Page 49 of Galaxy Gladiators Romance Box Set #11-19

Chapter One

P resent Day

Planet Hyperion

Raine

This can’t be happening! I’ll admit, I’ve read a few alien abduction romances in my day, but not for years. Who has time for that when you’re in med school?

What was that old quote? When you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Well, in the ten minutes since I woke up, I’ve eliminated the possibility I’m dreaming because not only have I pinched myself, but I know the stench in here is too pungent to be an olfactory hallucination.

This is real. I’ve been abducted. By aliens.

They must have drugged me because it’s obvious I’m not on Earth anymore and I remember nothing of my journey. I’ve seen a dozen species of aliens already. There are maybe ten women of various species in my cell and several different types of guards. The women are in varying degrees of shock. Some crying, some sobbing, some staring with hollow expressions and blank eyes. Then there are those who are angry or panicked.

I’ve been using my rational mind—watching, observing, assessing. But I can’t stay detached anymore. Fear hits me, ricocheting through me like a shotgun blast. My hands tremble, my eyes water, and my brain shuts down. I’ll admit it; I just crossed over to the panicked camp.

“Bring Lot One to the stage,” a raspy male voice calls through an overhead speaker.

I must have been equipped with a translator because I hear alien speech through my ears, but my mind knows what he’s saying. I’m kind of a science geek, and in different circumstances I’d be excited by the tech, but since this is real life and I think I’m about to be auctioned, I’m not really interested in the freaking device I think they implanted in my head. Especially since every female in this cell has a tag with what I assume is the number ‘one’ on it. I guess a hashmark in any language means one, that’s not rocket science. When my hand flies to my neck, I realize I’m wearing a tag too.

“Step lively. Follow me. Don’t try anything,” a large male with brown splotchy skin and bulging eyes orders as he slaps the gadget he’s carrying against the wall. It looks like a thin nightstick, but when it hits the wall, it creates crackling sparks.

My first lesson in outer space—an audiovisual display conveying the message I’ll be hurt if I don’t comply.

For the first time in my life, I contemplate whether I’m a brave person or not. I’d thought I had courage when I decided to go to med school. It took even more bravery to sign for my student loans. Those kinds of lifetime commitments aren’t easy. But wondering if I have the balls to make a run for it when surrounded by aliens with implements of destruction? That takes fearlessness to a whole other level.

“Where are we being taken?” I ask, which earns me an angry stare and another opportunity to see the damage the stick does when it strikes the wall. I clamp my lips together and realize I’ve learned my second lesson—shut the fuck up.

“Females and males,” I hear the words echo in from another room. “Our first lot of the day. We have females from all over the galaxy. A Whelpie, a four-armed Mordite, a human, and many more exotic livestock chosen for your pleasure. Let’s see how the bidding goes, shall we?”

Although I know it’s futile, I pinch my thigh again, hoping against hope that I’m dreaming. No such luck. I have no idea how I got here, but I’m on another planet.

The guards herd us up some steps and onto a wooden stage. We’re in an auditorium that looks like it might have been elegant in its day but has fallen into disrepair. The paint is peeling, and the curtains smell of mildew.

I can’t see into the audience because of the blinding lights focused on me and the other females in Lot One.

“Our first female . . .” the announcer’s voice drones on describing the first woman in line.

Part of my mind wants to figure out how I got here, how long I’ve been gone from Earth, and a myriad of other logistical questions. Instead, I concentrate on the only thing that really matters—how to escape.

“Next on the docket . . .” drifts to me as if it’s a football field away, my mind is too focused on my predicament to pay attention to the workings of the auction.

By now, my eyes are more acclimated to the bright lights. I look for an escape, but there are guards stationed at the top and bottom of the stage steps as well as in front of the exits.

When I peer out into the audience, I don’t see many females. It’s a sea of male faces. From what I can tell, although I’m new to all these species, it’s a sea of horny male faces. Maybe my best bet is to escape after I’m purchased. Certainly, my new owner won’t have as many guards as there are in this room.

“Next up? The human.”

I’m roughly shoved from behind and stumble into the middle of the stage.

“We all know trafficking in humans is illegal. Since they look like Morganians, her papers will say she’s from Morgana to keep you above the law. It is well known throughout the galaxy that humans are valued for their use as bed-slaves.”

Bed-slaves?

“Now this one may not be the prettiest you’ll see today. She’s certainly not the strongest or tallest or best trained. But this species is known to respond well if you don’t spare the use of the pain/kill collar which you can purchase at point of sale for only one hundred additional credits.” He swivels toward me and orders, “Turn.”

I’m distracted and still blinded by the lights as I vaguely wonder why anyone would bid on a disheveled human woman in a knee-length flowery nightgown.

When I don’t move, his voice takes on a more menacing tone and he says, “Spin,” as he twirls his finger.

Choice point, Raine , I tell myself. You’ve prided yourself on your spirit and courage your whole life. Have you got what it takes to resist?

I plant my feet, lock my knees, and stand like I’ve just grown roots.

Until the ugly brown dude with the shock-stick hustles in my direction. Now I’m twirling like a prima ballerina, all the while hating my cowardice from the depths of my being.

“Look at that, females and males. This one will be fun to tame, won’t she? I’ll start the bidding at one hundred credits. Look at her golden-brown hair. Her green eyes. Those lush curves. She’ll be worth every credit.”

The bidding is a blur until it’s down to two bidders. I hope it’s a trick of the light when I get a good look at them. There’s a bluish-gray guy the color of a corpse who looks as if his skin is melting. Bile rises in the back of my throat and threatens to project out my mouth, but I contain it. Why did I hold back? Perhaps vomiting at the prospect of being purchased might dissuade him from buying me.

The other guy is somewhat better. He’s a humanoid who looks like moss is growing all over him. How ridiculous that my life is so fucked up I’m actually rooting to be bought by moss-guy instead of melty guy?

“Sold to the Bahranian on my right.”

Shit! Melty guy.

This can’t be happening! The toady-looking guard tips his chin toward the steps as he touches the handle of the shock-stick to my ass. The message is clear; I’ll feel the bite of the other end of the stick if I step out of line.

Melty guy is already standing in front of the table at the exit, paying for me as he looks me up and down like I’m his next meal.

I’ll find a way out of this. I have to.

Maximus

“I’ve had my fill of slavery,” my friend Vartan says, shaking his head in disgust. “Watching sentient beings get sold as if they were animals isn’t how I wanted to spend my days. I’m only waiting for the lot with the gladiators, then we can leave.”

It’s just the two of us on this planet, waiting for his match in the gladiatorial games in four days. We’re at this auction instead of a bar because it’s Vartan’s personal mission to buy gladiator-slaves and free them with the earnings he makes from fighting.

As admirable as that may be, I have better things to do with my money, like gamble and find a four-armed Mordite trained in the Butterfly Technique. That’s been a lifelong dream. They say one night with a Mordite is worth an annum’s salary.

“That one doesn’t look happy,” I say to my friend, Vartan as the bidding gets heated on a brown-haired female. “She looks human, just like the females on our ship.”

Fifteen of us overthrew our master six lunars ago and we now fly the galaxy on a ship we commandeered. Another ship aided us, and now the two work as a team, sometimes traveling together, sometimes separating as we participate in gladiator fights to make money. I’m here to watch Vartan’s back when he fights, and perhaps to pick up the pieces if he loses—which he won’t. This male is a force to be reckoned with in the arena.

Between the two vessels, we’ve accumulated fifteen Earth females. We’ve got four on our ship, the Devil’s Playground . They’re all happily mated to my friends. Although I’ve never found them particularly attractive, they have nice chests.

“Look at the barrumps on her,” I say as I enjoy the display.

“She’s a sentient being, Max,” he scolds. “You can be such a dracker .”

As good a fighter as he is, it’s a wonder he lasted in the arena as long as he did. His heart is soft.

We watch as the bidding becomes heated between a Bahranian and a Trentian. The look of sheer terror on her face when she’s sold to the Bahranian makes me remember my first auction. I was sold when I was five annums old. I squeeze that thought out of my mind. It’s not pleasant.

The bidding starts on the next female on the program, a little Larian, but my attention is pulled to the sales table. Voices are rising and guards are approaching from their posts across the room, their hands on the butts of their shock-sticks. That brings back memories equally disturbing as my first auction.

The human is talking and shaking her head. I’m too far away to hear her, but it’s clear she’s refusing to follow orders.

As three guards join the two who are already handling the situation, the human’s voice rises to the level I can hear from where I sit.

“NO! Fuck no! I’m not going!” Every muscle in her body is tight, ready to run, but she’s surrounded. The Bahranian is trying to calm the situation. The credits have already changed hands. He owns the female now. I’m certain he doesn’t want the guards to kill her before he gets a taste.

He leans in, apparently trying to calm his new purchase.

“You’re HIDEOUS!” she shouts loud enough for every person in the crowd to hear. “I’ll NEVER let you touch me!”

The male, who looked indulgent until now, turns the color of the sky right before it rains on my home planet of Addai—almost black.

“I’m going to touch you alright,” he says, his voice so deep and angry it floats easily to my ears.

He leans closer to her, grabs her around her waist, pulls her closer, then plants his distorted lips on hers. As they tussle, the announcer stops the auction, since no one is paying attention to what he’s droning on about.

Everyone in front of me is standing, so I rise, too. I can’t quite see what’s happening, but a deep, masculine yowl reverberates around the high-ceilinged room. He steps back, both hands on the lower part of his face, and kicks the female at the same moment two males with shock-sticks administer a level of pain that forces the female into a heap on the floor.

The Bahranian is bleeding so profusely I can see the blood dripping off his chin and onto his shirt. If I squint, I can see blood on the female’s face. She bit the dracker . I have to give her respect. It might not have been smart, but it was courageous.

“She might have signed her own death warrant,” Vartan says. My friend looks scary as drack on a good day. Right now, he looks angry as the seventh level of hell.

After they carry her out, we sit through several more lots, although nothing is nearly as exciting as the human. We begin to wonder if we were misinformed. We were told there would be gladiators for sale today, but so far we’ve only seen bed-slaves.

Lot Five proves even more interesting than the shouting-biting match between the little human and the Bahranian.

Vartan, who doesn’t believe in slavery, suddenly bids on a human. She’s a pet. I thought they had been outlawed for annums , but evidently, anything’s legal in certain areas of Hyperion. I never quite understood the finer points of the differences between a pet and a slave. They’re both the same thing in my opinion, although pets don’t wear clothes.

“Are you crazy, Vartan?” I ask when he places a bid. “We didn’t come here for this.”

“She’s naked. On display. The object of lust to every male in the room. It’s obscene. Think of all the human females from our two ships. Some of them have become our friends. I didn’t save that first human and now the Bahranian is probably going to abuse if not kill her. I must rescue this human from a lifetime of slavery.”

I’m considering informing him that her barrumps aren’t nearly the size of the biter’s, but clamp my lips together when I realize how serious he is about saving her from slavery.

“Don’t be a fool. You can’t rescue them all.” Surely he’s not stupid enough to waste good credits on her.

“One hundred thirty!” he shouts. To me, he says, “We’ve lived among human females for six lunars . Aerie, Elyse, Grace, and Star are my friends. I can’t let this defenseless human be purchased as a bed-slave.”

I can see his point. I don’t have many political opinions, but after the life I’ve lived I’d be an idiot not to have strong beliefs against slavery. I shrug. It’s his money. I’m still wondering where I can find a four-armed Mordite trained in the Butterfly Technique.

“One hundred fifty,” he calls.

When he wins the bid at one hundred seventy, I hear him whisper to himself, “What have I done?”

“Did you give one thought to what you’re going to do with her now?” I ask, letting my disapproval seep into my tone.

“No.” He sags into his seat. “I guess I’ll take her back to the hotel and figure it out.”

“I won’t come knocking. I assume you bought her for—”

“Max, you’re a dracker . For one minima could you remember what it was like to be decent? Can you recall back to a time when you weren’t an opportunist?”

“Old habits are hard to stop, my friend. I haven’t been decent for a long time.”

“I’ll see you at the hotel,” he says.

“As I said, I won’t come knocking.”

I watch, shaking my head as my friend pulls off his shirt and has his naked little slave put it on. Maybe he didn’t make a big mistake after all. That female is subservient. Look at her, kneeling at his feet. She just kissed his sandals for drack’s sake.

Maybe it wasn’t a poor use of credits. It might not be so bad to keep a little thing like that in my cabin back on the ship. I could have her at the ready to . . . I shake my head. Vartan’s right. I haven’t had a decent thought for a long time. I spent too many years on the receiving end of harsh treatment. Kindness and generosity don’t come easily anymore, if indeed they ever did.

I decide to stay and watch. I’ve got nothing better to do, and I assume Vartan will be otherwise occupied tonight. Although I thought there were many more lots to go, some of the bidders are heading to the exits. The announcer catches my attention.

“Females and males, don’t leave just yet. We have a sudden addition to the program. Remember the feisty human from Lot One? We’ve arranged a refund to her original bidder who has decided he doesn’t want her, but I would like to sell this one today.”

Several patrons grumble and shake their heads as they rise from their seats. If this is the last offering of the day, I can understand. Who would want to part with their hard-earned credits for a homicidal slave?

“Slaves can be expensive,” the announcer wheedles. “For those of you looking for a bargain, I’ve got just the thing.”

Two guards drag the female up the stairs, her shins bumping each riser. She’s either comatose or dead; she has no muscle tone whatsoever.

“Look at the compliant thing now,” the announcer says. To the guards, he hisses in a stage whisper, “Stand her up straight.”

During the earlier scene with the Bahranian they shocked her so hard she hit the ground. She’s probably been abused since they hauled her away. Her head is lolling at an angle, her golden brown hair hanging in waves over her shoulder.

“Imagine your pride when you bring this young thing to heel,” the auctioneer says. “Generous use of the shock-stick or pain/kill collar and a strong hand are all you’ll need to mold her into a useful member of your household. Let’s start the bidding at one-hundred.”

He knows the price is ridiculous for anyone who observed the earlier disaster because he immediately lowers it to eighty.

One minima later, he’s reduced it to fifty, and within another minima the initial offer is down to ten.

“Ten? Do I hear ten?” He pauses, then shakes his head. “This female will be purchased today or euthanized. We will not be feeding and housing her until the next auction.”

He scans the room as if he’s looking each and every one of us in the eye. “I’m not wasting a minima more. Do I hear a bid, or does she get euthanized?”

“One credit,” I say even as I wonder what I’m thinking. This one is trouble. I need a human slave like I need a second asshole.

“One credit? Sold to the Addai on the balcony.

I’m a dracking idiot.