Enslaved

by Evangeline Anderson

  “You will move if I sssay ssso!” Clearly infuriated, the Xethian slaver pulled out a small black remote and pointed at the Havoc.

  “No, wait!” Trin exclaimed. “I don’t want—”

  But her protest came too late. The slaver pressed the button and the big body on the platform went suddenly rigid with agony. Trin watched in horror as the Havoc’s back arched and his head snapped back in pain. Every muscle on his big frame stood out as hard as a rock and the cords in the powerful column of his throat were rigidly defined.

  The eerie thing was that he suffered in silence. Though it was clear he was in horrible pain, the Havoc never made so much as a whimper, let alone a plea for mercy. He just took it.

  “Stop! Stop it!” Trin exclaimed. “Look, his face is getting red and he can barely breathe. Stop it now, you’re hurting him! That’s too much pain!”

  “Pain is the point, my lady,” the slaver hissed malevolently. “And this ssslave needs to learn to do as I tell him if he does not want more pain than he can bear.”

  “You’re giving him more than he can bear right now!” Trin protested. “Look, he’s about to faint! He—”

  Before she could finish her words, the intractable Havoc male toppled off the platform, his entire long body going rigid, as though he was having some kind of a seizure.

  “Stop!” Trin ordered again. “You’re killing him!”

  “Why ssshould I not kill him? I will not have a ssslave who does not obey,” the slaver hissed petulantly.

  “That’s enough—I’m through asking you.” Trin doubled her fist and gave the slaver a shot to his scaly jaw. She didn’t like to resort to physical violence but she couldn’t just stand by and watch the Havoc killed on a whim. The slaver’s long, boney jawbone sent a jolt of pain through her fingers as she connected, making her wonder briefly if she might have broken one or several, but the blow had the desired effect.

  “Ssslurlesh!” It was obviously a curse in the slaver’s native tongue. He dropped the remote in surprise and it skittered across the floor. Trin ran after it. The slave’s broad back was still bowed in agony and she was afraid if she didn’t shut off the collar soon he might have permanent damage.

  The little black remote was kicked by several feet but at last she got her hands on it and hurried back to the display—only to see the slaver standing there with one three fingered hand to his scaly jaw and a couple of security Crangs flanking him.

  “This isss the one,” he said, pointing at her. “Ssshe ssstruck me with no provocation whatsoever!”

  “I had plenty of provocation,” Trin said angrily. “He’s killing his slave. Just look!” She turned with the remote ready, hoping she was pressing the right button to stop the painful pulses.

  The slave, whose entire body had been a rigid statue of pain, suddenly went limp and lay still on the metal floor. Trin ran over to him and checked his pulse. It was there—slow but steady—but he was completely out. Well, at least he’s still alive. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the huge, lumpish security Crangs who looked like they were made of cooled lava deposits.

  “See?” she demanded.

  “It does not matter what the slaver, who is the one who is the owner of this slave, was doing to his slave which he owns,” one of the Crangs pronounced laboriously. “He is the owner of the one who is called the slave, not you.”

  “Therefore, you must be the one who shall be arrested and tried in the Hub court that is called the place of law for the crimes you have committed,” the other Crang droned. “This is what is called justice.”

  “Justice?” Trin exclaimed. “Have you been smoking mindbliss weed? You can’t arrest me for keeping this scaly bastard from killing someone.”

  “He is not a someone who is having what are known as rights,” the first Crang said. “He is what is known as a slave and you are the one who is being in the wrong.”

  “Therefore, come with us,” the second one said, reaching for her.

  “Hold on a minute!” Trin knew what this meant. Those taken into custody at the Flesh Bazaar as often as not found themselves on the wrong side of the auction block when the hasty “trial” in the

  Hub Court was over. All proceeds of such sales went to line the pockets of the corrupt officials who presided over the court so they were quick to hand down a guilty verdict. Trin had no intention of being sold to the highest bidder just because the scaly son-of-a-bitch slaver was angry that she’d taken a shot at him. She took a hasty step backwards and nearly stumbled over the body of the huge Havoc who was still out like a light. It gave her an idea. “I may have overreacted,” she said, though she could barely force the words out. “But it was only because I didn’t want the slave I was intending to buy to be damaged.”

  “Buy, you sssay?” The wounded slaver perked up considerably.

  “Yes, buy,” Trin emphasized. “I’ve decided he’s the perfect slave for me. So…how much?”

  The slaver’s eyes narrowed, rendering them nothing more than yellow slits.

  “Fifty thousand credits,” he announced. “And not a sssentine less.”

  “Fifty thousand?” Trin could scarcely believe her ears. “But that’s crazy. It’s ten times what even the best, most perfectly trained slave is worth and—”

  “And you will pay or these fine Crangsss will take you to the court.” The slaver smirked at her.

  “I—” Trin began, meaning to tell him to go procreate with himself. But the Crangs were coming towards her, their lumpish, rock-like hands outstretched, ready to drag her before the “court” where she would be declared guilty at once, stripped of her clothing and all her goods, and sent to the auction block. Fifty thousand credits was her entire savings and then some but there wasn’t much she could do—she was stuck.

  “Yesss?” the slaver inquired. “You were sssaying?”

  “I was saying wrap him up.” Trin sighed. “I’ll take him.”

  Chapter Two

  “He’s groaning again.” Sidna, The Alacrity’s resident medic, frowned at the huge slave who was sprawled on a small cot.

  After wiping out her bank account to buy him, Trin had been forced to pay even more to have the security Crangs carry him aboard her ship. He was out cold—possibly brain damaged from the punishing jolts of the pain collar—and much too big and heavy for her to even try lifting or dragging on her own.

  Currently he was installed in the only spare room on The Alacrity—the small connecting cabin that linked with Trin’s own suite of rooms. The space had originally been designed for a body slave to stay in since the ship had been built on Yonnie Six. It had been empty for the entire five years she’d been captain. Now it was filled to capacity—the massive Havoc took up the entire cot and overflowed it, his muscular bulk barely leaving room for the med-bot Trin had stationed in his room for assistance and security.

  “I still think you should put him in the brig,” Sidna said. She was a small, trim woman of about fifty cycles with short, no-nonsense iron gray hair and sharp gray eyes to match. “That’s where we kept the Gox we transported last cycle.”

  “The Gox was a dangerous animal with three inch long fangs and claws like knives,” Trin objected. “We took hazard pay to transport it. This is just a slave.”

  “Don’t fool yourself, Trin—he’s a dangerous animal too.” Sidna nodded at the Havoc. “All males are but this one looks especially hazardous.”

  “You can’t tell that just from looking at him,” Trin said uneasily. At least, she hoped not although what Sidna was saying actually matched with her own first impression of the Havoc male.

  As she watched, a low groan broke from the slave’s lips and he twitched in his sleep, his face contorting into a mask of agony.

  “Do you think he’s still having pain?” Trin asked, looking at the other female.

  “Impossible to say.” Sidna shook her head. “How long did you say the pain collar was activated?” she asked.

  Trin shrugged. “Don’t kno
w. Five minutes maybe? I turned it off as quickly as I could but that bastard of a slaver had it set to its maximum pain threshold.”

  Sidna sighed. “Could be permanent nerve damage—those collars the Yonnites use are no joke.”

  “What can we do for him?” Trin asked. “I know the whole situation is a pain in the ass but I feel responsible for him now.”

  Sidna shook her head again.

  “Nothing to do but wait and see what happens when he wakes. I still don’t like him being so close to your room, though. He’s huge.”

  “He might take a little handling,” Trin admitted reluctantly. “But the med-bot can manage him. I’ve got it set to alert me when he wakes.”

  “What if he wakes up agitated or aggressive?” Sidna protested. “Think what kind of damage an animal of this size could do to the ship! Not to mention everyone aboard it. You’re not safe with him so close. Please, Trin, move him to the brig.”

  “I know how to manage big animals,” Trin said grimly. “I grew up riding every day, remember?”

  “A male is not a morse,” Sidna said severely.

  Trin smiled. “A horse. They’re animals from Earth. My mother bought me a pair because I was so interested in the planet where she got the sperm that created me.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen pictures—they’re huge,” Sidna said. “And so is this Havoc you bought but that doesn’t make them the same kind of animal.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Trin promised her. “An animal is an animal—they just need to be gentled.”

  Sidna sighed in exasperation. “At least keep a blaster on your belt.”

  “I’ve got a stunner if it makes you feel better,” Trin said. “See?” She pulled out the small weapon and handed it to Sidna to make her point. “But I’m not going to use it on him—his nervous system has already been ravaged by that damn pain collar.”

  “Which begs the question, will he ever recover from it enough to do you any good?” Sidna looked at the big form twitching on the bunk skeptically.

  “You can answer that better than me,” Trin said. “If there isn’t permanent damage, do you think he’ll be up and around soon?”

  “Hard to say. Havoc are said to be hardy—they’re an offshoot of the Kindred after all. And the Kindred are supposed to be damn near unkillable. He may make a full recovery but I don’t know if it will be in time to stand at your side through the next negotiation on Yonnie Six.”

  “That’s been pushed back a bit,” Trin said. “I don’t have anything to bargain with right now and we’re low on credit.”

  “Low on credit?” Sidna’s gray eyebrows shot up. “You said we were flush from that last deal you did in Charn. We made enough to give the whole crew bonuses. What happened?”

  “He happened.” Trin sighed and nodded down at the prone slave. “I…had to pay a bit more than I planned for him.”

  “How much more?” Sidna wanted to know.

  “I’d rather not say,” Trin said briskly. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I have a little left—enough to buy a good shipment of Jaxite crystals for the trade negotiations when we do get back to Yonnie Six.” She didn’t mention that the little credit she had was her personal nest egg—the small amount she kept back only for extreme emergencies and never touched. If this deal didn’t go well, she would be completely out of options.

  “Jaxite is rare,” Sidna pointed out. The smoky blue crystals were used in the distillation of Dream Gas—a high priced commodity on the decadent Yonnie Six. “If you only have a little credit left, how are you going to afford them?”

  Trin busied herself with making sure the med-bot’s settings were correct.

  “I’ve heard from a reliable source that there’s a load of it for sale in the Demon’s Eye and I’ve already contacted the seller. If we can get there before anyone else, he’ll sell them to me at cost.”

  “The Demon’s Eye?” Sidna put a hand on one slim hip. “Just how desperate are you, Trin? That place is a cesspool of filth and danger. I know hardened pirates who’d be afraid to cross its boarders. The crew won’t like this—not a bit.”

  “They don’t have to like it,” Trin said stubbornly. “Once we get there I’m going in alone.”

  “What? But you can’t—”

  “I’m the captain of this ship and I can do what I deem necessary.” Trin hardened her voice purposefully. “I mean it, Sidna—I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  The medic looked like she wanted to say something else but Trin lifted her chin and frowned at her, letting her know she wouldn’t tolerate any more talk about the matter.

  She didn’t like to pull rank on Sidna—the older woman was like an aunt to her and she normally gave good advice. But in this case, Trin was backed into a corner. Her credit was almost nonexistent, the payment on The Alacrity was due, and they only had enough fuel for one more run. They had to get liquid and fast. The Jaxite shipment seemed like the best way to do that—even if it wasn’t the safest way.

  “I can handle it, Sidna,” she said, making her voice a little softer. “Really.”

  Sidna looked at her, her lips thinned down to a bloodless line.

  “Fine, Captain. Should I tell the navigator to set a course for the Demon’s Eye?”

  “I’ll tell her myself as soon as I finish tending to my new…acquisition.” Trin grimaced as she looked at the huge Havoc, still twitching on his small cot.

  “Fine. But I still say he’s dangerous.”

  “I can manage him,” Trin snapped, losing her patience. “And if you’re so worried, you can keep your distance. I’ll tend to him myself.”

  Sidna’s lips got even thinner.

  “As you wish, Captain.” Turning on her heel, she left Trin to look down at the huge slave and wonder what the hell she’d gotten herself into.

  Chapter Three

  “You, boy, up on your feet. Let me see what my credit has bought.”

  Thrace rises on unsteady legs but he isn’t fast enough. A big hand snakes out and slaps him hard across the face. He reels backward, off balance because his arms are bound behind his back. Before he can fall, armed guards catch him and thrust him upright, their loud, trollish laughter ringing in his ears.

  “Stand before the Master, boy!” one growls. “And enjoy it while you can. You’ll be kneeling before him soon enough.”

  I am Havoc, Thrace reminds himself. I fear no male. I have honor and strength within. Such are the words that his Sire has taught him—the lessons he tried to instill every day. But he isn’t there to teach Thrace anymore. He’s gone…dead…. He was killed while trying to keep Thrace from being sold to the male who stands before him now, the one who calls himself Master.

  Father, Thrace thinks, trying not to remember, trying not to see it all again. The shouting and the way his Sire had struggled when the male from Gemma won his auction—won Thrace as his slave.

  “No—you shall not have him! Not my son!” he had shouted, kicking and struggling against the security Crangs as they attempted to lead him away. And then the man who had bought Thrace stepped forward with a weapon on his hand. He had pointed it at the center of his Sire’s broad chest and…and…

  Don’t think of it! Thrace orders himself but he can’t help it. Can’t help seeing the bloody, gaping hole that opened in his Sire’s chest…the shocked look on his face as he stumbled to his knees…the callous way the man who is called Master threw a sack of clinking gold credit-coins at the slaver.

  “For your trouble. I can’t stand mouthy slaves.”

  The slavers had been more than happy with their compensation. Thrace’s Sire had been dragged away, leaving a bloody trail behind his limp corpse and Thrace, still shocked and horrified, had been led in the opposite direction. A day and a night in a dark cargo hold had followed and now he was standing before the male who had killed his Sire and bought his contract. The male who now owned him body and soul.

  Father, he thinks again, his throat tight. What is to become of me?

/>   He will not weep—it is weak and weakness is not the Havoc way. But he can’t help the way his eyes burn when he remembered his Sire, the only parent he had ever known.

  “Promising…very promising,” the Master says, appraising Thrace with small, greedy eyes. “Though you haven’t got your full growth yet, have you my boy?”

  Thrace looks down at himself. Havoc males don’t reach full physical maturity until their eighteenth cycle and he is barely sixteen cycles old. He is a good height but not nearly as tall as his Sire—not yet—and his arms and legs are slender and undeveloped. He is strong for his size but not strong enough to break the chains that hold him.

  Not that strength and size did his Sire any good. He was killed despite his size…or maybe because of it. Doubtless the Master didn’t think he could handle a full grown Havoc although apparently an adolescent one isn’t beyond him. So he thinks.

  “A beautiful boy, just the same,” the Master says, nodding. “Those eyes especially—lovely. And that tight little ass…” He has the guards turn Thrace in a circle so that he can be admired from all angles.

  It makes Thrace feel sick to be so displayed and he doesn’t like the hungry look in those small, greedy eyes. It is as though he is a prime cut of meat the Master wants for his dinner. But he refuses to let his fear show. He glares back, never dropping his gaze when the Master looks at him, taking the measure of the male who killed his Sire.

  The Master is a medium sized male with thinning gray hair and rings on every finger. His rich robes of purple halla-cloth cannot hide his paunch but they do proclaim him one of the royal elite of Gemma, not that Thrace cares about that. He only wants to kill the male who killed his Sire. But in order to do that, he must first get free.

  “Very nice,” the Master says, nodding again. “And look at that lush mouth. I think we should look into training those sweet lips first. What do you say, eh boy?”

  Thrace glares at him. “I say anything you put in my mouth, I’m going to bite off, Master,” he growls.