by Stella Cassy
My left wing tipped over a vessel. While all eyes and ears turned to the jangle of scattering goods, I stuffed gimbobles under my upper sheath before ducking to the right into another aisle.
I dipped my fingers into a container of obliquus bars. I ripped one open, stuffed three quarters of the sweet packed grain into my mouth, broke off a corner, and lifted to the wobleet who pecked and filled its greedy cheeks until it was gone. The other bar, I stashed in my pocket. It would be all the better after lunar nourishment.
Two jewelry vendors craned their heads to the center of the market. I unhooked three of their circlets my niece collected and slipped them on my arm up over my shoulder. Then I elbowed through the crowd to the middle of the marketplace, a large open area where auctions were often held.
On the center platform, with the largest crowd, I spotted the best treasure of all in a cage. Human. A female unlike the three I had seen in my lifespan, pressed into the corner of her cage. I thought Tarion’s female had been a delight, but this sun-sweetened beauty was exquisite even to my eyes. Her hair was a riot of delicate curls, the color of rivulets of starless space, her garment the hue of my home planet’s orange sun.
How did those Pax mercenaries procure a never-ending supply of humans, which they trickled out at exorbitant prices?
The Pax brute barked commands and jabbed at her shoulder while those crowded around her cage shouted their bids. Unlike Tarion’s mate, she stood as though dazed, her big pools of precious amber ore gazing around her. Perhaps she was drugged. Was that the way the Pax Alliance maintained their supply of humans? I would love to visit the human’s planet, find another with Carissa’s temperament. As First Commander of Hielsrane, I could take my fleet in that direction but as Second, I had to go where directed. Carissa might be an anomaly. Or was this female? It would be hard to leave such a nirvana without a cargo hold of them.
The Pax snagged the top of her garment, twisted and pushed her flat against the bars while she squirmed against the stick with both hands.
Her left breast popped free like ripe aqwapo, plump enough to spill over in my hand and suck into my mouth. I, too, stood still, waiting to see every inch of her nectar hued skin. She yanked the garment up. Such modesty for a slave. Most up for auction did not wear clothes.
The bidding went into a frenzy. A quarter of the mob climbed onto the platform containing her cell. A second Pax knocked them back, but an Ercoaipe broke away and flung himself onto the cage and stuck his hand through the bars. The Pax standing guard outside of the cage shoved and kicked him back. The Ercoaipe’s horn rammed against the cell so hard I thought it would break off. Two Nish security guards jumped on the platform and blasted a shield wave, bouncing most of the bidders a meter from the platform.
As I watched, a Vence barreled by, knocking me to one knee. I jumped to my feet and took him out with my right wing. No Hielsrane worthy of a position in the fleet, on or off duty, allowed a female to lower his defenses.
I turned away, irritated. I did not want to know who would leave with such a beauty. I directed my attention to the left, where a purple hued litegem dagger captured my attention. The booth proprietor gazed up at the platform, and I pocketed the dagger without any subterfuge. I could have easily taken the entire stand while he gaped at the human. Tarion could not beat this find.
I stepped away with my treasure in the direction of the carousel of females, leaving the auctions behind me. Too many lunars had passed since I had last enjoyed the soft touch of a woman.
Clapping and jeering and laughter from the proprietor at my back rose. The wobleet chirped and I looked over my shoulder.
Out of nowhere, the human had wrenched the prod free from the Pax and speared his foot, causing him to howl like a youngling. He had underestimated this female who had appeared so docile. Gods of Drakon, she was like Tarion’s female after all. Perhaps ferocity was a trait all from her planet possessed.
The injured Pax did not enter the cage. The other approached with his laser stunner drawn. She had not been a meek captive, but she would be subdued eventually between two of them and sold to one of the richest bidders. While I was not the wealthiest in the verse, I could triple the current bid if the Pax did not recognize me as a Hielsrane. Tarion’s escapades and old feuds with the Pax called that into question.
I stepped forward behind two Nortians, one of the few species tall enough to shield me from the two Pax auctioneers, and my gaze landed on the contained female once more. The litegems hanging from her earlobes gleamed like stars as she darted about the cage. What was the sound of her voice like? How would my name roll off her human tongue? I had to have that orange sun blossom before another plucked her. Before I could analyze my actions, my feet were moving closer to the cage, my hand on the laser torch strapped at my side. The wobleet fluttered.
My dragon roared for release. My skin expanded, bones cracked, wings flapped. My mouth sizzled, dropping open, readying for release of heat. The wobleet screeched and flew off, startled by the sudden transformation. As my body morphed, elongating as my wings stretched out behind me, my recently acquired treasures clattered from my pockets as my clothes were ripped to shreds. Dusty hued burgundy scales thickened, covering my skin, ridges forming along my back as my dragon took hold.
Climbing up onto the platform, I kicked the injured Pax to the end of the platform. Whipping my tail out behind me, I flicked a Nish guard to the other end. Someone jumped on my back, and another jabbed my side, causing my wings to expand in irritation, knocking more bystanders into the crowd.
Roaring in the delight of my inner dragon, fire whipped out of my mouth onto the platform. It scorched and blackened every surface it touched. More fire poured out and engulfed a group who looked like they were considering rushing me. Everything in a semi-circle in front of the cage smoked. The wary female flattened herself at the back of the cage as I ripped it open with my claws, smoke billowing from my nostrils.
“Come,” I said and extended a talon toward her. Prod stick in front of her, she ran out and stuck the prongs into a Nish guard sneaking up on the side. He lurched toward her, and I swept my wings underneath his feet. He tumbled back off the platform.
The crowd skidded, clomped, and thundered away, leaving a wide circle around the platform. Not for long. I leaned in closer to her and lowered my upper body with one eye on the horde, who were temporarily confused as to whether they should regroup, attack, or disperse.
“Mount, female.” There should have been a translator in her collar, but the Pax Alliance were known for deactivating them randomly to control their slaves.
She gripped the prod stick in one hand and held the other out as if it were a miniature shield. She pointed at me and shook her head, her eyes darting to the encroaching chaos.
Her mouth opened enough that I glimpsed her tiny pink tongue, but not a word came out: Mute. I did not expect that. An asset to most of those who would buy her.
I licked her hand. Salty and tangy. Her other parts were sure to be sweet. “Perhaps I should eat you instead of freeing you. I’m sure you would be a tasty morsel.”
Even in my dragon form, I could not hold back an entire market indefinitely, especially not when the Pax Alliance realized that I had roasted two of their minions.
Her eyelashes fluttered as if the sight of my dragon form seared her corneas. She stepped forward slowly then leapt up on my back and dropped the prod stick. At least she had intelligence, if not the use of her tongue. Her warm softness blanked my upper back and her thin satin arms massaged my neck and raised my body temperature further. Her heady scent infused my olfactory canal.
A dull ache penetrated my left side and I angled that way. Two Nish guards lasered me with their stunners. I aimed a concentrated breath their way, which grazed the weapons. They screamed and dropped them. Melted globs of chromite splattered against the platform floor. Yes! My Drakonian skills were intact.
Another Nish security guard charged at us. I raced off the edge of the dais, ki
cking him into the crowd, and then I soared upward. A thrill of victory surged through me as I climbed out of reach of the guard’s short-ranged lasers and blasters. Thank gods and spirits, Nish prohibited heavy weaponry planet-side.
Her whole body melded with mine, breathing in and out in time with my own as we flew through the air I flew as low as I could out to the farthest most docking stations, where my ship waited. I had lost all my other trinkets but had gained a much more valuable prize worth a million-fold more than those baubles.
Out of sight of the market, I dropped lower; I did not want to lose my gem after so much trouble. Her warm weight did not shift. Not a single sound from her reached my ears as we descended close to my ship.
3
Lara
Muffled voices in a weird inflected language drifted in from the hall just outside the door. I pushed myself into a seated position in the middle of the bed where the large burgundy dragon had left me.
Seconds later, the charcoal door glided open and two people in black and gray jumpsuits stood in the doorway. They were the same two who had escorted me to this room after Burgundy Guy dropped me off at the door to a huge, gray, disk-shaped building in the middle of a field.
As the shadowed figures moved into the room, I noticed that both were covered head to toe in carefully applied body paint – one blue, one purple. Both had sharp, pointed ears like Burgundy Guy, and their skin shimmered when the light hit it. Their tails, smaller when compared to my rescuer, swished behind them. I craned my head to look up at them. Despite their smaller frame when compared to my captor, they were definitely members of Tall Club. Maybe they were on stilts like some of the aliens would be in my movie.
“Are you cosplayers?” I asked. Crazy kidnapping cosplayers. Were they fans of the movie? Everybody with an internet connection knew I was starring in it. Maybe I was in Vegas at some underground convention. As I struggled to regain consciousness after the furries attacked me, I felt like I was on some kind of plane at some point.
They exchanged glances and whispered in their language. It didn’t sound like any language I’d ever heard. They had probably made it up. “So you’re into ASMR, too?”
The purple one raised her hand to shut me up, I assumed.
The cosplayers were as muscular as the men I had noticed during my trip through the building, but curvier on top. If they had breasts, they had to be small underneath those gray and black jumpsuits. Their wigs were long and black, much more so than the men, and fanned out over their entire backs. If they had wings like the men, they were well hidden.
One of them unclipped a silver rectangle from her waist of blinking black and chrome cylinders and rods. A modified gun like the ones people made with their 3D printers and assembled? Okay, I was going to a real cell now.
I scooted to the edge of the bed so that my toes almost touched the floor. If I were lucky, I might be able to take one of them out but not two. Who was I kidding? I had never taken anyone anywhere except shopping, mostly online, other than a couple of trips to Rodeo Drive after a two-hour session with the wardrobe specialists behind a pair of sunglasses. Not sweet reserved Lara Abernathy. “Unlike so many others, she was the same on and off-screen,” the press had loved to say about me. What would they say in ten days, when I was a no-show on set?
The blue one spoke a couple of words in a louder voice than her accomplice as she approached the bed.
“I don’t understand.” I shook my head. I don’t speak crazy, kidnapper.
She put her hand on my shoulder. I trembled. “Ow,” I said involuntarily, as if they were hurting me already. Oh God, what were they going to do?
The purple one attached the rectangle to the collar around my neck. They were taking this thing off. I blew out a shaky breath. Maybe they were better than the men. Maybe they would help me get out of here.
She straightened and the other one released my shoulder. I put my hand to my neck, my fingers shaking as I inspected the thin metallic circle. My shoulders slumped. The collar was still there. They didn’t say another word and went to the door.
“Thanks.” For not killing me yet.
Blue paused in the doorway and glanced back. “Acknowledged.”
She understood me and I understood her. “Hey, wait —” I called as the door slid shut.
I stuck a finger under the collar. Is that what this thing was: a translator, monitor? I didn’t feel different. Maybe it just needed an update so that they could zap or kill me later by remote control.
A slow acting hallucinogenic drug had been slipped into my drink or food. That was the only explanation if I wasn’t dreaming, but I’d been careful at the party. I’d only sipped beverages from unopened bottles that I got straight from the waiter’s trays and used a drug detection straw on every one. The canapés and torts I ate were straight from tray to mouth, too.
I stood on shaky legs and glanced down at the chipped gold polish on my fingernails. My dress had stains on it. Wardrobe wasn’t going to be too happy with me if those spots didn’t come out. Red splotches clung to the back of my hands and arms. Blood.
I had ridden a dragon and now I was in what looked like a spaceship that some rich cosplayer had built. Dreams were crazy like that, too.
None of this stuff was in my script. The alien in my new movie was a big grasshopper, not a dragon. I was supposed to fall in love with the thing. Who was going to buy into that one?
I rubbed the collar around my neck, remembering the attack earlier in the evening. After tying me up, the furry creatures scanned my body with a big wand that felt like the electric shock you got from static electricity. Afterward, they clamped a thin metal collar around my neck like I was a cow tagged for l auction and slaughter. At least if I were a cow, the torture would end eventually when I became a plate of steaks on someone’s dinner table. Thank God, nanna wasn’t alive to see this. I paced back and forth until my breathing slowed down, and I felt less like my head was going to pop off.
Breathing steady, I began to examine the small, all in one room. Tapping a hand on a tiled wall in the corner resulted in water that streamed out from all sides like my shower at home. An egg-shaped doorless cubicle contained a black circular throne-shaped toilet. When I placed a hand over the top, gentle streams of water flowed out and a suctioning sound followed. It was obvious that the burgundy dragon was a rich nut who had formed a cult. Ideal member: seven-foot tall, wacko costume fanatic.
The only thing unlike prison was the round foam mattress in the middle of the room, the size of two king beds. It didn’t give at all when I laid down. One of the Talls that escorted me must usually occupy the room.
If this wasn’t a dream but a neurological condition, it could a last a long time. Even when I was visiting my shrink on the weekly for my panic attacks, I didn’t have a total breakdown. Either way, I needed to fight my way back to consciousness or reality. Something told me that was going to be a little easier with the Burgundy Guy than with those demonic white furries who had taken me.
With nothing else to do, I hoisted myself up on the bed and laid back. A mental breakdown could be the result of physical exhaustion. Deep sleep, as much as possible, that was what I needed. I had just completed a six month, twelve-hour a day shoot in the desert in the Middle East. My agent and manager had talked me into the tight schedule. I hadn’t expected a breakdown until the end of the alien movie.
Prisoner, hallucination—Or was this really a dream? I always had nightmares just before starting a new movie and, sometimes, in the middle of one, definitely at the end of one, just before the reviews came out, and occasionally, on the opening weekend. I’d never had a dream that felt this real, though.
Was it a game? Five years ago, I was in a movie with a similar scenario. None of that explained the Burgundy Guy turning into a dragon or flying through the air, however.
Regardless of the situation, all options required me to make the first move to get back home. The cosplayers didn’t seem to do anything special to open the
door. Maybe I could escape and find Burgundy Guy.
I walked to the doorway with no doorknob or control panel in sight. The metallic door slid open with a hiss onto an empty hallway. I peeked out. I wasn’t locked in, but I couldn’t lock anyone out either.
Yep, a dream.
“Hello?” I said softly. My voice echoed even though I was practically whispering. I didn’t want to startle anyone with a weapon or a mouth full of fire. “Please don’t incinerate me.”
To the left, I saw another charcoal door on the other side of the hall. The hall was otherwise devoid of features and was a dead end. I wouldn’t be able to escape that way. I turned right and headed down the short hall in the direction of muffled voices and brighter lights. Just follow the yellow brick road, Lara. I forced my legs forward like I’d done dozens of other times onto a set of extras, one of which could always be a stalker. To be honest, that had only happened once. Security and about a half dozen others had tackled him to the ground before he reached me, but the anxiety stayed with me.
I stopped and looked out into the big open space that I’d only glimpsed on the way in. Light gray walls dotted with charcoal doorways framed the outer exterior of the large dome-shaped room, but a low, clear railing separated the center of the room from the branching outer hallways. What was down there in the middle?
As I stepped out of the hallway leading into the room, a few men covered in multi-colored body paint stared at me with narrowed eyes, their wings flexing behind them. Eying them as I made my way toward the railing, I noticed that their chests and hands were covered intricate, patterned tattoos that mirrored scales. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the patterns seemed to blend seamlessly up their arms and neck, with a few of them sporting intricate, curving face tattoos.
I didn’t stop or look them in their big oval eyes, which didn’t blink as much as normal ones. Were their real eyes hidden behind those elaborate masks?