resplendent azure and purple–and took a deep breath of air as sweet as honey. The women were impatient and carried on moving as she did so, but she didn’t care, their babbling mere background noise for the moment as she relished the movement in her legs, life and feeling returning slowly to her muscles.

  She had to practically jog to keep up with the strides of the aliens as they led her away from the main center of the village. Twisting so that she could see the dwellings disappear behind her, she saw many of the creatures stop what they were doing and stare at her with great interest. The joy of being untied and moved morphed into a mild alarm as Jillian noticed that she was being led towards the red growth of the forest. A small pathway took them into the wilderness, and she strained to try and make out some words that might give her a clue as to what to expect.

  Before she was able to decipher any though, everyone came to a standstill. Jillian surveyed the scene before her. They had reached a small clearing–in the middle of which lay a still, deep green body of water, its surface glistening with dappled sunlight beaming through the tendrils of the trees. It was so beautiful and serene.

  To her shock, the females put down the bags they had been carrying, and suddenly three pairs of hands were on her. In her surprise, she lifted her arms to her head, and one of them took this opportunity to peel her black top from her. The others removed her belt and tugged at her trousers–unfamiliar with the clasps holding them up.

  “How does this work?” One of them puffed, confused at the zip mechanism.

  “Just pull on them, Shana. Come on, we need to get her in the water, we haven’t got all day.”

  Jillian surmised that they intended to allow her to wash. She almost collapsed with the relief of it–she was grimy and filthy, no further encouragement was needed. She helped Shana, the one fumbling with her zip, by undoing her boots and stepping out of the leather herself.

  The three women stood back and ran their eyes across Jillian’s light olive-tinted, naked flesh. Instead of feeling self-conscious, she felt strangely empowered. She knew her body was different from these others, and was happy to let them look at her curves–thinking she would have done exactly the same had the situation been reversed.

  The aliens rushed her, delighted. With gentle hands, she was guided into the delicious coolness of the water. They splashed it up onto her and Jillian started to rub the dirt of the last three days away.

  “Let us.” Shana instructed, holding her arms still. The three females soaked and washed her with such delicate touches that Jillian felt tears prick her eyes. She had missed contact, she missed being touched, and so she relented submissively as she let herself be cleaned. Even when they leant her back to wet her hair–she moved without resistance, luxuriating in the contact, the soft water lapping against her head.

  Disappointingly soon, she was moved to the bank of the pool, where one opened the bag to reveal a myriad of colored bottles. Each took one, and tipped a liquid onto their palms, its fragrance heady and pungent. With smooth strokes, six hands worked the scented oil all over Jillian’s body, across her thighs, over her breasts. They worked in silence, concentrating on the task. Gooseflesh broke over her skin, this felt so intimate, almost erotic. It had been a long time since she had been touched in such a way and she had to admit, it was extremely pleasurable.

  “Ouch,” she exclaimed, grabbing the back of her head as something sharp attacked her. She ducked away, noticing one of the aliens brandishing a bony object.

  “Gentle, Cara,” one of them admonished.

  Still gripping her scalp, Jillian looked at Cara, who mimed brushing her own hair to her with the object. That torture device was a comb? Gritting her teeth, she turned her back to Cara, wanting to please the women. Feeling as though her hair was being torn out, she stifled her yelps as it was brushed smooth.

  S
hana and the other female retrieved pieces of fur from the last bag, and began fastening it around her. Jillian looked down at her body–her breasts were barely covered by a small strip, her navel was on show, the second strip a handkerchief shaped skirt, falling only to the top of her thighs–she was pretty much naked, her exposed skin shining from the oils.

  The three aliens fussed around her for a while, and then Jillian sensed a distinct change in atmosphere as she was surveyed. It became heavy and serious–the joviality of their mood earlier now serious and expectant.

  The one they had called Cara took her wrist gently, and she was marched back to the village in silence. As they approached, Jillian could still hear the drumming—and something else–more melodic, like several woodwind instruments weaving notes together. The tone was jolly and upbeat, but she felt her heart race ahead of the drums. What the heck was going on?

  The center of the village had been transformed. Ornate posts had been erected in a walkway to the middle clearing. Off of each, the red tendrils that normally swung from the trees were draped like ribbons. It seemed the whole village had gathered outside, and as they got closer, they erupted into song and parted so that Jillian and her guardians had a clear path to the front, where Faron stood, waiting.

  She was shoved towards him, and kept her gaze to the floor at first. Confused from the attention and the way her heart had stuttered when she’d seen him. She soon looked up, however, feeling his eyes on her and he placed his forearm alongside hers and lifted them up. One of the older looking aliens came forward and began to wrap one of the tree ribbons over them, binding their arms together. As he did so, the villagers circled them, moving as fluid as water around and around.

  Jillian could not make out any of the words in this strange chant. The tone was too different to what she had learnt, like song. Too quick and changeable to understand. Frustratingly, she could but watch as the ritual unfolded before her, odd and compelling.