by Lisa Lace
The ship from Earth bearing the human women would arrive any day. In the year since the matchmaker had come and gone, Jurgen had thrown all of his energy and attention into preparing the settlement for their arrival. Fields of vegetable plants had been sown. Fruit trees had been collected and moved to form an orchard. New buildings had been constructed, and a large stone wall had been built around the settlement for added fortification. He had tried not to think of what the arrival of these women meant—for both himself and his people. In the time that had elapsed, he had gained distance from his grief, although it still haunted him.
He brought he thoughts back to the present and addressed his new recruits.
“You have sworn yourselves part of the brotherhood of Alphas of the Apaknor Tribe,” he began, his voice loud enough that all those gathered could hear. “The tattoos that you now bear are as permanent and binding as the oaths that you must now make.”
He paused, watching the effect his words had on the new Alphas. To a man, their faces were solemn.
He began. “Do you swear to defend the tribe?”
“Yes,” they answered in one voice.
“Do you swear to live for the tribe?” he went on.
“Yes.”
“Do you swear to die for the tribe?”
“Yes.” Next was the newest part of the oath, required by the peace treaty, now three years old and still in full effect despite rising tensions between the tribes.
“Do you swear to uphold the Peace of Erusha?” he asked.
“Yes,” they replied.
He turned to the Alphas gathered behind him. “Alphas of Tribe Apaknor, do you accept your new brothers?” His voice boomed.
“We do,” they replied.
He turned back to the row of newly minted Alphas. “Then welcome your brothers,” he called out, a smile coming to his lips.
Behind him, the older Alphas cheered, a loud, wordless cheer as they swarmed the line of new members. The ritual was interrupted by the arrival of Grav, who came running from the direction of the communal building. He was waving his arms to get their attention.
“Their ship has made contact,” he yelled. “The captain has begun his descent.”
There was a large, excited outcry in response. Now, there was more to celebrate. Jurgen led his group of forty-five Alphas to the common building. They crowded into the war room, where they could see the radar. The ship appeared as a tiny green blip on the monitor as it entered the planet’s atmosphere. The screen showed a map of the territory above which the ship was entering.
“They have come in over the Saavi territory,” Grav said, frowning.
Jurgen’s stomach sank. Although the two tribes had promised peace, there was still tension between them. All at once, the ship avatar pulsed red. An emergency warning appeared, causing the whole screen to flash red. A loud alarm was going off.
“What’s happening?” Jurgen asked Grav, who looked stricken. He had to yell to be heard over the alarm.
“Distress signal. I’m going to try to make contact with them,” Grave shouted back, pulling a pair of headphones over his ears.
The Alphas were all quiet, listening and watching.
“Hello? Apaknor Base to Earth Flight 569. We have received a distress signal.” Grav waited. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. There was a low murmur among those gathered.
“Apaknor Base?” A male voice came through the speaker. “Do you read me?”
“Yes,” Grav replied. “What is your status?”
“Earth Flight 569 here,” the voice replied. “We have been hit by a projectile on our starboard side. The engine room has been breached. We are going down. Please send assistance.”
Grav looked over to Jurgen, who nodded.
“Earth Flight 569,” Grav said, “we are sending help. Please remain near the ship.”
The captain’s reply was garbled, static resounding in the walls of the war room. The Alphas all watched as the blinking red light disappeared from the screen.
“We have to go now,” Jurgen told the Alphas. “Right now. It will take us hours to reach the coordinates where the ship went down.” He motioned with his hand for them to move out.
The Alphas all responded at once, some headed for vehicles, the others to grab their weapons.
Jurgen walked over to Grav, who remained at the computer monitors. “Try to reinitiate contact with them,” he said.
Grav nodded.
“If you can, remain in touch with them until we arrive. Let the other tribes know that an act of war has been committed against us. I will have no negative repercussions brought against us for entering Saavi territory uninvited.”
“Will do,” Grav replied, returning his attention to his monitors.
Jurgen turned, walking toward the weapons storerooms, which were crowded with Alphas arming themselves. He pulled the lightweight plate armor over his chest and back, tightening the straps that held it in place. He grabbed two loaded and charged blasters, cinching the sheaths around his hips. He grabbed a scimitar from the wall. Although the blasters were usually sufficient, he always kept a blade on him, just in case.
He walked out of the communal building, quickly making his way to the southern gate, where the Alphas were gathering. The tribe’s three large convoy trucks were being loaded with extra weapons and explosive devices. The Alphas would run in their units in front of the convoy. He watched as they finished assembling, yelling commands in order to make things run more smoothly. The Alphas were highly trained and most were ready to go at very close to a moment’s notice. The vehicles were loaded in minutes. When he received the all-ready signal, Jurgen motioned with his hand and took off at a run. The Alphas followed.
Zandra
Zandra came awake with a jolt when her body hit the cold, smooth floor of the ship. She lay on her side for a moment, feeling intense pain as her shoulder began to throb. Then there was a second impact, this one harder and louder. Zandra felt the breath knocked from her as the floor dropped and rose. She gasped at the force of the jolt and decided it was best to remain sprawled on the floor for a while. Finally, slowly, painfully, she pushed herself into a sitting position. There was a twinge of pain in her ribs as she raised herself, causing her to wince.
Bodies of women lay upon the floor, scattered like rag dolls. IVs had been ripped from the walls, from arms. The tubes hung down along the walls, swinging from side to side. Zandra crawled over to the nearest woman, a brunette, her eyes half-open. She placed a hand gently on the woman’s shoulder.
“Wake up,” she said in a whisper. Then, shaking her frantically. “Wake up, please.”
The woman coughed, dark blood erupting from her mouth.
“No, no, no.” Zandra didn’t know what to do.
She tried to sit the woman up. The woman’s head lolled grotesquely on her neck. Her neck is broken, she realized. There’s nothing I can do. The woman coughed as blood spewed from her mouth. Zandra’s arms were covered in the sticky red fluid. She watched as the blood flow slowed, and the woman stopped breathing. She had never regained consciousness.
Zandra slid herself out from under the dead brunette and turned her attention to the next woman nearest to her on the floor. Zandra checked this woman for injuries before she moved her. She had a few cuts, but she didn’t seem to have any bones visibly broken. She was breathing, albeit shallowly. Zandra took this as a good sign. She didn’t want to make anything worse. Part of her wondered if and when help would arrive.
None of the other women had yet awoken from stasis. She estimated it usually took about forty minutes for a person to awaken from the drug-induced slumber. Which meant that the last time she had been awake was not long ago, because she did not have an IV in her arm this time. She had only been knocked out by what she assumed was a Taser. She reached back with her left hand, feeling around for where she had been hit. The skin at the nape of her neck felt sore—burned. The woman that she sat beside showed no damage to the neck. She knew
the woman would feel ill when she woke up. If she woke up. Zandra rolled the woman on her side, one arm bent to support her in the position that the drunk and unconscious were supposed to be put in.
Zandra began walked among the other women, quickly assessing injuries. Anyone who showed no signs of internal injury she moved to their sides, so that if they were sick before they gained consciousness, they wouldn’t choke on their vomit. Anyone with internal injuries or obviously broken bones she left alone. She knew from watching reality TV that you shouldn’t move someone with severe injuries before medical assistance came—that moving them would only make it worse. Not having any way to check the time, she estimated it was now about twenty minutes since the crash, with no sign of help. She guessed the other passengers would be out for at least another twenty minutes before reviving from stasis.
She walked toward the doors, trying to open them as she had before by placing her hand on the panel. Nothing happened. She stepped back, then approached the doors slowly, and pressed her hand to the panel again. Still nothing. Clearly, their captors had learned from their earlier mistake and locked the doors from the outside. Frustrated, she slammed her left hand on the door. Her right arm, with her injured shoulder, was next to useless. She kept it wrapped around her waist, the position that caused her the least pain.
She looked down at her body. She was covered in the blood of a dead woman. Her ribs ached, and she was locked in a room in a crashed spaceship. She had no idea how many of the other women were alive or if they still would be in an hour or two. She turned around, letting herself slide to the floor, her back against the door, and waited. There was nothing else to do.
She heard the others begin to stir. One woman groaned as she came awake. Zandra struggled to her feet. As she walked toward the moaning woman, she heard another. She knelt down beside the first woman, whose eyes were casting around anxiously. She was one Zandra had left lying on her back. The woman’s stomach was rounding as it filled with blood. Seeing Zandra, her mouth contorted as she screamed wordlessly. Her face was pale, and her breathing was ragged, coming in gasps.
“You were in an accident,” Zandra told her, taking her hand.
Zandra had never felt so useless in her entire life. She desperately wanted to do something for the woman, but there was nothing in the room that would make any difference. The woman tried frantically to say something but couldn’t form the words. She gripped Zandra’s hand tightly as waves of pain racked her body. She screamed until she began to cough raggedly. Blood spotted her lips as she coughed. Zandra could see that it wouldn’t be long now.
She glanced around. Other women were starting to come to. She could hear pained whimpers and confused questions that had no answer. Someone was screaming. She felt the woman’s grip slacken in her hand as she lost consciousness and her breathing began to slow. Although Zandra felt bad, she knew she had to help those who would survive. They were beginning to waken—sick, injured, and frightened.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the woman, gently placing her hand on her chest.
She stood, turning around. She noted the distinct odor of smoke, and her heart sank as she realized the ship was likely on fire. This was terrible. Her pulse quickened as she realized there was the distinct possibility they would all die a fiery death, trapped here in this room. A few women were sitting up and looking around. Their eyes moved to her, the only person standing. She knew she was going to have to take charge and give them something to do until either time ran out or they were rescued.
“Okay, ladies,” Zandra called out, her voice shaking slightly. “Here’s what’s happened. We are on a spaceship. You either signed an agreement with TerraMates or you were kidnapped by them. Either way, it does not matter at the moment. We are no longer on Earth. We have likely crashed on an alien planet. We are locked in this room. I don’t know if anyone will be coming for us, and even if they do, I don’t know who—or what—they will be. There is a chance they may be dangerous.”
She paused, letting the information sink in. A few women had begun to cry. A blonde with a large bruise on her cheek had buried her face in her hands. A thin woman with a mass of curly hair was trying to stand, her legs wobbling beneath her. Another was throwing up, the dark curtain of her chestnut hair obscuring her features.
“Those of you who can, you need to help me with the injured. Also, does anyone know how to unlock doors like this?” She pointed behind her.
Of the ten or so women who were awake, none responded positively. Zandra nodded grimly. They all seemed groggy. No one spoke.
“Okay—” she began, but just then there was a loud thump on the door.
Zandra stepped back from the door as she watched warily. The pounding continued, and the doors began to buckle and crumple inward under the battering. This type of force was not likely to be applied by the ship’s crew. They would probably use an emergency switch to open the doors, she reasoned. Zandra’s eyes darted around the room, looking for something, anything, they could use to defend themselves. The women were unarmed and injured. The bunks could potentially be pulled apart and used as makeshift weapons, but there was no time. She recalled the two figures in suits she had encountered earlier—they had seemed human, but she had no idea who would come through when the doors finally caved in.
Zandra turned to face the others. “Whatever is on the other side of those doors, be brave,” she told them, making eye contact with each of them.
The women nodded. There was fear on their faces. Zandra continued to stand as the doors were broken open. Immediately, she saw two large, green, muscular beasts. They were holding a battering ram made out of a thick tree trunk, which they tossed aside easily, as a human would an armful of wet towels.
There was a chorus of screams from the terrified women as the room was swarmed by a pack of the green monsters. They growled in response to the screams. They had long gray-green hair, yellow eyes with reptilian pupils, and brutal, scarred faces. They appeared to be close to seven feet tall, and they wore tight pants and bandoliers with ammo for blasters. They were armed to the teeth—blasters, knives, and spears.
Zandra was grabbed by one of the front-runners and thrown over his shoulder. He picked up the dead woman at her feet as well. He turned and ran through the hallways. He smelled horrible, and his long hair was greasy. Zandra thought she might be sick. His large, meaty green hand with its long, yellowed nails was pressing on her injured ribs. Clouds of smoke drifted through the hallways, up toward the ceiling. Zandra tried not to scream in pain. She struggled a little, thinking desperately that maybe it would get the beast to drop her. Instead, he snarled and pressed down harder on her ribs. The added pressure nearly caused her to pass out. Cold sweat broke out on her face.
When they reached an opening, the beast paused for a moment. Zandra took that second to look around. Everywhere she looked were piled bodies dressed in white—the ship’s crew. They all lay unmoving, clearly dead, their blood pooling on the ground. The aliens must have attacked as soon as the ship had crashed. There was no way to know if the crew had fought back—but it would have been a rout. The beast exited the ship, jumping the ten feet from the door to the ground. The impact caused Zandra to shriek, and before she knew it, the beast was running away from the ship.
Zandra watched as other beasts followed, carrying more of the women slung over their shoulders or under their arms. They ran through the forest surrounding the crash site. The ship began to disappear from sight as the beast carrying Zandra moved farther into the trees. Suddenly, the ship exploded, lighting the forest around them. Zandra felt the heat from the blast, felt shrapnel fly past them, barely missing her. Her heart was pounding, and her whole body ached as the beast ran on. All she could do was wait it out.
As the beast left the forest, Zandra tried to guess where she was. It was night, the sky a deep, dark purple. The landscape outside the forest seemed to be flat grassland, stretching out as far as she could see. There was an orange glow emanating from t
he burning wreckage of the ship, and it illuminated the other beasts in what Zandra was now considering to be a pack. She had no idea who or what the beasts were. At least, she was not familiar with the species. They were large and green, their demeanor fierce. They said nothing, and she wondered if they spoke Standard. They ran for ages, a column of smoke from the ship rising into the sky behind them. Zandra felt herself dozing off out of sheer exhaustion and eventually surrendered to unconsciousness.
Her body tumbled unceremoniously to the ground, rousing her instantly from her stupor. She looked around, dazed and groggy. They were in a village of poorly built shacks, and the competing odors of garbage and roasting meat reached her nose. There was a sizeable bonfire, and the small group of women from the ship were scattered around it. She could feel the heat from the flames scorching her skin. Some of the others were sitting up, like Zandra, alert and glancing around silently at their surroundings. Others lay either unconscious or dead on the ground. It was hard to tell which. They were surrounded by a large gathering of the green-skinned, yellow-eyed aliens. She could hear them speaking, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying.
Suddenly, another alien broke through the crowd. He was carrying the two helmeted figures Zandra had encountered earlier in the spaceship. She couldn’t say how she knew it was them, but she felt sure. They had seemed somehow in charge of things. As she considered this, the two newcomers were thrown to the ground. They sprang up, clearly still in fine condition.
An enormous alien—the biggest yet—wearing a crude headdress stepped forward. He looked particularly brutal, with ample scarring down the side of his face and along his body. Zandra assumed him to be the leader of these orc-like aliens. He reached forward, pulling off one and then the other of the helmets, tossing them to the ground. One suited person was a human man. The other was Maxine. Zandra sat up straighter as her anger surged. If the aliens didn’t tear the matchmaker apart, she would.
