Taking His Captive

by Viki Storm

  I watch him program the nav system, wondering if I could do it myself if I had to. If I could somehow escape from him. It won’t come to that, I tell myself. He said that my father sent him.

  “Let me see your fleshwound,” he says.

  “It’s fine,” I insist. The bleeding has stopped, and The Blade didn’t cut deep enough into any nerve tissue. I hope.

  “Nonsense,” he says. “It must be sterilized and sealed. Also, your spinal column is experiencing severe inflammation that will cause stenosis if not treated properly.”

  “When did you learn to speak my language?” I ask.

  “I had a procedure,” he says and leaves it at that. I’ve heard of such things; a pulse from a thin electrode inserted into the frontal lobe can render the operator able to encode and decode any of the Universe’s languages.

  He’s right about my back needing treatment—that’s the serious injury, not the slash on my leg. Getting up out of my seat and climbing into the escape pod was torture on my back.

  “Okay, you can treat my back,” I say. “One of the Trogii sort of stepped on me.”

  “Foolish,” he says. I can sense the anger thrumming inside him—whether at the Trogii for my injury or at me for my stupidity, I’m not sure. Probably both.

  “I know, but the overseer is extremely cruel. Cruel for the sake of it. He was terrorizing one of the new women workers. She’s seven or eight months pregnant. I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.”

  He nods slowly, and for some reason, I relish in his approval. At least someone gets it. “He hurt a female carrying offspring? Where was he during the skirmish? Did I injure him?”

  “No,” I say. “He wasn’t anywhere on the factory floor. I think he was being reprimanded. The Boss doesn’t want his overseers fomenting rebellion.”

  “Damn,” he says. “I would have enjoyed scrambling his insides. But forget that; it’s done. Let me treat your leg first. That will be the easy one.”

  I unbuckle my harness, and he takes my calf in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. He lifts my leg and sets my foot in his lap. He leans forward and puts his face right up to the wound. The cut is just an inch or two below the leg hem of my underwear. He’s so close, I can feel his breath tickle the hairs on my thighs. I’ve never had anyone this close to me, this close to my… my sex. And even though he’s inspecting the inch-deep jagged wound on my leg, I still can’t help the stirring between my legs, light and fluttery.

  Maybe it’s part of the nerve damage from when the overseer stepped on my back. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been sequestered, exhausted and starved for so long it must have suppressed my libido and now it’s just coming back to life at the first sign of masculinity. Because I can’t deny that’s what’s happening—not if I want to be honest with myself.

  “Here,” he says. He takes out a small canister and pops the top. At first I think it’s the ointment that the Trogii will dispense when a worker is injured, but it’s not. He points the thing at my leg, and it starts to emit a powerfully bright blue light.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Shortwave ultraviolet germicidal irradiation,” he says.

  “Like I said,” I repeat, “what are you doing?”

  “At this wavelength, the UV light acts as a mutagen to bacteria, viruses and other parasites. It breaks down the molecular bonds and renders any such microorganisms unable to perform vital cellular functions.” This is technology I’ve never heard of. Shine a light and kill bacteria?

  “If it’s mutating and killing the bacteria cells, won’t it mutate and kill my cells?” I ask. I don’t want to sound uneducated, but really, sometimes the cure can be as bad as the disease.

  “Negative,” he says. “Humanoid flesh can tolerate UV radiation of 270 nanometers. Simpler lifeforms cannot.”

  “If you say so,” I say. In truth, the light burns a little, and I bet tomorrow it’s going to feel like a really bad sunburn.

  “Irradiation is the broadest-spectrum antibiotic. The ointment I carry in my healing kit might be insufficient for the indigenous fauna on planet Greos.”

  When the light cycles off, he takes out a canister I recognize as derma-seal. He unwraps a fresh applicator tip and screws it into the spout. It’s an extremely narrow and flexible piece of needle-nose tubing that he inserts into the wound. This hurts more than the actual cut, but I grind my teeth together and tense every muscle in my body, refusing to squeal or flinch.

  “Trying to be tough?” he asks, with just a ghost of a smile haunting one corner of his mouth.

  “I earned my time with The Blade fair and square, and I’m certainly not going to complain about being taken care of.”

  There is a long silence between us. Taking care of you, a little voice inside me speaks. He’s not just patching you up. He’s taking care of you—and it feels good. Hell yes, it feels good to have someone take care of me. I practically had to raise myself after my mother was taken. And since the Rulmek abducted me? I wasn’t even equipped to take care of myself. I was denied rest, soap, clothes, nutrition. So yes, I’m going to enjoy it while someone takes care of me. Even if it hurts like a jumped-up son of a bitch.

  After he deposits the derma-seal and closes the wound, I can already feel the pain starting to subside. It will hurt and itch for the next weeks as the muscle knits itself back together, but at least the sickly ache has subsided.

  “Lie down and take off your garments,” he says as he caps the derma-seal. What did he just say? Was I wrong to think that he wouldn’t take my body for his satisfaction against my will? My face feels hot, and I just know that my cheeks are turning red at his command.

  Be honest with yourself, that voice pops up again. At this point it wouldn’t even be against your will.

  “What?” I finally manage the courage to ask. “Why?”

  “Lie down,” he repeats. “And unwrap the rag about your torso. I will attend to your spinal injury.”

  Oh. My spinal injury. That.

  “Okay,” I say. The escape pod is very small, but he lifts a handle and out comes a thin cot for me to lie on. It’s about four feet in the air, and when I try to hoist myself up, the pain shoots out my back and down my leg, and this time I do cry out.

  But almost instantly, I feel his arms around my waist, lifting me up and setting me down on the cot. I know I’ve lost weight, but he picks me up like I’m nothing, like he’s setting a can of soup on the shelf. His hands are underneath my muslin wrap, warm and strong. I didn’t realize how touch-hungry I’ve been. In the factory, I’ve been constantly surrounded by my fellow workers, always crammed together, never a moment solitude. But ironically, I’ve been utterly alone, deprived of an embrace or handshake… or kiss.

  I sigh involuntarily and am at once extremely embarrassed.

  Then he finds the ends of the wrap and begins to unwind it. Before I realize it, I lift up my torso to allow him to slide off the wrap. Then I’m topless. My underwear is the only thing covering my body, and they’re old and too small and do a poor job of it.

  “Where does it hurt?” he says. His hands slide up my back, between my shoulders. He begins to massage them, and his strong hands feel so good on my sinewy, overtaxed muscles. “Here?” I let out another sigh, but this time I’m not embarrassed by it.

  “No,” I say. “Lower.” My voice is husky, and I wouldn’t recognize it if it hadn’t come out of my own mouth.

  His hands slide a few inches lower, kneading the tight and tense muscles running along either side of my spine. It’s heaven, almost worth the countless hours of being cramped and hunched over my worktable just so I can feel his powerful hands massaging away all the agony. He makes his way lower and lower, massaging every fiber of every muscle. I’m putty, weak as a kitten, almost drunk off the pleasure he just gave me.

  “I swear, I will destroy that entire planet,” he says as he continues to melt away the knots and strains. “There won’t be a single Trogii left to draw breath. Not a si
ngle Rulmek, either. Not after we’re done with the motherfuckers.”

  His vows of vengeance are nice, but they are intangible, almost ethereal. His hands on my body, coaxing pleasure I forgot I could experience—that is real. That is now. And I can think of nothing else.

  “Here?” he says, pushing gently on the place that the pain radiates from.

  “Yes,” I say. He takes something from inside a nearby storage compartment, but I can’t see. My face is resting on the cot’s pillow. I haven’t had a pillow in four months since the Trogii confiscated them for retribution after one of the workers was found hiding extra food inside his.

  Then I feel it. The needle. It’s icy, and whatever he’s injecting, I can feel it spreading, cold tentacles weaving a path inside me.

  “What the fuck is that?” I ask. The icy tendrils snake down my left leg, wrapping the limb in a blanket of cold.

  “A very potent salicylate injected directly into the epidural space of your spinal column. The inflamed tissues will shrink to normal size and stop putting pressure on the nearby nerves. We’ll get you a proper healer when we land, and he can re-locate any herniated discs and repair the torn ligaments.”

  “Thank you,” I say. The pins-and-needles feeling is already subsiding down to a faint tingle.

  “I will wash your garment,” he says. My eyes are closed and I’m drifting to sleep. I don’t care what he says; this is the first time I’ve felt so relaxed… felt like I could relax. My body is mending, my stomach is full from the Zalaryn protein supplement, and I’m warm all over, my skin still alive with the memory of his touch.

  “What’s your name?” I ask. I’m so exhausted, it’s a chore to form the words. But I need to know.

  “Orlon,” he says.

  “Orlon,” I repeat. The name of my captor? My savior?

  I’m starting to tend towards the latter.

  I had thought that this female—Suse, her name is—was my mission target. That taking her was my job, my duty.

  How wrong I was.

  She’s so much more than that. I should have recognized it for what it was when we were in the Corva coil manufacturing plant, but I was too focused on my mission, on getting her out of there without any of the Trogii blowing a hole in me.

  What I felt for her, the desire to possess her, I tried to tell myself it was because she was my mission target. I tried to tell myself that wanting to exterminate every Trogii was because of the deplorable conditions in which they kept the slaves. Tried to tell myself that my protective streak was because she alone holds the key to stopping the Guuklar from invading Lekyo Prime.

  But it was none of those things. Not really.

  She’s my mate. She does not feel it yet because she is human, and humans don’t bond the same way that Zalaryns do. But she will.

  “Fifty neus,” I hear in the distance. We’ve barely stepped outside the ship in the docking bay adjacent to the Imperial Palace. I look up and can’t believe my eyes. It’s High King Xalax himself. Accompanying him is his queen, a human female named Resa, and their two eldest male offspring. How did he even know I was coming?

  “Fifty more to you and yours,” I reply by rote, still stunned at the presence of royalty. I look at Suse, but she’s oblivious to what’s going on. What a wretched creature, still starved half to death, half-nude and filthy and with a clotted wound slicing across her leg.

  I bow low, but the High King brushes it off. “Don’t feed my already bloated sense of vanity,” the king says.

  “As you wish,” I say, standing up straight.

  “Is this the rebel pilot’s offspring?” the king asks. He looks her over, and even though I know he is only assessing her physical condition, I feel a surge of jealousy. She is not wearing proper garments, and much of her body is on display. I want to tackle him, force his face into the ground, maybe gouge out one eyeball as a warning.

  My sanity is coming into question if I am seriously considering attacking my High King. He is an Elder now, probably approaching his hundred and twentieth year. I would gouge the eye of a wise, respected Zalaryn Elder?

  Yes, a voice inside me hisses, he desires your female. He’s King. He’s used to taking what he wants.

  I shake my head, trying to clear away the nonsense. Except I know it’s not nonsense, not entirely. Suse was the Rulmek’s captive, then the Trogii’s captive.

  Now she’s my captive. And woe be to the male who tries to take her from me.

  “She is the one Captain Vano spoke of in his last vid-comm.”

  “Sons,” King Xalax says to his offspring, “you may return to your duties.”

  “Yes, Father,” they say in striking unison.

  “This is definitely an interesting development,” King Xalax says, looking at Suse again. “Resa, show her to the suite of rooms on the eleventh floor. I’ve already sent for the High Healer, but make sure she has fresh clothing and a hot meal.”

  “Certainly,” Resa says to her mate, the king. “What food would you prefer?” she asks Suse.

  “Uh,” Suse says, unsure. She probably forgot what a proper meal consists of after being with the Trogii for so long. “Anything is fine. Thank you.”

  “Nonsense,” Resa says. “You will experience the hospitality of the Zalaryn Imperial Palace. If you do not specify a food, the servants will probably just bring you a protein block. And trust me—you do not want to know what they’re made of.”

  “I’ve already eaten one and enjoyed it,” Suse says. “If they’re anything like the protein gel packs we got on Greos, they’re probably made of insect larva.”

  “You’re closer to the truth than you think,” Resa says.

  “Our protein blocks are designed for optimal nutrition, and they are palatable, as well,” I say.

  “I would be grateful for fruit,” Suse says. “Vegetables. Meat. Anything that didn’t come out of a foil wrapper.”

  “Consider it done,” Resa says. “Follow me.” And with that they leave for the palace. I do not want to let Suse out of my sight. What if… I know that she’s safe here, but I can’t help but feel a general sense of dread at her absence.

  “It will get better after your bonding is complete,” the king says after Resa and Suse are out of earshot.

  “Excuse me?” I ask. Is he talking about what I think he’s talking about?

  “This female is your mate,” he says—and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s not asking me. He’s declaring it, as if it is a simple, foregone conclusion.

  Maybe it is.

  Except it doesn’t feel very simple.

  “Yes,” I say. No sense trying to deny it. I knew it the moment I saw her. Spending the last hours in the escape pod traveling to Zalaryx only intensified my feelings—clarified them.

  “Human females typically take longer to realize it. Human mates do not bond with each other on the molecular level as Zalaryns do,” Xalax says. “But they will bond with a Zalaryn mate.” His queen, Resa, was taken from Earth as a human tribute to the Zalaryns. Zalaryn warriors saved Earth in a long-ago battle, and as payment, Earth was required to send periodic shipments of fertile females with which the Zalaryns could breed. Xalax purchased Resa at auction, if I remember correctly, but this was all long before I was born.

  “I wanted to gouge your eyes when you looked at her,” I admit. To my surprise, King Xalax laughs. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait for her to feel it, too.”

  “I know the feeling,” he says. “But you’ll wait as long as you need to. She’s yours, but she doesn’t know it yet. Come, we have much to discuss. Compared to a Guuklar invasion, human females are relatively simple.”

  He leads me to his formal chambers where he receives guests. It’s richly decorated with sculptures and remarkably lifelike paintings of battle scenes and famous warriors. The chairs, however, are utilitarian polymer, as if Xalax doesn’t want anyone to be able to relax when in this room—I approve of the sentiment.

  I sit down and find the chairs t
o be as uncomfortable as they look.

  “Tell me what’s happening on Lekyo Prime,” King Xalax says.

  I explain to him the problems we’ve encountered while conquering the planet. The settlement’s bovine herds were being decimated by what turned out to be the Rulmek. The Rulmek, ever greedy, decided that they were not content to take a few herd animals here and there, and they were going to colonize the planet for themselves.

  That was when I devised a (rather ingenious) plan to reroute the invading Rulmek ship. We didn’t have the numbers to fight, so instead I wrote a program that would lock their nav systems, disable their escape pods, and send the invading ship to a far-off Kraxx settlement. There were quite a few problems along the way, but it worked in the end, and we rid ourselves of a large Rulmek contingent.

  “Sounds like you’re doing a good job over there,” Xalax says when I finish the tale. “What then of this new threat?”

  “One of our warriors, Bantokk, decided to liberate a hundred human slaves from the Rulmek,” I explain. “And it turned out that the hundred slaves were destined to go to the Guuklar warlord.”

  “Yes, an evil bastard by the name of Tos, correct?” Xalax asks.

  “Indeed,” I say. “In addition to the hundred slaves, Bantokk might have also firebombed the Guuklar imperial mansion and liberated Tos’s personal harem.”

  “Screaming Void,” Xalax says. “I take back what I said about doing a good job.”

  “To be fair to Bantokk,” I say, eager to defend my comrade, “Tos had taken Bantokk’s mate, a human named Lia.”

  “Hmm,” Xalax says, a dark pall cast across his normally kind face. “I know the feeling.” There were rumors that Queen Resa had been abducted from the Imperial Palace, but I had always dismissed them as foolish legends. Now I’m not so sure. My muscles tense a little, knowing that Suse is in her rooms alone. If the queen herself could have been abducted out of the Imperial Palace, then no one’s safe.