by Corin Cain
Speaking of beasts – we’re now in the belly of that same beast; helpless prisoners of a different Aurelian triad.
As the Wayward Scythe is carried across the landing bay by the tractor beam, Sawoot points out through the tempered glass of the cockpit.
“Look at the markings on those Reavers.”
My eyes follow to where she’s pointing – and my throat tightens. There are no markings.
I turn to my first officer. She’s a little unsteady on her feet, but that’s understandable after being tossed around the cockpit during my evasive maneuvers. She chose reassuring me over her own personal safety. She could have strapped herself into her seat, but she risked getting her head cracked in an evasive maneuver to keep me steady.
I’m confident her mind is still as keen as ever.
If it wasn’t for Sawoot, I’d be filled with even more despair than I am right now. She’s like my rock. We’d worked together long before I became captain of my own little ship, and she’s got a thirty percent stake in our little venture; making her one of the few people I can trust.
She breathes ominously: “Those aren’t Empire Reavers…”
I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.
If this ship was aligned with the Aurelian Empire, we’d be figuratively fucked. Any law-abiding Aurelian – and the warriors of the Empire are all pathologically law-abiding – would report us in a second, and hand us right over to the authorities. Once our cargo gets discovered, we’ll all find ourselves thrown in prison for the rest of our lives.
But that might still be a better fate than the alternative. If this ship belongs to Rogue Aurelians, as I’m starting to suspect, then we might be literally fucked.
I barely escaped that triad of Rogue Aurelians last time – and that was only because I had Sawoot and the crew of the Wayward Scythe to rescue me.
But this time, my crew are caught right alongside me – and there’s nobody coming to save us.
I shudder at the thought of succumbing to the same fate I barely escaped last time. If these are Rogue Aurelians, I’m certain they’ll try the same thing – to add me to their slave harem. Likely Sawoot will be added as well, and I dread to think what fate might befall the rest of my crew.
There’s no point fighting, either. Aurelian warriors stand seven-feet-tall or more, and they’re built like massive, burly wrestlers; all muscle, with barely a scrap of fat to them.
That’s intimidating enough – an individual Aurelian could make mincemeat of any man with his bare hands – and then there’s the fact that the bastards always come in threes; a triad.
In battle, a triad of Aurelians are formidable. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to be part of one of their harems. Imagine being taken by one of those huge, haughty creatures?
I shiver.
Imagine what it would be like to be taken by three of them!
Sawoot squeezes my shoulder, snapping me from my thoughts.
“So, you think they’re Rogue?”
“There’s a thin line between independent and Rogue.”
I stare through the glass of the cockpit at the unmarked Reavers. These three could merely be traders, merchants or mercenaries – who work independently of the Aurelian Empire, but still abide by their rules and laws…
…but I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Rogue or not, one thing’s for sure,” Sawoot breathes ominously. “They sure as hell aren’t working for Emperor Raegan and Queen Jasmine.” Her fingers tighten on my shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, though. If these bastards are Rogue… The first one stupid enough to lay a hand on me loses his cock.”
I snort bitterly. I love Sawoot’s courage and grit.
But her defiant words only mean so much. My mouth turns dry at the thought of what might happen to Sawoot and I if these mysterious Aurelians are Rogue. Out here, in the dead of space, they’re clearly up to no good – and who knows how long they’ve been away from fresh, willing women. We’ll be like two juicy pork chops, tossed into a dog kennel.
Aurelians are bad enough, the haughty bastards – but those that turn Rogue are the worst of all of them.
Perhaps the only redeeming thing about Aurelians is their adherence to law, structure and process. Those who go Rogue turn their back on all that; and instead sate their endless appetite for women and warfare in ways and places that would earn them a death sentence in the eyes of the Empire.
Despite the legions of women begging to join Aurelian harems, Rogue Aurelians instead take women as property – forcing them to become slaves in their harems, and then forcing them into subjugation. It’s as if the allure of a harem for Rogue Aurelians isn’t easy and convenient access to beautiful women – but the sense of power from owning them.
I glance up at Sawoot as she looks over my shoulder. More than any of us, Sawoot is the expert on Aurelians – and she’s told me all about Rogue Aurelians before. In fact, she cautioned me not to take the job we had with that first Rogue triad – the three who nearly added me to their slave harem. I should have listened to her then – and I’m certainly going to listen to her now.
From behind us, Chris stands up from his seat, puffing his chest out.
Chris is one more of my crew – around forty years old and as tough and grizzled as old boot leather. Out of the six crewmembers of the Wayward Scythe, Chris is the one who had the toughest time accepting the authority of a female captain – but I put up with his attitude because he’s a hard worker, calm under pressure, and reliable. I’m glad to have him with us – as long as he can keep his head.
“There’s only three of them. We could grab one of those Reavers and blast our way out.”
Chris speaks with bravado – but it’s bravado that could get us all killed.
The big man lumbers over to the weapons cabinet and wrenches open the metal hatch, pulling out a sidearm. I installed the cabinet in the bridge – just in case we ever needed to deal with a boarding party or stowaways trying to kill us on our own ship – but they were never intended to be weapons of war.
“Put that back,” I snap. “There’s are only three of them in view – but there are bound to be plenty more on board. You saw the size of this ship!”
Chris pauses – my words hitting home.
I continue: “See how calm those Aurelians down there are? Working on that Reaver? They’re not even worried about us – and probably with good reason.” I nod at the pistol Chris is clutching – it would look like a child’s toy in the enormous mitt of an Aurelian. “None of us is getting off this ship with a weapon.”
Chris’s eyes narrow. He really doesn’t like being told what to do, even when he knows it’s right. He’s just lucky his other qualities have so far compensated for his rebellious nature – but that might change today.
I have no intention of getting killed or raped because Chris can’t follow a Gods-damned order – and I can practically see the wheels in his head turning as he figures whether pride or survival should take precedence. The fate of my crew is hanging in the balance.
After a moment’s thought, Chris snarls – but reluctantly puts the gun back, just like I’d prayed he would. Thankfully, he knows the ship is only as strong as it’s chain of command – and if he stands up to me now, before we’ve even landed on the deck, he’ll be fracturing that chain; turning this from a team effort into a free for all.
We have to do this as a team. It’s the only chance we’ll get – and every team needs a leader. In this instance, that’s me. The six souls who crew the Wayward Scythe are my responsibility – from Theme, the green recruit, to the grizzled veterans like Chris and Sawoot.
Now that debate is over, I turn back to the controls. I press the responder again. There must be a captain on this ship, and I need to find out what he wants from us. Perhaps we’re lucky, and we got brought on board for some benevolent reason – like protection from those Toad ships that had been pursuing us.
However, there’s no answer th
rough the comms-link.
Inwardly, this waiting game is grating on my nerves. Outwardly, I’m stoic. Calm, cool, and patient – those are the traits I project, all for the benefit of the men and women under my command.
“There! Look!”
Sawoot points through the screen again.
Up above us, a set of doors on the upper level of the loading bay slide open. A lone Aurelian saunters through. That makes four of them – the three working on the Reavers, and this new arrival.
It’s unusual - their species normally operate in threes. They do everything in threes – from fighting to fucking. Sawoot jokes that Aurelians even go to the bathroom in a trio.
So, what’s this loner doing up there?
My mind races. Maybe he lost his battle-brothers in combat – in the endless war the Aurelian Empire seems to be waging against the Scorp, or during a space battle against pirates or insurgents.
That would make sense – this massive warship is pockmarked and pitted from las-blasts and explosions. I’d got a good look at a legion of old wounds burned into the hull while the Wayward Scythe was being sucked into the loading bay by the tractor beam. These guys have obviously seen a lot of combat.
The lone Aurelian strides down the stairs, walking with a swagger that puts me on edge. I can see even from here that this towering alien has a massive ego and a chip on his shoulder.
He’s clad in light power armor – a customized ensemble unlike the more utilitarian armor that Aurelians typically wear into combat. In fact, this set of armor looks like it was designed more to show off the Aurelian’s impressive biceps than actually protect him – although the hilt of the Orb-Sword hanging at his hip is probably all the protection he needs.
Instead of a helmet and visor to keep his head and face protected, as most Aurelians wear when they go up against Scorp or pirates, this warrior is bare-headed – with a full scalp of wavy, brown hair falling lazily down to his chin.
This stranger’s got better hair than Sawoot or I do – like a damned shampoo commercial from the holo-vids. Irrationally, that just makes me more annoyed at him.
The lone figure strides towards the Wayward Scythe as our ship is gently lowered to the deck. By the way he walks, and from that ostentatious outfit, I assume this stranger is the captain of whatever vessel kidnapped us.
The Aurelian Captain eventually comes to a halt twenty feet in front of our ship. We can see him clearly through the view screen – his hands behind his back, and his massive chest puffed outward.
Cocky bastard.
I glance down at the controls. If I diverted power to weapons, we could burn that marble-white, handsome face clean off the Aurelian’s skull before he could even react.
He must realize that too – but he stands there fearlessly. I assume he knows that killing him would be suicide. His death would guarantee our own – or worse.
Making the stranger’s arrogance even more infuriating, the Aurelian reaches one hand from behind his back and gestures to us through our cockpit screen. He doesn’t even give us the courtesy of opening a comms-link. He merely curls his long fingers towards us, motioning us to leave the ship.
“Is this guy for real?”
Sawoot’s words have lost the edge of terror that had filled all our voices during that breakneck escape from the Toads. Now, she’s looking down at this towering, haughty alien as if…
…well, as if he’s a completely different species.
For a second, I ponder our options. That’s all it takes to realize we don’t have any.
“Everyone out!” I bark, pressing the button to open the hatch.
I go through it first, descending onto the metal loading deck. I’m the Captain of this vessel – even if the crew of the Wayward Scythe number only six – so it’s my responsibility to face our captor.
I lead the crew from our ship – my head held high, and my stride as deliberate as this Aurelian Captain’s was. I might be faking his effortless confidence, but in doing so I still feel more confident.
Eventually, I stop ten feet in front of the towering alien – peering up at his stern, marble-white face.
It’s easy to forget how big Aurelians are, until you’re right in front of one of them again.
This towering officer looks to be well over seven-feet-tall. His skin is purest white, as if carved from marble – just like the skin of every one of these fearsome warriors. His incredible physique is emphasized by the customized armor he wears, and his muscles look like they were chiseled out of flawless, white stone.
The Captain’s high cheekbones give him an aristocratic, refined appearance – contributing to his haughty, arrogant demeanor. As do those cold, slate-grey eyes, which pierce me like icy daggers.
In human terms, the Captain would appear to be maybe thirty-years-old – but in the extended lifespan of an Aurelian, that means he’s lived for centuries.
I say nothing – standing defiantly in front of this towering stranger.
He breaks the silence.
“Well, well, well,” the Aurelian purrs – his lips curling into a sinister grin, revealing a mouthful of perfect, white teeth. “I was expecting a little more from the big, bad captain behind the biggest heist of the century.”
The Aurelian leans forward, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to step backward.
Leaning over me, the Captain purrs: “Aren’t you a little young for a life of crime?”
Fuck.
Heist. Life of crime. In saying those things, it’s clear we weren’t brought on board this ship by accident. Whoever this towering Aurelian is, he’s heard news about the job we’ve pulled.
To my right, I see Sawoot’s shoulders slump, as she makes the same connection I do. The best-case scenario right now is that this Aurelian Captain is somehow aligned with Aurelian Law Enforcement – and that means we’ll be thrown into the brig and hauled to Colossus, the Aurelian home world. There, we’ll face trial and punishment for what we’ve done. Our sentence will be jail for the rest of our lives.
…and that’s the best-case scenario.
I draw in a huge breath, standing tall and proud in front of this looming alien. I hope my composure will inspire my crew as I stare down the haughty, preening officer.
I demand: “What do you want from us?”
My voice sounds confident, but I’m not.
I feel naked outside my ship. Right now, I wish I was still behind the controls – darting left and right through the asteroid belt we’d hoped to find as we escaped those three Toad assault ships. The odds against the Toads were slim; but at least I felt like I was in control of our fate.
Right now, standing on this metal deck, I don’t feel like I’m in control of anything.
But my discomfort isn’t betrayed in my tone. Behind me, Sawoot perks up, hearing the confidence in my voice. I hope that same boost of confidence extends to Chris, Zander, Tom, and Felix – who, along with Theme, make up the rest of my six-person crew.
Chris and the other miners are tight knit. The four of them will often stay up late after work is done, drinking and gambling away for long hours in the endless, eternal night of space.
Theme, the newest addition to our team – and also the greenest – has taken to joining them, although he tends to come off worse during those long gambling sessions.
For a moment, the haughty Aurelian ignores my question – looking down and studying us like we’re animals at the petting zoo. Finally, he breaks his silence to say:
“That one’s pissing himself.”
The Aurelian cocks his head towards Theme. At just twenty-three-years-old, Theme might be the baby of our crew; but youth is no excuse for cowardice. I was the same age as him when I first became Captain of the Wayward Scythe, and I never looked as green around the gills as he does right now.
I didn’t choose him because of his guts. I hired Theme because he had the fastest reflexes of any technician I’d seen, manipulating ship controls and power levels like he was born i
n front of the inputs. I just didn’t think he’d crumble so hard under pressure.
I turn from glancing at Theme and look back to the Aurelian – just as there’s a thud behind me.
I wince, knowing that the sound came from Theme. He’s fainted from fear – and know I now look even weaker for being the Captain of such a green crew.
I fight the instinct to turn back and see if Theme is okay. Instead, I stare up at the Aurelian Captain.
“What do you want from us?” I repeat – although this time, I can’t prevent the thin edge of fear creeping into my voice.
Behind me, Chris and the other miners are shifting. I can hear the creaks of their hard, armored mining suits. I’m thankful I ordered them to leave sidearms behind. There’s just one man facing us – even if he stands more than a foot taller than any of us – and Chris and the boys might have got some foolish impulse to try and overpower him.
But I don’t like the way this Aurelian appears so nonchalant. He’s outnumbered, but clearly knows we don’t stand a chance against him. I wonder how long is would take him to order more warriors up here, or if they’re already waiting just out of sight.
If this thing gets ugly, it’s going to get ugly fast.
The Aurelian Captain licks his lips. He might be stunningly handsome, but his cocky attitude makes him repellent to me.
“I think you know exactly what I want from you,” the Aurelian says slowly, his eyes trailing down my body. I’m wearing a drab, bulky uniform – but the way this haughty alien looks at me, I might as well be wearing black, matching lingerie.
I hate that my eyes instinctively drop down, unable to meet his hungry gaze as he drinks in the sight of me. Aurelians already assume all human females are naturally submissive, and I’m hardly disavowing him of that notion with my behavior.
Suddenly, the Aurelian snaps his fingers. I jump at the loud crack.
Two Aurelians step out from behind one of the Reavers, marching past my crew.
The closer they get, the bigger these looming aliens feel. The huge warriors are so massive that you know they could rip your throat out with just a twist of their wrists. Each of these huge Aurelians has the hilt of an Orb-Weapon at their side, just like the one the Captain wears.
