Silent Lucidity

by Tiffany Roberts

  Cullion curled the leash tighter around his hand and applied more pressure, forcing more of her skin against the energy field. Abella gritted her teeth but couldn’t prevent the pained sounds from escaping her. Though the field wouldn’t cause permanent damage or even leave much of a mark, it hurt like hell.

  “Remember your place,” Cullion said through his teeth before finally loosening his grip.

  Abella thrust herself away from the energy field and slammed against the back of the crate. She covered her face with her hand, hoping the slight pressure she applied could assuage the lingering sting.

  Cullion attached the end of the leash to the outside of the cage and stepped away. He instructed the driver to return to his estate, and the hovercar rocked gently as he and his bodyguards climbed into the cab.

  Animals did not get to ride inside luxury hovercars.

  The car doors hissed shut. As the engines revved up—producing a deep, barely perceptible whirring sound—the protective field that cocooned the exterior of the cage shimmered into place.

  Abella closed her eyes and let the silence created by the field envelop her. Her body relaxed, sagging against the side of the cage as she sought to turn her thoughts away from what was to come. Music played in her mind, each note blending into the next, beginning as a soothing melody. The notes soon changed in rhythm and tempo; in her mind’s eye, she was back in the club, dancing across the stage. Free. It was only during these quiet, isolated moments that she could imagine herself back on Earth, performing for a loving, appreciative audience who didn’t look at her like she was a piece of meat.

  But her mind went to him—the stranger who’d joined her on stage.

  Her fear in the moment she’d met his gaze for the first time had been overwhelming and only intensified when he took her hands. No one was permitted to touch her. Her mind had reeled with uncertainty—what would Cullion do to him? To her?

  But her fears had faded to nothing as she’d stared into those hypnotic, ethereal eyes with their slitted pupils. His gaze had held her captive, reducing the entirety of existence to Abella and the stranger; there’d been no stage, no audience, no Cullion, no slave collar around her neck.

  Though she didn’t know his species and had never seen his like before—and despite his pointed ears, pale gray skin, sharp features, and entrancing eyes—there’d been a familiarity in his face that offered her solace. He looked just human enough to put her at ease. The stranger was handsome, if menacing; a scar at each corner of his mouth, slanting up to his cheekbones, had given a sinister twist to his otherwise stoic expression she’d found just a bit more intriguing than intimidating. Abella was tall for a woman at five feet, ten inches, but he was at least a foot taller, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist.

  And the way he’d moved...

  Had she not known better, she might’ve mistaken him for a trained dancer. But something about him—the control he’d exhibited, the speed with which he’d reacted to her steps, the solidness of his hold when he’d lifted her—whispered there was more to him.

  He was…dangerous.

  Abella slid her hand down her face until her fingertips settled on her lips. He’d kissed her. Twice.

  She still felt an echo of the warmth of his mouth on hers, of his body against hers, and his tantalizing, masculine scent lingered in her nose like a ghost from the recent past. Her tongue slipped out to slide over her lips; she savored the hint of spicy sweetness he’d left on them.

  It had been the first time she’d danced with anyone since her abduction. It had felt wonderful, exhilarating, freeing. It had felt like…

  Being home.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away.

  The stranger hadn’t spoken a single word; he’d only stared at her with those mesmerizing eyes as though she were the only thing in the entire world. She didn’t even know his name.

  And I’ll never see him again.

  She’d known what would happen when he came onto stage, knew the consequences would be severe, but it hadn’t mattered. Every second in his arms had been worth it. Their short dance meant everything to her—it was the only time she’d felt like herself, had felt happy, since she was brought to the Infinite City four years earlier.

  While she was lost in her thoughts, the hovercar had ascended and entered the express tunnels that allowed traffic to move freely through the city. She was aware of other vehicles zipping around them, of lights, metal, and concrete blurred by the speed of Cullion’s hovercar, but she paid attention to none of it. She only realized they’d reached Cullion’s manor when the vehicle came to a halt and the outer protective field dissipated.

  Abella dropped her hands to her sides and clenched her fists. The cab doors hissed open.

  “Bring my pet to the discipline chamber,” Cullion said from outside her field of view.

  One of the bodyguards stepped in front of the cage, detached Abella’s leash from the cage’s exterior, and deactivated the energy field. He tugged on the leash. “Let’s go.”

  Abella gritted her teeth as she unfolded her body and climbed out of the cage. The flashy collar around her neck weighed her down; it was a constant reminder of what she was here—an animal, a pet, a creature undeserving of respect or dignity.

  She’d fought often in the beginning and had attempted numerous escapes, but each act of opposition had brought with it more severe punishments, more intense pain. To maintain her sanity, she’d had no choice but to comply with Cullion’s rules and orders, but she always kept her eyes open for opportunity. Though four years of slavery had left her with little hope of reclaiming her freedom, she refused to give up.

  The vorgal stepped back to grant her a sliver of space, remaining about as close as he could without touching her. Abella kept her eyes downcast as she followed him toward the manor’s entrance.

  Cullion seemed to have spared no expense in the construction of his home. Like many of the buildings nearby, it stood in defiance of the structures overhead that blocked out whatever sunlight this alien world had to offer and kept the Undercity in perpetual night—but its defiance was only an illusion. Cullion did not rail against the status quo because he was empowered by it.

  The manor was a bastion of wealth and luxury that went far beyond what Abella considered tasteful, existing only to stroke its owner’s ego.

  Its architecture was unlike anything she’d ever seen—the closest she’d seen to it were the ancient, ornate temples and ruins in southeast Asia back on Earth, but it was still comparing apples to oranges. There was nothing subtle or artistic about Cullion’s manor or the surrounding homes; they were designed to flaunt power and privilege. Everything seemed to be either trimmed with shining, exotic metals and gems, or crafted from carved, polished wood and stone, all of it alien in origin.

  Some people might have found the display awe-inspiring and intimidating; Abella thought it gaudy and classless. None of it seemed to belong in the Undercity, where everything else was metal, concrete, and vibrant neon.

  But wasn’t that the point? Beings like Cullion felt they didn’t belong down here—they were too good for it. They wanted to be in the city above the surface, dwelling in one of the sanctums controlled by the Consortium. That he was unable to enter the sanctums save when invited for business infuriated Cullion like little else. Abella found quiet glee in that.

  Only the alien species comprising the Consortium—a near-mythical group of six races, the members of which Abella had never seen during her time here—were permitted to freely enter and dwell within the sanctums.

  The vorgal led her through the large entry doors—constructed of thick metal disguised as wood—across the ornately decorated foyer, and into a long, darkly-furnished hall. She knew what awaited her at its end.

  Her every step was a struggle; it felt as though her feet were made of stone. She kept her eyes down, tracing the glittering, golden veins webbing the marble-like black floor with her gaze. The décor around her became a b
lur. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to separate her mind from her body so she wouldn’t feel what was about to come.

  Every little hair on Abella’s body stood on end as she was led through the doorway at the end of the hall and to the center of the discipline room. The air within bore a unique chill, and, though she didn’t look up, she felt the stares of the guards and servants gathered inside settle upon her with immense weight. Cages and varied instruments of pain filled her peripheral vision.

  “Remove her clothing,” Cullion said.

  The vorgal guard untethered Abella’s leash from the collar and stepped behind her. His hands were dispassionate and rough as he unfastened her belt, releasing it to fall down her legs and hit the floor with a thunk. The delicate fabric of her skirt pooled around her feet along with it. He unhooked the clasps on her top a moment later, forcing it off her arms and dropping it to join her other clothing on the floor.

  A shiver coursed over her from head to toe, raising goosebumps on her chilled skin. It was humiliating, degrading, an attempt to strip her of what dignity she had left, but she clung to her pride with an iron grip.

  He will not break me.

  “Kneel,” Cullion commanded.

  She cast a fleeting glance toward the wall; there was a secret door there that was used to dispose of the pets who didn’t survive Cullion’s discipline. She’d gone through it once and followed it into a tunnel outside the manor before she was seized by the guards and dragged back inside, kicking and screaming. She’d been so damn close…

  Somewhere out there, somewhere in this impossibly large city, there was a human embassy. She’d overheard talk one of the times Cullion had taken her out. There were representatives from Earth here. She just needed to get to them.

  One day, she would use that secret passage again. One day, she would be free.

  Abella lowered herself onto her knees and bent forward. She pressed her forehead to the cool stone and flattened her palms to either side. The floor was icy against her bare skin, and another shudder crept up her spine. She still felt the guards staring at her, their gazes thick with curiosity, lust, and anticipation, contrasted by Cullion’s palpable disgust.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing everything around her would disappear, wishing she could open her eyes and find herself back home in her bed having just woken from a vivid but harmless dream.

  Wishing she could open her eyes and find herself on stage, dancing with that mysterious stranger.

  The fabric of Cullion’s robes rasped against his legs as his footsteps moved away from Abella. She swallowed thickly when she heard the of wood against metal, and another shiver coursed through her. Her palms dampened with sweat.

  “You have disappointed me. Again,” Cullion said as he approached Abella from the front and walked around her, like a shark circling its prey. “It was I who rescued you from those who stole you from the backwater planet that spawned your kind. It is I who provides for you, shelters you, feeds you, clothes you, pampers you. Everything you have, you owe to me. All I ask in return is obedience. Even a creature so simple as you should understand that.”

  An airy whistle was her only warning of the coming blow. Fire flared across her back with a crack as the cane struck her—it was one of his favorite implements despite its simplicity. She recoiled, body tensing, fingers curling, but forced herself to maintain her position.

  Abella pressed her lips together to hold in a cry; she refused to give him the satisfaction. Pain spread outward in a wave of heat as the point of impact tingled and went numb.

  Cullion continued pacing around her. “I will not permit your depravity to tarnish my reputation. You are mine, and you will behave accordingly. Were you purposely making a mockery of me tonight?”

  Abella kept her lips sealed. She knew this game of his well by now—whatever her answer, it would be wrong. His polished boots halted at the edge of her vision. She drew in a slow, deep breath, willing her trembling to cease.

  The silence between blows was always the most frightening part of the whole ordeal.

  One of his feet shifted forward, and the cane slice through the air to strike her back twice more. Abella blanched, whimpering as air fled her lungs and tears flooded her eyes. She breathed in and out, breath quick and shallow, and pushed through the agony. Her mind turned toward her years as a dance, of the grueling practices and demanding routines that had left her muscles burning and her feet aching. That pain had made her stronger, better. It had never broken her.

  Nothing would break her.

  Not this planet. Not her enslavement. And most certainly not Cullion.

  “Rather strong-willed tonight, are we?” Cullion asked, stepping away from her. “That can easily be remedied. Get the electrolash.”

  The heavy footsteps of one of the vorgal guards moved away, paused for a moment, and returned to stand behind Abella.

  “Twenty lashes,” Cullion said, walking away from her. “Then take her to the isolation chamber and lock her inside. We will allow her to reflect upon her lessons—and her wounds—for a time.”

  She finally allowed herself to look toward him, toward his damned polished boots, and glare with more hatred than she would’ve thought possible to fit in one person’s heart.

  Cullion stopped a few meters away and turned toward her.

  An electric, crackling sound from behind her was followed by the hissing thrum of an activated electrolash.

  This wasn’t her first time. Unfortunately, knowing what to expect wouldn’t diminish the pain.

  She pressed her forehead against the cold floor and gritted her teeth as the first lash struck her flesh with a searing sting that locked her muscles. It was followed by another, and another, and another; she quickly lost count. This time, Abella couldn’t hold in her cries, couldn’t dam the flow of her tears, but she would not beg for mercy. She would never beg him.

  I—

  Crack.

  —am not—

  Crack.

  —an animal.

  Crack.

  She twisted her mind to ignore the pain, turning it toward her parents, her two older brothers, her friends. She thought about her late-night dance rehearsals, about the joy and laughter that had arisen from all the hard work.

  She thought of the mysterious stranger with the scars on his cheeks and the piercing eyes. He had made her forget it all for a little while, had granted a brief reprieve from the life forced upon her.

  Those precious moments dancing with him were worth all of this.

  Tenthil guided the hoverbike through increasingly narrow access tunnels, ever deeper and downward. The colorful neon of the Undercity was soon behind him, replaced by the dull, inconsistent illumination of the Bowels, where yellowed, faded lights cast tired glows on dirty, rust-stained metal and concrete.

  Though the Undercity wasn’t necessarily clean or pleasing to look upon, it always felt lived in; it served as the home of countless people of countless races, all of whom sought only to make their ways through life. The holograms and lights there possessed a certain warmth, and every street and alley, however dark or dangerous, felt like part of a larger web connecting millions and millions of people to one another. There was always someone nearby—inconvenient for someone in Tenthil’s like of work, but a small comfort, perhaps, for the beings who thought themselves alone and isolated in this vast, unforgiving city.

  Arthos’s nickname—the Infinite City—was fitting in a great many ways.

  The Bowels lacked that warmth, even in factories and workshops where massive furnaces and smelters cast orange glows on their surroundings. There’d been no effort made to conceal the ducts, pipes, and conduits feeding power, fuel, and water to the Undercity and the surface beyond. There’d been no effort made to counteract the feeling of being trapped beneath more than a kilometer of metal and machinery.

  And yet people lived down here—more than anyone might have guessed. They found security in narrow, convoluted passageways, found shelter
in out-of-the-way chambers and abandoned facilities. The fulltime denizens of the Bowels were survivors scraping by in places no one else wanted to go.

  Or at least that had been the case until recently; over the last decade, Tenthil had noticed more activity in the Bowels than usual. It was becoming a popular place for criminals to conduct business.

  He slowed the hoverbike as he approached the entrance of a barricaded side tunnel, tugged back on the handles, and piloted the vehicle through the narrow opening at the top.

  There were no lights in the metal-reinforced concrete tunnel. The bike’s spotlights provided the only illumination, revealing a shallow stream of mucky water running along the floor, small piles of debris and trash scattered everywhere, and the occasional scurrying critter. The walls were stained and cracked. He couldn’t guess how long ago this tunnel had been built, but enough time had passed for the world above to forget it.

  When Tenthil neared the hidden door, he checked behind him, scanning the tunnel for any movement apart from the running water. Satisfied that he was alone, he pulled the bike forward, engaged the brake, and hopped off to press the switch concealed on one of the metal support beams.

  Despite the age and wear of the tunnel, the hidden blast door—one-meter thick tristeel disguised behind a concrete face—rose silently. Once it was high enough, he returned to the hoverbike and guided it through the opening into another tunnel, this one with curved walls and ceiling. Automatic sensors detected when the vehicle was clear of the entryway and closed the door behind him. A gentle rumbling echoed through the corridor as the door touched down and its maglocks engaged.

  The overhead lights came on in a chain, leading deeper into the tunnel. Tenthil cranked the throttle and sped forward. He was in no hurry to face what awaited him, but it was best to get it over with. Then he could turn his thoughts back to what truly mattered—the terran dancer.

  His lips still tingled with the memory of their kiss. He hadn’t planned to do that, to do any of it, and he’d never shared a kiss with anyone. What had come over him? All he knew was that his strange mood had not passed; he would find her again.