by Viki Storm
And he just holds me. One arm around my waist, the other one stroking my hair.
It feels so right, so comfortable and pure, that I fall into a deep sleep. The warmest and safest I’ve ever felt.
I can’t go up on the tele-lift today. My legs are too weak, my thoughts are too scrambled. I stay on the ground and draw up plans, mix paints and fetch supplies while the other females are up there, so high in the air. I can’t stop thinking about last night. I feel such alternating waves of shame and excitement I might just go insane.
I squeeze some red pigment onto my slate and add just a hint of dark blue. One of the females said that they get the red pigments by crushing insect larvae and the blue pigments from distilling the skin of poisonous berries. I mix the colors and it turns a deep purple. It reminds me of the color of Xalax’s chest when he first brought me back to the fortress. In rut, he calls it, part of the bonding process, a sign that the males of his species get when they have found their mates.
As we laid in each other’s arms last night, his chest went back to its normal red color. He said that after complete mating, the purple coloring subsides. But his radiating heat remained, his body so hot and strong against mine.
And those chemicals or hormones. Those must have remained too, my own body responding on a molecular level to his. Because I’m still unable to quell that hot fire between my legs, the burning in my heart.
I thin out the pigment with a few drops of grain alcohol. I really should be up on the tele-lift mixing the pigments so I can see if I have a good match, but I don’t trust myself to be up that high. I might start to daydream and get careless.
The color looks good and I give it to one of the females to take up. It’s supposed to be a match for the jewel on the scabbard of one of the founder’s anankahs. All this work for one jewel, all those bugs and berries crunched up and turned into pigments. But I take pride in my work. No such thing as a small detail.
And like a lightning bolt to the brain, I hear Xalax’s voice in my ear, a haunting reminder from last night: I knew you’d like it.
Oh yes. I did. Definitely.
In complete defiance of what I always heard girls say about their first times. It hurt, it was a let-down, it was over really quickly—those were the things I’d heard girls whisper. Nothing about the passion, the desire, the pleasure or the pure greedy lust. Nothing about the tenderness and contentment afterward.
Is it the so-called bonding? The chemicals? The hormones? Is that what it is? Some sort of alien spell that I’m under? If it’s all just a chemical reaction, then what of love? Is there no place for love in Zalaryn society? No place for love between Xalax and me?
My head is spinning, between my legs is flushed hot and tingly. I need to get out of here for a little while.
“I’m going to go get some more grain alcohol and some clean cloths,” I tell Khiza, my maid. She turned out to be quite artistic and a good helper on this project. We don’t need grain alcohol or cloths, but I have to go for a walk, try to exercise some of this nervous, cagey energy that’s pent up inside me.
As I get up, I feel between my legs is wet. Either from my own perverted daydreams or remnants of his ‘genetic material’ as he calls it. He told me that accepting his seed will further the bonding, that I will absorb his essence and my own chemical reactions will start to take place.
His race has such an un-romantic way of describing it.
Then again, as a Marked female, I never had fanciful dreams of romance and love. My view on the subject has always been very pragmatic.
I walk down the massive stone hallways of the fortress, taking my time meandering down small side corridors. I’m careful not to get lost, as that would be just the sort of stupid thing that a human would do. And even though I’ll always be a human, I have to remind myself that I am now a queen. Well, almost a queen. The coronation is soon. Xalax said that the High Council is not in a rush to coronate him until it is confirmed that I am with child. The thought is frightening. How am I supposed to be a mother? I barely feel like I can take care of myself.
The fortress stones are cool and it feels good to walk in the darkened, dank passageways to calm my hot and anxious body and mind. I go down one corridor for a long while and I’m getting a little scared that I might get lost. I should turn back while I still remember where I am.
I turn around, feeling my robes swish around my ankles, when I hear a word that stops me dead in my tracks, turning my blood to ice.
Kraxx.
“The Kraxx fleets will be ready for war in a week’s time,” the voice says. It’s a gruff and raspy voice—distinct and unique even amongst a race of aliens with gruff and raspy voices.
I tiptoe a little further down the hallway, trying to hear what’s going on. War with the Kraxx? When the Kraxx waged war on Earth, our whole planet was decimated. Women were raped by platoons of the creatures until they died from internal injuries, babies were killed in their cribs, cities were vaporized in the blink of an eye.
And they are coming to my new home in one week.
“A week?” another male responds. He chuckles. “Those evil bastards love a good war.”
“Don’t we all?” the raspy one says. “I told them they had to be ready before word got out. I don’t think this little alliance will be popular, do you?”
“There are many long-nursed grudges between our race and the Kraxx,” the chuckler says. “But a lot of us understand the benefits of a powerful alliance.”
“I know you understand,” the raspy one says. “But we will have a lot of dissent amongst the public.”
“Then give everyone an extra ration of freykka and an extra coin to spend at the brothels,” the chuckler says. “Have you started preparing the protein shipments?”
“Not yet,” the raspy one says. “I want to make sure that the bastards hold up their end of the bargain. We’d be foolish to pay them in advance.”
“But you gave them the human females?” the chuckler says. “It was fun to go to the auction house and pick them out—and it was even more fun to break them in.” He chuckles and it’s a sickening sound. Oily. Slimy. Familiar.
“Sending the human female slaves to the Kraxx warlord was a sign of good faith. Human females are toys to the Kraxx. They can’t breed with them, so they’re of no real value. He’ll give those weak creatures to his mercenaries to have some fun with and they’ll be used up by the end of the week. What the Kraxx really need is protein.”
I can’t breathe. My chest feels so tight, like huge iron bands are clamping down on my rib cage. My arms go numb. My heart’s beating so fast it hurts. I want to run, but I’m rooted to the spot.
They took girls from the auction house to send to the Kraxx?
Oh darkest never-ending void, that could have been me. I imagine the dark and violent home planet of the Kraxx. A place with no light, no warmth, no honor. Only pain and betrayal. Given to a rowdy group of soldiers to play with until their hard use destroyed you. I wonder if any of the girls that traveled with me on the spaceship were given to the Kraxx.
I want to vomit. My jaw starts to feel weak and watery.
Because the girls didn’t just get bought by the Kraxx. Oh no.
They were given as a sign of good faith.
The Zalaryn High Council is bartering with the Kraxx, trading human females the way kids trade marbles.
I feel faint and all of a sudden my vision starts to go black around the edges. I put my hand out to steady myself on the cool, solid stone wall, but I lose my balance and fall to the floor, my empty metal grain alcohol bowl clanking loudly.
“What was that?” the raspy voice says.
“I’ll go check,” says the chuckler. I scramble to my feet and run down the hallway as fast as I can. I never ran so fast in my life. I turn left and right down little hallways at random, trying desperately to get away from that barbarian who laughs at the idea of throwing human females to the Kraxx warlord to be defiled and broken. The one who laughs
at breaking them in before sending them on a ship to meet death.
When I can’t run any more, I collapse against the floor, resting my hot face on the cool stones. I listen carefully but I cannot hear anything. I am safe.
For now.
Because the High Council is dealing with the Kraxx, paying them off in human blood.
And I share my bed with the man who sits at the head of the High Council as their king.
How could Xalax go along with this? All his talk about bonding and protecting me. What a load of cowshit. He got hard in the auction house and took me like a greedy, spoiled kid who doesn’t want anyone else to play with his toys.
A voice inside me tries to speak up. You can’t argue with how you feel about him. That is something real.
But that voice inside me is a fool. A fool that’s been suckered in by hot baths and soft clothes and the flattery of a man who just needs and heir to cement his power. The power that he uses to broker deals with brutal and violent races like the Kraxx.
I know better. I am practical. I am realistic. I had a momentary lapse of judgment because I was grateful to Xalax for buying me instead of letting that sleazy alien in the auction house buy me. But I know better.
The Zalaryns are a brutal and violent race too. They raid other planets, demand tribute in goods and natural resources. And flesh, of course. The tribute they demand from planet Earth is in flesh.
They are a parasite race, stealing what they cannot create. Drinking the worksweat off the brows of honest races living on honest planets.
Anyone who would ally with the Kraxx is dishonorable, unforgivable.
And I let a little bit of gratitude, a little tingle in my loins, cloud my otherwise logical and practical thinking.
I pick myself up off the floor and begin finding my way back to the main corridors. My work crew will be wondering where I am and I do not want my absence made noteworthy. The Zalaryns are brutal but they are not stupid. The raspy voice and chuckler will be able to put two and two together. They will know I heard their plan. And they won’t want me to tell about the alliance with the Kraxx.
These two brutes, I know what they would do to silence me.
And Xalax? Would he protect me? Or is his first loyalty to his council and his alliances?
I don’t want to find out the hard way.
I don’t want to find out at all.
“That’s a lot of gold,” Ayvinx says. His carefree smirk and glib attitude infuriate me. He has no family name, no reputation to uphold except his reputation with an anankah. “Are you sure that this offer of yours has nothing to do with the little visitor I saw in the docking bay?”
The tavern is dark and noisy. There are many raiders drinking and telling tales of their exploits. It is not good to have too many idle warriors. They get restless without an anankah in their hand and a skull on which to strike it.
“Of course it does,” I say. There is no point in going through the usual negotiations and flattery required in my dealings with the High Council. I do not have to deal with him like he’s a politician. That’s why we are in this seedy place, full of ribald jokes and bawdy songs and the sharp stink of freykka in the unwashed mouth. “If the Kraxx are going to invade, we need minerals.”
“The Fendans have them,” Droka says, “but they are buried deep in the caverns and we cannot just go in and take them.”
“What makes you think I’m going to be able to broker a deal?” he asks, picking his teeth with the long curved nail growing from his little finger. He leans back in his chair, putting one boot on the table. This is his way of asking for more money. Can I really trust him to keep the secret of the Kraxx spy? Maybe I should just lock him in the dungeons until this is all over. Or, as Droka suggests, go to the High Council, tell them everything and prepare our defenses. Droka never wants to lie or do anything he considers dishonorable. He too is descended from one of the Founders, but his family line petered out and lost their wealth and influence over the generations. He has his pride but not much else.
“It is a peace offering,” I repeat. Ayvinx barks laughter. I’m glad that there are no microphones here. My words are treason, even if they are a lie.
After what I found out this afternoon, it’s not far-fetched to assume that the entire fortress is microphoned.
There is a traitor somewhere in the fortress.
“You want me to train an army of Fendans? Teaching them our art of fighting is a peace offering?”
“We’re not that good at making peace,” Droka says. “This is the best we know how.”
“We can train them in the use of the anankah,” I say. My lie is bitter in my mouth. If what I’m proposing were true, it would be a fool’s errand. And Ayvinx knows it.
The Fendans are a soft race. Their planet has much wealth from their wooden forests. They harvest and carve wood for export. It is an opulent business and something the Zalaryns care little for. What good is wood? It is a vanity, a bauble. Heavier than polymer, weaker than iron. That is why we have largely ignored the Fendans, the fancy, fat race that they are—they don’t have anything we want.
Until, that is, they discovered the rich vein of qizo deep in their mountains. But, as Droka just mentioned, as I try to explain to the High Weaponsmith and the High Sheriff, we can’t just walk in and take the minerals. And we require more minerals than they would be able to provide us with a tribute arrangement.
“That’s funny,” Ayvinx says, but now for the first time, he’s not smiling. He takes his boot off the table and leans forward. “You could just kill me, you know. To keep me from talking. You don’t have to send me on a fake peace mission to get me out of the way.”
“I would not slay a countryman,” I say. Unless I had a good reason, I don’t add. Is this a good reason? Wouldn’t I be saving lives? Perhaps. But only if I can unravel the Kraxx plan and find the traitor. Maybe then I could stop the impending catastrophe.
“Yet you would spend a small fortune to ship me off to Fenda so I don’t tell anyone about the Kraxx spy. Why are you keeping this a secret?” he asks. “If the Kraxx are planning a war, then they are planning a war. You think you can persuade them? Ask them nicely to not invade our planet? Maybe give them tribute in exchange for temporary peace? Spare me. I know both of you by reputation and both of you are said to be cunning and wise.”
“I need some time,” I say.
Could the mercenary be reasoned with? Can I explain the importance of keeping this a secret? Can I make him understand the nuance of power in the High Council and the bloodthirsty ways of my rivals?
Or is he just seeing how valuable his secret is so he can ask for more gold?
“More time for what?” he says again, throwing up his hands. “If they are planning war, we need to prepare. We can’t just wait-and-see with the Kraxx. If your plan is to stall for a few weeks, I got some bad news for you. In a few weeks we’ll all be dead.” He pauses and that smirk is back. Void-loving darkness, I think he’s turned the tables on me, the sly devil. I should have locked him in the dungeon when I had the chance. “Unless there’s something you’re hiding from me. Something you’re hiding from all your loyal subjects? Like maybe you want the Kraxx to invade. You could use it as a pretext for war.”
I look at Droka. He meets my eyes and gives me a quick nod. Ah, but of course Droka thinks I can trust the mercenary. Droka thinks everyone is as honorable as he himself is.
I’m not sure if I can trust the mercenary. How can I trust anyone who puts a dollar amount on his most valuable asset as a Zalaryn male?
Problem is, I don’t think I have a choice.
“We are not entirely sure that the Kraxx are planning an invasion of our planet,” I say. I don’t want to divulge everything to him, but I’ve been backed into a corner.
“Did the Kraxx bastard just stop by for a cup of freykka and to sing a few verses of Jolly Comes the Maiden in the tavern?” I listen and hear that’s the exact song that the drunk group of fools at the table be
hind us is singing.
The setting suns boast skies of gold,
I may get under her robes if I am bold,
She’s so young and I’m so old,
Those sweet ripe tits I long to hold,
With a little luck I’ll get inside that hole—
Oh… Jolly comes the maiden.
“No,” I say. “But it might have been a social visit of sorts.” I root in the pouch hanging from my belt. I pull out the Kraxx comm-panel and turn it on, handing it to Ayvinx. “Look at his navigation log.”
The mercenary scrolls through the device and then sets to reading the numbers. “Are these numbers in octal?” he asks. “I don’t know what in the void it says. I don’t know why the other planets can’t be sensible and use binary like us. It’s the logical choice.” I take the comm-panel and change the settings so it displays the numbers in a format more pleasing for him.
“Better?” I ask.
“Sorry that I didn’t have the benefit of private fortress tutors to teach me different number systems,” he says, his voice dripping resentment. But he looks at the screen, his forehead creased in concentration. “East 001101 North 010111. That’s out in the waste,” he says.
“Yes,” Droka says. “By the Orion plateau. And you know what I found out there?”
“By the tone of your voice, I’d gather it wasn’t a brothel giving discounts to anyone with a stick up the ass.”
“It was a Kraxx ship,” Droka says, ignoring Ayvinx’s jape. “One of their solo piloted Hnt’hais.”
“Get to the point,” Ayvinx says. “I assume you have one. Or else throw me in the dungeon and be done with it. I’ll help you if I can, but you need to be straight with me, and void-loving wonderment you tell a slow story.”
“On the ship we traced the navigation signals. The coordinates were sent to him. Someone picked out a desolate spot where he could land undetected by our nav-system. The files were encrypted, but it was plain enough to see that the coordinates were sent to him by someone from our planet.”
