When Redeemer entered Earth’s atmosphere yesterday, I opted not to utilize any stealth technology; I want humanity to know we are here. However, just because a few governments know of our presence, that doesn’t mean anything for the rest of the population. I’ve seen it plenty of times before. The authorities always cite not wanting to cause a panic as their reason for secrecy, and I sympathize with that. Fortunately, I know a thing or two about conquering planets.
Scanning coded transmissions, I find that entire units are being actively prepared for all-out war. Weapons of mass destruction are being readied, and VIPs are being taken to hardened sites that will hopefully guarantee greater safety.
On the civilian communication channels, however, the news reports make no mention of anything unusual. Some stations briefly talk of ‘military drills’ being conducted, for which reserve forces are being activated—a deception they no doubt feel necessary. It’s a predictable course of action, though it leaves me wondering just how many of their soldiers know the truth. Are they even remotely aware that all their might and prowess will count for nothing? I have no doubt most will serve their nation and their people bravely, but some will go into hiding, refusing to fight against a far superior enemy—how many? And what will happen to them after the fight ends?
I’ll worry about that later. At the moment, the first battle is about to begin.
My nanites have alerted me to a developing situation: several squadrons of jet fighter planes have been detected on route toward Redeemer. We’ve been parked on the ruins of the secret base we destroyed, and I suppose the Americans would like to take it back.
A quick analysis of the jets shows they are armed with missiles and machine guns, neither of which will pose a threat to us.
Crew to battle stations. Lift off, I command my crew. Get us into orbit.
With the human attack imminent, I give orders for my unmanned fighters to launch, mostly to serve as a distraction. The humans will expend their ordinance to destroy these ships, and will fail—but on the off-chance something goes wrong, no Dominar pilots will be in danger.
That is, except for me. Making haste for the docking bay, I find my private fighter is fueled and waiting. I slip on a flight vest and activate it; it creates an armor mesh around my body and produces a helmet that seals my head in a protective shell. The helmet has no transparent opening—my nanites will allow me to see. They will transmit information from not just my fighter, but Redeemer as well, giving me an omnidirectional perspective.
The drones take position around me, creating a tight formation. Each of my ships is equipped with several weapons, from energy pulses to rail cannons; any of them would make this fight short and decisive, but my goal is not to kill. I want this skirmish to be an instructive defeat for the humans, not a demoralizing slaughter.
Redeemer is hovering in the air, steadily lifting toward space, when the humans arrive. The second they come into range, they launch a salvo of missiles. I laugh as the tiny rockets streak toward my ship. They may as well have been thrown by hand, they move so slowly. More important, each of the missiles is guided by an onboard computer guidance system. My crew hacks them in a microsecond.
Ready to intercept, sir, reports Briette, working from the bridge.
Hold on, I respond. Wait until the missiles nearly reach their target.
She transmits a mental laugh, understanding my intent. The humans are surely waiting to see whether their initial attack succeeds; spoiling their anticipation early wouldn’t be very kind.
So Briette lets the missiles get to within a few hundred feet of Redeemer, then triggers the hack. Instantly, all of the dozens of missiles simply stop firing their rockets, causing them to plummet. Imagining their consternation, I guide my squadron toward theirs. To the humans’ credit, they do not panic or break formation. Instead, they resort to their machine guns, spraying my fighter with bullets.
Though there is no way to hack a bullet, the energy shields around my ship vaporize them with ease.
Okay, I tell Briette. Get to work on their planes.
I could fire on the jets right now, but instead I fly through their formation and circle around. Approaching them from behind finally splinters their ranks, as they split up to evade a counterattack that never comes. I break off from the drones, using my ship’s superior speed and maneuverability to catch up with the human jets.
I close in on a single fighter, staying on its tail; the pilot attempts to shake me, but he’s nowhere near fast enough. I actually have to slow down to maintain my distance. His squad comes to his aid, lighting up my fighter with bullets and missiles, but nothing gets through my shields.
Hacking complete, Briette reports.
Thank you.
I fly around with the humans, letting them expend their ammunition and their will to continue a fruitless attack. They attempt to target my drones, with the same results.
Then something happens I don’t expect: one of the human pilots angles around to fly straight at me on a collision course.
Idiot, this won’t work!
A stream of fire erupts from his thrusters, adding to the jet’s speed, forcing me to dive hard. Our ships narrowly miss one another.
Okay, that’s enough.
The humans are getting desperate; I need to end this before it turns deadly. Using the information gained by hacking their jets, I activate the pilot ejection mechanisms on every single fighter, launching their pilots into the sky. I don’t stop there, however; taking control of the jets’ flight systems, I pilot all of them toward a singular point—a small clearing on a hill a few miles out.
One by one, each plane—devoid of any human occupant—flies into this hill and explodes. The pilots, parachuting back toward the Earth, can no doubt hear the blasts and see the rising smoke.
Mission complete. Good work, everyone, I tell my crew. I’m on the way back. Send out detachments to make sure the pilots land safely and take them into custody.
Yes, sir, Briette replies.
I plot a course back to Redeemer so I can dock. As much as I hate to admit it, what started as an enjoyable engagement nearly ended in a pointless death. I need to get the situation under control, and make sure the humans refrain from launching any more misguided attacks.
It’s time to end the secrecy of the Earth’s governments and make the rest of humanity aware of the changes about to grip their world. It’s time for the Dominars to make our presence known.
Chapter Six
Jillian
The room Vol sends me to has been modestly decorated, though the bed is very comfortable. As soon as I arrive, the door shuts behind me; I try to open it again, but can’t. There’s a panel on the frame, but no matter what I do, it just flashes red and makes a frustrated chirp.
Great.
Ignoring an overwhelming urge to investigate the strange device locked around my waist, I search the room for anything I could use to escape. I find a drawer with a change of clothes—some kind of plain singlet, and a pair of sandals made of a plastic material—as well as an assortment of snacks. Some—bags of chips and pretzels—are clearly from Earth, perhaps found in the military base they invaded, but the rest are unrecognizable: packaged pastries, dried meats and fruit like nothing I’ve ever seen. If my hosts put them here, they’re probably safe to eat, but I don’t take any chances, and leave all of it alone.
In the corner of the room I find a washing station—there are no knobs or dials, but with my nanites I turn on the water. Stripping off my dress, I step inside. Warm water soothes and cleanses my skin; it feels wonderful. Closing my eyes, I can pretend for a few minutes that I’m back on Earth, doing something normal; soon I feel much better.
Before I dry myself, however, I try to slip off the strange device Vol placed around my waist. The device clings with an unbreakable grip, yet changes shape as needed to fit snugly.
Well, that’s just fantastic.
Just outside of the cleaning station, a mirror hangs on the wall; I
stare at myself for a while, struck by my appearance. Between Vol’s device and the telerings, I look like something owned—or maybe that’s just how I feel. The rings can bind me or make me walk, and right now I can’t even touch parts of my own body. It’s so bizarre and twisted, to be controlled in such a total way. I force myself to look away and to put on the singlet I found. It hugs my figure very tightly, and I get the sense it’s made of more than just simple fabric.
Waiting around in bed, I can’t help running my hands over my telerings and tracing the outline of the chastity device; when I do, a warm ache emanates from my core. Something strange and, dare I say, alien is happening to me. Vol swore that the nanites are not affecting the way I think—if he’s telling the truth, that means there’s something wrong with me. There must be—I shouldn’t enjoy the idea of being owned. I’m a person, not a possession—it doesn’t matter that Vol is caring, powerful, and shockingly good-looking.
He did help me out of the fallen helicopter, and I’m thankful, but not enough to make right what he’s doing. After all, how could I forget that he just spanked me until I cried—the pain may be gone, but not the memory. I can’t believe he nearly… and that I wanted him to… It’s wrong! I shouldn’t want him.
I do, though. I can’t get Vol out of my thoughts. Even now, my fingers tug at the device guarding my drenched opening. I want to feel it filled so badly. Unbidden, I picture Vol naked, his utterly ripped body clutching mine… I shake my head, trying to dispel a mental image of his massive cock.
Stop it, Jillian.
He’s out there actively invading my planet right now, and I’m stuck here whining because I’m sexually frustrated. That has to be the most messed-up part of this entire ordeal. I should be fighting back somehow! Either trying to escape, or searching for the Dominars’ weakness that can be used to stop this takeover—anything!
But if what I’ve seen so far can be believed, then there is no way to escape, the Dominars have no weaknesses, and fighting back will get me nowhere. What else am I supposed to do?
During my spanking, I told Vol that you don’t punish people, you convince them. Maybe I could find a way to get through to him? So what if he’s thousands of years old and has seen half the galaxy—he doesn’t know Earth and humans like I do. It could be a long shot, but what’s the worst that would happen? He’d give me another spanking? I endured it once, I can do it again.
It wouldn’t even be as bad the second time around, would it? I’d know what to expect: the feel of his hand against my bare skin, the sting of my bruises aching for relief, the sound of his voice chiding me on my behavior…
Fuck!
I try to reach my sodden lips, but can’t. The only way to deal with my need is to recall, in excruciating detail, the pain of having my ass smacked and swatted until it felt hot to the touch—but this only dampens my desire, it doesn’t bring any true satisfaction. For that, I’ll need Vol, a man I don’t think I’ll ever really understand. Sometimes he presents himself as kind and friendly, and a second later he shows how truly dangerous and cunning he can be. And is he really thousands of years old? He’s not some wizened, frail geezer; he looks like he’s in his late thirties at most. With a face free of wrinkles, a full head of thick hair, a youthful abundance of energy—
Dammit, Jillian, stop!
It’s not just that I can’t get my mind off Vol, it’s the way I’m thinking about him.
I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, trying to clear my mind, but how can I do that at a time like this? I have little choice but to stew in my unhappiness until Vol returns.
*
He knocks on my door before entering—at least, his nanites inform me nonverbally that he’s at my door and wants to come in.
Fine, I tell the microscopic devices. Whatever.
“Jillian, how are you feeling?” he asks as he comes in.
“Pissed off, sir,” I grumble, sitting up. “Where have you been?”
Vol’s smile fades. “About two hours ago, this ship was attacked by a squadron of fighter jets.”
Oh, god.
“Did they… are they…?”
“No one was hurt,” he says. He takes my hand and beckons for me to sit with him on the bed. I listen quietly as he explains what happened. As he speaks, I can see in my mind what Vol experienced: the rush of flight, the pleasure of seeing the humans’ missiles falling harmlessly from the sky, and the sudden horror at nearly having been forced to take a life. Having information implanted in my mind this way is off-putting, but I’m thankful to know what happened in such great detail.
“The pilots have all been apprehended, and are in detention with the other humans,” he says, finishing his account.
“Are you going to retaliate?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Not by military force, no. I would never authorize that. It would be like killing a bee because it tried to sting you.”
“We kill bees all the time,” I counter.
“We don’t,” Vol growls. “That’s not our way.”
Really? They’ll invade a planet but not respond to a direct attack?
“So what are you going to do? Spank them?”
“No,” Vol laughs. “There’s too many of them. It would take all day.”
I can’t help grinning, picturing a long line of humans waiting for their turn to get spanked by Vol. “Fair point.” For an alien bent on world domination, he’s surprisingly funny. Who’d have guessed?
He sets a hand on my knee. “A lesser Dominar might have ended the battle in seconds, dispatching the jets before they could even fire a shot, just to demonstrate our power. I choose a different approach. Protecting lives is much harder than taking them, don’t you agree?”
“I do, yes,” I say, nodding.
“Jillian, I’m trying to do the right thing. Yet, I almost failed today—a pilot was ready to kill himself to protect his world. I need your help to tell humanity that violence will only result in loss of life—it will not prevent the Dominars from conquering Earth. We are taking over not because we hunger for power, but because it’s the right thing to do.”
Sighing, I set my hand on his, wanting him to understand that I’m being sincere, though he may not like what I have to say. Do the nanites translate body language as easily as speech? They better. “I hope what you say is true, but I worry no one will believe it. I’m not even sure I do.”
Vol brushes back my hair. “I’m working on that. I’ll show you what I mean.” He gets up, letting go of my hand. He smiles at me after I stand, and then I discover why: the telerings pull outward, spreading my limbs apart and holding me still. Vol reaches into a pocket on his uniform and takes out another ring, which floats through the air and seals around my neck, creating a collar. Then my wrists pull behind me, locking my arms behind my back—with my elbows bent, I can’t move my arms at all.
“That’s better,” Vol says, winking as he examines his work. “Now follow me.”
*
I swear that Vol intentionally strolls at a leisurely pace as we make our way through the corridors of Redeemer. We pass by several crew members, and every time we do, I expect them to leer at the bound human being led by their commander. It’s bad enough my hands are bound; the singlet I wear is so form-fitting, it leaves very little to the imagination. Yet, nearly everyone ignores me. They acknowledge Vol as we go by, a few congratulating him on the success of his mission. I catch a handful of quick glances, and one Dominar welcomes me aboard their ship, but that’s it—this must be business as usual for them.
Still, I find the experience needlessly humiliating, and am practically livid at Vol when he tells me, “So far, government authorities are keeping our presence a secret. The populace is largely unaware of the invasion.”
“Sounds about right,” I grumble. “They probably want to avoid creating mass panic.”
Vol nods, his expression sober. “Is that what you think humans would do if they suddenly became aware of the invasion?”
“It depends,” I say, forgetting my annoyance at being restrained. This is an important matter, and Vol seems genuinely concerned. I’m also slightly surprised he’s even asking me; don’t they have intelligence on Earth that might say so? “People panic when their lives or livelihoods are threatened. If their day-to-day lives remain the same, the response could be minimal.”
“I see.”
Smirking, I conclude, “It’ll help if you don’t go around blowing things up.”
Chuckling, Vol says, “I’ll take that under advisement. Seriously, though—thank you, Jillian. That’s helpful. Believe it or not, we still have a lot to learn about human behavior.”
“Happy to help,” I mutter, struggling against my restraints. “Here I thought you knew everything.”
“Careful, pet,” says Vol, spanking my bottom. Even through the singlet, the pain is sharp. “Be respectful of your master.”
“Sorry, sir,” I reply, trying not to sound indignant.
“Accepted. Now, what you say about humanity rings true for most species: if there’s food on the table and a roof over their heads, all is well. Therefore, I will address the world tomorrow and make clear the fact that our intentions are largely benevolent.”
Largely?
“You will be present, and I expect you to cooperate,” Vol adds.
Unconsciously taking a step back, I ask, “How do you mean?”
Vol sighs, as if I’ve asked an obvious question. “I saved your life, Jillian. I spared the lives of dozens of humans who tried to attack me and my men. We could kill our way to dominion over Earth, but I choose not to—you’ve seen this for yourself, and will attest to it.”
In fact, all I’ve seen is what he’s chosen to show me—while what he says rings true, I’ve had no choice but to question everything I’ve experienced thus far, What if this is an elaborate ruse to convince a human to join their side? How can I know for sure that’s not what’s happening?
His Human Conquest (Captives of the Dominars Book 2) Page 4