by Lee Savino
As I approach my cabin, the strange feeling grows. Something is wrong.
The door slides open and Arkdhem straightens from his position on the couch. The room is dimly lit, but not darkened the way it is when she is sleeping. He gives me a short salute before retreating from the room, leaving us alone. I frown at the small lump on the bed.
“Dawn?” I ask softly, in case she has fallen asleep. “Dawn?”
The lump moves as I approach, and Dawn sits up. Her hands flutter over her face, wiping at her eyes. Her skin is flushed, and she does not meet my gaze. It almost looks as though she has been crying, but I do not see any actual tears.
“Master? Do you need me?” There is a touch of irony in her voice, almost as though she is mocking me. “You are back early.” Now I hear a hint of accusation, and she still won’t meet my eyes. She is displeased that I have spent so much time away, but tonight she does not try to chide me. The spanking she received for being waspish corrected that behavior.
My body responds at the sight of her, my cock stirring, but the great weight on my chest does not move. Perhaps my suit is malfunctioning. Well, I shall make things up to her now. I will pleasure her, and she will not feel the lack of my attention.
I move to the bed, my armor already retracting into my spine.
She is so pretty and pleasing, even with her eyes downcast and hiding her emotions.
“I wanted to see you,” I say, crawling onto the bed toward her. Everything in my body is yearning to touch her.
Her face starts to lift, then crumples again. She clenches her jaw. “Did you? You’ve been very busy lately.”
“I have,” I agree, reaching out to take her by the wrist and pulling her to me. As she seems sad rather than angry tonight, I am gentle as I wrap her in my arms and begin kissing down her neck. There is a red angry spot on her shoulder. “What is this?”
“Just an itchy spot,” she mutters, somewhat stiff in my arms.
“Have Medik see to it,” I order her, tipping her head back to take her lips in a kiss. She turns her head away, making me frown down at her.
“Do you not wish to spend time with me anymore?”
“It is not about my wishes. I have a duty to my warriors and my people,” I tell her, beginning to grow frustrated. I am here with her now and she wishes to remonstrate with me instead of enjoying ourselves? “Just as your duty is to me. You are my Tribute.”
“Yes.” Why is there such sadness in her tone? My frustration grows and then ebbs. If she is sad, I will cheer her up. She will writhe and cry out for me and then she will be happy again. After so much attention and pleasure, the adjustment to my new schedule must be harder on her than I realized.
I stroke her back, breathing in her scent. I feel her arch against me slightly, squirming under my touch. My hand strays to her front to caress her soft curves under the gown. Her breath quickens as her nipples bud against my palms. My rod swells under her sweet bottom as my seela begin to writhe.
I touch my lips to her neck. “I am already primed for you, my Dawn.”
She shudders against me as my hands slide under her gown and begin to rove, hungry. I want to feel her, all of her.
“I will make you feel better now.” I squeeze her breasts, pinching her nipples to arouse her further, and feel her sudden intake of breath. I rock my hips against her, seeing the future I so desire laid out in front of me, as soon as our enemy is eradicated. “When we defeat the Vgotha, then I will be able to attend to you properly and you will bear my children.”
She suddenly breaks away, throwing her body backwards, leaving my hands and lap empty.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her face knotting in the way the heralded tears. “I can’t do that. I don’t… I don’t want children with you. Not like this. I’m sorry.” She rolls away from me, rejecting me, rejecting her future with me.
I should punish her. Tributes should not reject their masters. I could use an enforcer or her training belt to punish her. I could spank her. There are so many things I could do to her for pushing me away.
Instead, I stare at her shaking shoulders as she curls around one of the bed cushions, her back to me, for the sadness is back, a black despair that I can feel all through my chest. The pain of loss.
And Dawn is the source.
If she were not so upset, I would marvel at the wonders of the nanotech, how attuned it has become to her and how well it transmits her emotions to me, mimicking the bond. I do not know what to do now that she has rejected me.
I still do not want to leave her though. Not until I have to again.
“Lights down,” I say, and darkness descends on the cabin.
We lay there, side by side but not touching, lonely even as we are together.
Gavrill
The sadness lingers, following me for a tsencycle. My officers fall silent as I take my post on the bridge. Bending over their workstations, they pretend not to study me, perusing my suit for a hint of my emotions. Their entire chance at a mate rests on the success of this Tribute program. I cannot let my emotions dictate the outcome between me and my... Dawn.
I clench my fists on the panels alongside my command chair.
I will train my Tribute. I will breed and bring her to heel. I will do my duty to uphold the breeding program and ensure the survival our race.
My determination does not quite fill the void inside me. Nothing can replace the warmth of my Tribute’s regard. But I cannot allow her moping to derail my duty. She will learn her place, in time. Her needs belong firmly behind those of my mission and my men.
“Commander, we located a warship!”
The screen fills with the space craft we’ve spent a millennia trying to discover. Their warships are not as big as our destroyers, but they are closely guarded. We still don’t know why.
“A warship,” I say, half rising from my seat as if that will give me a closer look. The enemy tech is dull and unassuming, almost blending with the surrounding space. Small and remarkably fast, the Vgothan ships have a habit of hiding in dust clouds or meteor belts, refusing to stand their ground and face us—even before they had the cloaking technology we’re facing now. Despite tsencycles of fighting, we have few visuals of their warships.
Now we’ve come upon one just sitting here, on the other side of the mass of black matter. There is no sign of the hunter ships and raider ships we were following, although it’s possible they’ve retreated to the bowels of the warship rather than remaining outside of it.
“Scan shows no evidence of hyperdrive or engines.” The warrior continues with his report. “And the sensors aren’t registering any heat signatures that might mean armed weapons.”
“They’re scuttled. They’ve run out of fuel or life-resources. Or both.” Bogdan almost sounds gleeful. His suit is the lightest I’ve ever seen. “Permission to destroy it.”
I stare at the enemy ship, still and silent as if waiting. My senses prickle as if the nanites are trying to tell me something is wrong.
“Keep scanning,” I order. “I want to know why they’re sitting in open space.”
“Yes, High Commander.” The science officer bends over his panel, pressing buttons and frowning at the strange readings.
I wait for Bogdan to protest but the big warrior is also frowning at the exposed enemy ship, much more concerned now that he’s had a moment to think about why a warship would just be sitting here. Waiting for us, right where the smaller ships had led us.
My instincts are right, I know it. Something’s wrong.
“High alert,” I announce. “All warriors to their post.”
Dawn
I trace the outline of the stars on the glass. So small, so infinite. It is hard to look at them and feel that, in this great swirling galaxy, one matters.
Gavrill doesn’t care about me. He cares about his precious tribute, but that could’ve been any woman. I am a trophy, a toy to take down off the shelf and admire. An object to show off. He doesn’t care about Dawn. For all I
know, he’s incapable of caring. Of love.
This is my life now, a toy to a male who will give me great pleasure, but who will never love me in the way I wish he would. The way I love him.
Gathering up my skirts, I stride from the massive viewing deck, unable to bear the sight of the stars anymore. Arkdhem follows at a discreet distance, obviously realizing my wish to be alone. Which is almost funny, because the truth is I don’t want to be alone at all.
But I don’t want to talk either. Definitely not to any Tsenturions.
I retreat to the cabin, my silent escort shadowing me. I decide to read, because then at least Arkdhem won’t try to entertain me or talk to me.
I don’t know how much time passes when an alarm blares. A light over the door flashes from green to purple. My head jerks up from the book I’ve been sitting and reading. Well, pretending to read. I’ve had some trouble focusing on it but at least trying to read helped pass the time. When the light came on green a few minicycles ago, Arkdhem didn’t seem concerned, but now he’s tense.
“What’s happening?” I ask him, when it doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything on his own.
With a slight shake, he faces me, trying—and failing—to give me a genuine smile. “What do you mean, Tribute?”
I sigh. Sometimes he can take the protecting me thing way too far. “Something’s wrong. That light has been lit for fifteen minutes—uh—minicycles, and it just changed color.”
“It is an alert for all warriors to report to their stations.”
“Why?” I prompt, sitting up and setting my book down. “What is happening? Are we being attacked?” I’m trying to stay calm, but I can feel anxiety rising up in the back of my throat. Which is probably exactly what he was trying to protect me from by not telling me in the first place, but not knowing would just make me even more fearful in the long run.
“You should ask the High Commander.” Arkdhem fidgets with his armor.
I grind my teeth. “I would ask him, but he’s not here. He’s hardly ever here anymore. He keeps leaving me with you.”
“The High Commander has many duties—”
I shoot to my feet, pacing to the end of the room in a savage burst of energy.
“He would be here if he could,” Arkdhem calls after me.
“No, he wouldn’t,” I half laugh in despair.
“Tribute…” Arkdhem’s voice trails off.
“You know it’s true. He’s avoiding me.”
“He is very busy—”
“Then maybe he’s too busy for a Tribute,” I snap.
“It will be different once you have bonded—"
“It’s not going to happen. I’ve tried. I can’t bond with... a robot.” Gavrill has feelings somewhere, deep down. He just refuses to show them.
“The High Commander is not a machine,” Arkdhem frowns.
“He certainly acts like one sometimes. The pilot light is on but there’s no one home.”
Arkdhem’s suit shimmers as he tries to figure out what I’m saying. I’m not sure myself. The doctor seems so sure Gavrill is capable of bonding but the more I fall for the Commander, the more he pulls away. Maybe the nanites have taken over and he’s only a shell of a Tsenturion. A lean, mean, fighting machine, steady and reliable and as emotionally available as a refrigerator. I would’ve noticed his lack of emotion sooner, if he didn’t also have the stamina and orgasm-inducing ability of a Sybian.
“The Commander regrets his duties have called him away for so long. He wished for me to tell you.” Arkdhem sounds desperate for me to believe him. Poor guy. It’s unfair for me to take my anger out on him. He’s such a nice guy.
Too bad I’m not his Tribute. I eye Arkdhem’s muscular form, perfect and balanced under the bronze suit. I’ve never seen any other warrior’s suit get as light as his; he must always be in a good mood. And with his strong jaw and long lashes, he’s pretty, too.
But even if I could get Gavrill to give me up, I know I can never love another. My master might be incapable of loving me, but my stupid heart is lost to him, my body enslaved along with it.
“The Vgotha are executing an attack,” Arkdhem keeps explaining. “Until we know what they are up to, the High Commander must remain on the bridge.”
“What if we went to him?” I ask, hating myself for even considering seeking the High Commander out. Do I want to go running to him, curl up at his feet on my little cushion and hug his leg as he works? Am I that pathetic?
My pussy tingles and drips a little at the memory of being on the bridge. Apparently, I am.
“Oh no, Tribute, we must stay here. These quarters are at the heart of the ship. Perfectly safe.” Arkdhem laughs nervously. “If the enemy breaches them, we are already lost.”
“Fine,” I say, and drop down on the couch in a swirl of floaty silk. I pick at the filmy folds with a perfectly manicured fingernail, feeling useless. Just a pretty little trophy, lounging around in a powder pink dress while the menfolk are off fighting.
“Perhaps we can play a game.” Arkdhem offers and I sigh. He is trying. I don’t know what’s worse: being left alone like a house bound pet or having a babysitter.
“I can use the replicator now. Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes, thank you, Tribute.”
I rise and head to the silvery machine in the corner. I should order some Earth drinks for him. A juice or a soda. A root beer float or a margarita with a tiny paper umbrella. Maybe he’ll be impressed.
I could test the limits of the replicator. This dress I’m wearing is soft, but I’d love a pair of yoga pants. If Gavrill likes dresses, he can wear one. I’ll even replicate one for him. I don’t have his size, but I can use Arkdhem; if I can get my warrior babysitter to drink enough margaritas I bet he’ll agree to it. We can have a party—a luau with grass skirts and flower leis. We can turn the giant tub into a hot tub and make Gavrill jealous.
It’s official, I think glumly as I reach the replicator. I’m so bored, I’m designing clothes and mentally throwing elaborate parties. Maybe I’ll produce a new reality TV show: Desperate Housewives of Tsentur.
I’m so preoccupied, I don’t notice the warning lights over the door flashing red a second before the doors explode.
The blast lifts me off my feet. I hit the side of a blush-colored couch and sprawl on the ground.
“Tribute,” Arkdhem cries, throwing himself between me and the door. I pick myself up, coughing as smoke billows through the room. My ears are ringing, my vision filled with sparks.
“What—” I cough.
The smoke clears, swirling around a shadowy form just beyond the door. Not human, not Tsenturion, but something strange and massive. In the acrid aftermath of the blast, I shrink back against the couch as the intruder moves through the door, stepping closer on a giant clawed foot.
15
Gavrill
“Commander, our weapons are ready,” Officer Kalexston reports.
“Hold fire.” I tap my earpiece. “Hail Medik. Come to the bridge. High alert.” Medik confirms that he received my message and I end the transmission. I turn back to the science officer. “Sholtorin, have your crew scan all surrounding space for life forms. As soon as you have readings, make a report. I want to know why, after a lifetime of hiding, a Vgotha warship is sitting in barren space as if waiting for us.”
“Commander!” Bogdan’s voice is somewhat strangled as he points at the screen in front of us.
The warship is beginning to move.
Away from us.
Lumbering through space like an injured animal.
“Something’s wrong with their thrusters,” Sholtorin mutters under his breath. “At least… I think there is. The scans are spotty and there is interference from the black matter cloud.”
“What about the hunters and raiders?” I demand, turning towards him. The tension on the bridge is palpable. We all want to attack and bag one of the few warships that the Vgotha have… but we’re all aware it could b
e a trap. “Are they on the warship? Or are they hiding around us?”
“We don’t know.” Sholtorin’s voice is grim.
Beside me, Bogdan mutters a curse.
Medik arrives on the bridge as we all stare at the warship. His steps falter as he takes in the scene.
“A warship,” he says, sounding just as awed as I feel.
Turning to him, I nod a greeting. “Medik. You have the most knowledge about the workings of the mind. I would like your opinion on the situation.”
Dawn
I shrink behind the couch as the giant rectangle fills the doorway. Smoke streams around what must be a shield covering all but the clawed feet. Whatever it is, it’s taller than Arkdhem.
“Tribute—run!” Arkdhem orders, but where am I supposed to run to? The attacker is blocking the only avenue of retreat. Arkdhem rises, his weapon humming. The laser hits the shield and the thin red line redirects, cutting in to the wall. Smoke and the smell of charred machinery rises.
“Surrender, Tsenturion,” a deep voice reverberates through the room. The voice is almost... wooly. It gets in my head, expanding until it fills every corner. I put a hand to my face to relieve the pressure.
“Come closer and I’ll shoot,” Arkdhem rasps. A front panel of his helm hangs askew.
“And risk hitting the Tribute?” The amused tone is the voice of reason. “Lay down your weapon.” That voice, slipping between my ears. All I want to do is lay down my weapon. I don’t even have a weapon.
“You won’t take me alive,” Arkdhem grits out.
The creature lowers its shield slightly. “Warrior.” Its voice is almost a purr. “I do not need you alive.”
The intruder pads closer, shield sagging to reveal a behemoth shoulder, muscled and covered with intricate patterns. Its face is a mass of tubes—some sort of helmet that covers everything but a narrow goatee. Above the mask, black antlers rise proudly. The spiny rack is so tall the thing dips its head to enter the door. Poking out from the coil of tubes are pointed ears, tufted with fur.