by Reagan Woods
When had she last slept? It was hard to say. The anesthesia from the regen pod aboard the ship she’d stolen from Jorkan had left her groggy. To her drug-soaked brain, waking up to the horrific guards and their gross leers had seemed like a misty nightmare, like some incomprehensible thing that was happening to someone else.
Then the fog cleared. She’d only slept in fits and starts since that day.
Nora shuddered, blinking back tears. The guards who all sported tattooed scenes of battle and beheadings and, in one case, the graphic depiction of a heart being plucked from between his cracked ribs, had watched her with hot, hungry eyes. They’d frightened her and half-starved her. She’d already been in rough shape, but the one she’d killed was the first to make good on the promise of mayhem that had bubbled beneath each interaction she’d had with them.
With a shuddering breath, Nora focused on the lost cause that was her mane. It was a silly thing to focus on with so many other worries. Yet, it prevented her from replaying the moments where she’d smashed in the guard’s face and his blood had poured like warm water over her skin. She gagged but managed to keep her gorge from rising. That thick coppery tang seemed caught in her nostrils. Hopefully, it would soon fade.
Focus on your task, she reminded herself.
In truth, her caravan had taken in enough soldiers with post-traumatic stress that she recognized the signs of an imminent breakdown. Watching her hair break off to form a brittle nest around her was the last straw in the epic battle she’d waged to hold it together. She needed the oblivion of sleep to let her mind heal. The thought of closing her eyes and letting herself be vulnerable at this precarious juncture – with new captors and a new set of unknowns - made her hands clammy and her teeth chatter.
She’d been pushing through for so long that she didn’t have anything left with which to process her emotions. It was like all the time she’d spent in chains and starving had pushed her into a half-oblivious animal. She’d been barely self-aware. Coming back to herself was terrifying and she didn’t want to think, didn’t want to be a human again.
But she was human. And humans were vulnerable. What if the evil guard found a way to follow her into her dreams? The fathomless pools of black where his eyes should be stared at her every time she blinked, watching her, waiting for her to join him in the darkness. There was no way she could sleep – no matter how these new aliens had gilded her cage.
Her new quarters were a marked step up from the closet she’d been kept in before. With her thin – but notably warm – blanket and the sonishower, she was clean enough to feel half-human for the first time in a very long time.
The alien who had appointed himself her caretaker popped in and out of the cabin every few hours with bars of food and some tasteless balls that seemed to be gelled water. His intent stare made her nervous, but he hadn’t touched her inappropriately or made any threatening moves. In fact, he’d found this hair pick for her and even gifted her with a sharp straight-razor type of tool.
That, in and of itself, seemed nice. It was cautiously appreciated. But the whole situation was…off. Who armed their captive? Granted, it wasn’t the sharpest blade she’d ever wielded, but given enough time, she knew she could make an epic prison shank out of the sturdy piece of metal.
Part of her wondered if she weren’t delirious and dreaming even now. As far as dreams went, this was downright pathetic. If she’d been knocked out in her altercation with the rape-minded guard, she expected her subconscious to come up with a better escape fantasy; free and living on a beach with handsome men waiting on her hand and foot, fruity drinks with little umbrellas, and other things from fairy tales ought to be her dream-reward for the pile of manure her life had devolved into.
Instead, she remained a captive with no clothes and shitty hair. Yeah, yeah. She also had a fiercely masculine alien seeing to her every need, but she didn’t trust him any farther than she could throw him. So. If this scenario was the best her subconscious could do, she needed to talk to someone about a re-do. This was just pathetic.
A soft tone like a mallet against a bell sounded and Nora stiffened, her hand seizing the blade in a white-knuckled grip. The door slid back to reveal the long-haired alien. He was prettier than his counterpart. It wasn’t just the neat, shiny braid. His face was narrower, his eyes and hair more golden than the one who’d been tending her.
He stood in the open portal and scanned her critically. His lips thinned as he took in her disheveled hair and huddled frame. The long, stately nose wrinkled when those golden eyes landed on the pile of dry hair.
Nora growled and sat up straighter, carefully keeping the blanket hitched around her breasts. She still wore the toga she’d fashioned, but it had become rather sheer as it dried.
“It’s not like I’m thrilled to be here, either,” she answered his obvious disgust with a haughty sneer. “If you’ve come to stare at the freak, move along. Visiting hours are over.” With her most imperious look, she waved him off. “Go away.”
The alien didn’t so much as blink. The faint flare of his elegant nostrils suggested he wasn’t there to get his rocks off with the female slave. Rather than feeling insulted, Nora felt emboldened by his obvious disgust.
“Shoo.” She tried again, motioning for him to vacate the room. “Vete, culo,” she spat acerbically.
As far as dissuasion went, it wasn’t her best effort. However, she was a firm believer that communication was ninety percent action, tone and attitude and only ten percent vocabulary. She didn’t want to be stared at like a monkey in a zoo. He didn’t seem to care.
They regarded one another for endless moments before she decided to try something new. She angled her body slightly away from him and went back to grooming her lackluster locks. For once, she was grateful not to have a mirror to tell her how ridiculous she looked.
Acting wasn’t her strong suit, but Nora thought she pulled off a reasonable impression of a woman intent on her personal appearance as she watched the alien from the corner of her eye. Whatever he was after, he wasn’t trying to communicate. He still looked like he’d caught a whiff of a week-old catfish left to bake in the sun, but he seemed content to simply stand and watch her.
“Fucking psycho creeper,” she muttered under her breath. If he made one move toward her, she was totally stabbing him. Hopefully, he’d go away if she simply ignored him. “Culo.”
Chapter Seven
Two days later
“It sounds like the Xanites have recovered from the shock of losing their leadership,” Zocan updated Lyon as the latter slid into the seat next to him.
Lyon looked over, his light brows jumping up his forehead as his eyes met Zocan’s. Rather than a traditional bridge, the ship they’d stolen had a cockpit and they were shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. “Finally announced a search for us, have they?”
“Indeed,” Zocan replied, returning to his busywork. “No one has reported sighting us on the channels I’m monitoring, but that will change as soon as the priests get smart and offer up a reward.”
Lyon scratched a hand through his short hair leaving it in spiky disarray. “How long do you think it will be before the CGA assassin circles back around to us?”
“Not long,” he admitted. The same thought had been nagging him. The assassin had been willing to take out everyone aboard the Nom’magata, but Zocan knew he and Lyon were the intended targets.
Lacy, Bram and Ssszit would have been collateral damage. That was why it had been imperative for everyone to go their own way. He and Lyon had been deliberately vague even with Ssszit, their long-time friend and advisor, as to where they would go and what their plans were. Of course, if Ssszit really wanted to find them, he would seek them out psychically. He would do that only in the case of extreme emergency though.
How were they going to avoid both the assassin and the priests now? The original plan was for the pair of them to steal away from Xani and lay low for a bit before acquiring a new ship and returning to
the business of pirating to raise money to defeat Hash-Han. They’d failed to plan for an extra mated pair of Lyarans and a female. They also hadn’t counted on the extra attention of the pursuing priests. Everyone within three systems would be looking for them once the priests announced a reward.
“Any word on Z’cari?” Zocan asked. He’d been out into the ship at times, but Lyon was taking point with the distraught passengers. It was an admitted role reversal for them. Zocan simply needed some time to think.
He still grappled with the fact that Lara and Ssszit weren’t coming back. His spirit was not whole without the wild, fierce female and the scaly bug that had been his best friend and companion for many termis. With his mate at his side and his friends at his back, Zocan had felt bold and unstoppable, ready to face his destiny.
Then, the improbable family they had formed splintered. The fault was entirely his. His decision to ransom Vank had resulted in Lara’s kidnapping and the CGA assassin that had pursued them ever since. Ssszit claimed Lara would survive, but that her time with them was at an end. When the Tixerian had shepherded Lacy and Bram out of harm’s way, he’d carefully avoided making promises of a future reunion.
He slid his eyes surreptitiously over his mate. Lyon’s posture was all business, his wide shoulders straight and his hands steady. Zocan knew him well enough to spot the fatigue under that disciplined strength. The loss of their trusted friends was a crippling blow to Lyon as well.
“He is yet sedated under the healing lamps.” Lyon pulled up the on-board star charts and began plotting various courses. “Natar keeps watch at his side. He’s taken to sleeping on the floor to be near Z’cari.”
“He is a good male,” Zocan observed, hoping he spoke the truth. “And a good mate.”
“Maybe. Probably, even.” Lyon’s eyes remained trained on his work. “That doesn’t stop you considering, wondering, if one of them betrayed Bram – and by extension us – to the High Priest.”
Zocan sighed deeply, disappointed that he’d failed to hide his worries from his mate. “Am I that transparent?”
Lyon gave his thigh an affectionate squeeze. “Only to me,” he reassured. “I agree we should watch for signs that Natar and Z’cari were corrupted by their time on Xani, for what it is worth.”
“But you do not believe that to be the case,” Zocan stated, a mixture of relief and trepidation filling him as he waited for an answer.
“I think the matter calls for investigation, but we need them healthy and whole now. And ready to fight at our side,” he replied practically. “Are you ready to share your other concerns with me yet?”
“We should give the female to Z’cari and Natar and drop them someplace safe,” Zocan approached what was likely to be an unpleasant conversation head-on. He was too weary for tact. “After that, we need to jettison this ship and obtain new transportation. It’s too well-known.”
Lyon didn’t immediately answer, giving Zocan time to second-guess his approach. Lyon’s yellow eyes took his measure, his lips pursed thoughtfully.
“I disagree,” he finally said.
Zocan’s own lips turned down with disappointment. “With which part?”
“Giving the female away, of course,” Lyon replied easily. “What have you been doing when you go to her?” He asked, the change of subject giving Zocan a jolt.
“Er – well,” he stalled, flustered. “I’ve been having the on-board computer analyze her words,” he admitted. “She dislikes the silent way that I watch her, so she speaks quite a bit more to me than to you.”
Lyon smirked. “And what have you discovered?”
“I think she is a Yurther,” Zocan admitted. “Our knowledge repository includes the brain scan Lacy provided us with.” He touched the exposed end of the crystal he’d slid into the ship’s data receptacle thoughtfully.
“Her words are a match for Lacy’s language?” Lyon prompted, interest sparking in his eyes as he leaned toward Zocan.
“Not totally,” Zocan hedged. “About ninety percent. We have no reference point for the other ten percent.”
Lyon nodded thoughtfully, his gaze locking on a point past Zocan’s ear. Instead of asking what the female said, he demanded action, “Then, let us upload the translation system we rigged to communicate with Lacy to this ship. The female hasn’t slept for days and she’s clearly terror stricken. We need some way to assure her that she is safe.”
He carefully avoided looking at Zocan and Zocan felt the avoidance like a punch to the gut. Lyon was disappointed in him for failing to think of soothing the female. In truth, Zocan hadn’t failed to consider her plight. He didn’t want Lyon forming an attachment to the female. She had no place with them. It was better they both realize that and accept it.
Once again, Zocan sighed. “I shall install the program forthwith.”
“That would be ideal,” Lyon replied coolly, his expression guarded.
Clearly, Zocan hadn’t fooled his mate on any level.
Chapter Eight
Nora paced the floor, her movements sluggish and forced. The thought of being attacked unaware and unprepared petrified her, so she kept herself awake as much as possible. Truthfully, she wished for toothpicks or some such device to prop open her eyes. Every time her lids so much as drooped, she still saw the hollow eye sockets of the male who had attacked her. That image alone had been enough to power her through the last few days. Fear was starting to lose the war with exhaustion though.
The light cycle in the room had been set to mimic the cycle of a sun somewhere, to simulate day and night. When it had first began to dim on her, she’d thought perhaps it was her mind going fuzzy and dark. Just before the room had reached pitch, the alien tending her had found her huddled in a corner of the floor rocking and crying. It wasn’t her proudest moment.
He’d taken pity on her, big golden eyes solemn, as he showed her how to adjust the cabin’s lights. They were on full blast now. Sleep deprivation was a commonly employed torture device back on Earth. She knew that it could whack a person out. Still, she couldn’t find a mental compromise that would let her rest easy.
Her body needed to recharge. The pounding ache in her eyeballs told her that her will and her body were about to tip right over the point of failure.
The ominous ring of the door had her muscles tensing. She swayed on her feet as the big golden alien stepped cautiously into the room. A low hum, almost a buzz, filled the air as he spoke in his fluid alien language.
“You’re killing yourself, female,” a mechanical voice stated, the sound tinny as it seemed to bounce from the very walls.
“Uh – what?” She brought a hand to her gritty eyes. The coolness of her own skin against the throbbing heat helped steady her. “Was that…English?” Either she was already dreaming or she’d lost her mind.
The big, golden alien took a step closer. She knew he posed a threat, but she couldn’t focus. Her head spun. No. The room was spinning.
With an exclamation, he leaped forward.
Nora fought like a wild thing as hard hands grabbed her. “You’re pushing yourself to exhaustion,” the mechanical voice chided. “No one is trying to hurt you. Stop this foolishness at once!”
“How do I know you aren’t going to hurt me?” She argued, flailing her arms and legs as adrenaline gave her one last burst of energy. “Umph! Lemmego! Stopfis!” Her words were slurring with exhaustion.
“Mph,” he grunted as she landed a lucky blow, a cheap shot to the side of his head. Calmly, he put her in a bearhug hold, her arms banded uselessly at her sides. “If I wanted to hurt you, do you not believe I could have done so by now? You’re weak and exhausted – certainly not in a position to defend yourself. After these last few days, I would think you would have come to the same conclusion. If you would stop to think – and take a restorative rest – you would realize I have been nothing but nurturing.”
Sagging against his hold, Nora panted. Her energy reserves were completely gone now, and the post-adrenaline crash
was setting in. It didn’t matter if he lied or spoke truth, she didn’t have the strength to keep resisting.
He carried her to the large bed and deposited her gently on the squishy surface. “Please. You are in no danger here. Sleep before you do yourself real harm.”
“I don’t understand how we’re communicating,” She stated dully as he snapped the blanket and let it float down over her.
He frowned, listening as her words were repeated in the same stiffly robotic tone. “Zocan, my mate, put together a translation program so you would be able to understand us and we you.”
“Your mate?” She asked drowsily. Her eyelids felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds a piece. “Your friend? The other alien?”
“Yes. My mate. My lover.”
Nora was too tired to feel stupid. She could only feel the sweet, sweet relief coursing through her. “So, you’re gay.” She laughed hollowly. “I’m safe here.”
“Er – I’m happy? Not at this moment,” he replied, frowning as his words were translated. “But you are certainly safe from attack. We aren’t as familiar with this ship as we would like, but we have managed to rig it to monitor this room. Please don’t hesitate to call out for me or for Zocan if you need something.”
She closed her eyes, relieved and delighted when the malevolent visage of the guard who had attacked her didn’t immediately appear. Hurriedly, lest her unguarded thought bring forth the phantom, she turned her attention to the prosaic. “Sure. Um. What’s your name, again?” Her eyelids simply wouldn’t budge, and she felt as though she were floating away.
“How remiss of me.” His chuckle was as warm as the callused hand that smoothed her scraggly hair back from her forehead. The gesture barely registered. Her brain had gone muzzy. “I apologize. I am Lyon, female. What should we call you?”
Drifting away in the warmth of the comfortable bed, she mumbled, “My name is Nora.”
“Nora,” the tinny sound of the translator wasn’t as pretty as when he tried to say it with his odd accent. “That’s a lovely name. Rest well. We are only a few paces away if you have a need.”
