The Melier: Prodigal Son Page 9

  Don’t hurl. Please don’t hurl.

  “My money’s on Ropa, an ugly bottom feeder,” the father mused as Wallie reappeared once more. “He won the last fleshy human we had up for auction. He enjoys playing a game called just the spur.” He and his son locked sights and then he babbled laughter while Wallie stood there, fuming.

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the sight, not wanting to imagine what a spur was.

  “At least for a little while, until he’s bored of that torture. Then who the hell knows what he’ll do.”

  The two men began walking the room, tapping on other crates, waking other women.

  This isn’t happening.

  Isn’t happening.

  Not real.

  She would wake up from this nightmare and shake it off.

  Don’t sweat the small stuff.

  When things got rough, Dania always told herself, don’t sweat the small stuff.

  Gained another pound? Don’t sweat the small stuff.

  Can’t afford to go see that new movie this week? Don’t sweat the small stuff.

  Working back to back shifts to accomplish her dream of establishing a better life on Dor Nye? Don’t sweat the small stuff.

  She drifted, somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness. Don’t sweat the small stuff.

  When her lids peeled open, she was still naked with her arms wrapped over her chest, and not sprawled on her expensive mattress in her small room in the safety of her shitty apartment building.

  It wasn’t a nightmare. Dania didn’t wake up and shake it off. It was real.

  This was way beyond the small stuff!

  She would be sold, violated, and eventually she would die. No one lived long in those types of scenarios, not really. If their body didn’t go first, their mind certainly would.

  The lights flashed once, and a loud tone sounded through the room.

  “Looks like we’ve arrived!” Senior Creep rubbed his hands together. “We’re saving you for last. Hold tight.”

  Time slowed, and Dania watched as the room emptied crate by crate. Every once in a while, she would hear a woman scream, the bloodcurdling sound making her skin crawl. Little by little, she shrank into a corner of the crate and pulled her knees tighter to her chest.

  She was making herself as small as possible, unsure if her mind was going to make it through the ordeal. The tremors were still visibly shaking her frame and the tension was making her stomach cramp and ache until it was hard to even draw breath.

  Two burly, pink furred, ape-like aliens came in for her. Her crate was lifted by a small machine, and then she was towed through the door. Her hands pressed against the glass, keeping herself tucked into the corner.

  Through a dark hall they toted her. In the shadows it was hard to see anything, and she struggled to decide whether that gave her comfort. The crate lifted upward, the sensation making her stomach flop, and then it settled on a flat surface.

  The lights blasted on and Dania blinked repeatedly, shielding her eyes from the blinding beams.

  The murmurs, growls, and laughs of delight flowed in from all around her, but she couldn’t see who they came from. The lights were too bright and anything past them was shadows moving against blackness. She unfolded herself, getting to her knees and shading her eyes to try to see through the beams.

  “Starting bid one million credits!”

  She sucked back a breath, and then another as the bids kept getting higher and higher. Voices from all around her, in all sorts of languages, called out their bids. Her heart fluttered in her chest, making her feel faint, as if it might give out at any moment.

  “Thirty million credits!” someone shouted.

  “Going once... Going twice...”

  “Back biting deal breaker!” someone roared, and the crowd erupted with the sound of gasps, and scurrying feet.

  “Trepnils!” shadows in the crowd whispered as if they spoke of the bogeyman.

  “You seek to go behind our backs?” the roaring voice—now a dangerously low hiss—inquired, but this time it came from a different direction, and closer to her crate.

  Dania turned, still unable to see anything with the blinding lights. The fine hairs along her arms stood on end.

  A nervous, grass whistling chuckle touched her ears. “Sirs,” the father began, “a little competition was all—”

  “Liar!”

  “Sirs! N—” he gurgled, the heavy sound of flesh slapping the floor interrupting whatever he was going to say next.

  “Take her to the ship,” the Trepnil ordered. “Already we are behind schedule after tracking down this quaz.”

  Dania bit into her lips, sitting her ass down and bracing herself against the crate when it shifted.

  Someone stepped into the light, the long, green-scaled snout of an alien revealing itself from the shadows before disappearing again.

  Don’t scream!

  Tears stung her eyes as her skin tightened and she tried, unsuccessfully, to tamp down the terror.

  The lights went out and Dania shrieked.

  FOURTEEN

  Dania’s eyes flitted over everything around her. The mask that’d been tossed into her crate, momentarily fogged with her harried breaths. Four of the green-scaled Trepnils lugged her across the colossal floating flat-deck craft that was lined with shops, display stands, and curtained hovels.

  Species of all kinds milled about, and everything under the moons were being peddled, including other beings.

  Wallie was spot on when he called them lizards. They were bipedal reptiles that stank like curdled dairy. She’d caught a whiff when they’d opened her crate.

  “Hurry up,” the one ahead snapped. “We have no time to be lingering here. Tor’s Black Fleet makes me anxious.”

  Tor’s Black Fleet?

  She didn’t know why, but it spooked her. If these nasty aliens didn’t want to be here any longer than they had to, she certainly wanted to get away quick, fast, and in a hurry. Dania wondered what made him anxious about the place. They seemed to fit right in.

  The cage vibrated beneath her when they marched up the ramp of a brown-red ship that reminded her of old, dried blood.

  Not good.

  “Put her with the others,” the leader commanded without a backward glance as he stalked off.

  Dania wanted to ask what others, but she kept her mouth sealed. She didn’t think these aliens could be sweet talked. Not like Wallie.

  She peeked over her shoulder. One of the two bringing up the rear eyeballed her, a rope of frothy saliva dangling from his sealed jaws.

  Dania quickly looked straight ahead.

  They toted her into a room where the hum of voices silenced immediately. She looked to her left and to her right. All around were haggard alien women. Each one had a bronze horizontal strip underneath their left eye with a matching string of data code below it.

  The mark of a legal Vishik prostitute.

  They were real. Dania had only seen them on the network drama League One produced. She thought it was all part of the show...

  Every single woman she could see, they were all marked.

  This has to be a mistake. I’m not a prostitute. I have no code.

  They had to realize this. They weren’t blind.

  “Out,” one of the lizards barked, opening her crate. He didn’t have to tell her twice. Dania scurried from the box as quick as she could, her joints smarting. A pair of hands grabbed her and pulled her closer to the huddled alien women.

  Without another word, the Trepnils left.

  "Where are we going?" she immediately asked to whomever would answer.

  "Retirement," the one who grabbed her murmured. She was a careworn old Rishin, and the meanest looking of the bunch, but her voice was soft. "Where they always send us when our numbers decline."

  Dania didn’t like the sound of that. Retirement. "Where?" She didn’t think it would be somewhere warm with pink sand beaches.

  "Places a young body like yours has no b
usiness going, t’kere."

  She knew that word. It was an endearment equivalent to honey in English.

  A young body like mine?

  FIFTEEN

  Planet Tundrin

  JRUVIIN

  Jruviin brushed a thumb over his blade tipped spear, checking the bite. Satisfied with the sharpness, he held it in his left hand while he adjusted his loincloth. Most fighters wore hard coverings, but they only hindered his movement.

  If it was his time to die, no amount of armor was going to stay death’s hand.

  “What do you think the prize will be today?” he curiously asked his teammate upon hearing the hum of the stadium occupants. “The crowd clamors.”

  Val’Koy’s eyes didn’t lift while he sat nearby on the stone bench sharpening his long, thin sword that was deceptively sturdy; able to cut through flesh and bone with ease. An upgrade he’d purchased not long ago with his saved winnings.

  Jruviin discovered the Melier prince had formal training with long blades as part of his upbringing. Said it was more civilized than bare fists, though as fights went on, Jruviin saw less and less of this civilized conditioning Val’Koy claimed to have.

  Jruviin figured it was this place. Hae’deth had a way of infecting its prisoners’ minds. The constant threat of dying corrupted one’s way of thinking.

  This may be my last day, he thought before every fight.

  His keen sight swiveled around the room. Its gritty stone walls, lack of proper lighting, and sand strewn floors bespoke a lack of maintenance. This facility wasn’t one of Hae’deth’s better places. He’d seen cleaner, updated arenas on the games his father had streamed in years past.

  Caring where he died wasn’t a concern anymore. It would happen one day, and most likely on the hot sand of the arena beyond these walls.

  Dust and dirt dislodged from between the stones in the ceiling when the crowd stomped harder, their racket growing louder at the announcer’s words that were too muffled for him to decipher.

  “Do you care?” Val’Koy finally replied. “About the crowd?”

  Jruviin brushed the dust from his shoulder, the tight knit of his feathers keeping the debris from his down.

  “Or are you rambling, per usual?”

  Jruviin slowly shook his head, the long feathers of his crest brushing against his shoulders. Picking up his second spear, he stood. “For a prince, you have grisly social skills.”

  The only response was a rumbling chuckle, yet his partner didn’t deny it.

  He walked to the entrance that lead down the dark hall to the arena and stood there, waiting to be signaled by the guard at the end. Val’Koy soon joined him.

  Before his teammate got too far away, or prepared for it, Jruviin’s under-tongue shot out, slapping against Val’Koy’s temple before speedily retreating into his mouth.

  “Do it again,” Val’Koy growled—per usual, Jruviin mentally barbed—and wiped the spot on his bare shoulder, “and I will end you.”

  “You say something similar every time,” Jruviin sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched and tugged. “Simply checking on your health. If you plan to get me killed, I want to know ahead of time.”

  “Those degenerates,” he gestured toward the doors, “are not your problem.”

  “You die, I die, remember?”

  “Might be worth it if I get to stab you.”

  He said that every time too. Jruviin had come to amusedly accept it was Val’Koy’s way of thanks for looking out for his health.

  Being a team had advantages and disadvantages. If one of them got slain or died of natural causes, per rules of Hae’deth, the other would be put to death. It meant neither of them were ever alone.

  Those initial weeks of fear—fear of dying, fear of being maimed or disfigured, fear of the horrors witnessed in the arena—hadn’t just changed them as individuals, but as a partnership.

  “Fighters!” the guard hollered, his voice echoing down the hall. That was their cue.

  ****

  VAL’KOY

  The sand grew hotter beneath his feet the closer they drew to the arena, his body temperature adjusting. The lingering, biting scent of blood that permanently clung to the sand had once bothered him, but no more. A familiar smell. One he looked forward to since it was a sign he was still alive in the aftermath of a battle.

  He entered the large, circular shaped arena, the pit surrounded by the stadium seating filled with a deafening crowd that only grew more rabid with their arrival.

  “Deplorables,” Jruviin murmured, insulting the cheering onlookers that salivated for gore.

  Val’Koy’s attention was drawn to the gathering of fighters. They crowded around something, presumably getting a look at today’s prize.

  He rumbled, hoping it wasn’t spirits. They were too strong to be palatable, and if he fought for something, it would be nice to enjoy it instead of selling it.

  The closer he got, the louder the buzz of excitement grew. These quarterly battles, the ones where they pitted a large group of fighters against each other, were coveted and feared.

  Fighters wanted in because, while the prizes were usually high end, the credits and possessions that could be reaped from every kill had the possibility to amount to a small fortune.

  The fear lied in the number of fighters. Ten to twenty teams had far worse odds than one team against another.

  It wasn’t their choice to enter either—their fate belonged to their sponsors.

  His eyes raised to find Emperor Vu’Mal’Su in the center stands where the wealthy lounged. Their sights locked. It still grated on his nerves the Trep was his, and Jruviin’s, sponsor. It was the one thing he would never adjust to.

  Vu’Mal’Su appeared smugger than usual.

  “Oh, it will be deliciousss!” a fighter hissed to his left, drawing his attention back to the sands as Val’Koy made his way through the thick throng.

  A whiff of something caught his attention. He inhaled again, but he couldn’t catch it.

  “Look at how she trembles,” the behemoth, antennae laden fighter to his right ground out.

  She?

  Val’Koy pulled to an abrupt halt when the subject of interest came into view.

  Therran.

  Not just any Therran.

  My Therran.

  “Yours?” Jruviin echoed his thoughts, and Val’Koy realized he’d said them aloud.

  At once, his eyes lifted to the stands again. Vu’Mal’Su’s jaw hung open, the Trepnil’s expression of excitement.

  “Her scent,” Jruviin wheezed, earning Val’Koy’s tightened gaze. His partner’s tail-tip hardened, the otherwise harmless quills stiffening until it formed a dangerous mace.

  Val’Koy’s eyes darted over the fighters around him who salivated after the blindfolded human shivering in the crate.

  If she was here... where was their son? What if the Trepnils had him now? He wouldn’t underestimate the emperor’s love of psychological games, and it took a monumental amount of willpower to keep his head above the black haze of fury that threatened to pull him under.

  He moved back through the crowd, prowling the edge, Jruviin close by. “She is the mother of my youngling,” he grated under his breath and spit at the sand. “He went back on his word.”

  “Vu’Mal’Su?” Jruviin caught on quick as they moved along the perimeter of the crowd, sizing up their competition while the others slavered over what they couldn’t have.

  Val’Koy grunted.

  They would take out the bigger fighters first and leave the smaller threats for last. His mind ran a hundred orbits a second, base instincts lengthening his claws, and pumping his body full of adrenaline.

  Must. Win.

  SIXTEEN

  DANIA

  She couldn’t understand anything.

  Why couldn’t she understand what the booming voice said? She had the latest update to her implanted translator.

  It was darkness behind the blindfold, and she couldn’t see any light throu
gh the material. Black, that’s all there was. Blackness, and the hissing and barking sounds of something.

  What was out there?

  No one gave her any details. She’d thought about taking off the blindfold and finding out, but the sheer terror of what she would see kept her fingers glued around her legs. Her muscles ached with how tightly they bunched and shivered.

  “Keep the blindfold on, t’kere,” the faded Rishin had warned her when the Trepnils came back to load them into crates. “It is better to not see what comes next.”

  For weeks she’d been in that cargo hold with the Vishik prostitutes. Naked, afraid, crowded. Using a bucket as a bathroom and fed hard food bars from the lizards.

  She wondered if Rita had filed a missing person report. Had her parents tried to comm her?

  A cacophony startled her when the booming voice finished. Her teeth chattered together, and her heart beat so fast she thought it might explode. Nothing translated. It was a symphony of hissing, barking, grunting, screeching, and she could understand none of it.

  Had they messed with her translator?

  Or maybe whatever was out there didn’t frequent Dor Nye. She had the predominant languages of all five trade planets programmed into her translator, including the registered merchant ones—a job requirement when working in the capital.

  But there were other languages, other places.

  She gulped down thick, sour saliva.

  Where am I?

  Her teeth continued to clang together causing her head to pound with the constant jolting. Her mind envisioned towering, horrifying species getting their twiggy, spiny appendages on her body.

  The sting in her eyes could no longer be ignored, and she felt the wet heat of tears slipping through the lashes of her closed eyes and gluing the blindfold to her skin. Another whimper slipped past her lips which were on the verge of being bitten off by her clashing teeth.

  The monsters heard it, making them clamor louder until the glass of the crate vibrated, and her ears rang with the nightmarish sounds she’d never be able to forget.