by Presley Hall
“Hey!” The blonde woman sitting next to her stands up quickly, advancing toward him. “You leave my friend alone. She’s scared, like all of us! We don’t even know what we’re doing here, and now you’re spouting off some nonsense about brides and warlords—what is this, a video game? A bad sci-fi channel show? And now you want us to get naked…”
She doesn’t even have a chance to finish her sentence. One of the creatures thrusts out a baton, and it crackles with electricity as it strikes her in the side. She crumples to the floor, the pained cry that falls from her mouth dying before it even becomes a whimper.
Nadia bursts into tears.
“Is she…” A tall, slim redhead next to me peers down at her, trying to determine if the blonde woman is still alive or not. She seems to be shallowly breathing, but I can’t tell. And after that display of violence, I’m not about to budge from my spot.
“Undress,” the leader repeats. “Or we will be forced to assist you.”
Of course, none of us follow orders. We’re either too shocked or too angry or too incredulous to do so—and so they do exactly as he threatened they would.
They move forward as a unit and begin to strip us, one woman to each guard, and they muscle each of us into compliance without too much trouble. We’ve seen what happens when we fight back. And with the drugs still lingering in our systems, we’re too weak to resist these creatures—these Orkun, or whatever they are.
There’s nothing sexual about it. It’s cold, clinical, like they’re preparing us for something. They strip us down to the skin without leering or appraising, tossing our discarded clothing into a pile and ushering us into a line facing the open cell door.
None of us seem to think of running.
Where would we go?
As I take in my surroundings, I realize more and more that everything around me resembles the interior of a spaceship. I’ve seen countless fictional ones, of course, like everyone has, and this reminds me of all the ones I’ve seen in movies.
No. No way. It’s too insane to even contemplate. Spaceships like the ones we see in movies—alien ones—those don’t exist. They can’t exist. We would know.
But as we walk in our single-file line through the hallway, escorted by the lumbering, stinking creatures, I can’t deny what I’m seeing. And then we round another corner, and I can see through a door into what looks like a control room with wide windows looking out.
And through those windows, I can see space.
Endless blackness, the void of another galaxy.
With a sinking feeling in my stomach, it finally hits me that we’re very far from earth. It’s impossible, unfathomable, and my brain struggles to comprehend it. But I know what I’m seeing is not a hallucination or a vision. It’s not fake or contrived.
I’m on a spaceship, light-years from earth, probably, being held captive by an alien race.
And I thought moving back in with my mother was as bad as it could get.
3
Rose
We keep marching past the control room, and with every step I take, my heart beats harder and faster.
This spaceship is massive. The trek across the ship takes several minutes, and we finally arrive in a large arena with seating rising up on one side. We’re formed into a horizontal line, backed against a wall facing outward, and I can see some of the women starting to shake, others hunching over onto themselves, hands and arms trying to hide their breasts and their bare nether regions.
At their movement, the guard with the baton comes forward menacingly.
“Hands at your sides!” he barks.
A few whimpers rise up as we comply.
I ball my hands into fists, looking around for some means of escape. But even if we could run, where would we go? None of us know how to pilot a spaceship. None of us even know where we are. We’d be lost in space, drifting until we inevitably died. I suppose some of the women might prefer that, but I want to live. Not here, not like this. But as long as we’re alive, eventually there might be a means of escape. And I want to make it out of here to find out.
I see several more of the creatures approaching from the left, but these ones are dressed differently. They’re bare-chested, with similar leather trousers and wide belts displaying an array of weapons—but they have fur loincloths with medallions hanging from the belts as well, and heavy cloaks comprised of skins and furs draped over their shoulders.
The lack of clothing on their upper halves does nothing to make them more appealing. The grayish-green of their skin is painted with designs that only serve to highlight its strange texture and wart-covered appearance.
One of them, a bit taller than the rest, approaches us. The leader of the guards bows to him deeply.
“Lord,” the guard says, his voice suddenly subservient, almost fawning. “You are the greatest of our warlords. The first choice of bride is yours.”
Oh, god. Don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
My stomach flip-flops, and I try to somehow make myself smaller, as if I could sink into the floor if I concentrate hard enough.
He might be the greatest of their warlords, but he’s by far the most physically repulsive. His skin has folds like a rhinoceros, thick and pleated in on itself, and though his massive bulk has nothing to do with fat, it’s no less disgusting for being muscle and bone.
I think of him atop me, inside of me, and I’ve never wished more in my life that I could turn invisible. My looks have done very little for me in my life as it is, and now I’m here, being picked from a lineup by an alien creature who wants to fuck me—and marry me? I’m under no illusions that our youthful age and appearance is at least half the reason all of us are here.
“This one,” the bare-chested alien says gruffly, placing a finger under my chin and tilting it up so that my gaze meets his. I choke back nausea, since I don’t imagine vomiting in my new betrothed’s face would go over well.
For a moment, I’m overcome with a dizzying sensation that none of this can possibly be real.
But somehow, it is.
His eyes drag over me inch by inch, taking in my petite oval face, my green eyes and bow-shaped lips, my small, perky breasts, flat stomach, and the way my narrow waist flares out to the curve of my hips. He licks his lips as he surveys me, barely even glancing at any of the other women as he nods to himself.
“Yes, you will be mine,” he announces to me, as if I should be pleased or honored that I’ve been chosen.
I can see what looks like envy on some of the other alien’s faces, and it’s all I can do not to laugh bitterly as I think of the irony of my situation. For the first time in my life, I’ve proven my mother wrong. I’m wanted, chosen, desired by many in this room—and they’re all grossly misshapen alien creatures who’ve kidnapped me.
I’m not sure if this counts as “better” than my ex. But then again, these warlords at least made something of themselves. Derek couldn’t even hold a job.
My gallows humor is swallowed up by fear when the Orkun who has claimed me as his own grasps my elbow, pulling me out of the lineup and pressing me against him, his arm snaking around my waist. His skin is clammy, and it’s all I can do not to shrink away.
“Choose your brides, my brothers!” he calls out encouragingly. “Choose, for we hold the breeding ceremony today.” He leans closer to me. “I’m eager for the ceremony, my sweet one. But first, we will watch the Kalixians fight. We celebrate the conquering of new worlds, and our new brides, with blood spilled in honorable combat!”
I feel my stomach turn over again, revulsion sweeping through me, and I nearly stumble and fall as he escorts me up the stairs to the highest point in the stands, a space with more elegant seating obviously reserved for the warlords. There are nearly a hundred Orkun around us, although I don’t think they’re all warlords or guards. I don’t know what their duties are, but I’m guessing they’re lower-level workers on the ship.
The Orkun who claimed me pulls me down so that I’m nearly sit
ting on his lap. We’re joined by three others and their chosen brides. Nadia is one of them, and she’s visibly shaking, her arms clasped around her waist.
At least her “betrothed” isn’t touching her. Mine hasn’t let go of me since he pulled me from the line, and I feel his hand making its way down the small of my back inch by inch, creeping slowly toward my bare ass. My hand itches to slap it away, but I curl my fingers into a tight fist instead.
He has total control here, and what will fighting back get me?
I need to be smart.
Breeding ceremony. The words echo through my head, making me feel as if I’m going to vomit. It’s bad enough imagining myself going through the motions of sex with one of these creatures after he’s declared my husband—but a ceremony?
The word implies ritual, even an audience. Just the thought of it makes my throat close up in horror and my knees feel weak. How will I get through it without screaming, or crying, or passing out? And as afraid as I am for myself, I’m more afraid for Nadia, and the other ones like her. She’s on the verge of a panic attack now… how much worse will it be later?
I want to be brave. I want to save them, and myself.
But this isn’t a movie, and I’m no heroine.
I can’t save any of us, and I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. The terror of the unknown threatens to consume me, the lecherous gaze of my husband-to-be making me cringe as it sweeps over me again, his hand finding my naked ass this time in a painful squeeze. He grunts, sweat sliding down his forehead, and I swallow hard, looking away.
The opening of a gate at the far side of the arena catches my attention. There’s a blast of horns from some recording, and then I see a group of men emerge from the gate—ten, if I’m counting them correctly.
Except… they’re not men.
They’re alien creatures of another kind. The Kalixians that the Orkun spoke of, I suppose.
But they look much more human than the creature standing next to me. They’re impossibly tall—over seven feet if I had to guess, standing strong and rigidly upright with their skin glistening under the floodlights in the arena.
I gape as I stare at them. They’re each a golden bronze, their skin gleaming with a metallic sheen that highlights every muscle in their bare chests and arms. Horns protrude from the tops of their heads—some straight and some curved—and there’s a quality to their faces that’s almost-but-not-quite human.
Still, they’re the closest thing to men that I’ve seen since I woke here, and there’s something relieving in that. Familiar.
One of them turns in my direction, his gaze sweeping the crowd, and I stifle a gasp.
He’s the most physically imposing of all of them, and that’s saying something. I’m not sure if I would call him handsome—I’m not used to thinking of aliens in those terms at all—but he’s striking in a way that momentarily takes my breath away. His chest and arms are tattooed, the dark ink highlighting the bronzed, rippling muscles that shift as he moves. He grips a spear in one hand and a thick short sword in the other, wielding them with practiced ease as if they’re extensions of his own body.
Oh my God. My breath hitches in my throat as I realize they’re going to be forced to fight each other.
I feel a momentary, deep wave of sorrow wash over me for this unknown alien, and all of the others with him. No doubt, like me and the other women, they’ve been captured and brought here against their will, and are now paraded out for the entertainment of these disgusting Orkun. I’ve never really hated anyone or anything in my life, but I hate the Orkun suddenly with a passion that almost frightens me.
They had no right to take any of us, but they did, for reasons I don’t know and may never know.
If I had to guess, it’s simply because they can. It’s the most human thing about them, I suppose. But it doesn’t change the fact that they’ve consigned all of us to a fate none of us would have chosen, and that I have no idea how to escape.
I feel my shoulders sag. Soon enough, this will be over, and I will have watched ten men slaughter each other for the pleasure of their captors. I’ve never seen anyone die, and my stomach roils at the thought. I hate blood. I feel like throwing up if I cut myself chopping vegetables, but it’s even worse to see someone else being hurt.
And once the slaughter is over, I’m going to be made the bride of this… this slug next to me.
God. I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.
But as the war cry of the Kalixians goes up in the ring and my husband-to-be’s hand slides up toward my naked breast, I realize that it’s not even halfway to being as bad as it’s going to get.
4
Tordax
I’ve never been afraid of a fight.
It’s my prowess in fighting that led to my advancement to the rank of commander among my soldiers, and though I’ve never cared much for decorations or medals, I’ve received my share of accolades. I started as a gladiator in our own arenas on Kalix, the same as any other soldier, proving my worth as a fighter.
But that was under our own rules, our own code of fighting.
Not fighting for the pleasure of the vile Orkun, to get their blood up before they mate with stolen women.
It’s not the fighting that scares me, or the prospect of death. Every warrior lives with the daily knowledge that death is always at our heels. We welcome it as a friend in honorable circumstances. But these are not honorable. And in this moment, I’m not afraid for myself, but for the men with me—the men I couldn’t protect.
The Orkun are hated by every race except their own. They go from planet to planet, marauding, stealing, and killing. We were one of the last planets to defy them, and we failed too. I failed. It’s only a matter of time before they exterminate us entirely, because unlike so many other planets and species that have bowed in the face of the Orkun onslaught, the Kalixians will not bow. We will die first—and it seems for the first time in our history that this is a true possibility. It’s only a matter of time before we face extinction, unless we can change the tide.
Today, I tell myself as I look around at the resolute faces of my men, I will not fail again.
We have one chance. Just one. They have kept us chained up for many weeks, but they cannot resist the allure of bloodshed before their mating ceremony.
If we break free, we have a chance at avenging those we’ve lost, at finding a way to reverse the damage the Orkun have done to our kind. I swore long ago to protect my people, and as long as I’m alive, I intend to do all I can to keep that vow.
“I’m not dead yet,” I mutter as I sharpen the gleaming blade of my short sword and the edge of my spear.
The other men are preparing themselves in the way of our people—the same as we would before any of our own gladiator battles. We may be fighting against our will, for the pleasure and amusement of our captors, but we will go into the ring as proud Kalixians.
I survey my men. Despite our long captivity, each of them stands tall and strong, their bronzed skin gleaming with oils and rippling with well-honed muscle. The best of our fighting force is represented here, and I would choose no one else to fight at my side.
“What did you say, commander?”
The youngest of the men, Vrexen, looks up from where he’s hooking throwing knives into the ties of his loincloth at the sound of my quiet words.
“We’re not dead yet.” I shift my gaze to him, my expression grim. “We’ve talked about what to do today, all of us. You all know what we’ve left behind on Kalix. You all know the price of failure if we die in this attempt. Without us, our species is doomed. So we stay alive. We follow the plan. Are you with me?”
A low, rumbling growl goes up among the men as they beat their fists against their chests, and I’m glad that morale is up, if only temporarily. Our capture was a blow I was afraid they might not recover from. But my men are strong, and each of them has earned his place at my side.
Don’t think of the future, I tell myself as we hear the sh
outs of the Orkun guards, yelling for us to line up. Don’t think of the past. Only now. Only the present, minute to minute. Just survive and lead your men. The rest will happen as it is meant to.
My mother believed in destiny, in things that were meant to be. I have always believed in what I can see and touch, in the things that I can change myself, in the work of my hands and the strength of my body. I have always believed that we make our own futures.
But what I’ve seen since those idealistic days has made me wonder at times if she wasn’t right. If there isn’t some hand of fate in all of this, drawing us to a certain time, a certain place. Because no matter how hard we fought, how zealous our training or how devoted we were to the protection of our people, we still failed.
I ask myself the same question every night: What else could I have done?
The shouts of the Orkun grow louder as the gate to the arena slides back, revealing the space in which we are to fight. The Orkun technology can terraform it to any appearance, and they’ve chosen to make it mimic the packed-dirt fighting rings of our own planet. It’s salt in the already deep wound, and it only makes me all the more angry.
I’m already on edge—today matters more than any fight has in a long time. But the sight of my home replicated for the amusement of our enemies sends my blood boiling, and my men can sense it. All around me, I can feel their tempers rising, the thirst for Orkun blood visible in their eyes.
“Remember the plan,” I murmur as I stride out into the ring, leading my men out to the shouts and jeers of the Orkun crowd. I take in our surroundings quickly and efficiently—the exits, the number of people in the crowd, who they are. Ship workers mostly, soldiers and guards, tech officers and grunts who do the jobs of running the large vessel.
My gaze turns toward the highest point in the stands, where six Orkun are seated with naked women at their elbows.
Their chosen “brides.”
