by L A Warren
Saviors?
How do you justify that to the dead?
One idea terrifies me. What if the Vendel are in fact, our saviors?
This is the continuation of my story…
Chapter One
Sunday, 13 February 2035:
Cradled in some man's arms, Elise snuggled tight against a warm chest, and struggled to remember what was happening, because it made little sense someone should carry her. Her eyes refused to open, almost as if someone had drugged her. She wanted to free herself, but one arm was pinned between her body and the chest of the man carrying her, and the other hung with an unnatural lethargy, swinging with each beat of his step.
"Sire, she wakes." The deep voice shivered down her back and she furrowed her brows. Memories of pain echoed with his words.
There was more, something off about her entire being. An ache centered in her bones and burrowed deep inside her skull. It felt as they had ripped if something from her, something that was a part of her, but she was certain she had never felt it before.
The man carrying her shifted her weight and a heady scent of spice and musk filled her nostrils. She rested her head on the shoulder so conveniently placed for her use and luxuriated in the exotic aroma full of masculine promise. Another scent floated to her senses, carried by a passing breeze. Irritating to her nostrils, it smelled wrong; a mix of foreign aromas.
Wait. This isn't right.
She pushed against the hard chest and forced her eyes to open. Then she saw him.
Gregor held her against his chest and she tensed, realizing she'd been enjoying the embrace of a mass murderer on a planetary scale. How could she find his touch seductive? A deep self-loathing filled her and she wanted to die.
The palest blue eyes regarded her with an expression of concern.
Gregor gripped her tight, not the least put out by her struggles to get down. "You have come back to me, opés. I am pleased." He continued down a glowing corridor, filled with an unearthly opalescence, until he stopped in front of a circular door.
She wasn't pleased. Not at all. She wanted down, but he clearly had no intention of setting her on her feet anytime soon.
The door spiraled open and he carried her inside. Four men followed behind him, the three guards from before, and High Tender Marcus, the horrible man with the silver rod that dangled from his wrist.
"You feel good in my arms." To emphasize his point, he rocked her close, nestling the top of her head under his chin.
Her cheeks reddened as heat stirred in her core. She hated her body's response to this man. She'd dated her fair share of men and never reacted to any of them like this. It had to be that damned perfume making her body betray her like this. He said it had aphrodisiac properties, but it seemed to only work for Gregor. She felt nothing for the other men, and definitely not the High Tender. That man gave her chills. Knowing what she felt wasn't real didn't make it any less potent.
Pressing her palm against Gregor’s chest, she found herself no longer pushing against him, but skimming the muscles underneath his shirt. With a jerk, she removed the treacherous hand and placed it on her throat where her pulse hammered beneath her fingertips.
The door to the small room spiraled closed behind them and one of the guards pushed a symbol with wavy lines and a series of dots on a recessed panel. Lights flashed on the walls and the ceiling opened.
She tilted her head and gasped. Open space extended hundreds of meters into the distance. She looked down, trying to regain her senses, and yelped as the floor disappeared, leaving them stranded over a gaping pit that was hundreds more meters deep. Vertigo overwhelmed her and she flung her arms around Gregor's neck, tucking her head beneath his chin.
He chuckled and held her tighter. He bent his head to whisper into her ear, "There is nothing to fear. We are in a lift tube, a transport device. A force field supports our weight while moving us up."
She pulled away, but he held her close.
He gave a low hush meant to soothe. "It's perfectly safe."
"Where am I?" her voice cracked.
She swallowed against rising nausea, because she already knew the answer to her question, but she needed the distraction to hide her fear of the nothingness above and the void below. No way was she going to lose it in front of these men and show any sign of weakness. Well, at least, not lose it again.
The High Tender stood opposite them. He twirled the braklav, caught it, released it, and repeated the whole process, all the while he watched her with his cold brown eyes. When he realized her attention focused not on him, but the braklav in his hand, his face lit in a satisfied grin.
Gregor's lips brushed her earlobe. It wasn't a kiss, more of a promise. "Welcome to the Gambit. You are not on Earth anymore."
A shiver ran through her whole body, lighting her nerves from head to toe. She'd guessed as much, but having her fears confirmed made it real. When had she left? Must have had something to do with them drugging her. There really was no escape now.
A wind blew down on them as they sped up into the dizzying height of the lift tube. The breeze helped to tamp down her nausea, but she still clung to Gregor, praying for the maddening ride to be over. For the moment, it didn't matter if that made her appear weak in his eyes. She would allow this one moment of reassurance from the enemy and find her strength later.
Soon their speed lessened, and the wind eased until it disappeared. A white circle fanned out from the wall and formed a solid floor. A semi-circular doorway spiraled open to their left.
Gregor released her from his grip and settled her on the floor. "Take it slow," he said in soothing tones. "Your body is still adjusting after the Tenderstat testing. Perhaps a little help?" He offered his arm for support.
She glanced at his arm with mixed feelings, not wanting to take it, but knowing it was impossible to refuse. Unless she wanted to taste the braklav again, she had to obey, and unfortunately, she needed his help. Her legs trembled and she barely kept her balance standing still. If she took a step, she knew what would happen. This weakness terrified her nearly as much as the five large men and alien spaceship surrounding her.
She reached for his arm. "Thank you, Gregor." Her gaze flicked to the High Tender and watched the silver rod drop from his grip. A shudder went through her as she considered what would have happened had she refused. Her hand shook as she placed it in the crook of Gregor's arm.
A smile spread across his face. It softened his expression, smoothing out the corners of his eyes. She wanted to pull her hand away, mortified by how compliant she behaved, but his hand covered hers and held it in place. The braklav snapped in the High Tender's palm, then dropped and dangled.
Steadying her grip on Gregor's arm, her first step went without a hitch. Not too bad. Another. She was doing well. On her third step, her legs buckled.
"Why am I so weak?"
Gregor caught her and steadied her on her feet. "Aftereffects of the testing. Do not worry, it will fade."
Elise gritted her teeth and tried again.
He moved down the long hallway, letting her set the pace. She placed each foot with deliberate care, testing before transferring weight. She tried to look around, but the act of walking commanded her entire attention. Intel would have to wait for another opportunity, although the hall remained empty except for them. Each step brought one thought to mind.
She was trapped and there was no way out.
Chapter Two
The Gambit, Day 1
A long walk through a maze of passageways ended at a pair of clear doors. Inside, six men dressed in black stood at parade rest, guarding an inner round door reminiscent of a bank vault. A red light flashed over the outer doors. The High Tender approached and pressed his hand to a flat panel display.
Three more men, wearing brown tunics, sat behind a waist-high counter, with their attention focused on holographic displays. Only one glanced up as they walked inside. He fixed his attention on Elise. She shrunk under his scrutiny and took a step
back, only to come to a stop against Gregor's solid body. Retreating into the safety of her enemy's arms made no sense, yet she acted on instinct, choosing Gregor for protection. What she should have done was stand her ground and level a hard-focused glare at the man behind the counter.
"Master Tender, is this the one?" The man's voice was deep and smooth, but his eyes glittered with the same hardness she had come to expect in the High Tender. The title did not go unnoticed, or the deference in the man's tone. Master Tender seemed to signify a position of leadership. There was more to him than she thought.
"Tender lor'Marthis, she is indeed," High Tender Marcus said. He grabbed her by the elbow, separating her from Gregor, and dragged her to the counter. She wobbled the short distance on her unsteady legs, struggling for balance, and barely managed not to fall. The corners of Gregor's mouth twitched down, but he didn't intervene, although she sensed he didn't like being separated from her. She didn't like it either.
While glad to be rid of Gregor, she hadn't exchanged him for anything better.
The Tender, a man of lower rank, an assumption made by the way he referred to High Tender Marcus, placed a pad filled with a gel-like substance on top of the counter.
High Tender Marcus barked, "Place your hand on the gel."
Elise knew better than to hesitate and hated her instant obedience. She needed to resist these people and not blindly follow orders.
The moment she touched the gel, her hand was encased in an odd warmth. Not gooey like she expected, but she jumped when an electric pulse flashed up her arm. It didn't hurt, it just came as a surprise. The gel folded over the back of her hand, moving with purpose until her hand was fully encased. Something sharp pricked her finger. Only then did the goo withdraw, leaving her hand as dry as it had been before touching the strange substance.
"What's the final count?" High Tender Marcus inquired.
"She makes ninety-two of the Fifth Rank. Much better than anticipated," Tender lor'Marthis said. He tapped the counter and read off the display. "After you transported off the planet, the residual readings dropped to zero. We have one-thousand and two. Tender lor'Elstat is bringing the last ten on board. We've exceeded our projections, Master Tender. Nearly all are Second Rank or higher. Only a handful of First Rank, and over three hundred to add to the s'vlor registry."
High Tender Marcus gave a satisfied snort. "Excellent."
Finally, an answer to her question. A thousand survivors. Or at least, that's how many they had brought onboard. They didn't mention if any remained on Earth. These people had Rank, which meant they made the Tenderstat glow like she had.
The Tender entered something into yet another display. "My lord, I have uploaded her information. She's ready for processing."
What the hell did that mean? Alien probing? Now that she would resist, tooth and nail if it came down to it.
Behind her, Gregor coughed.
High Tender Marcus clenched his jaw and placed a hand on the counter. "This one has been claimed by the Emperor. Please annotate it in your logs."
The man's eyebrows lifted, then he glanced at Gregor. "Sire, we collected over ninety women who are of Fifth Rank. Would you rather examine them before making a final decision?"
Gregor came to stand beside Elise. The exotic spice of his cologne wafted over her and the beat of her heart quickened. She held her breath and willed her body to ignore the heady sensations his presence brought. Mind over matter, or in this case, mind over body; she would beat this unnatural attraction. Instead, a flood of desire heated her from the inside out. With great force of will, she shoved this false sensation to the periphery where it merely smoldered.
"I claim this one, Tender. Enter it into the logs."
The Tender seemed ready to argue, but closed his mouth, then tapped the display. "Your preference is noted, Sire."
Gregor leaned forward. "Not a preference, Tender lor'Marthis. I claim this one. She is mine."
The possessive tone of his voice, laced with a suppressed eagerness, made her heart surge. It was becoming a reaction she expected. Not that she understood it, but she vowed to somehow learn to control it.
"Yes, Sire. Forgive me." Tender lor'Marthis flicked his gaze to High Tender Marcus, who gave a nod. "Done, Sire. She is registered and will show up on your inventory."
Inventory? Like she was property? The Vendel had some nerve to claim they were a superior race of humans if they still practiced a slave trade. She would be no man's slave.
"I will take her from here, Sire." High Tender Marcus grabbed her elbow and yanked her toward the inner double doors.
The six men standing at parade rest snapped to attention. The doors spiraled open and revealed a tunnel stretching in front of them.
When they reached the threshold, Gregor stopped them. "Lord vlor’Vardhal, I would have a moment with her."
"Sire?"
"Just a moment."
The High Tender gave a short bow. "As you wish."
He stepped back, and the men surrounding them pulled away, leaving her and Gregor in relative privacy. He took her arm and pulled her even further from the penetrating gazes of the men. Bending down, he leaned in and spoke in a soft, but firm voice.
"Elise, you need to listen to what I have to say."
She jerked her arm, but he held it firm.
"This is important," he said.
"I don't want to hear anything you have to say."
A flicker of irritation crossed his face. "You will listen and obey. Down that hall lies the Confinement Deck. Once you cross that threshold, you are in the hands of the Tenders to train. You must obey them."
She jerked free.
He gripped her chin, and tilted her face up, forcing her to look at him. His height intimidated her, but she vowed to be strong. Remembering all those dead by his hand helped to tamp down the unbearable attraction, if only a little bit.
"Why do you care?"
"Because you do not understand what it means to be a WOR."
"I don't even know what a WOR is?"
"A WOR is what you are. A Woman of Rank. A woman who must be trained."
"Like a slave? Is that what I am to you? A line on your registry, was it? Property?"
"You are valuable, Elise, priceless, but now is not the time to argue. I'm trying to tell you I can't protect you in there."
"Protect me?" Like she would even want protection from a man like him.
"The discipline of the Tenders is strict, but obey their rules, follow their procedures, and you will do fine. Most of what you will encounter is simple indoctrination into our culture. You have much to learn. Our language, technology, society, everything you need to begin your new life will be taught to you. This does not have to be hard on you. You can choose to make your transition to your new home smooth."
She understood. Comply with their demands and her life would be easy, fight and they would torture her. She shrugged.
"That's it? You're sending me to some twisted Vendel cultural academy? Should be a piece of cake. What do I have to worry about?"
"You're being difficult."
"I want to go home."
"You are home."
"This will never be my home."
"I am your home, Elise. There is nothing you can do to change that, and once your powers manifest there will be even more to learn."
"What powers?"
"Powers that make you WOR. Do not test Lord vlor'Vardhal." Frustration edged his voice, and he ran a hand through his black hair, pulling it back through his fingers and exposing the tattoo over his brow. "I'm trying to help you, because I know you will fight this. You still think you have a choice, but you need to understand what will happen if you resist the Tenders."
"Sire," High Tender Marcus said, "it is time. Others come after us and I must get her processed before they arrive." He ushered her back toward the threshold.
Gregor called out. "I will see you later, opés. Behave for High Tender vlor'Vardhal. I expect to hear good news rega
rding your progress." Hesitation framed his voice. "Remember my words."
Having no answer to give, she curled her shoulders inward and hid her face from Gregor as the doors hissed closed and removed him from her sight. Good riddance, but she would see him again. When she did, she would need to be prepared to deal with the ebb and flow of desire which made her weak in his presence. She turned to face her newest threat.
"You are entering the Confinement Deck," High Tender Marcus said. "We'll exit this tunnel and enter the processing area. You will obey every command. Do you understand?"
"Yes." With a look at the silver rod he gripped, she swallowed.
"Good, you might just be trainable. The emperor is much more lenient than I."
With each step, her trepidation grew. The muscle ticking in his jaw intensified her unease. This was a man who knew no leniency. For a moment, she glanced behind them hoping to see Gregor. The fact she sought shelter in Gregor's arms did not escape her notice. She sniffed at the conflicted nature of her thoughts.
The High Tender continued and she forced herself to listen. "You belong to the Vendel. Specifically, you belong to Emperor vlor’Malita. Your resistance is a waste of effort. Obey, perform as directed, and life will not be so hard. Do otherwise and we proceed with the consequences. You determine how easy, or difficult, your training will be. It matters not how often, or how long, I bring the braklav to bear upon you. That choice is up to you."
A chill wormed its way down her back.
They reached another set of doors which spiraled opened. A square, antiseptic room with perforated white walls greeted her. In the middle, a recessed red circle a meter across dominated the room.
"Stand in the circle," he commanded.
Ten people stood in the room. Four were of the large gladiator type. Pristine, black jumpsuits covered their frames. Short sleeves, rolled at the cuffs, displayed prominent biceps which left little to the imagination as to their qualifications to perform their duties. Their dark pant legs tucked into knee-high boots. And at each of their waists twin dark rods hung from the loops of their belts; like the ones she’d seen on the Vendel guards from the banquet.
