Anyway, my current situation.
I stare into the grimy mirror in front of me, where there’s a smudged circle from my earlier attempts to clean it so I can peer at my reflection. I’m not looking in good condition. The food I’m given is minimal, and my cheekbones are starting to become prominent, stretching against the muscle there. My face is gaunt and pale, and my red hair is a greasy, limp mess, holding none of its former shine. The freckles that once erupted over my skin have now contracted into tiny pricks, leaving me as pale as a ghost. I’m sat on the small, single bed as I do this since there’s nowhere else to sit comfortably. It passes the time.
Sometimes I like to lose the focus in my eyes so that I see a distorted white blaze around me, or my image blur and flicker like something out of a horror movie. Other times I’m revisiting the recent past, or further back than that, drudging every memory available to me, good and bad. I cling to them. They are lifelines.
The memories are better than being here in this grubby little cell. It has metal walls and a door with thick grating on it. This is where a guard will peer in through the gap, before shoving a tray with what looks like diarrhea spread over it. I refused it the first few times I got it, before realizing that this was probably their equivalent of food and finding myself unable to ignore the crunch of my insides as they slowly starved. It doesn’t actually taste terrible if you don’t mind the taste of cardboard. Just try not to look at it for too long.
One other thing about my captors, though it took me a short while to let it fully register in my skull.
They just so happen to be aliens.
There. I said it. Frigging aliens. How do I know they’re aliens, and not some weird cosplayers dressed up and playing some kind of tastelessly long prank?
Well, for a start, when I was taken, I was walking back from my favorite coffee place in the evening, having stayed there for a good few hours. Here, I drug myself up on caffeine and I tapped away at my laptop, preparing to hand in an essay early. I like getting things out of the way so that I don’t sweat over them later. It gives more free time as a reward. I also get to sit back and laugh at my friends as they pull all-nighters trying to complete the homework they forgot about because they were too busy fucking around.
So there’s me, feeling all smug and superior, pleased at my choice to be productive. Next moment, as I’m strolling through the pretty little suburban street, my parents live on, along with my siblings who continue to torment me daily – a huge beam of blue light ensnares me.
The light came from above me, from a small, floating vehicle that looked like Cthulhu’s unholy love child combined with a computer tower case. It had dangling tentacles, the meshed, glowing frame you see in most gaming computers, and the blue light somehow stiffened every muscle in my body. Making me unable to move or scream. Within seconds, I got sucked through the light. I ended up on a kind of pad, elevated from the ground, with concentric steps leading towards a corridor. A tall monstrosity awaited me, and before I had time to register what the fuck was happening, I was slung over the monstrosity’s shoulder, dropping my laptop in the process, and thrown into this cell. All my belongings were ripped from me, including my clothes, and then I was left with nothing of my former life.
I did a fair amount of screaming, once my voice unlocked, not that it did me any good. I remember banging on my cell door, demanding to know what was happening, whilst listening to the screams of other women in the same situation as me, being carried down that corridor, shoved into one of the cell doors on both sides. I shrieked myself hoarse, but it did no good, so I instead tried calming down and inspected my surroundings. My possessions were this: a white, feathered quilted blanket over a mattress on the ground, a place to store clothes and belongings, which had one kind of skinsuit in it, and a small compartment that contained a hole in the ground to squat over. Oh, and a sprinkling shower head that went over it.
Great. From this incident, I went into the cycle of eating, sleep, and attempts to comprehend what the fuck is going on.
I tried a few times to communicate with the other women, but the aliens hiss when we raise our voices too low. I wore the skinsuit, which is a dull gray, and fits tightly to my body, making it a little too obvious what kind of shape hides under it.
I don’t know how much time has passed since. But I do know that as I’m staring in the mirror right now, seeing how filthy I am, my cell door bursts open. Two guards seize me and force me to strip out of the suit. At this point I’m convinced I am about to be raped, naturally, I yell and kick, but there’s not much I can do against two meat mountains.
Humiliated, I expect the worst to happen. The aliens critically examine me as I stood there in front of them, naked. One of them got out something, which looked like a cell phone, and started tapping into it. Then I hear a suspicious click, like a picture being taken, and the aliens nod to themselves. The other then presses something into my arm. Something stabs into my skin, a short, stinging sensation, and when he removes the tube-like device, it leaves three blood spots on my arm.
Once I calm down enough from my trembling like a leaf stage, I examine my captors in full. Both are tall. One has a brownish skin tone, the other yellow-green, though the texture appears more scaly than human. The faces seem curiously blank, but I catch a lot of rapid hand gestures between them, a chittering language, and expressive stomps with their feet. They move their mouths into what seems like smiles and grimaces.
The best I can describe what I’m seeing is that they might have humanoid features, with the high cheekbones, the curved jaw-lines, and the bright eyes with the white edges, so you can see where they’re looking. They have jagged ears, and what looks suspiciously like dreadlocked tentacles coming from their heads in long, hippy hairstyles. They have pointed noses with smooth, blue skin, hidden under black skinsuits, which look far more polished than my own.
It’s so peculiar, looking at these human like creatures. My mind already knows I’m not staring at humans, though I keep trying to rationalize. Maybe they’re pranking. They’re cosplayers. They’re part of some weird cult.
But the impossible is here.
I’m on a fucking spaceship. In prison. I’ve been stripped bare by colorful, weird lizard/squid aliens and stabbed in the arm, because why the hell not. It’s not like my life could get any weirder at this point. After they finish the outlandish conversation, I’m tossed a fresh set of clothes. They both give me approving glances – at least, I think it’s approving – and lock me in.
I stare at the new clothes for a moment before putting them on. It’s almost identical to what I have, covering my arms, body, and legs completely – but a darker, cleaner gray. Supposedly so I can alternate and wash them. The pants have suction like bottoms. I have to tug them on like tights, and when they’re on, the bottom padding acts like rubbery shoes.
Certainly not something that’s going to be winning any fashion competitions. It’s a little tight, but I supposed it didn’t really matter. I don’t have anyone I want to show off to anymore. Or to hide from. Cut off from all communication from earth; I have only my prison cell, the sloshy meals, and the rumble of ship engines in the background.
I remember near the start of my imprisonment hearing the engines whine, and the ship shakes and judder, along with loud thumping noises as if being impacted from outside. I wondered for a brief, manic moment if we were all going to die before the commotion faded, and things returned to the rhythms of before.
Now, I scrape grime out of my eyes, and get another shock when the doors slide open, and two of the weird lizard squid things gesture for me to stand up, chattering to each other as they frog march me down the corridor, up some stairs, and through a spacious hall into a white, gleaming room. It’s barely been enough time since I’ve been able to change into the new suit.
I wonder if I’m going off to be probed or something.
Not quite, it seems. The room resembles a type of classroom, with desks and chairs. I’m sat at one of
the many desks in the room, and my legs and arms are chained, not allowing me much freedom to move. Another one of the aliens standing in front of the desks, behind a podium. He surveys the room, and the women chained to their desks. I examine as well, heart still hammering fast, wondering what’s happening. There are other humans in the same position as me, and we all exchange distressed frightened looks. Less familiar are the aliens chained with us, other creatures with oddly humanoid characteristics.
All of them female, from what I can see. Most hold mammary glands and delicately curved faces.
Aliens are enslaving aliens.
That means there are far more sentient species in the universe than I could have ever comprehended. All within collection distance of the lizard squid people. The aliens all look to their own species, the same as I do with my fellow humans. Seeking comfort in familiarity. In our mother tongues.
When the last female is led in and chained, filling up the desks, the front alien starts speaking.
Obviously, none of us can understand him. He starts gesticulating, and an image appears on the wall, from a projector in a place I can’t see. A hole in the wall? I strain my head to try and find the source, even as the alien points at the object, barks something, then taps it again and barks the same sound.
The image changes to a tree. The alien points to the tree and barks another sound, repeating it as he points to the tree.
It hits me then. This is a language lesson. These fucks are trying to train us to learn their language. After eight more images, we’re back to the first one, which resembles some kind of fruit. Now the alien, who is dressed in a neat suit, like a tuxedo, except it's dark blue with yellow, luminescent stripes, and made of a thicker, protective material, starts gesturing to us.
When I reluctantly mouth the phrase he keeps repeating, he starts pointing at me and talking excitedly. Eventually, we all twig and start repeating the word.
Over the next God knows how many days, this same process is repeated. Two meals. Sleep. Wake up. Lesson.
We’re not taught to write – we’re just expected to remember all the nouns possible. Admittedly, I wasn’t very good at language back in school. I pretty much flunked all my Spanish classes, but I do notice something interesting.
Out of all the aliens who are retaining information – the humans seem to be performing the best. When it comes to lesson “recaps,” where we’re simply shown the images and asked presumably to recall the words, it’s the humans who consistently remember the most. For better or for worse, we have the ability to grasp new concepts faster, possibly because we originally live in a pretty diverse planet as it is, with many languages. There’s one woman picking up fast as well, and in the brief words I’ve exchanged with her, she admits she knows three languages already – English, Spanish and French.
It’s not long before all the humans are separated from the other aliens and put into a new classroom, with a new teacher.
Necessary, I suppose, since we’d be held back by the slow learning aliens.
The new teacher stands out, radically different from the aliens we’ve seen before. When he prowls into the classroom for the first time, he dominates the room with a gaze. Not the sullen gaze of a weary instructor, but of a teacher who clearly has an interest in teaching the subject he holds close to his heart. He has swept back brown locks or tentacles or whatever, kind blue eyes, and lips curved into a welcoming smile. It’s the most human expression I’ve seen out of the aliens that have imprisoned us, and recognizable. His nose is less pointed than the others, and his muscles ripple under his skin-tight bodysuit as he moves.
There is so much expression in his face that I simply gaze at him, trying to find the similarities, trying to see a human in him.
I think he’s handsome. Maybe. Maybe to the aliens of his species, he’s an ugly bastard, but the features are soft and expressive enough for us to feel closer to home. I notice the other humans also paying rapt attention. Holding their breaths.
I hope we’ll see more of this teacher. Even if we don’t understand what he says, he’s at least fascinating to look at. I notice the other women trailing their eyes over his body, which looks as if he’s familiar with exercise. He’s got biceps. A dip in his stomach, with the faint suggestion of toned abs. Thick, strong thighs. It’ll all be scales under there, which makes me wonder if there’ll be no hairs or a lot of tentacles.
I try not to giggle at that thought. The teacher gestures to a projection on the wall, and we see a short motion picture. Yeah, I suppose if they can travel through space, they’ll have motion pictures. It depicts a stall setting where fruits are being sold. The aliens in the demonstration greet each other, then hold a simplified conversation which involves the transaction process.
We’re given other scenarios too, like directions, weather, and expression. The new teacher walks among us, addressing each of us individually and guiding our intonation. He’s more engaging than the former one, who appeared perpetually bored, and he allows us to chatter in our own language for short moments at a time. We learn his name as Reon – no surname attached or mentioned. We also learn that his kind refers to themselves as the Yaru.
The best thing is learning how to ask to go to the fucking toilet, though.
Earth slowly slips from the mind, without the normal daily rituals we used to go through. And without any distractions, we all pick up on the language enough so that we can converse in it. Maybe we’ve been practicing for weeks or months. I don’t know. I’ve not been counting the meals and sleeps.
One lesson, we’re all encouraged to talk to each other in what Reon calls the Yarussian language, and he leans in close to observe the interaction between me and the three languages girl, Tia. At this point, our conversation is proficient, though we still stumble over the odd word.
“I’m sure the weather is nice,” Tia says, with a wry smile on her face, “if we had any weather on this ship.”
“I think you’ll find the weather is cloudy, followed by lots of rain.” I point at my eyes, indicating tears, and Tia laughs.
“I wonder how the other aliens are doing,” Tia then says.
“Slow,” I reply. “Or we would have seen them here, surely?”
Reon is nodding as he listens to us, clearly impressed. It’s nice to be acknowledged, I guess. His blue eyes twinkle as he says, “How marvelous! You aliens are so good at improvisation. Quite the level of wit you have.” He uses a more complex form of speaking to us, having already identified us as the faster learners.
I understand him perfectly, though I’ve not yet perfected the words he uses. I’m a little surprised at my own ability. I guess when you take away my friends, my phone, my computer, and my entire life, then I have the room and concentration to learn. “Laughter is how we cope. If we cannot amuse ourselves, then we might already be dead.”
“Ah.” Reon’s face darkens for a moment, his voice low and soft. “I understand. It’s not easy. It never is.”
“Why do you do it?” Tia asks then, crinkling her dark eyes. Her coffee colored hands clutch at the desk, as if afraid of rebuke. “Why do you take us? Why are we here?”
The rest of the classroom falls deathly silent, waiting for the response.
Reon smiles, not offended by the question. “It is our way. Our home, it is… many males. Not many females. We take females from other homes to help our population.” He’s careful with his words, choosing easy phrasings so the rest of the class can comprehend him better.
Oh. “So…” I say slowly, thinking fast, not happy at the prospect of being a breeding machine, “why do you not have many females?”
The Yaru pulls a pained expression, remarkably like embarrassment. “Let us say… we had a stupid leader. A long time ago. He has been dead now for three hundred years. But we still suffer today. Before our leader – very balanced population. Many males, many females.”
He seems quite eager to express this, and the way he speaks and gestures holds our collective attention.
I think all of us look forward to the lessons with him, because it means not being stuck in our cells, and having the chance to speak to one another to stave off boredom and madness. The atmosphere here is less strained, less oppressive. And sometimes, we can almost forget the chains around our feet, and how far away our planets are.
“But, we have males who hate females. Our leader was one. You follow? Yes?”
The class murmurs a yes of confirmation, and he continues. “Good. He did many things. If the family had a male, they got gifts. No gifts if female. Families only allowed one child, too. Women punishment changed, too. They had, uh, austrlich cut out for crime, or forbidden sex.” He gestures to his stomach, and a small spike of horror goes through me.
“Womb,” I say, pointing to my stomach. “For babies?”
“Yes, womb,” he repeats, using my word. The women exchange looks of horror at this. “Also, burnings for magic. Burnings for cheating on husband. Sometimes burnings because someone lies. And our leader, he lives two hundred years. By the time he dies, our population has gone from big too small. Half our home to a tiny home.” He pinches his fingers together after throwing his hands wide. “We nearly all die. We needed a solution. We already travel the stars then. Our solution – find aliens to have babies with. Aliens like us can have children together. We are not sure why. But aliens like you are saving our planet.”
Well, as much as it’s nice to hear someone state that we can save something, it’s not so great to know that we’ve all been forcibly taken from our homes and sent to another planet.
“We can’t go home? Speak to home? Have a choice?” My voice breaks on the last phrase. I run a nervous hand through my hair, the chains clanking, reminding me again of my imprisonment. The lack of freedom I have.
“No,” Reon says, and he appears genuinely sad as he does. “It is not our way. We force you to sacrifice. Unfair, yes. But we cannot risk precious females escaping. Telling their homes what happened to them. We might have to fight their homes, then. Many homes are not as advanced as us. It makes it easier.”
The Lost Seal: A Seal Romance Page 28
