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Chapter One

P resent Day

Somewhere in space aboard the vessel Lazy Slacker

Sirius

“Emergency, emergency! All souls to the bridge. Emergency, all souls to the bridge!”

The urgent sound of Captain Zar’s voice wakes me. The klaxons blare insistently and the blinking emergency light in my cabin bathes everything in startling red tones.

I’m up and out of bed, then running down the sterile metal hallways along with my shipmates. No one’s talking or asking questions. They all look panicked—wide-eyed and alarmed.

All twenty-six people on board cram into the bridge, waiting to hear what’s guaranteed to be distressing news.

“Please sit,” Zar’s tone is polite, but the muscles in his feline/humanoid face are rigid and tense.

Many sit in the small jump seats ringing the rear of the bullet-shaped room. Several of the women sit on their male’s lap. I stand, my back against the exit door. I’m still an interloper. We all know I don’t belong—I’m a geneslave. They rescued me a standard lunar cycle ago, but they don’t trust me.

“We received this communication a moment before I called you here. Callista, please play it in its entirety.”

Every other one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that ring three-fourths of the room flicker to life with a vid of a humanoid male in a black-and-red Federation uniform. I glance out the windows and see three Federation warships: one port, one starboard, one straight off our bow.

“Attention Lazy Slacker ,” the male says. “You are in the sights of three Federation warships. Stand down immediately. If your engines are still running in thirty modicums we will consider it an act of sedition and follow war protocol.”

The steady drone of the engines has ceased. Zar must have turned them off before his command to assemble on the bridge.

“Our three ships are engaged in a little… off-the-books activity. We’re confident you won’t report us because it’s clear, with all your recent name changes, you’re engaged in illegal activities as well.”

As he pauses, I realize the room is silent. Every eye is on the screens. I can smell the terror. My genetics don’t allow me to experience emotions like other beings. I feel no fear, just an enhanced state of alert.

“Our intel indicates there are ten trained gladiators on board, which is perfect for our needs. You have sixty minimas to send us one fighter of your choosing. If you do not hail us back within that time frame, we will use our matter transporter to commandeer all of your fighting flesh, then destroy the vessel and all other beings on board.”

He appears to look straight at us. “Sixty minimas , not a modicum more.” The vid goes dark, making it easier to see the three warships, their prows pointing menacingly at us.

The room erupts in a buzz of fearful murmuring. A female is crying, but without stepping forward, I can’t make out who it is.

“Please, I know this is frightening and disturbing. We now have…” Zar consults the computer screen on his comm unit, “fifty-one minimas to make this decision.”

“Can we make a run for it?” Huge Dax asks in his deep, rumbling voice.

“As you heard, they made us shut down our engines, it would take minimas to power them back up. We’ll be dead long before we escape,” Zar answers.

“We can fight back,” scarred Stryker says, his face fierce as his hand absently strokes his female’s back.

“Three well-equipped Federation warships versus ours? We’d be lasered to char before our first volley is complete. I’ve only known these facts a few minimas longer than all of you,” Zar says, “but neither fighting nor running are options. One of us needs to volunteer.”

“I’ve never run from a fight,” Shadow says, the look on his face thunderous, “but I have my female to protect.” He hugs the tiny female on his lap even tighter.

“We all have a female to protect,” Zar says evenly. “If no one volunteers, I’ll have the computer randomly select one of us.”

I’m a geneslave, the last to join this band of runaway slaves. I have no female, no family—I was bred in a test tube. I’m such an aberration I don’t call anyone on board a friend.

I wait a moment for one of them to point to me and not-so-tactfully suggest I should ‘volunteer’. I give them credit, not one of them even slides their eyes in my direction.

“It’s obvious I should volunteer,” I say as I step forward. “I have no female, no purpose on board. I’m the most expendable. I’ll go.”

The relief in the room is palpable. I can feel them all stand down.

“Sirius…” Brianna’s face pinches in sadness. Perhaps she was going to tell me not to volunteer, then thought better of it. After all, she has two males to protect. The computer’s random program would make her twice as likely as the other females to lose a mate.

“That is generous,” Zar says. “Admirable. But they demanded a gladiator.”

“I’m a geneslave, built by the Feds to be stronger, faster, and better equipped to fight than any existing species in the galaxy. I’ve gained weight since you rescued me—it’s all muscle. Every one of you has sparred with me in the ludus over the last lunar cycle, teaching me new fighting techniques to add to what the Feds taught me. I’m as formidable an adversary as any of you.

“We all know whatever the Feds have planned for me will not be a fair fight. Every being in this room knows whoever goes out that door is walking to a certain death. I understand that—I accept it.”

“This isn’t fair,” Brianna says. “Sirius, you were born a slave. You’re finally free, about to embark on a new life.”

“You’re right, Brianna. It’s not fair. But I’m the right choice. Thank you all for accepting me onto your ship. I’m ready.” I nod to Zar.

“Dr. Drayke,” Zar says, “can you insert a tracking device under his skin? He may be new to our ranks, but he’s one of us now. He’s saving the life of every soul on board.” He turns toward me and says, “We’ll do everything in our power to save you, Sirius.”

After the doctor inserts a tracker under the skin of my bicep, Brianna approaches me and throws her arms around my neck.

“Sirius, you’re such a good male. You saved my mate when you could have run the other way. I’ll be forever grateful. Now you’ve saved us all.” She leans back, her eyes pooling with tears. Concern for me? It’s hard to grasp.

She hugs me tight. No one has touched me in kindness before. I’ve never experienced a hug. I take a moment to figure out how to receive it. I tentatively reach up and gingerly pat her back.

“You deserve happiness, Brianna,” I whisper, then pull away and look at Zar. “I’m ready.”

Every male on the bridge slides their female off their lap as they stand and turn to me. They each press their fist over their heart as they solemnly nod to me. It is the gladiators’ highest tribute, a salute of honor.

Brianna’s hug, these males’ salutes, are the closest I’ve come to affection, acceptance, or appreciation in my life. I nod to the room, uncertain what emotion I would feel if I possessed them.

Zar comms the Federation captain, and a moment later I’m matter-transported to his ship. I’m greeted by six males, all pointing lasers at me. My hands shoot up, although I know I won’t be harmed. I’m nude, unarmed, and they’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to acquire me. Whatever they’re going to do to me is breaking Federation law. I imagine it will net them plenty of credits.

The ship jolts into hyperspace lurching me back, then forward.

“Hands on the back of your head, drackhole ,” a mottled brown male shouts as he menaces his gun at me.

After I comply, they swift-march me down narrow, brightly lit hallways to the brig, where I’m left alone in a small cell lit by a single red sign near the doorway. I sit on the only item in the room, a thin, dirty mattress on the floor.

I’ve spent most of my life in captivity of one sort or another. Created in a test tube by Federation scientists on planet Malego, I was raised in a barracks of single cells with my fellow ‘products’, as our makers called us.

We were forced to exercise, trained to fight, fed scientifically formulated sustenance, and allowed to read approved material on the Intergalactic Database. They occasionally pulled me from my cell and gave me tests—both physical and intellectual. The scientists showed little interest in any of us as individuals until they discovered my blood contained healing properties.

At that point, they began to suck me dry. I believe they were selling my blood to line their own pockets. I became progressively weaker as they made money off my blood.

It was during transport to the home planet of a wealthy recipient that I made my escape, only to go from one form of slavery to another.

Homeless, without a credit to my name, an unscrupulous male snuck a pain/kill collar around my neck and used me for unsavory illegal dealings for several annums . I know the Feds could have found me after my escape. I think they didn’t pursue me because I was so near death they figured I’d been squeezed dry of any benefit to them.

Through a miracle of circumstance, Brianna rescued me and brought me to her ship. That was a lunar cycle ago. One lunar cycle of freedom in an entire lifetime, and it appears I’ll be put to death soon by a new cadre of sadistic Feds.

Having spent my life in a cell, I know how to lie back, shut off my mind, and let time pass, so I have no idea how long it’s been before a male barges into the cellblock.

“Stand, gladiator,” he commands. The markings on his uniform indicate he’s the first mate.

I follow his order. I’ve assessed my situation. There’s no escape from this Federation ship filled with armed soldiers. If I don’t comply, they’ll kill me.

“A geneslave.” He nods, looking pleased. “Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue.”

I do as he orders while I assess him. He’s tall and well-built, but with my genetic enhancements, I could snap his neck in less than thirty modicums . He’s on the other side of the laser bars, though, and his death would give me little satisfaction.

“Look at those fangs. Impressive. You have a lot of canine in you. What luck. You’re better than a gladiator. How did you escape your genefarm?” he asks, but I know he doesn’t want an answer. He’s talking to me like one would speak to their pet.

“The captain of your ship said we’d be receiving a male named Sirius. Is that what you’ve named yourself number 972? Or did your gladiator captors dub you that? That’s rich. Calling yourself Sirius after the Altherian word for canine.

“All the sayings are true, aren’t they? Dumb as a canine, ugly as a canine. Tell me Sirius,” he says the name with supreme disgust, “can you lick your balls, too?”

He laughs derisively, then murmurs into his comm. A moment later, two males in uniform join him. One is carrying a sturdy metal rod that looks like it belongs in the engine room.

“Keep your weapons trained on the prisoner,” the first mate barks, then kicks the rod along the floor through the laser bars. The bar creates hissing sparks when it glances off one of the lasers. He points his pad at me, recording this. “Show your teeth,” he commands, “bend that bar.”

It angers me to be put on display. I’m a freak to them, to the entire galaxy in fact, but only the most perceptive observer would notice my jaw tighten in protest.

I step forward and snarl menacingly into the recorder. A provocative move, but not punishable because I’m complying with his request. I could bend the bar easily, but conspicuously struggle with the task. I don’t know what’s in store for me, but the more my enemies underestimate me, the safer I’ll be.

“You’ve exceeded expectations, geneslave,” he says as he taps something into his computer pad, then looks at me. “There’s a party of Galerians, ten at last count, meeting us off planet Nativus. They’re paying enough to make this unpleasant excursion to the far end of the galaxy worth our while. However, this little vid will net us four hundred thousand additional credits, maybe more. You’re quite a find; you’ll make their experience more exciting.”

He sneers at me, gleeful at the prospect of making me squirm.

“It will be a little hunting party, number 972, and guess what? You’re the prey. Eat well tonight, it will be your last meal.” He turns on his heel and leaves the cell block, his two lackeys following behind.

I’ve been groomed from birth to fight and die for the Federation. It was only the healing quality of my blood, an anomaly, that allowed me to live as long as I have.

I’m not afraid of death, part of me welcomes it—what do I have to live for? But it’s not my nature to die without a fight. I’ll do as that drackhole said, I’ll eat heartily at my last meal. I’ll sleep if I can conjure it. And tomorrow I’ll kill as many Galerians as I can before they kill me.