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The Acrad Homeworld
Myla
Cowering in the corner of a dimly lit cave, I sit with my knees drawn up, hugging my legs, scared as a dog quivering under a back porch during a loud thunderstorm. The water drips into a puddle and the smell of mold is absolutely repugnant. My head feels like someone is hitting it over and over with a hammer (probably from dehydration, maybe lack of sleep, or both) and my nose itches. Every time I give it a good rub, the nasty smell from my hands lingers in my nostrils.
Time seems to flow in short bursts of shock, and then stand still, with no way to measure it. I’m stuck in a cell, cold, frightened, and lonely. And of all things, I’m being experimented on like a lab rat by an alien species that looks like giant spiders (and I hate spiders!).
Before leaving Earth, the Space Port Authority insisted that everyone attend education classes on the dangers of space, Galactic Rules and Regulations, and have the universal translator inserted. After learning about so many dangerous species, I thought twice about my own decision to visit Aunt Viv, but I needed to get away and live a little before this chance passed me by.
At this rate I’m not sure I’ll live at all, I muse grimly. Or, if I do, will I even recognize myself in the end?
These…spider things…are called the Acradidia. Evil as they are to behold, I understand that they’re actually a sentient species, however strange.
What I don’t understand is what they’re trying to accomplish. Every few days, they come for me, drag me to a lab where they inject a thick yellow liquid, which turns my blood to molten fire, burning me from the inside out. I don’t like that stuff. And I hate the spider…I mean Arcadidia. I have to force myself to call them by their proper name. My momma always taught me that it’s wrong to call people names. That said, it’s a bit hard to think of them as people…
Everything I’ve read, everything they taught me in the education classes says that the Acradidia specialize in the space version of the black slave market; but this is no auction, and I am not a slave, so what are they doing? I can’t put my finger on what they’re trying to accomplish, but it can’t be anything good.
The cell directly across from mine is empty, has been since I was brought here. How long ago was it? Three weeks? Four? Or has it been months? At this point, I just don’t know.
Across and to the right, I sometimes catch a glimpse of blue claws wrapped around the bars. The creature pulls violently, roaring in anger at least two or three times a day. I don’t blame him (at least, I assume it’s a male). If I had the courage, I’d roar too. When he paces, I catch sight of blue tuffs of fur down his hips, and powerful, muscled legs. In spite of the claws, fur and blue skin, the hands and legs are sort of Human-like…I think.
Across and to the left, there’s a yellow alien with extra-long bony fingers which wrap gracefully around the bars. I swallow hard as I imagine what he looks like. Occasionally, a forked tongue flickers out between the bars. I would hate to come face-to-face with him. Or her.
That one surely ain’t very humanoid, as the term goes, I chuckle nervously.
Hard steps echo down the passageway, stopping every ten paces or so. It’s an ominous sound I’m now accustomed to, making me quiver with fear. Guards checking to make sure every prisoner is accounted for. I can’t fathom why. How could I escape even if I tried? Gulping hard, I slam my eyes closed, body shaking.
With almost erratic breathing, I count…one, two, three…the now loud steps stop in front of my cell. Frozen, I dare to exhale.
After a few heart pounding seconds, the clop clop clop sounds again as the guard walks away. The breath rushes from my body and I sag in relief.
In the distance, a door shuts with a final clink and I know the guards have left the area. I think I may be safe.
For a while.
Soft murmuring comes from the right; it’s the blue tough guy. His voice is always the same—deep and masculine, and tormented. Something about it draws me to him. Like a ship to a lighthouse, he’s my only glimmer of light in this dreary place.
I get to my feet, walk over to the bars. I can see him pacing again. As always, I try and talk to him. “Hello?”
I hear incoherent words, and he doesn’t slow in his pacing. I’m not even sure he can understand me.
“Do you know why they are holding us prisoner?” I ask for the umpteenth time. I just want him—anyone—to talk to me. This isolation is making me crazy.
To my surprise and for the first time since I’ve been trapped here, a low growling voice bites back an answer. “Keep your voice down or you will bring the guards back!”
The low masculine sound draws me in, and I want—need—to see his face. It’s something I can’t explain, so I chalk it up to loneliness, the lack of companionship…something. But stuck behind these bars, I know it’s impossible.
“How could they possibly hear me? They’re gone,” I whisper in reply.
“They have their ways,” he says in an irritated but barely audible tone. “And for your safety and mine, you will be quiet.”
I still don’t understand how they could possibly hear, but he obviously doesn’t like me talking to him. Frustrated, I huff aloud, head toward the back wall and slide down onto the cold floor. It takes a while until I finally drift off into an uneasy, light sleep.
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