by Marie Dry
From the moment Zanr had found his breeder, small and nearly dead in that basement, he’d started to understand how Larz felt. No matter what his breeder did, he’d protect her. He’d even give up his warrior status for her, the way Larz had done. But in his case, he’d be giving it up for a frail, exceptionally beautiful female with extraordinary hair. The hair on her head alone would almost make it worth it to lose his warrior status.
It was ironic that Larz, who was of the Parenadorz’s blood, was now a citizen. And Zanr was a warrior with no blood to speak for him—a fact he’d always pretended didn’t bother him, but it niggled at him sometimes.
Larz nodded at him, not allowed to give a warrior’s salute to Zanr anymore. Not for the first time, Zanr wondered why they kept to such rigid customs. “How is your breeder?”
“She still doesn’t recognise me. Viglar said that she has a fever typical to humans. It broke two days ago and now she is sleeping. I only left her alone because marching is compulsory, and she is sleeping now.” He’d set the sensors to alert him if she woke or her condition changed in any way. Even with the probe watching over her, he didn’t like leaving her alone.
“We are both scheduled to march with shuttle thirteen.” Larz pointed to the right.
Zanr nodded and they went in search of the shuttle. “Have you marched before?” Larz asked. He’d been born on Earth, but all warriors had knowledge of their home planet and customs and were born with warrior skills. Unless you were a bloodless.
Zanr stepped into the shuttle. “Shortly after Zacar recruited me, we conquered a small planet in the Ebudian system and I had to march three days straight,” Zanr told his friend.
“It was five miserable days,” another warrior said.
“Why that long?” Larz asked.
“That planet was small, but their people fierce. We had a big fight on our hands and had to show them they’d be up against a large occupation force if they rebelled.” He’d always had the impression that Zurian and Zacar had enjoyed the fierce fight, but regretted the need to kill those brave warriors in the battle for their planet.
“How many rounds do you think we will have to do?” he asked Larz, but included the other warriors in the question. There was always someone willing to take the bait. The sun wasn’t up yet, and he had no doubt they’d march long after the Earth’s moon appeared.
“I think thirty,” Larz said, deadpan, but his eyes showed his amusement.
Zanr knew it was thirty; he’d heard Zacar give the command. He kept his features calmly interested. Their ability to camouflage meant they could march up the street, enter a shuttle, and become invisible to the human crowd, and join the end of the row and march the route again.
The other warriors all groaned. “I’m not betting with you,” one at the front shouted back at him. “Last time I lost my M clock to you.” Zanr bared his teeth at the warrior to show his enjoyment. The clock was a round shape, red, and made out of plastic with a big, white M on it. He’d even managed to make the clock work.
“Twenty rounds,” a braver warrior said. “And I’ve got a human ball of yarn.”
Everyone turned to face the warrior who’d spoken: Ziccen.
“What is a ball of yarn?” Zanr asked. If it was something his breeder would want, he’d win it.
The warrior opened the flap of his uniform pocket. It bulged in a way no Zyrgin pocket ever did. Their technology allowed them to shrink their weapons and most of their belongings to such a small size it was barely seen by the naked eye. It was made possible by jinz izwe—their most sacred resource that they never shared. Any warrior would give his life to ensure the precious metal stayed out of foreign hands.
“They make their primitive clothes with it.” Ziccen held out a ball of furry strands that clung together. It glowed soft pink in the shuttle light. The warrior lifted the soft string and broke off a piece. “It’s not very strong.”
Zanr wanted it. His breeder would appreciate the pink color and she would like its softness. She’d be satisfied that she was claimed by a good warrior. He’d filled their dwelling with everything a woman could desire, but it wouldn’t hurt to add a little extra.
“I have a game to bet,” he told Ziccen. The other warrior brightened. He didn’t have a breeder he had to satisfy and had time to play the strange human games with the other warriors.
“I’m not betting against you,” Larz said promptly.
“Count me out,” another one said.
“Twenty rounds,” someone shouted from the front.
Inevitably, one of the warriors behind him muttered, “No blood woumber.”
Zanr shrugged it off, like he’d done from the time the Zyrgin had found him abandoned in the desert. Only one week old, weak, but determined to survive. He remembered the fear, but mostly he’d been angry. That emotion had kept him alive until the Zyrgin found him.
Several others entered the bet. Zanr mentally stroked his ridge. With the credits he’d make, he’d be able to buy his breeder many hair ornaments. And he could take her some yarn, as well. “Did I tell you my breeder’s hair has beautiful spirals?”
Larz and all the other warriors around them groaned. “What,” he said innocently, “I have to mention it. My breeder has truly remarkable hair.” Thick and black like midnight on his home planet. Her hair made spirals and it wrapped around his fingers. As if even her hair recognised him as her warrior. He’d been half afraid he’d be denied a breeder because of his bloodless status. He never expected to have such a superior breeder.
“Start marching, no blood,” the warrior who’d sneered before ordered.
Larz tensed, but Zanr merely laughed and exited the shuttle, dragging Larz with him. “I’d be fighting all the time if I took offence,” he told Larz quietly. Instead he took their money off them when they lost their bets.
His friend’s eyes blazed red. “It is not right.”
Zanr shrugged. “I know, but I’m used to it. Besides, they’re just jealous because I have such a pretty breeder.” Larz had a noble side to him, and the last thing Zanr wanted was for his friend to be punished again. Because of him.
Zanr camouflaged himself, the others doing the same. They strode to the back of the row of warriors marching through the streets, the sound of their boots stomping on the ground, echoing around the city. After centuries of conquest, Zyrgin warriors knew how to intimidate those they conquered. Making a statement early on made for less resistance when they started the work camps. Though Zacar had said there would be no work camps on Earth, no one knew exactly what his plans were.
Larz smirked and they both fell in and started to march down the long road they’d chosen. It snaked through Washington and allowed the humans a good view of their conquerors—showed them why fighting would be a bad idea. They had a much bigger force than they’d landed with three years ago. The warriors who’d gone back in time meant they had more warriors to keep the humans under control should it become necessary. They’d waited out the centuries, taken breeders and had small warriors, and had been a sizable presence on Earth by the time their ship landed on the planet. If they hadn’t traveled back in time, they’d never have been able to take Earth without establishing war camps and killing most of the men.
Zanr had no idea why this conquest was different and didn’t care what the higher-ups had planned. He wanted to get back to his breeder. This show of strength was necessary, but he was ready to be done with it.
The little human had been asleep since he’d rescued her. When she did open her eyes, she was delirious and called him odd names. He wanted to be the first one she saw when she woke. She had terrible dreams, and he wanted her to know that she had a strong warrior to protect her against the things haunting her in those dreams.
Crumbling tar and dirt crunched beneath his tough Zyrgin boots. Made of jinz izwe, it protected him from most weapons. His uniform was made from the same material. They could program it to be any color or texture, but for the march they left it silver. Th
e uniforms shining in the human sun made an impressive statement. It said, “We are here to stay—bow before your masters.”
Before he could get back to his human, he had to march down the streets of Washington, along with his fellow warriors, to show these humans what they were up against. The troops marching from one end of Washington to the other were broadcast all over the world. Large, intimidating holo images of the Zyrgin warriors, marching through their capital cities, hung over every city on Earth. Even with the time travelers and the small warriors they’d produced, they didn’t have the numbers to make the kind of show of strength that Zacar wanted. Zanr marched through the crowds. No matter how many times they did this, he always felt proud of being a conquest warrior. He and Larz entered a waiting shuttle and took a circuitous route back to where they would start to march again. They would march the whole day—make the humans believe hundreds of thousands of aliens had landed on Earth.
Zanr had done this thirty times now and he wanted to get back to his dwelling. His breeder might be awake. He’d set the sensors in their dwelling to monitor her and alert him if anything changed, but he needed to be there to watch over her.
His breeder had slept the last two weeks. Sometimes her eyes would open, but she looked at him with vacant eyes. She showed none of the fear and revulsion that some humans experienced when they saw a Zyrgin warrior for the first time. But he saw terror in her eyes, in the way she cringed. Not terror of him, not yet anyway, but terror of being trapped in the hole she’d been buried in. He heard it in the way she would sometimes beg to be let out. Sometimes she begged to be let out of the proving hole and sometimes out of a suitcase, her hands pushing as if she was still in that basement and covered with a heavy steel door. When he found the human responsible, he’d torture him for many weeks. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the rank that gave him access to the prisoners. But he’d find the human or humans responsible for torturing his breeder.
“What bothers you?” Larz asked.
“I want her awake. I want her to tell me who put that terror into her eyes.” Because he was going to torture and kill all the human males that had buried her in that basement. They’d captured Parnell and some of his cronies—now on their way to the home world. But too many humans had escaped that building. He wanted all of them to suffer the way Parnell and his scientists were suffering.
“Let me know if I can help,” Larz offered.
The command to stop marching came when they were in the middle of their thirtieth round.
The warrior behind him swore and Zanr smirked. “Pay up.” Zanr collected his winnings, ignoring the mumbled, “no blood weakling,” from a few of the others. He took the ball of twine with a satisfied grin. He had a breeder to care for now. The credits would come in handy.
“I will bring the game to the barracks.” It was a piece of cardboard with faded prints of colorful snakes and odd-looking squares. He didn’t want the other warrior near Rose. She might see a blooded warrior and make a comparison.
Waving at Larz, he went to find a shuttle bound for Headquarters.
Chapter Three
In Rose’s dreams she proved herself, but then the dream twisted, turning into a nightmare. She begged Mr. Parnell to let her out of that shallow grave and he scorned her, telling her she wasn’t worthy, would never be good enough.
This time in her nightmare, a strange-looking being haunted her dream, as well. The strange man-being was dressed in a metal uniform and had a green-and-copper face. He kept her trapped inside a large cube made from the same silver as his uniform. She screamed and screamed, but no one knew she was trapped. She was back in the suitcase, unable to move, and her kidnappers ignored her screams.
“Quiet, my breeder, you are all right,” the silver man-being said, in a voice like electrified lightning. His shiny uniform made her eyes water. She gratefully gave in to the darkness.
Someone held a cup to her lips. She was thirsty, but she wanted to sleep. “G’way, man-being, wanna sleep.”
“Drink, my breeder.” She remembered that voice—shouldn’t trust him—cool water on her tongue, and she drank greedily. Something about his words was wrong, but she couldn’t figure out what nagged at her.
She fell asleep mid-swallow.
Rose woke, and if she were stronger, she’d have jumped from the bed and run to a water source. Spiders tugged at her hair. She tried to lift her arm to brush them off, but she was too weak. Rose moaned; she hated spiders and creepy things with too many legs. They always found their way into the hole whenever she tried to prove herself.
“Calm, my breeder.” The voice was deep and belonged to the silver-and-gold devil. “I killed the spiders. They cannot harm you,” he said, sounding resigned, as if he’d told her that many times before.
“Nice man-being,” she murmured and patted him, then fell asleep.
The next time she woke, the metal-clad stranger was doing something to her hair. Normally she didn’t like anyone messing with her hair, but it was strangely soothing. She fell asleep before she even finished the thought.
She woke, and she didn’t know how, but she knew she’d woken many times before in this silver place. But now her brain was clear. Something with lots of big, white teeth, bigger and sharper than human teeth, stared down at her. “Crocodiles are extinct.”
“That is a very interesting fact, my breeder. You are a clever female.” He patted her head, and if she didn’t feel so weak, she’d have bitten his hand.
“Are you going to eat me? I don’t think I’ll make good crocodile food. You want to look for someone with more meat on their bones.” Never had she been so grateful for being on the scrawny side.
A loud sigh. “I am not a crocodile. I will not eat you, my breeder. Drink this water—no, don’t spit it out.”
She woke again and the crocodile held her upright. Rose stared up at him. He wasn’t even remotely like the picture of the crocodile she once saw. He was tall and muscled, really well built, with wide shoulders and narrow hips. Even the bone structure in his face was good. Strong and masculine, his recessed ears somehow fit him, and the ridge on his head gave him a dangerous appearance without making him look creepy. She squinted and it hurt to do even that.
His face contorted, became mixed up in her nightmares where he wasn’t humanlike. “Not a crocodile, a Komodo dragon.” That was what he was. She was sure of it. Somehow, they didn’t become extinct like they’d said on that program on the TC. They’d survived in isolation on that island and had evolved into man-beings. She weakly patted the claw holding a silver cup. In dreams you could pat a dragon. “Nice dragon.” Darkness took her again.
When she woke again, she tried to rub her itching nose and stared in horror at her arms. Her hands were gone. Eaten up by the dragon. She burst into loud tears.
“Why are you crying?” the upright-walking Komodo dragon asked her as if it was nothing that he’d eaten her hands.
“You ate my hands. I want to touch my nose, because it itches, and you ate my hands, you horrible Komodo dragon, and now I can’t touch anything.”
She thought she heard him sigh. “I have told you, I am not a dragon and I didn’t eat your hands. If I wanted to eat you, I’d go for the softer bits.”
She clutched her arms over her stomach, and he gave another loud sigh and reached down and pulled up the sleeves of the flannel pajamas she wore. “See, here are your small hands—safe.”
Rose beamed at him. “You didn’t eat my hands.” She giggled. “My pajamas ate them.” Something was very wrong with her. Even in her dreams, she never giggled.
“You are pleasingly small, my breeder, but it is difficult to find clothes to fit you. Most of them seem to eat you.”
“Dragons have flannel pajamas? Who knew?” She slept again, vaguely aware of the dragon tugging on her hair again.
She woke and it was too quiet. In the building where she’d worked and lived since she was eighteen, no matter what time you woke, someone was making a noise. Memory
hit her like a vicious punch. The hole—Mr. Parnell had put her in the hole. And why did she remember a dragon giving her water?
She frowned. The smell was wrong—fresh, the artificial way the labs were fresh, only better and weirdly alien at the same time. She tried to open her eyes, but at first her lashes wouldn’t obey her command. She lay on something softer than the concrete hole they’d put her in. This, at least, was the same. Normally it took weeks for her to regain her strength. But she always forced herself to get up the moment her legs would hold her weight. It was worth the pain and discomfort, to gain Mr. Parnell’s approval.
Foreboding made her skin crawl. Something had gone very wrong. It took an enormous amount of strength, but her lashes lifted. Gleaming silver shards hurt her eyes. She instinctively tried to shield her face, but her hands wouldn’t move. She tried to blink away the moisture in her eyes.
Rose tried again to wipe away the water streaming down her cheeks. If Parnell was here, he’d think she was crying, and she didn’t cry. Ever. She frowned at a hazy recollection that she’d cried because a Komodo dragon, of all things, had eaten her hands. She lifted them and wiggled her fingers and sighed in relief.
She forced herself to lie still, for her eyes to adjust. At last they stopped watering, and this time, when she lifted her lids, she managed to open them wide. She blinked. What on earth? It must be a part of the lab she hadn’t seen before. Did she prove herself? Was that why Mr. Parnell took her out of the testing box? Her breath hitched. Was this large silver box a new test? It just didn’t make sense. Why would he put her in such a big box? Panic threatened to take over her and she fought it.
Rose took the fresh air deep into her lungs, grateful not to inhale her own sweat and faeces anymore. That was always the worst, that and the insects. She shuddered and her body ached, just from that small movement. Someone had bathed her and dressed her in something soft. Her insides cramped. This, she knew: it always took a while for her body to recover from being starved. Except she should be weaker, her body in unrelenting pain. And she was hungry, but not starving.
