Monica lolled awake in the floor of elevator leading up out of the bunker.
Javintore picked her up and carried her into the government building on top.
She
’d been sure it was nighttime, but sunlight streamed through the high windows.
She saw the tops of skyscrapers outside of them.
Several were black and caved in from the invasion.
This was Cincinnati, right?
She was unsure.
She
’d grown up in Ohio and the aliens took her only a short distance to the slave camp.
A Hax-Rah woman, significantly smaller than Ducra, walked up to them.
Javintore began to speak to her in some alien language.
“I’m sorry, Mek-lord.
I had to take out my
Kras-din
chip so I could fit all these stupid Earth languages,
” she said.
“Do you have the chip for English?”
“Yes.”
He placed Monica on the floor.
Her head was spinning.
She had to clutch his arm to keep from falling.
“Run a healing
trode
over this slave
’s head and face, and make sure she’s guarded.
She’s another bomber.
The bunker is almost completely destroyed.”
Another?
The woman gasped.
“The overseer Ducra—”
“She’s fine.
I caught it in time to get away.”
He nudged Monica over to her.
“Don’t punish her.
I’m getting this quadrant’s overlord.”
The woman yanked her by her arm.
“Let’s go, you disgusting
di
’tak!
Oh—you wait until the overlord gets here!
”
She was brought to a small clinic and handed off to another woman who attached leads to the bump on her head and the reddened mark on her face.
There was a hum and a feeling of warmth, then both places ceased throbbing.
She patted her finger over the back of her head when the lead was removed.
Her bump was gone.
It wasn
’t even sore.
The attendant left her on the examination bed and locked the door.
For the first hour she spent alone Monica stared blankly into the room with numbness in her middle.
She didn
’t attempt to think.
The shock was keeping horrifying realizations at bay.
After three hours she
’d collected herself enough to no longer be numb.
That’s when the reality hit her.
She was going to be tortured.
She bent forward to bury her face in her hands.
Why couldn
’t she shut her mind off to the pain?
Why did it have to destroy her both physically and mentally?
She
’d just wanted to make her quota and go another day without punishment.
Now everything was ruined.
Why had that Hax-Rah man saved her?
Things would have been so much easier if she
’d just died in that explosion.
The attendant who
’d healed her unlocked the door and looked in.
She snorted through large nostrils and walked away.
Moments later an elderly Hax-Rah man entered with dark blue liver spots on his bald head.
One of his hands clutched the crook of a shimmering chrome cane.
The other held a tr’sark stick.
Monica felt the color drain from her face.
The Mek-lord Javintore entered behind the man.
The elder Hax-Rah pulled a chair on wheels in front of her.
He sat close enough to be able to attack her leg with the tr
’sark.
Monica felt like bugs crawled under her skin.
“I’ve several questions to ask you,” the older man said.
“Answer at once, and speak the truth, or you will feel the burn of the tr’sark.”
Her breaths quickened.
“Who was it that contacted you?”
She shook her head.
Her throat had tightened, but she forced out a word.
“What?”
He shocked her.
The stick touched her shin for less than a second, but every nerve in her body became electrified with violent agony.
Monica screamed for longer than she was shocked.
The pain was all the more unbearable due to her long reprieve from it.
She curled forward with her fists crossed against her chest.
Tears wet both her cheeks.
She couldn
’t force herself to stop trembling.
“You know what I’m asking you.
Don’t feign ignorance.”
He zapped her again before she could fathom a response.
Monica relived her turmoil just as thoroughly as the first time.
She wailed with sobs after her scream.
“Who.
Contacted.
You.”
“No one!
I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
She bent her legs away from him.
He lunged up, but Javintore snatched the tr
’sark from him.
The elder Hax-Rah glared at him.
“Give her time to answer.”
The older man scoffed.
Monica swallowed the thick lump in her throat.
She stared at Javintore with wide eyes.
“The other three suicide cluster bombs went off fine,” Javintore said to her.
“Those slaves are dead.”
Monica blinked.
“You’re the only bomber who survived.”
The older man fumed.
“I know not how.”
“I’d heard about two other blasts before I got there,” Javintore said.
“That’s the only reason I knew she had a bomb.
I had enough time to run.”
“The gods shine their light on you.”
“It was those green aliens,” Monica said through a choked throat.
“The Ali-aries.
They told me to—”
“You know full well those weren’t real Ali-aries!”
The older man darted his head to Javintore.
“Let me shock her!”
Javintore grumbled through his nostrils while keeping his eyes locked to her.
“Give her to me.”
What?
What the Hell is going on!
“But we know nothing!”
“She might not know anything.
She may have been ensnared.”
“Ha!”
“Your methods won’t get us anywhere.
You can’t threaten someone who wants to die.
I’ll get the answers in my own way.”
The older man hoisted himself up from the chair with his cane.
His face was twisted in a disgusted sneer.
“You’re a sickening excuse for a Hax-Rah!
The High Command will hear of this.”
He went to the door and exited.
Javintore waited until his footfalls died down, then he placed the tr
’sark next to the sink in the corner.
“High Command doesn’t listen to blathering idiots.”
He tipped his nose toward the tr’sark.
“I don’t use these things.
The Alliance was right to ban them.”
Monica
’s brow furrowed.
“Let’s get some things clear.”
She focused on his yellow eyes.
“You tried to blow me up and you failed.
That’s the end of it.
Your people were conquered.
A bunch of bombs aren’t going to change things.
Get that through you head.
It’s over.”
She continued staring up at him.
Painful emotion had built in her chest.
But
…I didn’t do anything.
Javintore stepped next to her and leaned against the wall.
He crossed his arms.
“You’re a criminal.
The Alliance treaty grants us the right to bring criminal slaves to justice.”
Her heart rate had steadied.
She absorbed every deep baritone word, despite not knowing anything about an Alliance treaty.
All she knew about the Alliance was that they were supposed to send reinforcements when the Hax-Rah invaded ten years ago and never did.
“Fortunately for you, I have more authority than your overlords.
I’ve decided that you won’t be executed.
You’re becoming my war concubine instead.”
War
…concu…?
“Got it?”
Monica hesitated.
She was still ingrained with the fear that her words might get her shocked with a tr
’sark.
His searing yellow eyes demanded a response.
She cleared her throat.
“I…”
She had to swallow.
“I think that’s a prostitute—right?”
“Comfort slave.”
She began to feel dizzy.
“Oh.”
“Look, little bomber, you didn’t die, and now you have to live.
You can’t go back to a slave camp.
Be grateful I’m taking you.
If I didn’t, you’d be in the hands of men like Hokkar.”
He gestured in the direction the older man went.
Then he grinned at her.
It was a calculating grin.
“I’ve been asking for a human female for months.
Ever since the treaty was signed I can’t get one.
Now you’ve been dumped in my lap.”
He paused to make a soft laugh.
“I’m taking you.”
She stared blankly.
Javintore extended his hand toward her.
“Let’s go.”
Monica looked at the purplish hand.
This could be a good thing, right?
No more tr
’sarks.
No more desperation to make her quotas.
Still, she had difficultly forcing her body to unfurl.
The Hax-Rah brought nothing but misery to her life.
To expect any different was only setting herself up for disappointment.
The shuttle ride to his ship was uneventful.
There were no windows for her to see outside for her first trip into space.
Javintore was engrossed in a console screen, typing alien words.
There was a thump that made her stomach buoy at one point, then a loud clang.
The shuttle
’s hatch opened to a bay as large as a football field that was walled with giant metal tiles.
Other ships, sleek black jets too small for a pilot to ride in and covered in bombs, filled most of the bay.
A robot stood in front of hatch.
Javintore proceeded to exit.
Monica took a moment to follow.
She
’d never seen a robot before.
It was as tall as Javintore with an oval silver mask molded with the shape of a human face.
The eyes were red glowing almond shapes.
The remainder of it
’s head were gigantic cables that poured back like dreadlocks.
It had enormous metal shoulders and the shape of pectorals, which reminded Monica of football gear.
The rest of its body was all exposed wires and dark metal framing: metal skeletal arms with circular joints, and a tubular spine leading down to a pelvis box with skeletal metal legs.
So much of its wires were hanging exposed that Monica felt it looked vulnerable.
The robot made sounds that Monica realized were words in the alien language.
There was a deep electronic cadence.
“This is my war concubine…”
He glanced at her.
She was huddling back near the shuttle with her arms folded around herself.
“What’s your name?”
“Monica.”
“My war concubine, Monica.
Speak English around her.”
“Yes, Mek-lord,” the robot said.
“Take her to my quarters and get her a bath, food, drink…”
Once again he looked at her.
“What else do you need?”
Monica pursed her lips.
She glanced down at her stained gray cotton slave uniform.
“Some clothes?”
“Mm.”
He turned back to the robot.
“And clothes.
Female Earthling clothes, not Hax-Rah.”
“Yes, Mek-lord.”
The robot began to lead her away.
She followed it.
“Monica.”
She turned back.
Javintore had a touch of a smile on his lips.
“I won’t mistreat you.”
She nodded as the words soaked in.
Any consolation was as precious as diamonds.
The robot took her to a capsular elevator that seemed to move side to side as well as up and down.
The rapid movement made her tumble against the tiled wall several times.
It opened into what she presumed was Javintore
’s quarters.
The robot led her out while her eyes scanned the expansive room.
She
’d already determined the ship had to be gigantic due to the size of the bay they’d entered.
Now she saw a room the size of a large Earth home.
The elevator opened to a round platform with three steps leading to the main floor.
It was carpeted in areas, tiled in others.
The walls were a smooth metallic blue, not unlike some car paint she’d seen.
They curved smoothly to make a giant circle.
Against the far wall was an ample bed with rounded corners and tightly made linens.
Furniture was attached to the floor in the middle of the room, making a seating area.
There was a console embedded into the wall with an attached seat, and then what looked like exercise equipment on another round platform.
Monica realized that everything was bolted down or attached to floors or walls.
The robot led her to a curved door at the edge of the circular room which led into a similarly expansive bathroom.
No tub, but something that looked like a large shower in one corner.
The robot went to it.
He showed her how to tap the wall to start the water from pinholes in the ceiling.
Gliding her hand up the wall would make it hotter, down for colder.
He took out towels and a robe for her from a compartment above the sink.
In moments she was alone and basking in her first hot shower in years.
The water streaming over her feet was black with soot.
She
’d been expected to wash herself with her water ration in the slave camps.
Thirst took priority over cleanliness.
Whenever she spared a handful of water to clean her groin she always regretted having less to drink.
There were receptacles attached to the wall that produced soap.
Monica scrubbed layers of dead skin and filth from every inch of her.
She took her time; she couldn
’t help herself.
The shower was pure heaven.
When she emerged she realized the mirror above the sink hadn
’t fogged.
She looked at an unfamiliar face.
Her cheeks had hollowed.
There were sunken pits below her eyes.
Beyond that she realized she’d grown.
Her face was longer than that of the sixteen-year-old girl who’d been enslaved ten years ago.
Emotion welled up in her chest, spilling out into tears.
Yet she couldn
’t give a reason for why she cried.
It was perhaps because she’d been too busy surviving before to ever let her tears flow freely.
Once dried, her hair was crispy and thin.
Grime had been the only thing giving it body.
Still, she was clean, completely clean, for the first time in years.
She donned the robe and exited the bathroom.
The robot stood by a table that held a steaming bowl of soup, a hunk of green bread, and a four inch cube of dark meat marbled with rendered fat.
The scent that hit her made her mouth water, but still, it was less food than she
’d expected, perhaps only twice her ration.
As though it had read her mind, the robot said,
“You must regain your weight through frequent small meals.
Gorging yourself will cause you to become sick.”
She sat at the table and chomped half the hunk of meat in one bite.
The robot
’s metal hand with skeletal black fingers snatched the remainder from her.
“Eat slowly, please.”
She looked at its metal face while chewing.
Fuck you, I
’m starving.
She was glad the robot was getting to see the stray dog side of her instead of Javintore.
Yes, she knew its mothering was valid—but she still wanted to stuff her face.
She was allowed to drink as much as she desired of green punch that tasted like a Flintstone vitamin.
Monica had her tall glass refilled seven times.
Her belly gurgled with fluid.
She didn
’t care.
For once she was going to completely slake her thirst.
Another football-gear-shouldered robot arrived with a sunflower dress, slippers, and a set of underclothes for her.
Monica blinked at it.
Her eyes weren
’t used to the bright yellow color.
She also realized she no longer knew how to tell if the dress was pretty or not.
She had no idea what colors suited her.
Once dressed, she marveled at how comfortable clean clothes felt on clean skin.
She hadn
’t realized the intensity of her discomfort prior to this.
It struck her now.
The slave camp had turned her into an animal.
She emerged from the bathroom to a new plate of food on the table.
Thin sheaves of meat were piled on similarly thin pieces of bread.
It was a sandwich of ten skinny tiers.
Monica devoured it more slowly than she had her first bite of meat.
“The Mek-lord will be away for several more hours,” the robot told her.
“I advise that you rest now.”
It led her to an alcove in the wall that had a padded bench long enough to be a twin bed.
The robot got her a blanket and pillow from storage beneath it.
She wasn
’t sure why she wasn’t just going to the big bed in the room.
That aside, she was grateful to see a pillow again after so many years.
Once reclining on the bed she sank into exquisite comfort.
Gratitude for all she
’d been given made her throat tight with emotion.
She felt like the luckiest slave alive.