Alien Captive's Abduction

by Zara Zenia

  "Atropos . . ." Actian sighed wearily, trying to dismiss the argument before it started.

  "They are our equals, Actian," Atropos insisted, grabbing Actian by the shoulders, which brought a round of surprised murmurs from the crowd, who could not hear the conversation but could certainly see it. "They are as intelligent as us, as emotionally sensitive as us, by some measures, even more advanced than us. At least they know how their technology works. To treat them like livestock, to sell them this way—"

  "Enough, Atropos," Actian said sharply, shaking off his brother's grip. "It does not matter what the humans are. I would sacrifice far more than their wellbeing for this, a chance for salvation for our species. Do you understand at all that I am trying to save us?"

  "We cannot be saved at the expense of another people," Atropos insisted, his voice soft and pleading. "If you do this, you damn both of our races."

  "Better we be damned," Actian hissed through his teeth, "and still exist to lament it, than to dwindle and die for the sake of worthless pride."

  Atropos fell silent, his eyes heavy with regret. It was clear he would not be able to convince Actian. Actian, satisfied that the argument was over, straightened up and smoothed the emotion from his face.

  "We will discuss this later," he said. "I must begin the auction."

  He began to turn away.

  "Wait," Atropos stopped him. "There is one more thing."

  Actian turned back toward him, a thin line of displeasure between his brows.

  "The host you gave me is pregnant," Atropos said, and he said it loudly enough for the audience to hear, their shocked gasps making it evident that they had. "Not implanted as she would have been by the Gifting, but a true pregnancy. She is carrying a hybrid child."

  Actian stared at him, his calm emotionless mask stripped away.

  "But that's impossible," he said. "We cannot—"

  "The healers have confirmed it," Atropos replied. "I have seen the images myself. I am fertile, Actian. And if I am, then others among us might be as well. It is no longer necessary for us to use the humans."

  Actian stumbled backward, looking like he might fall.

  "I cannot allow you to turn another intelligent species into livestock," Atropos continued. "Especially not now that my child will share that lineage. You must call this off, or by the laws of our people, I will make you."

  Actian stiffened, gathering himself, his wings flaring.

  "You would challenge me for leadership?" he asked. "Today, of all days?"

  "Today is the only day," Atropos said, grim but resolved. "I do not want to be flight leader, Actian. But I will take it from you if I have to in order to stop this madness."

  "This will save us!" Actian shouted, his wings fully unfurled and shaking with anger. "Even if what you say is true, even if as much as half of us are fertile, it will not be enough to support a viable breeding population! We will continue to die! And without the new trade, we will never regain the glory of our past! This is the only way!"

  "It is not the only way!" Atropos declared, unfurling his own wings, wider than his brother's. "We have yet to seek another way! But there is still time if you will see sense and try!"

  Instead, Actian threw himself at Atropos, a blur of green so quick anyone might have been forgiven for missing it entirely. But Atropos had trained beside his brother all their lives and could match him easily in speed. He caught the hand that came for his throat and with a heavy beat of his vast wings, dragged his brother up into the air.

  Atropos lashed out, and they separated, catching flight on their own wings. They darted at one another, colliding in a brief flurry of blows, only to fall apart once again. They tumbled through the air together in a vicious dance. They flung themselves at one another, aiming furious blows at each other’s faces and midsections, angling always to tear at the wings.

  The first to make his opponent fall would be the victor, as was tradition in such contests. But both were highly skilled and evenly matched. At first, it seemed neither would be able to gain an advantage over the other. But then Actian, striking for Atropos’s face, missed and tore the first hole in Atropos’s wing.

  There was a brief pause in their battle for shock before they were at one another’s throats again, more viciously than before. What had seemed an abundance of skill at preventing injury before was now revealed to be simple reluctance on both of their parts to escalate this to real violence.

  But the time for softheartedness had passed. They could no longer be brothers while a challenge for leadership lay between them. Wing scales and tatters of the delicate membranes fell toward the stage as they grappled.

  The next wing torn was Actian’s, and from there, things happened quickly. A strategic swipe of Atropos’s claws left blood running from a cut on Actian’s brow, hampering his vision. Another from Actian tore a gouge in Atropos’s wings that left him struggling to compensate with the less-damaged one, fighting to keep himself in the air.

  He lashed out at Actian’s midsection, trying to get the other man’s guard down long enough to get at Actian’s wings, but his attention was divided, focused on staying in the air. Even half-blinded, Actian could see that. A swift kick to Atropos’s chest divided the combatants, and as Atropos was struggling to recover on his damaged wing, Actian dove at him, expecting to easily tear a strip in his wing that would send him plummeting.

  But he overestimated how long it would take Atropos to stabilize. The other man was ready when Actian hit him and Actian’s fingers never brushed Atropos’s wings. Atropos’s hand closed around Actian’s throat, the position they’d both been grappling for all through the brief, furious brawl. Atropos’s reach was long enough to keep Actian at arm’s length and still reach his wings.

  Actian hung from his brother’s grip, scrabbling at the fingers around his throat, his eyes wide and full of rage as Atropos’s free hand found the top of his wing. Atropos could easily tear down now and shear Actian’s wing from his body entirely. Tears could be repaired, but such an amputation would be all but impossible to recover from. With a gesture, he would have his victory and Actian would never fly again.

  He hesitated, and Actian’s eyes narrowed, seeing the doubt in Atropos’s eyes. An instant later, he’d lashed out, burying his heels in Atropos’s gut. His brother released him, wheeling backward, and Actian wasted no time in taking advantage of the opening.

  Atropos was still reacting to the blow to his stomach when Actian slammed a fist into his chin and then, grabbing his dazed brother by the shoulder, he punctured a hole in his undamaged wing that sent Atropos plummeting toward the stage.

  He landed badly, a hard crash directly onto his face. He lay in a crumpled heap, his wings a ruin, as Actian landed behind him.

  “You held back,” Actian declared, anger and confusion in his eyes as he stood over his fallen brother. “You could have defeated me and you chose not to. Why would you challenge me if you did not have the conviction to finish what you started?”

  “I always hold back when we spar,” Atropos said with a tired, pained little laugh, looking up at his brother. “I could never bring myself to hurt you.”

  Actian’s eyes widened.

  “This challenge was a farce from the beginning,” Actian said. “What was the purpose, Atropos? What have you done?”

  “Distracted you,” Atropos replied, slowly sitting up. “And everyone else.”

  At that moment, an alarm began ringing through the ship. A second later, the humans lined up on the stage began to vanish, transported back to Earth. Actian watched, horrified.

  “You,” he said, stunned. “You were responsible all along!”

  “Yes,” Atropos confirmed.

  “You have betrayed me.” Actian seemed less angry than dismayed and hurt. Green blood from the cut on his brow ran into his eyes. “You have betrayed your entire species.”

  “I have done only what is necessary,” Atropos replied. “To save both of our species.”

  Actian
looked up at the audience, still staring in mixed awe and horror. In the front row, the Hymenoptera was vibrating with rage. Captain Ixion’s expression was somewhere between furious disappointment and a kind of smug disdain as though he had told them exactly this would happen. The Immortal was as inscrutable as ever, its long red legs tapping the floor like impatient fingers.

  Regardless, they all watched Actian, waiting to see what he would do, how he would react to this betrayal. Actian would either respond with the swift and merciless justice he had shown Vespula a day ago. Or he would prove himself weak, a coward who could not put down his rivals. Actian looked down at his beaten brother, his face a rictus of grief carved in stone.

  “You will die for this,” he said, and there was no joy in it, nor any surprise in Atropos’s eye to hear it. He’d known his fate the moment he’d stepped onto the stage.

  Actian snapped his fingers for two guards, who carried the injured Lepidopterix away. Actian, still bloody, wings tattered, stormed away in the opposite direction. The representatives of his allies and many of his flight followed as he led them down through the abandoned parts of the ship to the vault where the humans for the auction had been kept.

  It was empty, save for Amber, holding a crowbar. She straightened up and wiped the sweat from her brow, standing over the twisted, broken remains of the podium.

  “I’ve smashed the one in the Incubation hall as well,” she told Actian as he appeared, hiding her fear as she stood up as tall as she could. “You will never kidnap another human again.”

  “Do you have any idea what you have done?” Actian advanced on her, outrage and horror mingling on his handsome features. “Do you have any idea what you have just stolen from us?”

  “Considerably less than what you would have stolen from humanity,” Amber replied. She was shaking, but she fought to keep the fear from her face. “My species will never be your slaves.”

  He hit her, so swiftly and suddenly she didn’t even have time to flinch. She fell, her face burning, at his feet, and curled up to protect her stomach in anticipation of further blows.

  “Leader!” one of the other Lepidopterix cried out as Actian raised a fist, clearly intending to do just that. He paused, looking back, and saw his flight staring at him in horror. “The child!”

  “The child is a mutant,” Actian declared, his wings flaring, “an abomination that in all likelihood would never have survived long enough to be born. This animal and its twisted spawn will be executed along with the traitor Atropos.”

  The dissent and dismay of the flight was obvious even to Amber as they raised their voices in a chorus of distressed objections. Amber felt a chill run down her spine at the thought of execution. Atropos had been certain Actian would spare them both. Amber should have known he would underestimate Actian’s ruthlessness.

  “Coward,” she said, forgetting her fear for a moment in the face of approaching death. “You keep saying you want change, but the truth is you’re terrified of it, aren’t you? So desperate to go back to a time no one even remembers that you can’t even see what’s right in front of you.”

  She struggled to her feet, staring up into Actian’s eyes with undisguised defiance.

  “Human beings are your equals,” she said. “And we could have been your allies. You chose to exploit us instead. Whatever the future holds for your people, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

  He raised his hand to hit her again. This time, she saw it coming and steeled herself, not fast enough to get out of the way. But she stayed on her feet this time, and before the sound of his blow had even faded, she struck him hard across the face. The shock of the slap sent another ripple of shocked voices through the crowd. He stared at her with wide, furious eyes even as his cheek bloomed mint green from the impact.

  “Even if you kill me,” she said, her voice shaking, “you will never own me.”

  Actian’s nostrils flared, his mouth a thin, furious line.

  “Take this thing away,” he snapped to his flight, and two Lepidopterix stepped forward, at first uncertainly, and then with more confidence, to grab Amber by the arms and pull her toward the door.

  The three representatives watched her go. Ixion’s expression was coolly self-satisfied.

  “I believe the Fleet has seen all it needs to of the mighty Lepidopterix Empire,” he said, inclining his head to Actian. “I believe I will take my leave.”

  “The Swarm will hear of this . . . inadequacy,” Vespula hissed, their wings buzzing in agitation. “The Queen will not be pleased.”

  The Immortal merely clapped its little legs together as though it had enjoyed the little drama.

  Then all three turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Actian said, then demanded louder as they kept walking. “Wait! More humans will be acquired! This is not over! This is not over!”

  Chapter 17

  Though rarely used, the Lepidopterix ship did have prison cells. It was a small, dark, bare room. It had perhaps had more in it at one point, but it had gone years, maybe generations unused and what it contained had been broken down and recycled by the replicator system. Amber tried asking for a bed at least, but the computer was no longer acknowledging her requests.

  She’d been sitting in the dark room almost an hour when Atropos was pushed through the door to join her. She leapt to her feet to catch him as he stumbled, and he pulled her close, burying his face in her hair.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “What happened? I was so afraid that he’d killed you.”

  “I am fine,” he said, holding her at arm’s length to look her over. “What about you? Your face—”

  “My face is nothing,” Amber said dismissively. “It’s just a black eye. Your wings . . .”

  “They don’t hurt,” he assured her. “The damage is easily repaired.”

  Or it would be, if they were not about to be executed. They left that unsaid, but the words hung heavy between them.

  “I am sorry.” Atropos stroked her cheek, his eyes heavy with remorse. “I thought he might choose to have me destroyed, for the sake of his reputation, if nothing else. But I never believed he would kill you too.”

  “You shouldn’t have agreed to it at all if you thought he would kill you,” Amber said, frightened and frustrated. “We could have done something else, figured something out.”

  “We did not have time,” Atropos said. “This was more important than my life.”

  Amber shook her head and held him tightly, pressing her face into his chest. She knew he was right. They’d saved Erin, her entire species. But it was hard to think about all of those other lives when the life that mattered most to her was about to be snuffed out.

  Time passed, and they could only sit in the darkness, wondering what was happening, what decisions were being made about their lives.

  “They may still decide to spare you,” Atropos said, his arm around her. They sat against the wall, holding each other in the dark. “Actian will cede to the will of the flight if they are unified enough. And not one of us would see an implanted host destroyed easily.”

  “And what would be the point of that if you’re gone?” Amber asked. “They won’t send me back to Earth carrying your child. I’d be trapped here like a lab experiment or a living incubator. Dying sounds almost preferable.”

  “Still.” Atropos brushed her hair back behind her ear and kissed her forehead. “I would rest easier, knowing you and our child are still alive somewhere.”

  He put a hand on her stomach, still for the moment unchanged by the life growing inside her. Amber put her hand over his, wondering about the baby and the future and wishing she could know more about either.

  They both sat up straighter as they heard the door opening and held on to one another tighter. Was this it? Was one or more of them about to be taken to their death?

  A moth stuck her head through the door, small and dusty mouse grey.

  “Hurry,” she said, waving them toward the door. “We do not have m
uch time!”

  Amber, confused, got to her feet and Atropos followed. The moth pushed the door open further, casting furtive glances down the hall beyond it. There were two other moths in the hallway, both larger than the first, one darker grey and the other brown. They were holding what were unmistakably weapons, two pronged curved blades made for tearing wings.

  “This part of the ship is pretty deserted,” the small grey moth said. “But we should be careful anyway. We have a shuttle waiting. This way.”

  “Wait,” Atropos said, stopping the moth. “Who are you? You seem familiar.”

  “I am Betula,” the small moth said, wings rustling restlessly. “You saved my clutch brother Biston years ago, before your brother was flight leader.”

  The larger gray moth nodded to Atropos respectfully.

  “I remember,” Atropos said. “It was a dishonorable challenge.”

  “One of the bright thought they could prove themselves worthy of being leader by killing every dull in the flight,” Betula said a touch bitterly. “And others had taken control of the computers and were hoarding the food. We were weak and starving, and that bright claimed the right of challenge against Biston. He would have killed him, but you stopped it. And then you found us food. Because of you, we lasted until you and your brother took control of the computers and restored food rights to everyone.”

  “I am Laothoe,” said the large brown moth, offering a hand to Atropos to shake. “In those days, when the dull were most hopeless, you were our hope. We wanted you for flight leader, but it was clear you would only ever support your brother.”

  “But now your brother may have brought the wrath of the Swarm down on us,” Betula said. “The dull are outraged that he plans to execute you, and even the bright are frantic that he would kill your host and the child. The entire flight is in chaos.”

  “I should go to Actian,” Atropos said, face pale. “We need to do something.”

  “You need to leave,” Betula corrected him. “You and the human. The child must be protected. A ship is waiting to take us away.”