Enslaved by the Alien Dragon

by Stella Cassy

  “What are you suggesting?” Dashel asked.

  “We continue with our plans to raid Grissa. It’s a small planet but its rich with coin,” Tarion said. “We need more credits. The last few updates we undertook on our fleet depleted our reserves. We need to replace them.”

  “Ranel?” Dashel asked. “What say you?”

  “I think we need to make for Thirren. We can pillage once our planet is safe.”

  I could see Tarion looking at me with barely concealed annoyance. “Our intelligence says that Thirren is not the planet under threat. We have no reason to change our plans. We need to replenish our credit stores.”

  Dashel looked out towards the fleet. “Lehar is conducting some business on his ship,” he said. “We will make a decision when he is here.”

  The need to pillage was strong among our kind. I could see the lust for plundering reflected in both Dashel and Tarion’s eyes. I had a strong suspicion I would lose this vote, and it made me weary.

  7

  Yvette

  The sinks in the scullery were massive robust squares that had been built for larger beings. I could tell that they had been designed with Vence or Nortian’s in mind, because I needed a step stool in order to be able to do the washing properly.

  Of course the only step stool available in the scullery was almost two feet tall and that meant I had to hunch slightly when I did the washing. It was only a passing annoyance when I started on a load of dishes but the longer I went, the more my spine started to complain.

  I had just finished washing the large, cumbersome serving dishes when the Nortian cook stuck his head into the scullery. His eyes looked small and beady compared with his large mouth and even larger nose. They stuck out and gave his overall features a strangely distorted quality.

  From behind him, I could see the noise and bustle of the kitchen. I spotted at least four different slaves, all of who shot me curious and mistrustful glances. I wondered if that was the real reason I was alone in the scullery. Most other sculleries in ships of this size were equipped with at least three to five maids, but I had found myself alone from the moment I’d arrived.

  I wasn’t about to complain though. Working with other species was difficult, especially because most of them considered humans to be at the bottom of the food chain. I wondered if the ill omen emblazoned on my cheek had something to do with it.

  The Nortian cook surveyed the scullery in an obvious attempt to look for some reason to pick on me.

  “You finished the washing?” he barked.

  “I did.”

  “And the floors?”

  “I mopped them only thirty minutes ago,” I said, falling back on a word I constantly used in my head but rarely used out loud.

  “What?” the Nortian asked irritably.

  “Uh… thirty microns ago,” I corrected myself quickly. The vast majority of aliens had their own system for calculating time.

  “Fine, the hatchlings need their supper,” he said. “Take it up to them.”

  I hesitated, not having expected that.

  “You want me to take a trolley up to the nursery?” I asked.

  “Did I stutter?” the Nortian cook asked, his beady eyes fixated on mine.

  “I… ok,” I nodded. “I don’t know where to go.”

  “Third floor, east wing,” he replied. “You can use the service elevators; they’re open to us.”

  I nodded, wondering momentarily why I was being sent up to the nursery with food. Surely there was already a slave who had been designated that task?

  “Why are you standing there with your mouth hanging open?” the Nortian cook demanded. “Those rabid hatchlings will be hungry. I don’t want to have to deal with their mothers. Those women are worse than the dragons.”

  Ah, now I got it. None of the slaves enjoyed the task of taking food up to the nursery, so the job was palmed off on me. To be honest, I didn’t really mind so much. I was curious now to see the half-breed children that had been born out of a union I had once thought impossible.

  Another thing I noticed was the way the Nortian cook’s expression faltered slightly when he mentioned the hatchlings’ mothers. These were human women he was talking about and yet there was a certain amount of reluctant respect mixed with fear that I could detect in his tone. I had to admit, that realization made me feel a little more optimistic about my own plight. I had resigned myself to being a helpless creature in a world where everyone was stronger, larger and equipped with powerful advantages that I lacked. And yet, despite all the same disadvantages, Carissa and the other women in the fleet had risen among the ranks from slaves to wives, mothers and commanders.

  I heard Carissa’s voice in my head. Befriend the Drakon and who knows… something good might come out of it… You must find another way to survive…

  “Get on with you!” the Nortian screamed as he grabbed a stray pot and threw it at me.

  I narrowly missed getting hit and that was only because I tripped and my head dipped down at just the right moment. I gritted my teeth in annoyance, knowing I would have to clean up the mess when I got back and mop that part of the floor again. I wasn’t stupid enough to let that frustration show on my face, however. I scurried into the kitchen, keeping my head turned down as I sensed the other slaves’ eyes fasten themselves on me.

  The kitchen was almost double the size of the scullery. It was state of the art and it had been fitted with all the newest and flashiest equipment. There were five large refrigerators to my left and on the opposite side there were three different kinds of oven. One was the wood burning kind that might have made a fantastic pizza had the aliens only known what pizza was. There were sinks in the kitchen too, though sleeker and more aesthetic than the ungainly sinks that had been stuck in the scullery.

  There were two large center islands placed in tandem with one another, one of which held a number of stove tops and the other was a flat surface for rolling, kneading and whatever else needed uninterrupted space. Over both islands were artistic looking contraptions that I first mistook for sculptures or chandeliers. On second glance however, I realized they were exhausts.

  The smell that hit me was mind numbingly good and despite the fact that I’d already eaten for the day, I felt hunger nip at my stomach. I could detect the smell of charred meat and roasted vegetables, though not every scent was familiar to me. One of the larger trolleys had been laid out with an assortment of dishes, with the plates and cutlery presented neatly on the lower deck.

  I spotted a few dishes that I recognized. There were two large pink Melberry pies, heaped with fresh Melberry on top. There was carron drenched in marrow gravy, a favorite of many Pax because of its punching flavor and tender meat. There was Naari, an alien species of fish that was so large it had to be cut up and divided between two serving platters. And there was also purple hemlock, a meaty vegetable with a sharp bite.

  There was also a bunch of dishes I couldn’t put a name to. There was a deep bowl filled with spiked balls that had been lathered in dark red gravy. Another bowl had been filled with what looked like porridge but had a strange orange tint and a dark musky smell. There were also thick, long stalks of some kind with a series of spikes running down the spine. It looked more like wood than anything edible.

  “It’s the third floor, east wing… right?” I asked, looking to the Nortian cook for confirmation.

  “Watch out for the mongrels,” the cook replied. “They bite.”

  I raised my eyebrows, wondering if my curiosity was gullible. After all, some things were better left unseen and unexplored. Still, the choice was out of my hands now. I pushed the trolley out of the kitchen and was glad to know that it glided across the floor easily and without much effort on my part. I knew which corridors to take to reach the service elevator on the basement floor. It had been tucked away at the corner of the basement level so that the Drakon wouldn’t have to see slaves on the elevators they used in the main body of the spaceship.

  I pushed my trol
ley into the elevator and stared at the extensive collection of dishes in front of me. I thought about tasting something, but the memory of my clawing by Gor-et Gore came screaming to mind and I resisted the urge.

  The elevator glided up to the third floor and when the doors opened, I found myself in a large open space with a domed roof and a series of floating staircases. I had never seen anything like it before, especially not in a spaceship. In fact, it was easy to forget you were in one. The interior on the third floor looked more like the sweeping expansiveness of a mansion, complete with light fixtures that looked similar to chandeliers and carpets that reminded me of home.

  I took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the unexpected design and then I continued pushing the trolley along the winding passageway until I came to a series of doors. I thought I heard sounds, but I couldn’t be sure of where they were coming from. The design of the space created an echo chamber and sound seemed to bounce off the walls.

  Then I heard a high-pitched scream followed by a snarling growl that wasn’t quite fully developed yet. I turned the corner and stopped outside a massive blue door that had been set with a door knocker in the shape of a dragonhead. There was a blue button on the side and I pushed it tentatively. The door glided open slowly and I pushed the trolley in and glanced around. The room was massive, and it even had a spiral staircase in one corner that wound down into a separate annex.

  I realized that this nursery was devoid of toys. Instead, there were several odd looking gadgets that looked like space-age jungle gyms. There were ladders winding into long, snake like tunnels that ended about six feet off the ground with nothing but a long rope in front of it that had been suspended from the ceiling. Apparently in order to get your feet back on the ground you would either need to jump for the rope and use it to shimmy down or you would have to be an agile jumper. Was it possible that these Drakon children were advanced enough to be able to do that?

  “Hello?” I called.

  I was greeted by silence, but then a moment later, I heard the steady click-clack of approaching feet. A moment later the female Nortian that had been purchased alongside me appeared from the staircase. She had been given new garments to symbolize her elevated position as nanny. Her robes were now an off-white color in a thick fabric that covered both her shoulders and came down to her calves. Her mane had been combed back and there were little silver bells tinkling prettily by her ears.

  “Hi,” I said. “Uh… you look nice.”

  “You again,” she said, eyeing the trolley I had brought with me.

  “Me again,” I agreed. “I’m the new scullery maid.”

  “I see that,” she nodded.

  “My name is Yvette,” I said, because it felt weird to me not to know one another’s names.

  “It doesn’t really matter,” the Nortian replied.

  I sighed inwardly. “I suppose it doesn’t,” I shrugged. “Here’s the food… if there’s anything else you need—"

  “Meratte.”

  I looked towards her. “Excuse me?”

  “Meratte,” she said again.

  I raised my eyebrows. “I’m sorry… these collars are usually fitted with translators. I should be able to understand you but—”

  The Nortian rolled her eyes but there was a faint smile on her daintily superior features. “That was my name.”

  “Oh… well… it’s nice to meet you Meratte.”

  The echoes of screams and howls reached us from the room beneath the spiral staircase and Meratte looked over her shoulder. “They’re terrors, the lot of them,” she said. “But they do grow on you.”

  “So… you like being their nanny?” I asked.

  Meratte’s smiled widened, but not by much. “It’s not the worst job in the world,” she shrugged. “Certainly beats being a scullery maid.”

  I was willing to forgive that little jab in light of the newfound amicability in our otherwise disdainful relationship.

  “Are you the only nanny?” I asked.

  “The only one so far,” Meratte nodded. “Apparently none of the other nannies could cope with the little monsters. None of them were up to the task. But then… they’d never procured a Nortian before.”

  I only smiled at the air of superiority in her tone. Before I could ask another question, I felt a slight vibration under my feet and then it was like the room exploded. From the staircase came at least half a dozen children. They leaped and bounded their way into the main area of the nursery. Their screams were a cross between roars and laughter. The moment I saw their sure-footed movement, I realized that the jungle gyms before me were probably not half as complex as they needed.

  At first glance they looked like human children, but when they slowed down long enough, I recognized the characteristics that marked them as mixed species offspring. Their bodies were partially scaled, though not in the same way as their fierce fathers. Their scales looked more like tattoos against their soft skin. They had wings but they were noticeably smaller than a full Drakon child at that age. They seemed to have the same sharp teeth and the powerful claws of their fathers, but their faces were more distinctively human.

  The young children raced straight to the trolley and reached for the food with unabashed eagerness. For them, I was just another piece of furniture, not worth their time or attention. But the older Drakon children came to a stop in front of me, looking curious and interested. There were two, both of whom looked to be about six or seven years old. The girl was dark haired with large blue eyes and silver blue scales that covered her arms and neck, and the boy was fair-haired with dark feral eyes and grey-brown scales that marked parts of his face.

  “Hello,” I said, because their stares were making me uncomfortable.

  “Who are you?” the boy asked.

  They had the expressions and mannerisms of older children, but when the boy spoke he sounded so very human it made me want to cry. I hadn’t been around a human child in years.

  “My name is Yvette,” I replied, wondering if that was the right way to introduce myself.

  “She is a scullery maid in the kitchens,” Meratte said.

  “Does that mean you’re a slave?” the girl asked. Her voice was less childish and more mature.

  “Yes,” I said, even though the word was bitter on my tongue.

  “You look like my mommy,” the boy said. “Are you human?”

  I nodded. “I am human.”

  “Mommy says that humans are special… even though they don’t seem special at first.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. They were impertinent little creatures, but I could tell how advanced they all were. I could see a toddler in the background leaping off one of the beams with the elegancy of a trapeze artist. The child spun in the air and landed on all fours with a triumphant smile on his face.

  “Your mother is right,” I said. “But I’m sure you already knew that. After all, you are half human.”

  The boy and the girl exchanged a glance. “It’s more fun to be a Drakon,” the girl said. “We have wings and hard skin. When we fall it doesn’t hurt so bad because of our scales.”

  So the scales were functional then. I found that interesting. That meant that the half-breed children were as strong and as resilient as their fathers. That would serve them well in the future, should they face off against an enemy who underestimated them.

  “That’s good,” I nodded. “You’re lucky you have strong skin.”

  “But you don’t,” the girl said, watching my face carefully for my reaction.

  “You’re right, I don’t,” I agreed. “Sometimes I wish I did. I wish I had wings too, but we can’t always have everything.”

  The girl’s pretty blue eyes dipped low for a moment. “Daddy says I won’t be able to turn into a dragon,” she said. “He says I’ll be able to fly, but I won’t be able to shift.”

  I could tell that this was a huge disappointment for the little half-drakon. “I’m sorry,” I said, lowering myself to the ground so that I was
at eye-level with her. “That must be upsetting.”

  “I don’t know why I can’t do it,” she said, and I detected a strong note of vulnerability in her admission. “Matilda can do it.”

  “Matilda?” I asked.

  “My big sister,” the girl replied. “She can turn into a dragon. Daddy says that she will one day be a Hielsrane commander.”

  I saw her large blue eyes dip down in disappointment, almost as though she considered her inability to shift a personal failing.

  “Well, maybe one day you will be too,” I said.

  The girl’s eyes went cold immediately. “All commanders can shift.”

  “So you’ll be the first commander who can’t shift,” I said with a shrug. “You can break the glass ceiling.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What?” she asked impatiently. “What ceiling?”

  “What I mean is you don’t need to turn into a dragon to be one,” I said.

  “Yes you do,” she insisted, shooting me an annoyed glance.

  “What makes dragons so great?” I asked, aware that Meratte was watching our exchange with nervous interest.

  “I don’t know… everything,” the girl replied.

  “Give me a few reasons.”

  “They can fly,” she said, after a small pause.

  “So can you,” I pointed out.

  “They’re big and strong and everyone is scared of them.”

  “The Pax are small,” I said. “And there are many beings that are scared of them.”

  She frowned as my logic started to work on her.

  “If you believe you’re fierce… others will too.”

  The girl smiled and nodded. “Ok.”

  “Ok,” I said, as I got back to my feet.

  Meratte came forward and put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Go on now,” she said. “It is time to eat. You and your cousins must be hungry.”

  The girl looked back at me. “My name is Alayna,” she said.

  “And mine is Brandon,” the boy piped up.

  I took note of the very human name; it was a testament to the influence the women of the fleet had over their husbands.