Sextus

by Alana Khan

  Brianna’s hug, these males’ salutes, are the closest I’ve come to affection, acceptance, or appreciation in my life. I nod to the room, uncertain what emotion I would feel if I possessed them.

  Zar comms the Federation captain, and a moment later I’m matter-transported to his ship. I’m greeted by six males, all pointing lasers at me. My hands shoot up, although I know they won’t harm me. I’m nude, unarmed, and they’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to acquire me. Whatever they’re going to do to me is clearly breaking Federation law. I imagine it will net them plenty of credits.

  “Hands on the back of your head, drackhole,” a mottled brown male shouts as he menaces his gun at me.

  After I comply, they swift-march me down narrow, brightly-lit hallways to the brig where I’m left alone in a small cell lit by a single red sign near the doorway. I sit on the only item in the room, a thin, dirty mattress on the floor.

  I’ve spent most of my life in captivity of one sort or another. Created in a test tube by Federation scientists on planet Malego, I was raised in a barracks of single cells with my fellow “products,” as we were called by our makers.

  We were forced to exercise, trained to fight, fed scientifically-formulated sustenance, and allowed to read approved material on the Intergalactic Database. I was occasionally pulled from my cell and tested—both physical and intellectual tests. The scientists showed little interest in any of us as individuals until my blood was found to have healing properties.

  At that point, they began to suck me dry. I believe they were selling my blood to line their own pockets. I became progressively weaker as they made more money off my blood. It was during transport to the home planet of a wealthy recipient that I made my escape, only to find I’d gone from one form of slavery to another.

  After several annums of this, Brianna rescued me and brought me to her ship. That was a lunar cycle ago. One lunar cycle of freedom in an entire lifetime and it appears I’ll be put to death soon by a new cadre of sadistic Feds.

  Having spent my life in a cell, I know how to lie back, shut off my mind, and let time pass, so I have no idea how long it’s been before a male barges into the cellblock.

  “Stand, gladiator,” he commands. The markings on his uniform indicate he’s the first mate.

  I follow his order. I’ve assessed my situation. There’s no escape from this Federation ship filled with armed soldiers. I must comply or I’ll die sooner than they’d planned.

  “A geneslave.” He nods, looking pleased. “Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue.”

  I comply while I assess him. He’s tall and well-built, but with my genetic enhancements, I could snap his neck in less than thirty modicums. However, he’s on the other side of the laser bars and his death would give me little satisfaction.

  “Look at those fangs. Impressive. You have a lot of canine in you. What luck. You’re better than a gladiator. How’d you escape your genefarm?” he asks, but I know he doesn’t want an answer, he’s talking to me like one would speak to their pet.

  He murmurs into his comm and a moment later two males in uniform join him. One is carrying a sturdy metal rod that looks like it belongs in the engine room.

  “Keep your weapons trained on the prisoner,” the first mate barks, then kicks the bar along the floor through the laser bars. The bar creates hissing sparks when it glances off one of the lasers. He points his pad at me, recording this. “Show your teeth,” he commands, “bend that bar.”

  It angers me to be put on display. I’m a freak to them, to the whole galaxy in fact, but only the most perceptive observer would notice my jaw tighten in protest.

  I step forward and snarl menacingly into the recorder. A provocative move, but not punishable because I’m complying with his request. I could bend the bar easily, but conspicuously struggle with the task. I don’t know what’s in store for me, but the more my enemies underestimate me, the safer I’ll be.

  “You’ve exceeded expectations, geneslave,” he says as he taps something into his computer pad, then looks at me. “There’s a party of Galerians, ten at last count, that’s meeting us off planet Nativus. They’re paying enough to make this unpleasant excursion to the far end of the galaxy worth our while. However, this little vid will net us at least four hundred thousand additional credits. You’re quite a find; you’ll make their experience more exciting.”

  He sneers at me, gleeful at the prospect of making me squirm.

  “It will be a little hunting party, number 972, and guess what? You’re the prey. Eat well tonight, it will be your last meal.” He turns on his heel and leaves the cell block, his two lackeys following behind.

  I’ve been groomed from birth to fight and die for the Federation. It was only the healing quality of my blood, an anomaly, that allowed me to live as long as I have.

  I’m not afraid of death, part of me welcomes it—what do I have to live for? But it’s not my nature to die without a fight. I’ll do as that drackhole said, I’ll eat heartily at my last meal. I’ll sleep if I can conjure it. And tomorrow I’ll kill as many Galerians as I can before they kill me.

  Chapter Two

  Sirius

  “We’ll be transporting you to the surface momentarily,” the first mate says. “You’ll have ten minimas before the hunting party arrives. No one will be monitoring the hunt, there are no rules. The only thing in your favor is that they’ve paid a great deal of money for this opportunity. My hunch is they won’t use their long-range weapons at first. Why spend good credits and travel to the end of the galaxy only to kill you in a minima?” He shrugs.

  “We’ll be taking our payment and going on about our business. Expect no help from us.” He walks away, then turns back. “May the Gods be with you,” he throws in as an afterthought.

  In a few modicums I’m on the surface of the planet. My brain kicks into high gear, my synapses firing at lightning speed. I instantly assess the environment. I believe it’s just after sunrise, the light is brilliant. The temperature is cool, but not cold.

  I’m on a savannah—flat rolling plains with tall grasses almost as far as the eye can see. In the distance are mountainous forestlands that will provide cover and perhaps natural weapons of some kind. I run in that direction.

  My body is built for speed and stamina. I’ll need it—they have long-range laser weapons. I don’t believe the first mate’s assertion that they won’t kill me immediately. They came a long way and paid a lot of money for a trophy. A picture of my mounted head—mismatched eyes lifeless, mouth open, sharp canines glistening with artificial saliva—pops into my mind.

  I turn my attention to the task at hand—reaching the relative safety of the trees in the distance. It’s been perhaps three minimas, not the ten I was promised, when I hear the hunting party rustling in the tall grass behind me.

  I run on all fours darting to the right and then the left to make it harder for them to follow my movements. My canine DNA is an advantage. When I run on four legs I’m low enough to be obscured from watchful eyes by the grasses. If they’re observant, they might be able to see the green grass rustling around me, giving away my location.

  My heart is pumping fast. Even though I’m racing, clearly on defense mode, my mind is analyzing information like the fastest computer, anticipating what I can do once I reach the cover of trees.

  The whine and whoosh of laser fire assail my ears a moment before a volley bursts about twenty fiertos away. I find the energy deep inside me and put on more speed than I thought was possible.

  I can’t poke my head up to get my bearings or it will be blasted off. I keep aiming toward the mountains, hoping I haven’t accidentally changed course.

  Their laser blasts are coming steadily now, maybe ten fiertos away. The acrid smell of charred vegetation assails my nostrils. I hear their shouted curses, then the unmistakable deep hum of a hovercraft. My nostrils flare in terror as I realize they’ll be on top of me in modicums.

  My muscles quiver in pain, I’ve been runni
ng four-legged for over a mille. I’m panting, breathing in huge gulps of air. My heart is beating so fast and loud I wonder if the hunting party can hear it. All I can do is race to the imagined protection of the mountains.

  The ground begins to slope upward, and the humidity increases because of the thick vegetation under the dense canopy of trees. I stand, still running, never missing a step. I enter a forest filled with towering trees, their maroon bark and maroon leaves give an eerie cast to the sunlight.

  I need to find a weapon and a hiding place. For the first moment since this started, I believe I might get out of this alive. If I can pick them off one at a time using every skill I possess, I could possibly kill them all.

  I find a tall tree with easy footholds and am thirty fiertos off the ground in modicums. When people see me, they’re aware of my canine DNA, but it’s my feline DNA that helps me climb and gives me almost-perfect night vision. I hope I don’t need my night vision today. One way or the other, I hope this is over long before dusk.

  I peek through the thick foliage as a hovercraft carrying three of them lands near the edge of the trees. The males are humanoid with fat faces and tusks that thrust up from their bottom jaws. They remind me of the slaver who slapped his pain-kill collar around my neck after my escape from the Feds. He was a brutal sadist who treated me so poorly I almost died of starvation.

  I see the other seven Galerians beating through the thick, green grasses of the savanna. They’re well-armed and organized, about ten fiertos apart, heads tilted downward. Do they think they might have shot me? Are they looking for my body?

  A stroke of luck, the three from the hovercraft have spread out about twenty fiertos from each other and only occasionally glance into the trees. I’m so far up and so well concealed they’ll never see me.

  My distance above the ground, although it keeps me well hidden, will make it hard to jump to the ground without detection. It will hurt like drack and I’ll rustle branches on my way down, alerting the Galerians below. However, there’s no other choice.

  I jump from my hidden limb through the branches below with such perfect timing I land on top of one of them. He grunts as I crash down on him, possibly alerting his comrades. To kill him I perform the quickest, quietest maneuver I can—twisting his neck, severing his spinal cord before he can sound an alarm.

  I sling his laser rifle over my shoulder, run about fifty fiertos farther into the forest, and scramble up another tree. A few minimas later I hear increasingly-excited chatter drift upward from the dead male’s comm—his comrades must have noticed he’s gone silent.

  It’s hard to believe these males paid good credits to hunt humanoid game—they don’t seem to be seasoned warriors. The dead male’s two comrades come crashing to their fallen friend’s aid and I pick them off easily with my stolen laser weapon. Although I killed my targets, the sound of laser fire has exposed me to the scrutiny of the other hunters.

  It takes me no more than one minima to climb down, run to the dead males and remove one of their utility belts. I’ve fastened it around my waist, exchanged my weapon for one that has a full power pack, and am perched on a perfect limb in a tall tree before the seven males beating the tall grasses have mobilized to run toward me.

  I take silent inventory of my weapons: one fully-charged laser rifle, one extra power pack, one twelve-ince hunting knife, one comm, and a pouch with three nutrition bars and a canteen of water. I remove the pouch while shaking my head. It’s ridiculous to take food and water on a quick hunt like this when speed is more important than comfort.

  My sharp gaze darts through the foliage, keeping track of all seven hunters. If I’m smart, I’ll use the butt of the rifle as a club for the next several kills. If I use my laser, they’ll know my location and start shooting. I’ll be reduced to ash along with this entire tree.

  I throw the pouch about fifty fiertos further into the woods where it noisily makes its descent through the branches and hits the ground with a soft thud.

  All seven Galerians rush toward the source of the commotion, making it child's play to simply spray the area with laser fire and kill all seven.

  That seemed too easy, so I wait long minimas to see if there are others in their party coming to their aid. While I’m waiting, I run scenarios in my head.

  The Federation first mate told me they were speeding off toward more civilized planets—they aren’t coming to collect me. Between the Federation ship’s cloaking device and its immediate jolt into hyperspace after I was transported aboard, there’s no way the Lazy Slacker will be able to find me, even with the tracker the doctor inserted under my skin. No device has a range this far.

  The Galerians could have all beamed down and left their unmanned ship orbiting the planet. Or they still have comrades up there who will come looking for them—and me—perhaps soon.

  I need to get as far from this carnage as possible. Whatever the threat, whether it’s more Galerians, hostile aliens from Nativus, or carnivorous wildlife on this planet; I need to find shelter. There’s no refuge on the savanna; I’d be completely exposed. I need to seek cover in the woods.

  I climb down and rummage through all ten males’ belongings. I pull on clothes, socks, and sturdy boots from one of the dead. After putting my utility belt back on, I add one of their comms, two lighters, ten nutrition bars, and two more fuel canisters.

  The sun isn’t even high in the sky yet. I plan to put as much distance as possible between me and this killing site before nightfall.

  ~.~

  I’ve alternated running and walking and have traveled maybe sixty milles from the dead Galerians. The terrain has changed from thick woods to tree-dotted mountain meadows. I saw a cave a few milles back that might have been an excellent place to make camp, but I wanted to get farther from the dead bodies.

  I’ve seen no sign of hovercraft, nor have I heard anything on the dead male’s comm.

  There’s ample wildlife on this planet. I’ve spotted numerous small mammals that will provide a never-ending supply of food once I fashion a bow and arrows. I’ll survive quite nicely on nutrition bars until I settle in.

  I slow down and tilt my head to the sun, soaking in the warmth and noticing the perfect blue of the sky. This suicide mission might prove to be a stroke of luck. Nativus is beautiful, the game is plentiful, and there appear to be no large natural predators. If I can find a cave near a stream, I could thrive here.

  I hear a growl behind me and whirl around to see a pack of four-leggeds traveling fast, loping toward me. Their wicked fangs flash white as they surround me.

  I slip the laser rifle from my shoulder and spray as many of the brown-and-tan spotted beasts as I can. Twenty more converge on me from a copse of trees to my right.

  I laser the newcomers, only to see more taking their places. What kind of animals are these? They’re cunning and well organized. By the time I slip a new canister into the gun, I’m completely surrounded by about thirty snarling, growling beasts.

  Pivoting in a quick circle, I shoot a continuous burst of laser fire. After one complete rotation, there are about ten predators remaining. Without a moment’s hesitation, they pounce.

  I press the trigger again, repeating my earlier maneuver, spraying deadly laser fire in an arc. Before I can reload there are three hissing, spitting, ugly beasts bounding toward me.

  Aliyah

  The eerie hum of laser fire awakens memories from many winters ago and chills the marrow in my bones. Crouching low, I notch an arrow in my bow and creep toward the edge of the forest.

  There’s a male in the meadow using a firestick. He’s killing a pride of mam’non beasts. The stranger must smell delicious to them; I’ve never seen so many attack at once.

  He’s wearing clothes that cover his chest and legs. His long, dark hair falls down his back in waves. He’s short, only ten hands taller than me. He’s fierce and foreign and...beautiful.

  His weapon is so powerful I press my back against a tree to ensure he doesn’t see
me and mistake me for a threat. I’m not fearful for him—his weapon will kill all of the mangy mam’non in the work of a moment. I’m fearful for myself. He’s the enemy. If he sees me, he’ll certainly aim that firestick at me and shoot me dead. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, my hands tighten around my bow.

  The situation shifts instantly when he stops firing his weapon, then turns it in his hands and uses it as a club, swinging it at the remaining mam’non. The largest of the three pounces, and the male cracks it on the nose with the weapon. Yowling in pain it continues its forward motion—fangs bared—aimed at the male’s throat.

  As the male beats the animal with his weapon, I leap from my hiding place and let fly an arrow which pierces one of the two watching beasts in the throat. I let a second arrow loose, puncturing the other spectator in the flank. He staggers but isn’t mortally wounded. He turns to me, looking for the source of his pain, giving me better access to his throat. I shoot him again, felling him instantly.