by Marie Dry
“If you aren’t captured yet, I need you to look at some schematics,” Zacar, his leader said. They’d arrived on earth five years ago. Initially, they’d been on their way to conquer another galaxy that would’ve presented a bigger challenge than the humans. When Zacar found his human breeder, Natalie, living in Montana, he’d claimed Earth for the Zyrgin Empire. They’d decided to make the Rocky Mountains their headquarters, and, to their surprise, their supreme leader had agreed with Zacar’s proposal not to enslave the humans and to change their normal mode of ruthless conquest. Normally, they went in and conquered the inhabitants of a planet with ruthless efficiency and, afterward, put them to work, ensuring they didn’t have enough time to make trouble for the Zyrgin Empire.
The hardest thing he’d ever done, even harder than being trapped on that cursed planet with rats taking chunks of his flesh, was promising his leader he wouldn’t claim his breeder until the project in space was completed. He’d found Susannah when Zacar had sent them out to search and destroy any threats in the immediate vicinity. That had been four years ago, when they couldn’t ignore the signs anymore. He had om graz ra--honor. Refusing such a request would’ve made him a warrior no female would want. The time he’d spent working in space had been the longest he’d ever experienced. It had felt even longer than the time he’d lain trapped on an alien planet with rats crawling all over him.
He didn’t want to be bothered with schematics. Except, he knew it was for the project in space, which was why Zacar wasn’t more specific. The humans might not be able to hack into their system, but The Zyrgin was another battle story. They called their emperor The Zyrgin. Every few centuries a warrior was born with exceptional strength and powers. These warriors were rarely born, but when they were, they had the capacity to destroy the ruling Zyrgin. Previous Zyrgins didn’t wait to see if a warrior born with exceptional strength could become emperor. They killed them before they could become a threat. He liked Zorlof. He could see he would be one of the great warriors after his third change. If he did have the capacity to become emperor, he shouldn’t be killed for it.
“Send it, I’ll take a look,” he told Zacar. It didn’t look as if he was going to get his feverish body rubbed all over with a cool cloth by his breeder.
“How did she capture you?” Zacar asked.
“She dug a hole and put sharpened wooden sticks in the bottom.” Nothing would induce him to admit that she tried to use cheese to entice him. He curled his lip at the cheese lying in the dent he’d made in the dirt. It melted in the weak fall sun and smelled atrocious. “She is a small woman, she worked very hard to dig the hole.” Zacar liked to tell everyone how brave Natalie had been to hit him with a twig the first time they’d met. In Azagor’s opinion, it took more strength and courage to dig a hole and capture a Zyrgin with only cheese as bait. After talking with her, he was beginning to realize how much courage it must have taken her.
“Why did she put twigs in the hole?” Zacar asked.
“It was supposed to wound me, but I crushed her little sticks. I had to make a hole in my shoulder with my knife to get the twig in.” He bared his teeth at his communicator. “Stop laughing, have you ever tried to cut a hole in your uniform jacket?”
“No, why would I? Why would you want to be wounded? You could just pretend to be captured?”
Azagor sighed. It was hard being a modern Zyrgin among traditional-thinking ones. “Humans get fevers from their wounds. If I am wounded, I could have a fever, and she’d want to sponge me down.” He thought about the movie Natalie had shown them. “All over my naked body.” Except his breeder was more interested in selling him to the resistance than caring for his wounds. He wasn’t about to tell Zacar that. “The human women like our bodies, so if I can get her to touch me, she’ll want to be my breeder.”
“Zyrgins don’t get fevers.”
“She doesn’t know that.”
“How exactly is a pit dug in the dirt supposed to keep you prisoner?” Zacar said skeptically.
“The pit was here already, she just dug it deeper.”
“You let her work that hard?”
“Of course not. When she went to sleep, I dug it deeper for her. It was taking too long.” Three nights ago when he’d dug the hole deeper, he’d also ensured the iron grid that covered the hole could be moved easily. He didn’t know what the hole was used for before, but, obviously, she thought if she made it deeper, it would incapacitate him long enough for her to slide the iron grid over it. If he hadn’t oiled it and repaired the grid, she never would’ve gotten it closed. “There’s a primitive iron grate that covers the hole. It’s supposed to keep me inside.”
“Do not become overly confident. If you see any sign of aggressive human males, contact me.” They’d found the humans surprisingly stubborn and vicious in their efforts to rid themselves of their Zyrgin conquerors. They might almost be worthy of conquest.
“The others left her alone here, and she’s trying to do all the work by herself. She’s a small female. I came at night, and finished some of the tasks for her.”
“I am sending you the schematics. I need them back by tonight.” Zacar signed off, and Azagor settled again, trying to think of a way to make her come into the hole and care for his wounds. He should’ve found a way to let her capture him in her dwelling.
Azagor’s link beeped again, and he bared his teeth. “Not now, my breeder captured me, and is about to care for my wounds.” He broke the connection. Every Zyrgin warrior on this cursed planet knew not to contact him today.
In the distance, the door of the farmhouse slammed shut. He’d noticed it hanging oddly and had seen her struggle to close it. He’d wait until she was asleep tonight and then he’d oil and repair it. Soft footsteps made by female feet wearing boots came closer. He tilted his head. For a moment there, before the door had slammed, he’d thought he heard a soft sound. A sound he had hoped to never hear again. He settled back against the dirt wall, trying to look as if he endured great pain and suffered like a pathetic human. It couldn’t be what he thought. Human women were afraid of rats. And snakes, and spiders and they got real mad if you brought them dead animals to eat.
She peered over the edge, beautiful as always. Warm brown, up-tilted eyes squinted down at him. She wore long dark dresses and flat shoes that worked well for walking around on the farm. He approved of the dresses, it hid her body from other warriors. The way they lived had changed, and no matter how much he wanted to shut her into their dwelling for his eyes only, he knew that wouldn’t happen.
When he took her to his dwelling, he would insist she wear her long midnight hair loose and not in a braid anymore. She didn’t have to cover her head with a cloth either. She had round cheeks. Now they were red, and her big brown eyes stared gravely down at him.
“I’ve brought alcohol to clean the wound and some bandages.”
She dropped a roll of cloth that was supposed to be bandages. If a human used that on a wound, he’d die for sure. The only item that interested him was the alcohol. He should’ve thought of bringing Solarian Ale.
His breeder frowned at him. “Stop grunting. I’m not going to feel sorry for you for being injured. It’s your own fault for coming to Earth and invading us.”
He thought he heard her mutter that she still though he might’ve crawled out from underground.
“I cannot reach the wound, it will become infected if the twi--stick is not removed and the wound cleansed.”
“Pull out the stick and pour the alcohol over the wound,” she said. She tried to sound callous, but he heard the tremor in her voice.
Azagor tried to look like a pathetic human in need of a good sponging. “I tried to pull out the stick while you were gone. It hurt too much. I cannot do it myself.”
“I’m not coming down there. Don’t think I don’t know you’re trying to get me to come down there so you can grab me and stop me from contacting the resistance.”
He wanted her down here, but not to stop her fro
m contacting the resistance. “Why did you put the sticks in the pit if you wanted to capture me alive?”
She bit her lip and avoided his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if you could jump out or dig your way out.”
He could jump out of this pathetic hole in the ground in one leap. She would care for his wounds, one way or another, but for now, he wanted to make sure--if she really could contact the resistance--that she didn’t deal with them where he couldn’t protect her. “What if the resistance doesn’t believe you have a Zyrgin captive? How will you prove to them that you have me captive?”
She shrugged, drawing his eyes to the way her generous breasts moved under the thick brown material of her dress. Her body was made to please a warrior’s eyes. “I’ll think of a way.”
“You can always cut off one of my fingers,” he taunted. He’d seen her run from a spider, but then she’d come back and used a shovel to pick it up and release it outside. No matter how tough she tried to appear, he didn’t believe she was capable of harming either a person or an animal. A few times, she’d look at the stick in his shoulder and tears had come to her eyes.
She paled, became white, like the clouds over Earth. “Don’t think I won’t do it,” she said.
“How will you get to my finger?” He reached up and pushed his hand through the grid. “Here, cut it off.”
She shrieked and disappeared from his view. Baring his teeth at the spot where she’d been, he pulled back his hand. Having a captive was not as easy as it sounded. They required food and care and bathroom facilities. If he’d known it could be this entertaining, he would have gotten himself captured by her much sooner.
“Don’t do that again, or I’ll really chop it off,” she said, coming into sight again.
“I promise I will not,” he said, so that she’d come closer again. He liked looking at her. She wasn’t strong enough to chop off anything he stuck out of the grid and didn’t have the tools that would do the job, but he wisely kept that thought to himself.
“After you have my finger, you will still need to call the resistance. We monitor their TC transmissions, and they are frequently contacted by people who claim to have a--”
She laughed so hard she fell backward.
He sighed. “Why are you laughing human?”
“You said--you said you listen to the resistance TCs. That’s so funny. You don’t even know where the resistance are, so how can you listen to their TCs?”
“We do not need to know where they are to monitor their transmissions.” He didn’t understand this conversation.
She came into view again and frowned down at him, still swallowing laughter. Once she looked around, as if afraid someone would catch her laughing. “That’s impossible, they’d have to know where the resistance are and get close enough to hide to be able to listen to their conversations.”
Azagor had experienced many wondrous things, had seen different cultures during their conquest of the known universes. Never had he been left speechless by someone who didn’t even have rudimentary knowledge of how technology worked.
“It is possible. We have equipment that monitors resistance conversations.” Unfortunately, the resistance had become adept at using primitive methods of communicating. Birds flying messages to their different hideouts was only one method that had stumped them for a while. The birds they’d used had been reintroduced by the Zyrgins, and the humans had seen the opportunity.
She smirked at him and sank down onto her knees, her long skirts spreading on the ground. “It’s not possible to monitor TC calls,” she said as if it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. She suppressed more laughter behind her hand.
Azagor stared up at her, and the import of her words hit him. Natalie had tried to tell him, but now it registered. She didn’t have any knowledge of technology. He was beginning to doubt she’d ever left this farm. He had claimed a human who might never adapt to the modern world.
Chapter 3
Azagor rubbed a finger over his ridge again while he looked up at Susannah. She smoothed her braid hanging over her shoulder and settled in like someone waiting to be entertained.
He cocked his head. “Why are you so sure a TC cannot be monitored? It is very possible. We can also make recordings of resistance conversations.”
“Recordings?”
He never thought he’d be unable to explain anything about either human or Zyrgin equipment. He’d also never thought to meet someone who had no knowledge of technology. “It is the same as watching a TC program. We record the conversation and put it on a device almost like a TC. Then we can watch it again.”
Now she laughed in his face. “And how do you manage that? With magic? Don’t think because you came here in a space ship and know about TCs, that you can tell me tall tales,” she scorned.
She didn’t discount them reaching Earth in space ships, but she considered recording conversations on the TC as tall tales? At least his studying the idioms of the English language paid off. He knew what a tall tale was. “Why would you think us monitoring human communications and making recordings a...tall tale?
“Everyone knows that the TC works through invisible wires, so you just tell me how you can get the information out of wires you can’t see?” She put her free hand on her hip.
“Who told you about invisible wires?” He’d find that human and put him out of his misery. He couldn’t conceive of anyone believing something like that.
“Caine told me. He knew everything about the outside world.”
Caine again. Did she realize that talking about the world outside the farm as if it was another planet showed how ignorant she was of everything happening in her world?
“You believe the TC work with invisible wires, but you discount the possibility that we can make recordings or monitor TCs?” On the long lonely nights he’d worked on the project in space, he’d passed the time thinking of everything he’d do with his breeder. Hours in the sleeping place, learning what she wanted so that he could give it to her. Teasing her and arguing with her. He’d looked forward to the kind of arguments Zurian and Larz told him about. In spite of what Natalie had told him about the farms owned by the brothers, he’d thought his breeder would try to get into their systems, the way Julia always tried.
“How do you imagine the programs get on the TC if they’re not recorded?”
She narrowed her eyes at him and leaned forward, her long braid falling over her shoulder. The gaps in the iron grid were big enough for his hand to get through and grab it, but he resisted the temptation.
“Don’t try to trick me you...spawn of Satan.”
Azagor sighed and wanted to smash his head against the dirt wall. “I am not trying to trick you. If the programs on the TC are not recorded, I’d like to know how you suppose they get on the TC.” He would have to think of a way to explain the whole process to her until she understood how the programs and the TC worked. His breeder would not be ignorant.
She pulled her lips into a thin small line. “Don’t mock me, Satan’s spawn. I know what is and isn’t possible.”
Maybe he’d wait until she’d sponged him down and agreed to be his breeder. “I assure you we have the technology to record anything that happens on your primitive planet. Even humans have the technology to do that.”
“No matter what you say, I won’t believe anything that strange is possible. And don’t talk down at me about my planet.”
Years from now, when he’d taught her about the outside world and the devices that could make her life easier, he’d remind her of this conversation. When they went to live in their dwelling, he’d keep everything simple and introduce her to the new things gradually. Would she be convinced, or would he destroy everything she believed in? Everything that made her world make sense to her. He would think on this and talk to Zacar. Maybe he’d allow him to ask Natalie for more advice.
“You said your TC is not working. How will you contact the resistance to let them know you have me?”
S
he looked shifty again. “I will make a plan. Don’t think you can make me doubt myself again.”
Again? “If you sell me to the resistance, they will dissect me and experiment on me.” If she could hand him over without a care, he’d have to teach her how to treat her warrior, on top of introducing her to the Zyrgin age of technology. “You do not care that they will hurt me?”
She shrugged, looked everywhere except at him. “It’s only fair that I sell you.”
“What do you need so desperately that you need to sell me? Tell me what you want, and I will give it to you. I will help you, and you will not have to deal with the resistance.”
For a moment, she looked hopeful, but then she sagged. “I don’t mind dealing with them on my own,” she said, and he heard the lie in every word.
“There are different factions, and if you end up with the wrong group, they could do you great harm.”
Something he thought might be heartbreak flashed across her face. The same expression he’d seen sometimes on Sarah’s face and, when she thought no one saw her, on Margaret’s.
“You’re just saying that to save your own skin,” she said.
“I am concerned about you, my b--my woman.”
“Don’t you dare call me your woman.” She scooted back until he couldn’t see her anymore, her skirts rustled as she stood upright. “Don’t move, alien. I’m watching you the whole time, even if you can’t see me.”
Azagor sighed. His breeder, like most humans, seemed to think Zyrgins lacked adequate brain capacity. Apparently, humans thought their accents meant ignorance. It was interesting how a race who couldn’t even keep their planes flying discounted a race capable of space travel. “Someone who thinks the TC works with invisible wires shouldn’t make assumptions about the intelligence of others,” he said, but he doubted she heard him with her inferior human ears. He often wondered how humans functioned with their impaired eyesight and hearing.
***
