Freeforce: The Gryphon Saga

by L. E. Horn

  Time passed—could have been hours, or a day. Lianndra lost track.

  When completely purged, jets doused the sweaty, trembling, and filthy women with a chemical spray. Hair fell off their bodies in clumps until they were bald. The fluid noticeably changed to a detergent, applied with a high-pressure spray system so powerful it knocked them about the room. Lianndra shielded her eyes, but the viscous concoction found its way past her tightened fingers. It forced itself into every crack and crevice of her body, burning as it went. Finally, they received a hosing of what seemed like clear water, but it tasted salty. It continued until the women and the rooms were spotless.

  Lianndra’s skin felt scoured raw. She was sore everywhere, inside and out. When the exit door opened, she and the others crowded into the hall beyond, eager to get away.

  Not since her capture had she been so afraid. She recognized their wretched experience as a sterilization procedure. Even suspecting something awful in their future, Lianndra hadn’t foreseen this. She’d assumed their slavery would be sexual in context which required a certain level of attractiveness in physical form. Their captors’ emphasis on physical fitness and the fact all seven of them were decent looking helped to reinforce this theory. With their skins raw, stripped of every vestige of hair and scoured clean, a more terrifying reality occurred to her.

  Human experimentation.

  Andrea placed a shaking hand on Lianndra’s arm and she welcomed the comfort.

  A voice came from a speaker overhead. “Proceed to the room at the end of the hall.” Lianndra recognized Hulk’s deep tones and turned with Andrea in time to see another door farther down slide open as the one behind them slid shut.

  They’re moving us like they move cattle, Lianndra thought.

  When the women hesitated, their collars tingled a warning. Andrea cursed, dragging Lianndra forward by the arm. The others followed. As they paced down the long corridor to the open door at the end, giant blowers blasted the last of the water from them. It left their skin flushed a fiery red.

  They assembled inside another shiny room. A waist-high metal bar ran along the center.

  “Stand before the bar.” Hulk’s voice sounded bored as if he’d done this millions of times. Perhaps he has. Lianndra swallowed.

  Andrea suddenly snapped. She screamed obscenities and backed away from the bar. The six other women stared at the always stoic Amazon. Hulk’s disembodied voice let the outburst run until she denigrated his lineage. Andrea’s entire body lifted off the floor in an agonized spasm before crashing back down hard.

  “Enough!” Lianndra screamed at the speaker near the ceiling and grabbed the nearest woman, dragging her to the bar. “All right, we’re doing it, stop!”

  Andrea moaned. The other women stepped close to the bar. Lianndra supported Andrea as she walked her to the polished metal.

  Nothing happened at first. Lianndra felt the cold metal against her belly. Then a pulse of warmth shot through it. Before anyone could recoil, something invisible pinioned their wrists against the bar. Beneath their feet, the floor seemed to reach up to capture their ankles with no sign of restraint.

  Oh God. Lianndra closed her eyes, thinking about the blood on the floor. If only I’d known. Death might have been preferable to this. She wondered if the collars had a lethal setting. Maybe she should have supported Andrea’s outburst instead of stopping it.

  Was Michael already part of some sick experiment? She tried not to think of him sliced to pieces or rotting from within as a human guinea pig in a twisted third world laboratory.

  The anger caused an adrenaline-fueled fury that urged her to run, to fight—to do anything other than just stand there. Her brain argued with her body. She knew there was no escape, so she channeled the adrenaline into passive defiance, striving to act as though nothing they did affected her.

  I am above it all.

  They all flinched when the front wall slid up into the ceiling. Her eyes dropped from following its progress to a line of five naked men standing before a metal bar matching her own. With astonishment, she scanned the line, noticing the men wore familiar collars. The second on the left lifted his bald head to lock his silvery gaze with hers.

  The bolt of pure energy shooting through her body as their eyes connected resembled nothing she’d ever experienced, and she saw the effect echoed within him. Michael straightened to his full height. He was a mess. Every bone of his skull was visible beneath his skin. A massive bruise covered the entire left side of his face, and he had a series of welts across his chest as though someone had whipped him. His smile remained all Michael though, even with a cut lip. Despite the injuries, Lianndra noticed new lines of muscle covering his still lanky frame. He must have noticed changes in her body as his eyes drifted over her.

  “Liann . . .” His voice cut off as an unseen guard activated the remote. Rage enveloped her as Michael’s tall form crumpled over in pain. She almost cried out his name but caught herself in time. Shaking with the effort of not speaking, she tried to make her eyes speak for her as Michael straightened from the collar’s pulse. She saw the relief and joy beneath the anguish and returned it tenfold.

  The smile was fleeting lest their watching captors object. Her eyes skipped over his nakedness, trying to give him a modicum of modesty as she assessed his injuries. When she met his gaze again, he shrugged ever so slightly, like a boy caught fighting. Lianndra’s lips twitched; she couldn’t help it. Then his face grew serious, his eyes asking questions as they roamed back and forth before returning to hers.

  Sadly, she closed hers, making the tiniest shake of her head. She asked a question with her expression and saw his face cloud over in pain. She remembered the blood on the gym floor. Her heart clenched in denial as her eyes filled with tears.

  Damn them all! She’d only known Michael’s friends for an afternoon, yet she felt the pain of Cassidy and Trent’s possible fates as if she’d known them for years. But Michael—Michael lives. Ridiculous to feel hope when he appeared beaten, naked, and trussed up as helpless as a newborn baby. Yet something about him made her feel anything could be possible, anything at all.

  They would soon know their fate. The adrenaline rush faded, taking her anger with it, and making her aware of her helplessness and humiliation. Trembling, she fought to remain calm as she saw an echo of her feelings in Michael’s eyes.

  Beside her, Andrea shifted closer to offer, as well as receive, comfort.

  If only we all go together, she thought. I think I could deal with anything if I stayed with Michael, or even Andrea. I don’t want to be alone.

  A sound drew Lianndra’s attention to the other end of the room. The door closed behind two figures, one a tall man in an orange environmental suit, his silver hair and chiseled features visible through the clear face shield. The other figure wore a draped, black fabric forming a hood over the head. It was impossible to tell whether the figure was male or female under the cloth.

  The two stepped forward, the black figure moving with slow, ponderous steps.

  Old? Lianndra thought, or disabled? Veterinarians were trained to interpret pain in movement because animals couldn’t tell you where they hurt. She found the walking stride odd, each step heavy and deliberate. She glanced at Michael and noticed him frown as he studied the dark form.

  As the two drew near, more characteristics became clear and she blinked in confusion. The proportions of the draped figure didn’t seem quite right: too broad, with a large head and long, thick arms. Male, Lianndra decided based on the shoulder width and the strength in physique. She squinted into the darkness framed by the loose hood, but only made out deeper shadows. The figure passed by her to the far end of the line, guided by the man in the orange suit. Lianndra caught the faintest whiff of a scent. Not unpleasant but unusual, making her nose itch—aftershave?

  The mystery figure stopped at the last woman and turned to face her. Muriel trembled as a gloved hand emerged from the folds of cloth. The hand had only three thick fingers opposi
ng the thumb. The tiny woman flinched as those fingers closed around her bicep before squeezing—at first a little and then bearing down—until she cried out in pain. They released the arm to grab her jaw. The figure held on for a moment, the dark hood contemplating her features. It let go and stepped back to assess her body. But for what? The examination seemed asexual, as if the hooded figure scrutinized a horse rather than a human.

  Are we just livestock to him? An image of the small woman pulling a cart flashed through her brain, leaving Lianndra even more confused. To do what? If they need us for experimentation why does individual assessment matter as long as we are healthy? One guinea pig is pretty much the same as another.

  A glance showed an equally confused Michael staring at the hooded man. His shoulder muscles subtly flexed as he tested the invisible shackles.

  Don’t do it, she thought. Don’t be a hero. There’s nothing any of us can do about this.

  He wasn’t the only one who glared at the hooded man and everything he represented. She noticed the men stood straighter in their shackles despite their injuries and nakedness. It was apparent they experienced a rougher time in captivity than the women.

  Lianndra wondered how strong these invisible manacles really were. There’s a lot of muscle behind that anger.

  So far, the threat of the collars kept them at bay. Michael glowered, his frustration obvious.

  The hooded man stepped to the next woman in line and the next, repeating his bizarre tests with each one. Lianndra wished for better lighting in the room. No matter how the dark figure moved, the light failed to expose the face within the hood.

  The figure finished tormenting Beth and stepped in front of Lianndra. He reached out to seize her arm.

  Lianndra fought hard not to flinch, move, or cry out as the fingers squeezed until she thought he would snap the bone. She nearly cracked when the figure hissed and released her arm. She almost collapsed from the sudden release of pain, but it further challenged her resolve when the fingers seized her jaw.

  Anger swelled within her like a wave.

  The figure twitched, the head lifting as she tried to drill a hole in his face with a fiery stare. She heard a choking chortle that trailed off to a hiss. An exhalation, followed by a nod that lifted the edge of the hood.

  The lights briefly illuminated the face within: dark violet-black skin mottled with gray; slits for nostrils within a small bump of a nose; an elongated jaw with thin black lips; widely spaced eyes that swirled orange and were absent of visible pupils.

  Lianndra jerked her head, tearing her jaw free from the pressing fingers. Like lightning, the opposite hand shot out from dark folds of the cloth to grab the other side of her jaw in a pincer grip. With a tearing sound, the glove’s fingertips gave way and claws dug into the thin skin of her jawbone. She experienced a stabbing pain as blood trickled down her neck and over her breast.

  Dimly, she heard the solid thud of a body bouncing off metal. Michael howled as the pain surge from his collar jolted through him. Andrea gasped when she saw the claws against Lianndra’s skin, and the tall woman tugged at her invisible bonds.

  The creature’s free hand traced the path of the blood ever so gently with a fingertip down Lianndra’s neck, across her collarbone, over her heart, and paused at the swell of her breast. It raised the bloody glove to lips, which parted in a sharp-toothed smile. As a purple tongue lapped the thick red fluid, Lianndra’s world spun away into the realm of nightmares.

  Chapter Five

  SEEN FROM THE DECEPTIVELY PEACEFUL blackness of space, the green and gold planet hung like a gleaming solitary jewel. Normally, it had only two small orbiting bodies: twin moons, one larger than the other. For some time now, not far beyond the planet’s atmosphere, there hovered four surplus objects. Roughly spheroid in shape, the alien artifacts—for they were clearly not natural phenomena—were massive. The dark metal of their hulls spoke of a long, violent history—patchwork giants, bristling with panels and beams replaced, reshaped, or otherwise altered over time. Even when new, it was unlikely the ships were ever attractive. Now, the aged hulls exuded the primary characteristics of their creators: intelligence, determination, and domination.

  A female descendant of those creators contemplated two of these ancient behemoths. Rarely did Motherships gather at one location. Their presence verified the value of the prize awaiting them on the planet below. From this portal she saw two vast ships. A third hovered on the other side of her fortress in space. In all, four Motherships. An inspiring event to witness.

  The creatures that called this particular planet home were not likely to share her sentiments about this gathering of alien power. At this very moment, the planet’s inhabitants fought for their freedom. Given her species’ superior firepower and intellect, the battle should have been swift and decisive.

  Yet the planet, and its inhabitants, proved resilient. Protected by a sophisticated planetary shield prohibiting the use of technology, the enemy reduced the invasion to a foul, crawling, ground war. But the observer had faith in her people. Once they set their sights on an objective, they rarely failed.

  Her species specialized in slaves. Not just acquiring them to sell—but breeding and developing them. In some cases, their geneticists worked for extended periods, generations even, to develop a particularly talented slave. The eventual price they commanded was well worth the extra time.

  She tapped on the datapad in her hand, contemplating the list before her. This species provided just such an example. For five generations, her people harvested their embryos, altered them, and returned them to the host mothers. The resulting Tier-5 offspring would procreate a sixth, more advanced, generation. Or so they would have if events had followed the normal course.

  This war is accelerating everything and demanding resources from every level, she thought. Not long ago, the orders came from the Chamber of Elders to harvest some Tier-5 humans early for use in the war effort.

  It resulted in a significant sacrifice—the Tier-5s were not yet finished and required further genetic modification to fulfill their future goals as slaves. Yet the elders declared these individuals advanced enough to assist in the war.

  The alien knew such decisions were above her level of expertise. She also would not question the will of the elders, but rather, fulfill her responsibility to see the orders carried out.

  She turned to the console before her and sent the information on to those collecting the required specimens from Earth, the latest of many similar messages. As with the other requests, there would be a rapid turnaround since her people had resources in place to quickly harvest the selected individuals and send them on to the Motherships.

  The Tier-5 males had proven their suitability for use in the war as soldiers. The females were not as advanced, but they could be genetically tweaked as adults until they fulfilled the desired niche. As long as they survived the mutations, the slaves would have value, and there would be no long-term loss to her people.

  With the message sent, she contemplated the list of humans under her fingers. She admired versatility, and this species was a classic example. Capable of so much, especially with a little genetic tweaking. Intelligent, yet still at least a generation away from roaming their home galaxy. Curious, yet still unaware of their planet’s role as a nursery for slaves to serve a superior species. History dictated they would eventually catch on, as had all the other species in this situation.

  When that finally happens, they will discover they are a minor creature in a vast cosmos, she thought. The awareness would change nothing. Humans will provide us with valuable slaves for a long time to come.

  LIANNDRA’S INITIAL AWARENESS INVOLVED PAIN. Her head ached, and it hurt to open her eyes. Every muscle in her body throbbed in time to the beat of her heart.

  Where am I? Lianndra felt the cold, hard surface beneath her. As her brain groped for her last relevant memory, she struggled to prop herself on one elbow. Something buried deep inside her urged her to rise, to run awa
y—from what? Try as she might, she couldn’t remember.

  Her stomach didn’t care about rising or running. It demanded emptying in an immediate way. A few moments later a small puddle of yellow liquid decorated the metal floor, and Lianndra pushed herself away. The movement brought her against something that grunted in annoyance.

  The noise caused her to move her head too fast. For a moment, she fought with her stomach, which threatened to find something else to expel all over her new acquaintance.

  Not that new, it turned out. Lianndra blinked to clear her vision and Andrea’s decidedly green face swam into focus.

  “Look out.” The dark woman groaned as she began to heave.

  Lianndra shrank away just in time. The small but disgusting puddles provided enough incentive to push her up to a sitting position.

  She and Andrea weren’t alone. The room was just large enough to hold the other five women who’d shared their enslavement, along with four she didn’t recognize. The other women were in various stages of awakening, all except an unfamiliar woman who lay still. The immobility of her body spoke of something not living, a verdict verified when Beth reached out a hand only to snatch it back.

  “God, she’s dead.” The slim woman slid her hips farther from the body.

  Lianndra remained too foggy to process the death of someone she didn’t know. Blinking, she struggled to clear her eyes of a gumminess that spoke to an extended period of unconsciousness. The last thing she remembered was the resulting mayhem when the creature cut her. Her mind skittered away from the memory of the repulsive alien face. Frowning, she groped in the darkness of her mind, remembering a numbness spreading from the metal bar up her hands and wrists. The loss of sensation had extended up her arms to her body. As the darkness closed in around her, she caught a brief glimpse of Michael clutching his own metal bar, struggling to hold himself upright, his eyes locked with hers.