by Lisa Lace
“The peace treaty is fully binding. We must all uphold it,” he explained. “This is the longest period in remembered history that Erusha’s tribes have been at peace. We can no longer afford to be at war without the planet’s population going extinct.”
“So the women will be safe,” she said, her voice flat. It was a question, but she said it like a statement.
“We have thirty Alphas to protect the tribe. Fifteen Betas will be moving up into the ranks in order to increase protection. We are also ordering more weapons from other planets. There will be no place safer on all of Erusha, I assure you,” Jurgen said.
She nodded. She abruptly pushed her plate away and slid off her chair. She adjusted her clothing, looking up at him. He was about to ask if there was something wrong with her food. She had eaten only one bite, but she spoke before he could get a chance.
“I must talk with all of the males who will be matched. I need to make sure they will be compatible with my clients,” she said. She picked up her strange square bag, which she had placed beside her chair.
“Of course.”
“I would meet with you first, if you don’t mind,” she said.
He inclined his head in assent. “We can talk in the quarters we have arranged for you.”
“Very good,” she replied.
He stood from his chair, looking at Auslur, who was hiding a grin. The tiny Earth woman’s demeanor was strange, and Jurgen wondered if all human females were like this. If so, life was about to become exhausting. He wasn’t sure he could handle this kind of constant negotiation.
“You will be a guest in my home,” Auslur told Maxine. He, too, had risen from his seat. “We cleaned it just this morning, prior to your arrival. I hope it suits your purposes.”
“Thank you, Auslur,” Maxine said, smiling stiffly. It was almost as though her face would break if she smiled fully.
“It’s this way,” Jurgen said, walking toward Auslur’s home. He remembered to walk slowly so she could keep up. Not only was her stride short, but her tall, too-small shoes hindered her ability to walk properly.
When they finally reached Auslur’s one-story stone dwelling, he opened the large wooden door for her. She entered, glancing around. She ran a finger over the surface of the table. She walked into the bedroom and stayed in there for a few minutes before returning to the main room.
“This will do,” she said.
“Were you not in here earlier?” Jurgen asked her, confused.
“Yes,” she replied. “But I had no idea it was where I would be staying. I have standards of cleanliness that you and your men will need to uphold for the women. I will make sure to leave instructions.” She walked over to the table, where she pulled herself up and into the chair. She considered it for a moment. Her legs were too short and stuck straight out, like a youngling’s.
“You will need to make furniture for women of my size,” she told him as she opened her square bag, taking out a thin silver tablet. She gestured toward the chair in which she sat. “This is not comfortable.” Her tablet was much thinner and smaller than anything used on Erusha. She powered it on, and shortly it emitted a blue light.
Jurgen sat down at the table across from her. He busied himself studying her as she tapped the device quickly before looking up at him with a broad smile. Her first. The instant change in her demeanor changed mystified him and put him on edge. He wondered, not for the first time, if this woman could be trusted.
“So, what does the chief of an Erushan tribe look for in a queen? Are you looking for a love match?” she asked.
Darkness curled in the pit of Jurgen’s stomach. “No. Never,” he growled.
She looked taken aback for a moment before a knowing look came over her face. He realized with a jolt that he had said too much.
She made a sad face. “I heard about the loss of your women,” she said. “Such a tragedy.”
He merely grunted in response. He didn’t want to discuss it. Not with her.
“I will be honest,” she went on, unfazed by his gruff demeanor. “It did cause my superiors pause. They were concerned that your people would not be able to ensure our clients’ safety. We promise our clients comfortable lives on other planets. Earth is, to put it simply, quite dull. The women I represent seek adventure. Comfort. Love.” She placed emphasis on the word “love.”
Jurgen raised his chin, crossing his arms over his chest. “That is the one thing I cannot promise,” he told her.
Realization flashed across her face. “Your wife died,” she said, her voice growing hushed. “How tragic.”
Jurgen hated where this was going. She assumed too much, and her assumptions were far too close to the truth. He fought to keep Lilat’s face out of his mind. This woman might be the representative for the human women, but her job also required her to help him.
“I am the chief of the tribe. I must produce an heir or lose my position,” he explained. It was more than he wanted to tell her. Yet again, necessity forced him forward.
She nodded, licking her red-painted lips, which she pursed. “I must say, I do not know that any one of my clients would agree to be merely a broodmare. That isn’t an acceptable view of women on Earth, you know. Culturally speaking, I suppose, that is a distinct difference between our two societies,” she remarked.
“I can pay extra,” he told her, guessing at what she wanted to hear.
That seemed to work. She nodded, glancing down at her tablet. Her fingers flew across the surface, tapping lightly.
“So, you’re looking for submissive. Quiet.” She was smirking as she tapped her tablet. She clearly felt that she was in charge of this situation. She looked up at him. “Are there any physical attributes in particular that you are looking for in a bride?”
“Does it matter?”
“Physical attraction is important in a match,” she insisted. She pulled a garishly colored book out of her square bag and held it out to him.
He stared at it, raising an eyebrow.
“I have some client profiles in here if you would like to look.”
Jurgen shook his head gruffly. It didn’t matter. Although…he remembered back to the pictures Grav had shown them in the war room. The woman with the hair like fire.
“Orange hair,” he mumbled, looking down at the floor.
She arched her eyebrow. “Eye color?” she asked.
“Aren’t they all white?”
She was silent for a moment before she laughed. He exhaled in frustration. He didn’t see what was funny.
“Our irises are all different,” she explained.
“It matters not,” he grumbled.
She studied him for a moment. “I have the perfect woman,” she announced, leaning forward. “Hair like fire…skin like milk.”
He studied her for a moment. She smiled, looking down at her tablet and typing on it furiously as she spoke. “I met her not long before I left to come here. She is quite eager to be off. I had her placed in stasis until I returned.”
“You keep women in stasis?” he asked, remembering that it was a common practice for interstellar travel.
“Yes. Sometimes, the perfect match takes us a while. So we keep them in stasis so they do not age too significantly before we can complete our work,” she explained, still typing quickly.
“How long has this woman been in stasis?” From what he knew of the process, it could be damaging to the brain if the individual was left unconscious for too long.
“Seven months, at this point. Don’t worry. She won’t come damaged,” she assured him. “She is a woman worthy of a warlord. She will make you strong babies.”
He nodded. That was all he required.
“Although,” she went on, “you may have to provide her some sort of recompense. She may be upset to reawaken after all this time to find out she is not ending up with a love match.”
“I will take care of that,” he said quietly.
“A house of her own, perhaps,” she suggested. “Ele
gant clothing. Delicious food.”
“Done,” he grunted.
“Very well,” she said as she continued tapping her fingers on her tablet. “I will take care of everything else.”
“When will the women be here?” he asked.
“It will take six months for me to return to Earth. During that time, I can work on the matches. Give me a month on Earth to complete the arrangements. I need to be sure that the matches for forty-something males are correct, and that all of the women are prepared for the journey. I need to educate them prior to arriving on Erusha—customs, lifestyle, and history.” She waved a hand, as if this were nothing. “It will take six months for me to return with the women.”
“More than a year?” His frustration was evident in his voice.
“Yes. If it’s to be done properly,” she replied, her voice cutting—a verbal slap.
“So be it.”
She nodded.
“I will see the others now,” she said, dismissing him with a wave of her tiny hand. She returned her focus to her tablet, tapping on it rapidly.
He stood and walked out of the dwelling. The whole of the tribe seemed to be gathered outside, waiting and watching. He gestured for the first in line to go in.
He silently wished the others luck. The first human woman he had ever met was completely unlike what he had expected. She was far more delicate than he had anticipated. And her temperament—she was far more demanding than he had expected.
A hand gripped his shoulder. He turned to see Auslur had stepped up beside him.
“What do you think of her, my lord?” he asked.
“She seems…fragile,” he said.
“Yes,” Auslur agreed.
“Is this a mistake, Auslur?” Jurgen wondered. “How can a species so small and delicate survive here when our women were killed?”
“We will protect them,” Auslur replied. “We learn from our past and use it to inform our actions in the future. That is part of life.”
“Are we betraying them?” he asked. He knew he had asked this before, but it was the one question that plagued him.
Auslur was silent for a moment. “We do what we must. That is also part of life,” he said. “They understand. The tribe must survive, Jurgen. With the peace treaty, Erusha has the chance to flourish. With the arrival of the women, we have a chance to thrive. I know you think that it’s a betrayal, but it’s a new beginning. We are still alive. They aren’t. They can’t hold it against us to want to start over after tragedy.”
Jurgen looked over at Auslur. He hadn’t considered the matter from this viewpoint. He thought back to Lilat’s words in his dream: Leave me here, she had said. With a sickening lurch, he grasped her meaning—Leave me here, in the past.
Zandra (Seven Months Later)
Zandra came awake slowly. Her eyes felt gritty with sleep, and she felt deeply groggy. Her stomach felt awful, and her head throbbed. This is a particularly bad hangover, she thought. Wait, no. She opened her eyes, finding herself looking at weak fluorescent lighting. It was all coming back to her—Maxine. The tea. Darkness. Alisha, gone.
How long have I been asleep? Zandra wondered. Only a few hours at most. I would know if it was longer, right? She glanced down at her body. She was dressed in a formfitting, short-sleeved white spacesuit. Her feet were bare and bluish in the cold of the room. It’s freezing in here. She sat up. She felt a tug at her arm—an IV needle piercing her flesh, taped in place. She peeled off the tape, pulling the needle out, hissing as she felt it slide out of her skin. There was a nasty purple-and-yellow bruise on the inside of her elbow.
She looked around. Zandra found herself on a bunk bed against a wall. She slid her legs over the side, letting her feet hang in the air. Looking carefully at the other bunks she could see, she found they were filled with sleeping women. She counted, assuming her wall was the same as the others. Four bunks high, four bunks across. Sixteen women per wall. Three walls of bunks. Forty-eight women, including me. The other women were all hooked up to IVs, which were fed through the walls. She remembered the phrase for this: stasis. It was an extended sleep used to help passengers on spaceships travel more comfortably. I might not be on Earth anymore. I might not even be close. Her stomach roiled nervously. The matchmaker on Earth had said they did business all over the universe. She could have been sleeping anywhere from a few hours to a few months. She could be anywhere.
She had heard of matchmaking agencies kidnapping women and selling them to aliens, but most people considered it to be an urban legend. She inhaled, closing her eyes. She felt her stomach protesting, gearing up to empty itself. She swallowed, fighting back the nausea. Not now, she thought. I have to get out of here. She looked to the one wall that did not have rows of bunks along it. Instead, there was a double door.
She was on the highest bunk. It was a long drop down, but not a dangerous distance. She would have to risk it if she was going to escape. She pushed herself off, landing on her feet with a loud, percussive boom. Her knees and ankles buckled from the impact, and she fell forward, catching herself with the palms of her hands. She remained crouching for a moment. It seemed no one had heard her. She closed her eyes, steeling herself, and then stood up. Looking around at the other women, she saw no movement in any of the bunks. Better to let them sleep. I can try to come back later when I know more. She walked over to the doors and placed her hands on the smooth, cool surface of one. It didn’t move. She noticed a panel to her left. She placed her hand on it, and the doors slid open silently.
On the other side was a long, empty corridor. She could hear, far off in the distance, a loud metallic humming. The ship’s engine, she realized. Just like the room that held the women, the corridor was a stark white, but with brighter lighting. She squinted, her eyes adjusting to the abrupt change in illumination. She began to run and soon came to a four-way intersection. She looked to the left. To the right. Straight ahead. All of the corridors looked exactly the same. The mechanical hum of the engine was louder to the right. If I go towards the engine, I might run into the people who are running the ship. If I go away from it, I might find the door out, she reasoned, taking the corridor to the left. If I’m lucky, really, really lucky, the ship hasn’t left Earth yet.
She ran down the hallway, a light sweat beginning to break out over her skin. Her breathing came in ragged heaves. She slowed to a walk, her legs tired already. My stomach is about to betray me, she thought. She felt so weak. The corridor bent in a slow, curving turn. At the end, there was another door. She walked up to it, placing her hand on the panel beside it. Nothing happened. She took her hand away then tried again, slowly this time. Nothing. She stepped back, looking around for something that might help, but the hallway was empty.
She growled in frustration, slamming her hand weakly against the doors. She crouched down, completely drained of energy. The only thing to do was return the way she had come and try another hallway. She was starting to feel shaky. Am I going into shock? she wondered. It was common after being in stasis, but only if it had been a prolonged period of time. She didn’t want to consider that just yet. She stood, slowly, trembling with the effort. As she turned, the doors slid open. She froze in panic.
On the other side of the doors, she saw a floor-to-ceiling window, opening on a wide, star-filled vista of outer space. All she could hear was the drumbeat of her heart. She took deep breaths, in and out, her chest heaving. Her legs would barely move, but she inched forward, close to the window. When she reached it, she raised a shaking arm and pressed her hand to the glass. It was warm against her icy skin.
Her mind was empty, except for one phrase. She kept repeating it over and over to herself: Not on Earth. Not on Earth. She couldn’t even see Earth. There were no planets nearby. Just stars and darkness. She remained there, staring. Footsteps sounded down a hallway to her right. Her mind barely registered them, so focused was she upon her new reality. When she finally processed the noise, she looked in the direction of the footsteps. She got d
own into a crouch, holding up her right arm, as though to fend off any attacker.
Two figures in white, skintight spacesuits neared. They wore white helmets with dark visors. They were humanoid, human-sized, but she couldn’t be sure they were human.
“Stay away from me,” she growled with every ounce of fierceness she could muster as she glared up at them from her haunches.
The one on the left held up a hand. There was a voice, but it came out muffled—as though through a window.
“Stay away. Stay away. Stay away.”
They either didn’t understand, or they were ignoring what she was saying. The one on the left tried speaking again.
“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. It came out like a sob. The figure took a step closer, and she screamed. A loud, wordless keening like an injured wildcat. The figure took a short step back before lunging forward. At its approach, Zandra launched herself at the figure, reaching up to slam its broad chest with her fists. Her attack had no effect. She tried harder, pounding her fists on his chest. At least, she felt it was a him.
She felt the barrel of a weapon against the back of her neck. She froze. She had forgotten the other figure. There was a beat as she looked up into what should have been the face of the other. Then came the shock—waves of electricity and pain, seething through her body. She tried to scream again. Her mouth opened wide, but nothing came out. Her eyes teared up. The surges of agony kept coming, and then darkness as her consciousness faded.
Jurgen
The twin suns shone brightly above the gathering of Alphas. Jurgen was at the front of the group of older Alphas as they looked out over the line of the new Alphas. Fifteen younger males, all of whom had reached their early twenties within the past few years. Not all Betas were allowed to rise in rank—only those who showed promise as warriors. The men all stood at attention. They were dressed in tight gray pants, chests bared to display their fresh tattoos, which denoted their status as Alphas.
