by Cara Bristol
She hurried through her bathing, uncertain how much time she had. She could be ordered out with her hair still soapy, and she’d be itchy for days.
When she climbed out of the basin, the tech threw her a rough drying cloth and a shift. The last one she’d worn had been torn from her body before a whipping; she hadn’t been given another. She slipped into it. The midthigh-length, sleeveless beige garment draped across her chest, leaving her right breast exposed.
After the cleansing station, she was led to an empty room and instructed to wait. She sat on a stone bench. Moments later, another tech entered with a metal case.
“You are the breeder, Omra?”
“Yes.”
“Stand up.” He set his case on the bench and opened it.
She did as ordered, but her stomach lurched when the tech fitted an open ring into the metal tagging tool. Parseon culture considered the ability to withstand pain a sign of strength. She knew better than to ask for something to mute discomfort. It would not be given, and requesting it would make her appear weak.
“Keep still.” He pinched her right nipple and pulled it taut, placed the muzzle of the tagger at its base, and pressed the trigger.
Fire shot through her. The room grayed. When the fog cleared, she stared at the ring. Telenium like her sire’s lock-ring, but this one bore Alpha’s insignia and marked her as his property. Her nipple hurt fiercely, but she did not bleed; the tagger was equipped with a coagulator.
Back in her cell, an excited Anika gushed over Alpha’s ring. Food arrived, and they ate. Though she’d also been given a clean mat, sleep failed to come. She stared into the night. Her purpose in life would soon be fulfilled. It is happening. I’ve been purchased. By Alpha.
I hope.
What if the Commander did not arrive in the morning, but a trader from the interplanetary market came instead?
Chapter Three
Dak spent the night in town, using the time to meet with local officials. When the sun broke over the horizon, he arose, eager to be on his way. He could have gone home the night before and dispatched Corren to the BCF to retrieve Omra. It was unusual for an alpha, let alone a Commander, to concern himself with such a trivial pursuit as retrieving a breeder, but a hunch insisted he finalize the acquisition himself. He did not announce possibilities or probabilities, but certainties. On the chance the purchase would fail, he hadn’t informed Corren about Omra. And if he had, Corren still wouldn’t know what she looked like. Dak distrusted the director and half expected his staff to try to substitute another breeder of similar appearance. An adult female with purity intact was a rare find. She should have been the first one presented to him, yet Sival had omitted her. Had the director hidden her from other alphas as well? Did that explain why she hadn’t been sold? Toward what end would Sival have interfered with her purchase?
Dak shrugged off his contemplation. Though pure and not uncomely, she was still only a breeder. She occupied too much of his thoughts. After she delivered his sons, he would have little to do with her. She would be used far more by Corren.
He strode into Outtake, but it was vacant except for the tech and a wretched creature with a misshapen purple face wearing a ragged shift.
“Where is the breeder I have purchased? Where is Omra?” he demanded.
The beta snapped to attention with a salute. “Commander, uh, um—” he faltered.
“Speak up,” Dak snapped.
The battered creature uttered a small sound, and Dak glanced in her direction. A glint of metal caught his eye, and he stared at the ring piercing her right nipple. He straightened to his full height. Muscles tautened.
He pivoted and stalked to where she stood. His anger must have been evident, because she shrank back. Mindful of her injuries, he forced his hand to gentle when he snatched her chin and tilted her head. Violet moons, darkened by trepidation, met his gaze. How many breeders had eyes that color? One that he knew.
”Open your mouth.”
Her lower lip had swollen to twice its size, and she winced as she obeyed his command. A small chip in an upper lateral incisor, most likely incurred from biting into a stone in her breakfast meal, verified her identity. He might have believed the chip had come from chomping on his finger, except he’d noticed it before she’d bitten him.
He glanced at the tech, then Omra. “What happened?” he asked her.
“She fell,” the tech said.
“I did not address you.” Dak tossed the comment over his shoulder and focused on Omra. “Answer the question.”
Kindness and tenderness had been bred out of his race eons ago, and if any vestige remained, military and leadership training eradicated it. Yet he felt a softening in his heart region at Omra’s uncertain, pleading gaze. Her swollen mouth worked. “The director,” she whispered.
“He did this to you?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Lies!” the tech burst out. “One cannot believe the words of a female. Least of all this one. She has been troublesome since her arrival.”
Dak released her and assessed her from head to toe, noting a bump on her head and bruises on her thighs. She had cleaned up since he’d seen her the previous evening, but tangles still matted her hair, and further bathing would not be out of order. He faced the tech. “If she fell, how did she damage both the left side of her face and the right side of her body?”
“I was not present when the accident happened, Commander, but I believe she tripped when she tried to flee when the director meant to avail himself of her.”
An icy ball of rage contracted. “And tell me why the director availed himself of my property?”
Fear spread across the man’s face as he realized what he’d admitted. “I-I do not have an answer, Commander.”
If the director had not already been flogged, Dak would have had him strung up immediately. Might have wielded the whip himself. He clenched and unclenched his fists, checking the urge to hit something. Somebody. An overload of emotion coursed through his body, calling into question the wisdom of accepting this female into his home. Chaos and turmoil dogged her. He should not grant emotion or female sway over his actions. But he had claimed her, paid fifty gilia, a sum that would buy several conveyance animals. He owned her. He would not release her.
A measure of his rage receded as the tech’s words resounded in his memory. “The director meant to avail himself of her.” He rounded on Omra. “Did the director use you after I left yesterday?”
“He intended to but did not get the chance,” Omra answered. “Your guards interrupted him.”
On that happenstance, Sival would live. But Dak would make sure that he would never set foot inside a BCF again.
* * * *
The way Omra squinted in the midday sun revealed she did not spend much time in the fresh air. Neither did he. Governing his province and ensuring peace and discipline in the region consumed his days, most of which were spent inside government edifices or on the dreary sky station. They could have zipped home in a fraction of the time on the fission-propelled sky tram, but the opportunity to travel through the countryside proved too enticing to resist. He could not recall his last respite. That the conveyance would allow more time to evaluate Omra before handing her off to Corren provided another incentive.
He charged toward his transportation, Omra trotting to keep up with his long, brisk stride. Eyes wild in their woolly faces, the beasts vibrated with pent-up energy and stomped the dirt with their massive hooves. Sharp horns protruded from their heads. The air around them reeked of sulfur, a byproduct of their exhalations. Dangerous animals, particularly during mating season. At Omra’s approach, they tossed their heads and snorted, her unfamiliar scent inciting their unrest.
He grabbed the heavy reins and vaulted into the seat. “Get on.”
Omra moved to climb into the wooden, rough-hewn bed, but he motioned her forward. “Up front. With me,” he ordered, and added, “this time.” Females rode in back with supplies and equipment, but
he wanted to inform her of the rules without having to yell over his shoulder.
Warily she eyed the fidgeting animals—and him—but stepped to the front of the conveyance. The vehicle, built to suit the size of the beasts, had not been a problem for his long legs but stymied her efforts. On her fifth attempt to scramble aboard, he sighed, grabbed her arm, and hauled her onto the seat.
She squeaked, and amusement tickled the corner of his mouth. Silly female. After she settled, he flicked the reins and barked an order at the animals, and off they went. Omra sat, as tense as a spring, clenching her hands in her lap. When they pulled out of the tall electrified gates encompassing the perimeter of the BCF, she twisted around and watched until the compound disappeared from sight. Only then did she relax and face forward.
His conveyance had the finest suspension system available, and centuries of traffic had packed the road, but a fair amount of jolting and jostling occurred as they moved at a moderate rate of speed. He couldn’t help but notice how Omra’s breasts, one bared, one covered by the rough fabric of her thigh-length smock, bounced with every bump. Breasts. He stifled a derisive snort. Surely nature could have devised a better way to nurture the young. A female’s mammary glands jiggled in such an unrestrained, untamed way. Like breeders themselves would be if not disciplined.
He surveyed the verdant foliage, the trees, the meadows of grass and wildflower, a stream coursing alongside the road. Serene. Beautiful. For the tranquility the countryside evoked, he’d chosen the conveyance, but due to the distraction of Omra, it failed to work its magic. Though small by Parseon standards, her breasts swelled larger and bouncier than most, and her nipples were thicker and longer. Sunlight glinted off his insignia piercing the right one, bringing to mind the ring through her sex. A first order of business would be to replace it with his. Sival had trespassed upon his property. How many others might be tempted to do likewise? Omra attracted trouble like an apian insect to a honeyed bloom. A delicate, fragile flower with eyes the color of—
“You should know I will tolerate no disobedience, disrespect, or dishonesty.” He snapped the reins, the sound reminiscent of the sudon cracking against her pale, rounded buttocks. “Any such behavior will result in immediate punishment.”
Her slender throat moved as she swallowed. “Yes, Commander.”
One would not have guessed this subdued female was the same creature who’d tried to bite off his finger, had fought like a feleen when he’d disciplined her, and had been denounced as incorrigible and troublesome. He would be wise to maintain his guard around such unpredictability.
“My beta is Corren. He acts on my behalf, and you will obey him without question or complaint. But if a discrepancy should occur between his direction and mine, my word supersedes his. Is that understood?”
She nodded. “I would not expect anything else.”
“In private you may ask questions because it will help you learn, and it will facilitate the smooth and efficient running of my household. However, when we appear in public or entertain dignitaries at home, you will remain silent unless you are spoken to.”
The conveyance hit a bump, and Omra fell against him. Her naked breast pressed against his arm, the heat of her flesh penetrating his uniform to his skin. She jerked away with an apology. Females did not touch males without permission, but he did not rebuke the indiscretion. It wasn’t entirely her fault.
“Do you have any questions now?” he asked. She wet her lips. He remembered them as being well-shaped when not swollen.
“Do you entertain…many dignitaries…often?” she asked in a halting voice.
“A fair amount during High Council season,” he said. “Intermittently the rest of the year.” Omra’s availability would be a political asset. Guests expected the host of a social gathering to provide the use of his breeder in addition to food and drink. Until now, he hadn’t owned a breeder, and that had put him at a disadvantage. Small political courtesies often smoothed the rough edges of disagreement.
Unless one sought to create offspring, men had little interest in vaginal contact, but just in case, the lock-ring would ensure only anal intercourse could occur and that all progeny belonged to him. As she was new to his household, visitors would be eager to try her out. His stomach soured. He clicked at the beasts and tightened his lips.
“I am sorry,” she said.
He glanced at her. “For what?”
“I have earned your disfavor.”
Either she was too perceptive or he was too transparent. That his face had betrayed his thoughts did not befit a Commander. He vowed to take more care. “If you had displeased me, I would have told you and implemented corrective action.” He would not hesitate to pull the beasts off the road and apply the sudon to her backside.
She flinched, and additional color suffused her already pink cheeks. He abided no nonsense, but he was no brute either, so she need not fear him if she behaved. He studied her bruised face. “I suspect you shall incur many a punishment before all is settled, but I shall not beat you.”
She twisted her hands in her lap. “You had the director flogged.”
“He deserved it, did he not?” An absurd pursuit to ask a female to comment on matters of justice, but the ride home would be long, and conversation would pass the time.
She bowed her head. “I thought so, but…”
“But you fear you will be subject to the same?”
She nodded.
“Only in an extreme circumstance, which at this moment, I cannot envision. In any case, I will never strike your face. The director dishonored himself by abusing his authority. His crime was more serious than what any female might commit. He deserved a commensurate punishment.” He snapped the reins. “He will never set foot in a Breeder Containment Facility again.”
“In your household, does your beta have the authority to discipline?”
Dak shook his head. “Corren’s rules are to be obeyed, and he may recommend a form of punishment, but I will decide what is appropriate and mete it out. Other alphas permit their betas more leeway, but I do not.”
“How long has Corren been your beta?”
“About two years. I met him before my first trip to Terra. I required an administrative aide, and the High Council recommended him. I recognized his organizational skills, our personalities meshed, and so we had a civil union anointed.”
She gaped. “You have been to Terra?”
He laughed at her astonishment, his mirth vibrating with an unfamiliar sensation. He couldn’t recall the last time laughter born of true amusement had rumbled in his chest.
“Many times. I am Parseon’s ambassador to Terra,” he answered without boast. Though the High Council found it expedient to maintain diplomatic relations with the planet, the other Alphas considered its culture and traditions revolting. His willingness to deal with the alien race made him the natural choice.
“What are the Terrans like? Is it true they resemble us?”
“Our genomes are not dissimilar, and we share some of the same DNA, since the Epic Radiation Flare damaged ours and we spliced in one of their genes to repair the deformities,” he explained. Females lacked the mental capacity for education, so she would not have learned the history of their race. “So yes, they look a lot like us, although there are some physical differences.”
“Like what?”
“They are smaller than we are, although you would be about average for a Terran female. Both sexes have body hair, although the females tend to have less.”
“Terran breeders have body hair?” She wrinkled her nose.
He chuckled again.
“Where?” she asked.
“Their extremities, underarms, genitals. Though sometimes they remove part or all of it.”
She cocked her head, disbelief scribbled across her expressive face. He should have chastised her for disrespect, except she looked so comical he laughed instead.
She studied her hairless arms and legs, and he eyed his hirsute ones. �
�It is true,” he insisted. He withheld mention that once a month, Terran females bled in a process called menstruation. She would never believe it. Nor did he bother sharing stories that females achieved pleasure in mating, because he was quite sure the Terran males had been joking when they delivered that alleged factoid. Even if it were true for Terrans, she was Parseon.
“How else are they different?” she asked.
Dak stretched his legs and leaned back in the conveyance. As Alpha, he could not risk idle conversation with other males, as an offhand comment could alter the course of history, undo interplanetary diplomacy, or end lives. He had to consider the nuance of every single word before he uttered it, making conversation taxing. Even with Corren, he maintained a caution. He’d made a lot of decisions from his gut, and his intuition had saved his life on more than one occasion.
But Omra hid no agenda, secret strategy, or ambition to build or destroy an empire. True, she’d wreaked a fair amount of trouble, but she presented no political threat to his command or his life. Talking with her relaxed him.
“Men on Terra do not have betas,” he said.
She frowned. “Do they not need companionship?”
“The Terran race doesn’t have alphas the way Parseon does. Alpha is not a concept Terrans understand.” The Protocol Personnel Council tested the physical, mental, and emotional fortitude of male children at the eighth year of their birth. The most intelligent, aggressive, and robust—those identified as alpha—underwent arduous military and leadership training. Not all survived. Betas, males deemed to be less assertive and commanding, were educated in support functions and helping professions. However, a lack of aggression necessary for leadership did not mean betas were less dangerous to cross. In his estimation, they often exhibited far more cruelty than alphas.
“On Terra, men have wives,” he explained.
