To Love A Hitman

by Randell Mccreary

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  Chapter One

  I didn’t mean to lose control of the ship. I have no idea what happened though, or how it even came to pass. One moment, the crew and I were happily sailing through the galaxy, returning home from a successful trip smuggling brainsuckers – a type of drug that’s pretty much what it says on the tin. The next moment, something interfered with the communications of our spaceship.

  I’m the pilot, so I have a certain amount of responsibility of getting us from one place to the next in one piece. People rely on me, and I like being the one they rely on. It makes me feel powerful.

  I found I had a taste for that from a young age. I wanted to be the person everyone paid attention to, but not in the way the other girls did it. Whilst they preened themselves and wore makeup and had the latest fashion accessories, I wore boy’s clothes, and played games with only the boys, shunning all the weak girl stuff. I could blame my father and brother for that, I suppose. I played with my brother’s toys growing up, and my father had no idea how to raise a girl, so he just did the same things he did with Jacob.

  I remember sometimes he felt sorry for that, too.

  “I know I didn’t raise you like a lady, Teena. I ain’t a lady myself, and your ma was a real battleaxe, and I never had no ma, so honestly, I don’t know what to do with you. But I hope you’ll forgive me if you ever find yourself looking back at your past and wondering how you ended up where you are today.”

  I don’t mind. I’m happy with where I am.

  Except, well, here. I mind being here.

  Captain Ronald comes stumbling into the room, his face livid. “What the fuck is happening, Teena? Why are we heading in a death-spin towards that fucking planet?” His blue eyes are blazing in fear and fury – misdirected fury. I’m just as panicked, but I try harder not to lose it.

  “Something’s interfering with the communications!” I screech back, sweat pouring over my brow. I don’t want to end up being responsible for killing everyone here. Not when their lives are in my hands. But without control of the electronics, there’s not much I can do. The ship’s one of those blasted models that doesn’t have any anti-EMP devices installed upon it. We went for fast and practical and cheap – not expensive. Expensive things get stolen. But right now, we’re regretting our poor life choice as we begin to push through the exosphere of the planet.

  “I’ve no control. There’s nothing I can do.” I slam my hands against the control board. Ronald, Theresa, Matthew – all of us will die if we plummet into the ground. “We need to evacuate.”

  “But Teena, if you don’t have control…”

  “Doesn’t matter. The pods are designed for impact. Just head to one.”

  Ronald nods, and with a frustrated grunt, I leave the controls behind. We have to inform each of the crew by face, and push open the doors ourselves instead of waiting for them to slide. The ship is entirely dark in the corridors, making it hard to see where we’re going.

  Soon enough, we scoop up Matthew and Theresa, who clatter and bumble with the captain and me through inky darkness. The escape pods are somewhere in this direction… down these stairs… down here. And let’s try not to break any necks while we’re at it.

  We finally make it into an escape pod each, manually closing the doors behind us so that the impact is cushioned as much as possible. Even without power, these things are designed to absorb the shock of impact, so the people inside them don’t accidentally end up turning to mush. It’s a good thing, and probably the best investment we’ve made on this ship.

  I strap myself in and buckle down as best as able. There’s a few lumi strips in here, and they glow from the former power that coursed through the pod. They emit an eerie green glow.

  Still, even though I know how well escape pods are supposed to be designed, I wonder all the same if we’ll die. Whoever has wilfully chosen to sabotage our ship can’t exactly be concerned with the peace treaties we’ve formed. Or they’re pirates, planning to scavenge from the smoking remains of our ship.

  I wait for the impact to come. I don’t feel it, but the ship does seem to lurch, as if changing direction.

  As if being tugged.

  Immediately, my senses go on alert. Is that possible? If we’re caught in a kind of magni-net, perhaps. It’s how Imperials tend to catch thieves – they dish out the magni-nets once in range, along with a fresh dose of EMP goodness to make sure you’re not planning to get away.

  This brings new possibilities to mind. I don’t think anyone would know who we are as a crew. We do certain gray area activities, but we’ve never given authorities reason to suspect us.

  I think about what happened back at school, when a kid came, intending to blast us all out in a blaze of lasers because he was unhappy with the bullies and his home situation. The teacher carried an EMP device which locked down the kid’s laser, but not before he managed to kill two people. We never saw him again. I’m not sure why I’m remembering it now, when I could be seconds from death. I have better things to remember.

  I suppose it’s because I’m focusing more on the fact that we never saw him again, and that EMPS are only ever used out for gain, or the reduction of danger.

  I don’t think our ship is a danger, unless the planet we skirted over has some secrets to hide. So, whoever is doing this plans to gain from us.

  If we survive.

  Oh boy. I feel a motion lurch again. We’re definitely being steered now. A few moments later, the fall grates to a stop, but I don’t move from my pod. Just in case I’m being tricked and we’re still on course for collision.

  Then, there’s a hissing noise. Like metal being melted. I continue listening as the hissing noise continues. It must be loud if I can hear it through the pod.

  Wait.

  I yelp when part of the wall near my pod melts, revealing a heavily armored figure, with glowing fingertips which look as though they were used to melt the metal.

  No bloody wonder I heard that. I wasn’t even aware there was a heat strong enough to melt through. And from fingertips? What kind of witchery are we facing here?

  The fingertips stop glowing. The figure steps in and hauls me out.

  “What are you doing?” I screech, as he flings me over his shoulder. My light brown hair tumbles over my face, going everywhere. Instantly, I realize that I’m not being handled by a human. Though the back is chunky and muscle bound, there’s little spikes protruding from it, and a smattering of pale blue skin that isn’t covered by armor. I couldn’t see the face through the silver armor the thing wore, but it has open sections for the spikes to jut through.

  “Collecting livestock,” comes the answer. The voice is male, low and rumbling. He speaks with a clipped accent, but it’s undeniably English. Immediately, my heart leaps to my throat. No.

  “You’re a slaver?”

  “Be quiet, livestock. I didn’t give you permission to talk.” The alien holds his fingertips backwards, letting me peer down to his hand. I see them start glowing. “You keep talking out of turn, and I will boil the brains in your skull.”

  Holy shit. I gulp and fall silent. At the same time, my heart is pulsing painfully. I don’t want this to happen.

  But it seems it is.

  We were most definitely targeted and brought down by these aliens. And the reason they wanted to do it for – was so that they could collect slaves.

  And I’m about to be one of them.

  That sucks. I’m not exactly the prettiest of humans. I have long, light brown hair, intense dark brown eyes, like chocolate. But, you know, everyone has dark brown eyes. I have an okay face, though it’s a little flat, curving only slightly at the end when it recedes into my jawline. I’m of average height, so I don’t stand out by being short or being tall. And I don’t dress like a feminine woman, because I prefer skinsuits for all that sitting down I do in front of the ship controls.

  Not that any of that matters.

  I mentally start preparing myself for the worst possib
le outcome. Trying not to scream.

  Chapter Two

  I skulk from behind cage bars, waiting for my fate to be decided. I don’t know what’s in store for me, but I had to go through some awkward examinations before being stuffed into this cage. It’s big enough for me to stand in and pace around in, and I get food shoved through the gap every now and then. Not that I could exactly call what I’m receiving “food,” because it looks like something a cat vomited up.

  Still, I eat it anyway, because my stomach is crunching in on itself from hunger. It doesn’t taste or smell of anything, which I suppose is a mercy. The aliens babble to themselves in their own language as they swarm around me, securing the cage in place on the back of what looks like an open back hovertruck. It’s not a design I’ve seen before, but I’m stuffed there with other crates. I also see my crew member, Theresa. I don’t know where Ronald and Matthew are, but they’re certainly not here. It leaves a sinking sensation in my stomach, not one I can completely wash away.

  The examination procedure consisted of being stripped naked, and examined from every angle by some rather serious looking alien inspectors. I’ve finally identified their race as the urtok – which is an isolationist race not interested in being nice and friendly with the rest of the galaxy.

  Though they have adopted the common English that the galaxy uses, and some of them do venture to our education systems, I suspect they only do it to learn more about the enemy. Other than learning our tongue and understanding the extent of our power, maybe even spying upon technology, they prefer to keep themselves to themselves.

  And apparently sell people as slaves in their world. I know slave worlds exist. There’s many human and alien cultures throughout the galaxy. Even some human societies have established which rely on slave cultures, though those are mostly condemned by modernists. We’re supposed to be over that slave thing. There’s arguments for and against it, though I must say, I’ve never exactly found the arguments for it convincing.

  The idea of giving up your freedom and being ordered around for the rest of your life, treated like you’ll be squashed like a bug at any moment sucks. I like the freedom of space, being able to drive past the stars and navigate around black holes, and live a life of unrestricted blessings. I can’t understand people who want to stay on one tiny planet, let alone one tiny area, because the universe are them is astonishing.

  I sigh, examining the chains that are on me. They’re vestigial chains. They have the same display of iron linked rings, and the cold press against my skin, but they don’t make any noise. It seems the chains are generated, just like the way the aliens magically make their fingertips hot enough to melt metal, without damaging themselves.

  No doubt about it, these aliens are the closest thing to magical that I can consider right now. I’m sure there’ll be some fancy scientific explanation for what they do, but until I find out what the fuck it is, I’ll just refer to it as magic.

  Some are sitting in the back of the hovertruck with their helmets off, and I catch a better look of their faces. They have thin, knife edge bones under the skin that give them an ethereal appearance. They have heavy, amber eyes that glow, and it seems most of them have amber eyes. Their noses are pointed, like a rat’s nose, and when they smile, they have a few extra canines in their mouths that I’m not entirely comfortable with. They seem to have hair like us, though it’s in much thicker strands, as if every hair has been spun into dreadlocks. And then there’s the spikes.

  All the spikes are a dark brown, and seem to exclusively poke out from the urtok’s backs. The skin colors they have are all in shades of brown and blue.

  They’re not exactly ugly, but right now, I have nothing but hate and irritation boiling in my heart, because I don’t want to be in this cage, treated like an animal, some beast to be sold. And that’s exactly what is happening to me at the moment. I’ve already been told numerous times to shut up or I’ll be burned alive, so I have no choice but to glare at them in silence – not unless I want my pretty face melted.

  They took away all my belongings, and it looked as if they were stripping the ship I came from for parts.

  My poor, precious Hurricane ship. She served us well the past seven months. Never a bad response to her controls, always a smooth landing on the planets. Well, there was that one time when she might have bumped a little on re-entry, and the fuel cut off, but I got her up and running again before anything terrible happened. That kind of thing can happen to any ship.

  Seeing the systematic destruction of the Hurricane makes me convinced that the aliens don’t plan to give me any opportunities to escape. Even if I get out of the cage, the shackles on me I bet are designed to stop me being able to physically run away from whoever bound me. Horrifying but effective, I suppose.

  I think about my dad back home, who didn’t want me to have this kind of life. It was the life he went for before he settled down, and it said it wasn’t a place for a lady.

  Obviously, he knew that argument couldn’t work, due to the fantastic way he raised me as a second son. I think he was both proud and nervous when I announced to him that I passed my piloting exams, and could steer virtually any ship in the galaxy – and that I graduated with top marks. I know he keeps blaming himself for not giving me the chance to be a woman, but he should have stopped worrying a long time ago. He did a good job with me.

  I honestly believe that.

  Which is why seeing this would break his heart. Because it would confirm all the fears he felt with me.

  I can only hope that somehow, I’ll find a way out of this mess and find a way to return home.

  I just have to believe I’ll be able to make it.

  The hovercraft hums over rocky terrain. The landscape around me is a wash of brown, black and gray palette, which is depressing to look at. I also catch swathes of yellow desert, and already decide I’m going to hate the place. I’m not a fan of heat to begin with, and being stuck in a desert region is going to do no wonders for my mood, or my skin. The hovercraft continues to hum. The aliens talk. I sometimes make eye contact with Theresa, though she’s nervous of maintaining it for too long. She doesn’t want to antagonize the aliens any more than necessary.

  It’s a shame. Theresa’s a pretty girl, so I imagine she’s going to be a popular slave. She has those ravishing blond locks, stunning blue eyes, and was well suited to our crew as a negotiator. It’s just a shame she won’t be doing much negotiating from in that cage. I wonder what kind of fate awaits us.

  Will we be labor slaves, or sex slaves? Given that I don’t see Matthew or Ronald, I strongly suspect it’s leaning towards the sex thing.

  Well, I don’t know what they’re doing with me, then, because I’m not exactly Miss Universe. I know I can look better if I dress up more, and I can catch myself in the mirror and think “Hey, that’s not bad,” but I don’t kid myself. There’s far better out there.

  Then again, maybe the alien criteria for beauty is different.

  We pass through a city, which is modern and full of skyscrapers. The city is ringed by the desert, but holds most of the desert at bay with a belt of green, and walkways that sport greenery. I wonder if the desert is a result of their former abuse of the planet, and the city is their response to salvage what’s left.

  We had that on earth, once. We exceeded the amount of resources the earth was able to produce to sustain itself too many years in a row, until we stripped it of resources to the point where the earth experienced a great famine. Once we spread to the stars, with our drastically reduced numbers, earth recuperated. And we learned a thing or two about preserving resources.

  Now one of the guards approaches my cage. I see his friends looking at him and grinning, so I suppose it’s some stupid dare, and most likely related to goading and pissing me off.

  Just before he’s able to do so, someone bangs through a door attached to the other end of the hovercraft, and the urtok suddenly shrink down, look distant, and act as if they’re being dutiful, har
dworking guards.

  I examine the newcomer with an air of trepidation.

  He wears a dark gray skinsuit, like the type of suits I prefer to wear, and metal armor over his hips, presumably to protect from being punched in the groin. He doesn’t bother with any other kind of armor, nor a helmet, so I’m able to see his face through the bars. I want to know what kind of person has intimidated the other urtok so. He has amber eyes like the rest, though there’s a strange glint to them, as if they would continue glowing at night-time, acting as beacons in the dark. His thick lips appear soft and edible, not that I’m considering eating them, and his high cheek bones and smooth features give an impression of nobility. He has that calm rigidness to his face that I’ve seen on aristocracy from all over. A self confidence in themselves and their position in the world.

  It also reflects in his body language, and the way he seems to prowl across the metal floor. He doesn’t wear boots. He doesn’t need to. His feet look as if they’re made out of ivory, and clang as if they’re as hard as metal on the ground. Yet, they still retain some flexibility.

  His nose is pointed, but less so than the other urtok. His hair is shorter, and splays out just behind his tapered, curled ears. He’s not as bulky as the other urtox, though he still has some defining muscle through the skinsuit. He also has much smaller spikes, more like stubs. I wonder if he’s had them surgically shortened, or whether it’s normal to have some types of urtox with long spikes, and others with small.

  Whatever the case, the guards refer to him in both respect and fear. He converses with them for a moment, and I notice he uses English.

  “I’ve come to inspect the new livestock for myself. Captain Runtell has said I’m allowed first pick as reward for my continued services.”

  “F-first pick?” one of the guards stammers. “But, sir, they’re supposed to be going to the Great Market. We’re not supposed to touch the livestock, because the captain wants his profit.”