by Sara Page
I scream behind my gag.
What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck?
“Holy shit,” Jack says, sounding both awed and horrified.
My cheek throbs a little from the contact but it’s the wetness that’s really bothering me. Large, gooey drops roll down my cheek, dripping onto my chest.
That’s the second time I’ve been slimed today, god dammit.
“Have you given her anything to soothe her?” Ram Gin-Gin asks. “She appears to be distressed.”
“I’m distressed because you just slimed me with your freakishly long tongue, you idiot!” I snarl against my gag but it comes out all muffled.
“No,” Yarrel says. “I sold my entire stash off before I stumbled upon her back on Earth.”
Ram Gin-Gin bobs his head in understanding. “Perhaps we should give her something to help calm her? They’re expecting her in processing in two clicks.”
“I’m serious, Lexi. Alert Yarrel, we’re aborting the mission.”
Again, I shake my head and suck a deep breath in through my nose. Jack can suck it; I’m going through with this. This opportunity may never come around again. Not only do I have a chance to uncover the market’s illegal slaving practices, I have a chance to expose a corrupt high-ranking Tribunal official in the process.
Once more Yarrel stares hard into my eyes and I know he’s waiting for me to alert him. To blink our signal. When I don’t, he just shrugs his shoulders and tells Ram Gin-Gin, “Couldn’t hurt.”
Ram Gin-Gin claps his hands together as if he’s excited and then waddles over to a table. “I have a little left over from my previous sale.”
Ram Gin-Gin waddles back over, holding a syringe with a very long thin needle attached to it in his upper right hand. He looks to Yarrel then back to me. “Is it true? Does it really make a human happy to do whatever you tell them to do?”
“Alert him, Lexi. That’s an order!” Jack bellows inside my head before I push him out and throw my walls up.
Yarrel nods his head grimly. “It’s true.”
Ram Gin-Gin waddles closer and those black, emotionless eyes of his now gleam menacingly. He begins to lean towards me and I stare at that syringe in his hand, longing for the escape. Aching for it.
Then I suddenly remember I’m not supposed to want this. I’m supposed to be fighting it.
Kicking out with my bound feet, I nearly get Ram Gin-Gin in the shin before he jumps back.
“Oh, she’s spunky! I like it,” Ram Gin-Gin grins. Reaching out with his bottom two hands, he grabs me by the knees and holds me still as he leans close.
I twist and turn my face from side to side with my hands still bound behind my back, utterly useless.
Ram Gin-Gin’s third hand grabs me by my hair to hold me still. I growl and snarl against the gag like an angry animal before I feel the sharp prick of pain in my neck.
Warmth floods my chest and my muscles give out. My spine slumps and I go limp in Ram Gin-Gin’s arms.
“Amazing,” Ram Gin-Gin sighs. “It’s instantaneous for them.”
As the fog swirls inside me, clouding up my mind, the deep pool inside me beckons.
I hesitate, feeling the gag being removed. Something wet and slimy runs along my lips, wetting them.
“What are you doing?” Yarrel asks.
From this close, Ram Gin-Gin’s breath is warm and putrid. Like wet garbage. “How can I sell a product I haven’t tested?”
“Trust me, I speak from experience. As a dealer, it’s never a good idea to test your own product.”
“Just one kiss, my friend. Just one kiss…”
I walk up to the edge of the pool inside me and dive in.
Chapter Five
Maul
There’s a blessed silence on the orbital we dock to. The last two weeks on a puddle-hopping wrap drive has left me harassed to my very last nerve. I don’t do well when it comes to enclosed spaces. And of all the fellow travelers I could have joining me in the tight-quartered ship, I got stuck with a Priest of Wollite.
How the fuck could I be so cursed is beyond me.
Little bastard harassed me for three-fourths of the trip, and the last portion of the trip I had to share a berth with a dirty miner from the Arto System.
The smell of metal and body sweat is going to be stuck in my nose for days now.
There was no peace from either of them either, especially from the priest. One smelled of shit and the other… well, he let his mouth dribble shit the whole time.
The Priests of Wollite are strange group of beings. They have no central location to call their own. They beg or preach, depending on how you look at it, at every planet or orbital station they stop at. They speak of love and dedication, selfless worship and sacrifice for their one true god Wollite.
Wollite the Blessed as they call him, god of the downtrodden and freer of the slave.
Yep, even in our enlightened age, someone believes that slavery is wrong. They would probably preach against the Tribunal too if it wasn’t a death sentence.
There was a time long ago when slavery was actually outlawed in most of the galaxy and looked upon with disgust.
That ended during the first true galactic war.
When whole races began to disappear in one offensive or the other, it was slavery that put things back to rights.
Why risk killing off a race when they could be used?
Pragmatism won out in the end. Some races were born into weakness, never truly being able to defend themselves but they’re still large and smart enough to not need protection from the defended species act.
As an enforcer of the Red Masks, I care little for the political side of things. I care even less which races are on the defended species act and which are not. The only thing that matters to me is if the mandated laws are being broken. If they are using a Twyline as a slave, fine. Doesn’t bother me one bit if the little water-breathing swimmers die in a desert. But if they use a Rogh to clean a chamber pot, the little munchkin better be getting paid or sold itself into indentured work.
These disgusting Wollite Priests though, don’t see it the same way. They want us all bowing and scraping to some figment of their imagination. They want us subservient to the greater good. Whatever the fuck that is. They would have us all on our knees asking for their god’s wisdom, have us all traveling the galaxy and beyond, preaching his words of love and self-sacrifice.
No thanks.
Taking a deep breath, I ask Marketh in my head, “You ready?”
“Must you even ask?”
I give my head a mental nod and reach up, pulling my cowl up and over my head. I pull the cowl out enough so that my head is pulled back into its shadows. Then I make sure to pull my tail up towards my belt, under the cloak.
The crew of the ship was kind enough to ignore my race on the way here, though I’m pretty sure I won’t get the same reception within this slaver’s market. My kind tend to make the other races quite nervous.
It must be our ability to rip a head off with our claws.
There’s an anxiousness to the orbital I haven’t felt before, it’s almost like I can feel the nerves of those around me. The back of my neck and my lower back break out in a cold sweat. I’ve been in far too many fights, investigations, and battles to be getting the nerves during something as easy as this job.
I have no clue what the hell is going on. It’s like I can feel the fears of the slaves as I slowly walk past their cages.
Taking a quick moment to myself, I step into a darkened recess and allow myself to give in to a full-bodied shudder. Whatever the fuck is going on doesn’t stop as I step back out into the light.
If anything, it’s getting harder to keep myself from ripping my cloak off and roaring into the faces around me.
“Mar, what the fuck’s going on?”
“Your vital signs are elevating at a rapid rate, and your olfactory senses are flaring. Maul, you need to calm yourself. If you lose your calm here, you will be putting us�
��”
Marketh goes silent in my head and it’s as if he has completely walled himself off. I don’t remember a time before where he has so fully shut himself out. It’s causes me to slouch against the bars of a cage. I can feel myself reeling from his absence as much as I can feel my senses erupting into burning fires.
Sharp words from a jailer pull me from my thoughts. “Hey, no touching the merchandise!”
“Maul, snap out of it! You’re causing undue notice!”
The moment of torment ends thankfully. The fires, the explosion of sensory overload, everything is going back to a low rumble.
Fuck.
Marketh’s voice comes back through the walls that have leapt between us. “Maul, this isn’t going to go well. I can feel it in my bones…”
“You don’t have bones, Mar, you’re made out of jelly.”
“Well then, I feel it in your bones, almost literally.”
Pulling away from the bars, I nod at the Prig. Prigs are one of the more proliferate races who work as slavers. They enjoy the hunt and sale. The haggling of flesh is the one good thing you can say about them. I think of them more as disgusting parasites that leech on the Tribunal’s body like a bloody fucking bottom feeder. They’re always into some shady deal, and whenever it starts to turn bad, they have an unbelievable amount of luck getting away without so much as a smear on their names.
The poor Barries in the cage before me pull back in fright, chittering in their insectoid language. They chitter and crackle to each other. No doubt they’ve seen my face and know my kind rarely comes to these far-off markets.
Markets like these aren’t for the refined tastes, here they sell slaves by the hordes. This is where the races of the smaller Tribunal houses come to buy their soldiers. Or fodder. Depending on how you look at it.
This is the showing room. The little groups of different species in the cages don’t represent the numbers they have behind the closed doors. Here is where you get a taste of the type of races they have for sale. You pick the race and tell them how many you need, then you hook up the large freighter containers to your ship. It’s pretty easy to assemble an army out here.
Easy for anyone to do a couple of unnoticed transactions as well.
I push myself away from the cage and a small groan escapes my mouth. I have no clue what happened but it has left me almost besotted.
“Maul, we are in deep shit,” Marketh growls at me.
He’s deeply worried, I can feel it now.
“We’ve come too far, Marketh…” I think.
“Maul, your body is becoming increasingly unstable… Something is going… Fuck.”
Marketh begins to release a deep guttural laughter inside my head. I can feel him almost quivering on my brain.
“Stop that… That feels like you’re sliming me or something. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Oh god, the stars they do love to fuck you over, Maul!”
“What are you going on about?”
It’s then though that two other Prigs decide to join the first guard. They start to surround me.
“What’s wrong with you?” one asks as his tongue shoots out of its mouth, getting far too close to my hood.
Backing up further from the cage, I shake my head. “Change of gravity sickness.”
“So?” the one asks again.
“So, nothing. I’m not touching your shit right now so fuck off.”
“Why the attitude?” another grumbles as it edges towards me.
Growling, I shove my right arm out. Three long credit bars fit neatly in the palm of my hand. I don’t advertise the gesture, but they see it for what it is—bribery.
“These slaves are pathetic.”
“They are…” the guard who’s done most of the talking agrees as his tongue shoots out to the top credit bar. The tongue snaps one of the ten thousand marked bars from my hand to its own hand and then quickly reels back into its mouth.
The other two bars are snapped by the other two guards as they switch from annoyed with my presence to merely bothered.
“I need to see a better… selection…”
They don’t move, they don’t talk, and they sure as fuck don’t treat me as a person they want to help.
Sighing heavily, I pull six more bars from my pocket. I’m paying them right now more than they will probably make in a year in the legal sector. Then again, if they have people like me trying to get into the back room, I bet they make a shit ton of credits regardless.
“Ah, well, you see…” one says after the bars are quickly snapped up again from my hands. “What you see now is all we have.”
Turning away from me, they walk off in different directions. They don’t even have the good grace to tell me to fuck off. Shit. It’s not unexpected though. They don’t know me and they sure as fuck don’t trust me.
As far as I know, I’m on a legit slave auction orbital.
A push from behind me sets my hackles on edge and I feel a very cold metal nudge itself against my spine. “Walk forward. Stop when I say and turn when I tell you to.”
The way he pushes me forward, I get the hint that if I don’t I could end up a lot worse than these slaves.
The voice is rough, it’s not a Prigs voice, it’s more guttural with a growling undertone. From the smell, I think it’s one of the Tuine race. They look like cats but stand on two legs. The barrel, I’m willing to bet, is to a blaster that would turn my body into two halves.
Maybe Marketh was right, we might be in deep shit.
“Marketh…”
“I told you so,” Marketh grumbles before saying. “Of all the orbitals and in all the situations, it just has to happen right here.”
“What the hell are you going on about?” I ask as I keep moving.
Neither me nor the Tuine behind me are noticed as we almost leisurely make our way through one checkpoint after the other. The guards aren’t searching me and I haven’t been accosted.
Whatever’s going on here is making me sweat though, I can feel my back slick with it. My chest is feeling tighter and tighter the deeper we walk into the station.
By the time we finally stop at a door that has four guards standing on each side of it, I’m panting. The cowl of my cloak is the one thing that keeps me safe from notice, I hope. Because right now all my instincts are going haywire.
I can barely focus on what’s happening.
All the years of training, the years of undercover assignments… Nothing has ever had me this off my rocker or so completely out of my element. I haven’t even felt threatened by my escort.
No, something is wrong here. Very wrong.
The door before me unseals and I feel the barrel removed from my spine. I turn to look back at who was escorting me but only see a feline tail as they turn away from me.
Looking to each side of the door, I try to keep cool as I walk through the portal. Once on the other side, I slowly make my way into the room.
The lighting is much darker here. It should be for what I see here is like the crown jewel of illegality. I can count at least seven different species on the Protected Species Act, and those are the ones they are showcasing.
Fuck.
And that’s not all they have back here, it’s like the who’s who and the what’s what of the black market. Drugs, illegal slaves, weapons, and even a sleek black hyper ship of very dubious origins. The kind of ship that’s meant for smuggling.
Holy Stars, this is… fucked up.
My heart all of a sudden slams inside my chest. I can feel it pushing against my rib cage as I look directly ahead of me. Pushed between two illegal slaves is a third that I have only seen on holographic videos.
It’s a fucking living, breathing human.
Her starry-eyed gaze pulls at me. Pulls at the strings in my chest, the ones that connect my heart and mind. The ones that hold my soul in one space.
Under a wrinkled slaves frock, I glimpse her pale white skin. Her hair is long and black as night. Her bl
ue eyes stare at me from a far-off place.
I can feel my pulse rushing through my temples. She’s not a race who should be here.
She’s… she’s a human and the cruelty of my stars breaks the walls I must have been putting up. I thought it had been Marketh who threw the walls up, but no it was me.
It was me finding something I’m not allowed to have.
“Boyo, we’re in some deep shit. Your tail is out for the whole universe to see.”
And so is my cock. Right now, I have never felt my cock so engorged. It’s as if this is the first-time blood has ever found its way there. Found it and is now trying to fill the muscle to its fullest extent.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
She’s beautiful in every sense of the word.
So pale and innocent. So fragile.
Her dazed expression must be from the serenity the scum fuckers around here like to use to pacify their illegal merchandise.
“You’re feeling your bondmate tugging at you,” Marketh says with a sad chuckle.
Chapter Six
Lexi
Fingers touch me. Exploring me. Violating me.
So many fingers.
Their touches are rough and lingering. The awareness of them is almost excruciating.
They roam my body, cupping me, shaping me, and squeezing me.
I drift along, racing away from the creepy-crawly feeling. I must escape the cool wetness invading my warmth.
I must escape the awareness of what is being done.
I’m poked and pricked. Parts of me are stretched almost to the breaking the point. My scalp tingles as my hair is tugged.
“She’s so soft,” a strange, guttural voice murmurs. “I want one.”
Cool breath puffs against my breasts.
My body responds, forsaking my soul.
Something wet and slimy pushes its way into my mouth.
I run deep, deep inside of myself.
Tripping.
And falling.
Getting lost in places I’ve never explored before.
“What the fuck?!”
The voices around me grow and shrink. Grow and shrink.
“No, don’t hit the alarm, you idiot!” Ram Gin-Gin squeals. “If you do, you’ll scare off the customers and we’ll lose billions of credits.”
