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More lights come on, flooding the room with white glow. The lizardman hisses, hiding his cock under his simple loincloth before retreating to the back of his cell. Most of the creatures do the same, so I follow their example and backpedal to the wall.
My sight glides over the various creatures in the other cells. Now that I can see them, I’m unable to look away. Most of them are somewhat humanoid, but it’s clear that they don’t come from planet Earth.
Aliens. I can’t avoid the thought any longer. Freaking aliens. I’ve been abducted by aliens!
I slap my hand over my mouth to stop any sounds from escaping. I’m not sure whether I’m on the verge of screaming in terror or laughing hysterically, but I do know neither of those would go down well with the two tall aliens that just entered the cellblock. They glare at the caged creatures as they walk by. Any time a captive makes a noise, one of the alien guards aims a remote at them. The captive then writhes in pain on the floor as if hit by a taser.
Horrified, I watch the pointless display of cruelty as I press down harder over my mouth to stop myself from whimpering out loud. One would assume that advanced alien life forms would have evolved past the primitive need to torture others. Apparently not.
The two aliens stop just in front of my cell, clearly displeased by the mess the lizardman across from me has made on the floor. They torment him with the remote for several long minutes, giving me plenty of time to observe them.
They are about six feet tall and look strikingly similar to each other. Of course, it could be just a case of cross-race identification bias, something I read about in a magazine once in a doctor’s office, where a person is unable to distinguish differences between people of a different race or in this case, species. I don’t think so, though. These guys look like twins.
They both have the same gray skin, large, bald heads, and the same big black pupils with no white rims. They’re wearing form-fitting overalls, so I can’t see much more of their bodies, but there doesn’t seem to be any real sign of their gender. Most of their features are androgynous, with only subtle hints at them being masculine.
Oh, look at me and all my fancy thoughts today. Who’d have thought I would ever use terms like “androgynous” and “cross-race identification bias” in a sentence? Not me. Ugh! Maybe I really am doped up on something. On the other hand, I seriously doubt my brain could conjure up something this bizarre, so it must be real.
Anyway, aside from the pitch black eyeballs, the aliens’ faces are surprisingly humanoid in appearance. Their expressions look similar enough to human ones for me to recognize that they watch the suffering lizardman with contempt. I immediately hate them more.
Instinct tells me that if I stay quiet and don’t move, they won’t notice me. That instinct clearly sucks because as soon as the gray aliens are finished punishing the lizardman, they turn to me, their contempt morphing into curiosity.
I wince as one raises their hand. I expect pain, but nothing comes. Instead, the alien swipes some sort of keycard over the door to my cell.
A terrified whimper escapes me as they enter my cell. Hundreds of questions race through my mind and even though I know they won’t answer any of them, I still blurt some out. “Who are you? Where am I? Why am I here? What are you going to do to me?” Words intended to be strong and authoritative come out as the shrill whimperings of a frightened girl.
One of the aliens replies, though he doesn’t speak any language I recognize. He probably isn’t even speaking to me, because his buddy nods and grabs my arm. His touch is unpleasant, kind of like someone wearing surgical gloves, a comparison that does nothing to ease my fear.
I struggle against my captors, frantically asking more and more questions, but the aliens ignore me. Each holding one of my arms, they drag me out of the cell. As they lead me away, the lizardman raises his head from where he lies on the floor and gives me a solemn look, which scares me more than anything else.
Chapter 2
Tareq
I gingerly touch my chin, hissing at the pain. My jaw doesn’t feel broken, though, which is good. You’ve got to stay positive, right? Even when your meticulously crafted plan falls apart at the first contact with reality.
“Finding positives, right,” I murmur, doing my best to ignore the cellblock stench irritating my sensitive nostrils.
Positive number one? I’m alive. That’s a good start.
Originally, I’d planned to infiltrate the ship as a guard, not end up in a cell with a slave collar around my neck, but at least I’m on board. That’s what counts. I can still complete my mission. I just need to get my bearings, remove the collar, escape this cell, then find a comms station. A piece of Karetelan pie.
My stomach rumbles as I think of pies. Damn, I’d love a piece of a Karetelan pie. Or any pie for that matter.
One of the Genixarian guards in front of my cell holds up a ration bar, waggling it before me as if bribing a pet with a treat so it will perform a trick. “Will you stay quiet and not cause trouble?”
I suppress a snarl, but just barely. “Of course, I’ll be a model prisoner,” I smirk.
Not recognizing the sarcasm, the Genixarian nods. “Good.” He tosses the package through the bars and even adds a bottle of water. How generous of the prick.
“What are we going to do with him?” the other guard asks. This one seems a little younger, although it’s hard to tell. The Genixarians are all vat-grown clones. They look identical and have limited personalities of their own.
“What do you mean, Omicron 18-L?” the first one responds.
Omicron shifts his feet. “Our orders are to capture rare species from the forbidden planets. This one is a Syndoran,” he says, pointing at me. “They’re not rare, nor coveted as slaves. I believe we’re wasting resources by keeping him here, Gamma 2-A.”
Well, fuck. It sounds like my situation is about to take a turn for the worse. I quickly assess my options, desperate to think of something that won’t get me thrown out of an airlock. There’s really only one option. “Please, don’t hurt me,” I beg, cringing internally.
I hate pretending to fear these dickheads, but I don’t have much of a choice. Still, begging eats at me. The last time I’d begged for anything I was five and my brother was threatening to throw my toys out of the window. It hadn’t worked then, so I’d never bothered again, until now. “I won’t cause any trouble, I promise!” I continue, dutifully playing my part, even though my very soul rebels against each word.
