Chapter 31 Venim
The Grangorian is not your average weed-monger. That much is abundantly clear.
I am standing now with the men who captured him.
A few of them are squatting nearby, passing around a weedstalk they looted from his longstrider before they turned the beast loose and sent it off into the wastes.
I am willing to allow my men this little indulgence.
It will help keep their minds off the woman.
The weed holds little interest for me, however. The Grangorian’s other items are far more fascinating. The electronic scope. The night-vision goggles. The rifle.
Especially the rifle.
I am holding the weapon now, after taking it away from my overzealous underlings. It is heavy, even for me. And it is the most technologically advanced piece of equipment I’ve ever seen on Ul.
“Bastard wasted two of our thrumwings with that thing,” one of my men informs me as I inspect the weapon. “Vaporized ’em.”
“Vaporized?”
I think back to what happened a few kethars ago, when one of my underlings inadvertently disintegrated his compatriot while fighting over the gun. I am a bit more cautious in my approach.
Holding the rifle upright, so that its killing end is pointing skyward, I carefully touch the fork of my tongue to the muzzle. The warm metal is saturated with a flavor that is all too familiar to me: smoky, bitter, and ever so slightly sweet.
Ore.
This is some kind of ore-based weapon.
“Where did a Grangorian weed-monger acquire a piece like this?” I ask.
“Says he traded for it,” my underling reports. “Says he’s got a friend who’s good with machines.”
“A friend? How interesting. We shall have to persuade the Grangorian to tell us where this friend of his resides. I do believe Pharod would like to make his acquaintance.”
I point the rifle safely into the distance and pull the trigger. Nothing happens.
“Empty,” I mutter. “Did you find any ammunition?”
The underling shakes his head. “Sorry boss.”
I hand the empty rifle back, satisfied that my men will no longer be able to kill each other with it.
“No one is to hurt the Grangorian,” I order. “Not until we’ve extracted the necessary information from him. Make sure the others know.”
“Aye, boss.”
I’m just starting to turn when I hear a voice crying out in the distance. A voice filled with urgency.
“Venim!”
I complete my turn and stare in the direction of the cry. It was the Hassaith who shouted. The whore. He is still kneeling right where I left him, bound and collared, with a chain-leash connecting him to his massive green friend.
The human female should be with him. She isn’t.
My heart judders.
In a matter of sareths, I have closed the distance between us. I seize his slender throat in my fist and squeeze, not enough to cut off his voice, but enough to let him know I mean business.
“Where?” I snarl.
The Hassaith doesn’t hesitate to answer. His tail-tip is already pointing even before he speaks.
“The mine,” he rasps.
The mine? Really? Does the human lack a short-term memory? It’s only been a matter of kethars since she was almost devoured alive in that place.
It occurs to me that the Hassaith might be lying to throw me off the human’s trail, but I doubt it. I can taste the desperation wafting off his skin. Nobody is that good of an actor. Not even a Hassaith.
“Your men,” he wheezes. “Three of them. I fear they’re going to—”
I don’t wait around to hear the rest of that sentence. I already know how it ends, and I already harbor the same fear myself. Blessed Monad, what was I thinking leaving the little human alone? I should never have taken my eyes off her.
I never will again.
I practically fly the distance to the mine. My feet barely touch the ground. I hit the entrance at a full sprint, just in time to hear the little human screaming for me. Her breathing mask must be off, for it is her naked voice which calls my name, fragile, desperate, and afraid.
A split-sareth later, I see her, surrounded by three of my men. Two of them are holding her by the arms while the third—a big hairy Vesk—is standing before her with his erect malehood exposed. I can only imagine what he was planning to do with it.
My blood turns to magma in my veins. My roar trembles the walls of the mine.
The two males holding the human instantly release her and scatter, but the Vesk is slower to flee. It’s his pants that betray him. They are pushed down around his knees, making it impossible for him to run.
All he can do is stand there and watch in terror as I draw my glazeblade and, in one fluid motion, swing it downward at his protruding member. His mouth drops open in a silent scream.
The blade stops an atom’s breadth from the base of his shaft.
“Do not move,” I growl.
He doesn’t, aside from his erection, which is rapidly wilting under the edge of my blade. I turn my face toward the female, and nod toward her breathing mask, which has been dropped on the ground beside her.
“Pick it up,” I tell her. “Put it on.”
She cannot understand my Znthian words, but she still gets the message.
Her little hands are trembling so badly, it takes her several long sareths to pick the mask up, and several more to put it back on.
Once she is ready, I nod toward the Vesk’s penis, which has now shriveled into an almost worm-like state.
“Did he put that thing inside you?”
“No,” the female says, blanching with disgust.
I turn my attention back to the Vesk, who is looking equally pale.
“Lucky you,” I say. “That means you get to keep it.”
I swing the sword upward, striking his face with the flat of the blade. The blow lifts him off his feet, and he lands on his back with a thud. He quickly pulls his pants back up and scrambles out of the cave.
His two comrades are already long gone. Fine. I can deal with them later. Right now, my prime concern is the female. I need to make sure she is unharmed.
When I entered the mine a moment ago, one of her mammary glands was hanging out. Now, that ample mound is back where it belongs, hidden by the fabric of her bodysuit, but the memory of it sends a surge of hot arousal rushing into my groin. This is followed by an even greater surge of shame.
I should not be experiencing lust at a time like this.
I cannot help it.
Crouching, I bring my face level with the human’s own, and I dart my tongue out, tasting the air around her. I can sense the raw fear exuding from her shivering body, and I can sense that I am at least partially to blame for it.
“Did they hurt you?” I ask.
“No.”
I test her scent again, keeping my eyes fixed on her own. I am not yet versed in the full spectrum of human emotions, but I believe she is telling me the truth. That is a relief.
Satisfied that she has not been harmed—not physically, at least—I shift to a different line of questioning.
“What were you doing in here, human?”
She doesn’t answer, and she doesn’t have to.
A quick scan of our surroundings reveals the broken pickaxe lying on the floor nearby.
The rest is easy to deduce. She sneaked in here looking for a tool that might break her companions’ chains.
I warned her that I would hurt her friends if she attempted something like that, but the males no doubt goaded her into it.
The Hassaith clearly has a high tolerance for pain.
As for the Grangorian, I suspect he is too stoned to feel much pain at all.
I must admit, I admire the little female’s determination. She has mettle. A rare trait, even among species that are larger and less soft than her own.
Nevertheless, I cannot allow her defiance to go unpunished.
She must learn to obey.
Before she has a chance to pull away, I grab the human around her waist and toss her over my shoulder a second time. She begins to protest, but a curt smack to her backside silences her. I carry her toward the mouth of the mine.
At the threshold, I freeze.
The entire posse stands before me, glaring. Some of them are glaring at me. Most are glaring at the fat rump that is currently bent over my shoulder. The rump, and the little diamond-shaped bulge just below it.
“What are you lot staring at?” I snarl. “Get back to work.”
They do not get back to work. They just stand there, staring. At last, one of them plucks up the courage to speak. A needle-nosed Fismian standing near the back of the pack.
“It ain’t fair, boss.”
“What’s not fair?”
“All these females falling out of the sky, and we don’t get to play with any of ’em.”
“We have our orders from Pharod.”
“Well, it ain’t fair,” another inmate pipes up, “that Pharod gets to have all the females for hisself!”
“He isn’t starting a harem,” I remind them. “He plans to use them as bargaining chips. Any day now, the Imperials will be showing up looking for the lost women. They will no doubt pay handsomely for the Emperor’s wives. Pardons. Freedom. Understand?”
A grumbling ripples through the gathering. They are dubious that they will be allowed to partake in that freedom. They are wise to doubt.
“Look,” says a third inmate. “We’ve already sent half a hundred women back to Pharod. What difference does one more make? I say we take turns breeding her, then…”
He draws a claw across his throat.
Somehow, I manage to keep my rage under control.
“You’re suggesting we disobey Pharod’s orders?” I ask, my voice level and cool.
“Pharod don’t need to know.”
I stare the men down. Their eyes are filled with lust and mutiny. The situation is getting out of hand. I must reassert my dominance. Now.
I see only one course of action.
“Out of the question,” I snarl. “No one will be breeding this female today. I will see to that.”
I turn and begin striding off down the side of the ridge with the female still slung lightly across my shoulder. There is a small outcropping of boulders ahead, perfect for what I have in mind.
Behind me, one of the men calls out. “What are you going to do with her, boss?”
I answer with a roar: “I’m going to seal her.”