3
The guards came for them the next morning, or what passed for morning on a ship with no sun.
Aiden had been dozing on the hard bench when the heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, and he was on his feet before the sound had fully registered, his body ready for a fight that had not yet arrived.
Marcus stood up more slowly, his movements careful and deliberate, and he gave Aiden a look that said wait.
The guard who stopped in front of their cell was not the one Aiden had punched.
This one was taller, broader, with chitinous plates that covered his body like armor and small black eyes that held no expression at all.
He carried a rod that sparked at the tip, and he used it to tap against the bars in a rhythm that sounded like a countdown.
"You," the guard said, pointing at Aiden with the rod. "Out. Selection today."
Aiden did not move. He stood at the center of the cell with his hands at his sides and his jaw set, and he stared at the guard without blinking. "Selection for what?"
The guard did not answer. He simply opened the cell door and gestured with the rod, a sharp motion that left no room for argument.
Aiden looked at Marcus, who gave a small nod, his eyes saying go.
Aiden walked out of the cell with his head high and his shoulders back, and he did not flinch when the guard fell into step behind him.
The corridor stretched ahead of them, long and narrow and lined with cells that held other captives.
Aiden could see them through the bars, faces pressed against the metal, eyes wide with fear or hollow with resignation.
Some of them were human. Some of them were not. He did not stop to look at any of them.
The guard led him to a large room at the end of the corridor, a space that opened up into something that looked like a market.
The ceiling was high and vaulted, and the walls were lined with rows of raised platforms where captives stood in neat lines.
Aiden was pushed onto one of the platforms, and he took his place among the other males, his eyes scanning the room.
The buyers were already there. They came in all shapes and sizes, some massive and scaled, some small and feathered, some with multiple limbs that moved in patterns Aiden could not follow.
They walked through the room in slow, deliberate groups, their eyes moving over the captives like they were inspecting livestock.
Some of them carried devices that glowed and hummed, and Aiden realized they were scanning the collars, reading the data that the collars had been collecting.
Aiden stood at attention, his hands at his sides and his eyes fixed on the middle distance.
He could feel the buyers' gazes on him, could feel them weighing him, measuring him, deciding if he was worth their time.
He did not look at them. He did not cower.
He stood tall and still, and he let them look.
A dark-haired male on the platform next to him was shaking, his whole body trembling with a fear he could not hide.
Aiden glanced at him and saw tears running down his face, silent and steady.
The man's collar was pulsing with a soft red light, and Aiden wondered what that meant, what data the collar was sending to the buyers that had made him so afraid.
"Don't look at them," the man whispered, his voice barely audible. "Look at the floor. That's what they want. Submission."
Aiden did not look at the floor. He looked straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the far wall, and he let his defiance show in the set of his shoulders and the angle of his jaw.
He was not going to submit. He was not going to break.
He was going to survive, and he was going to find Melissa, and no amount of alien buyers was going to change that.
The buyers moved closer. Aiden could hear their voices now, low and guttural, speaking in languages he did not understand.
Some of them pointed at him, gestured at his collar, made notes on their glowing devices.
He felt their eyes on his skin, crawling over him like something physical, and he forced himself to stay still.
One of the buyers stopped in front of him.
He was a small creature, no taller than Aiden's chest, with fur that covered his entire body and large, liquid eyes that blinked slowly.
He reached up and touched Aiden's arm, his claws scraping against the skin, and Aiden had to fight the urge to pull away.
"Strong," the creature said, and the word came out in a voice that was high and reedy. "But aggressive. The collar data says aggressive."
Aiden did not respond. He stared straight ahead and let the creature touch him, let the claws scrape against his skin, let the small black eyes study him like he was a piece of meat.
The creature moved on, and Aiden let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. He looked down at his arm and saw thin red lines where the claws had scraped him, and he felt the anger building in his chest again, hot and sharp.
A new buyer approached, and Aiden felt the air in the room change.
The other buyers stepped back, clearing a path, and the voices that had been murmuring fell silent.
Aiden looked up and saw a figure moving through the crowd, tall and massive, with dark crimson scales that gleamed under the harsh lights.
The alien moved with a predator's grace, his body coiled and ready, his eyes scanning the platforms with a cold disinterest. One of his eyes was golden, warm and alive, but the other was a mechanical red that glowed and pulsed with a light of its own.
He was scarred, his scales marked with old wounds that spoke of battles fought and won, and he carried himself like someone who had never lost a fight.
Commander Xokax walked through the market with the air of a man who had done this a hundred times and found nothing worth his attention.
His cybernetic eye flickered as it scanned each captive, cataloging biometrics and fear levels and potential.
Most of the slaves were already broken, their collars showing high stress and low aggression, and he passed them without a second glance.
He passed the females without looking at them at all. He had no interest in females.
Then he reached Aiden's row.
Aiden felt the alien's gaze on him, cold and assessing, and he met it without flinching. He did not look down. He did not cower. He looked into that mechanical red eye and let the alien see his defiance, his anger, his refusal to submit.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" Aiden said, and his voice was low and steady, loud enough to carry through the sudden silence.
Xokax's cybernetic eye flickered, and something in his expression shifted.
The cold disinterest faded, replaced by something sharper, more focused.
His golden eye studied Aiden's face, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled, scenting the air between them.
His mechanical eye glowed brighter as it read Aiden's collar data, and Aiden could see the numbers flickering across the red surface.
The human's biometrics were off the charts.
High adrenaline. High aggression. No fear response at all.
His collar data showed a pattern of resistance, a refusal to submit that was rare among captives.
Xokax had seen slaves who fought, slaves who screamed and cried and begged.
He had never seen one who looked at him with eyes that held no fear.
And then there was the scent. Xokax had never smelled anything like it.
There was something in the human's pheromones that called to him, something that made his heart beat faster and his scales prickle with an awareness he could not explain.
He inhaled again, deeper this time, and the scent settled into his chest like a hook.
"You," Xokax said, and his voice was low and rough, like stones grinding together. "What is your name?"
Aiden stared at him. "Go to hell."
Xokax's mechanical eye flickered, and something that might have been amusement crossed his scarred face. "Your name," he repeated, and there was a warning in his voice now.
"Fuck you," Aiden said.
Xokax reached out and grabbed Aiden's chin, his claws pressing against the skin hard enough to hurt.
He tilted Aiden's head from side to side, studying him like a piece of art.
Aiden tried to pull away, but Xokax's grip was like iron, and he held him still with an ease that made Aiden's anger burn hotter.
"You are a fighter," Xokax said. "I can see it in your eyes. I can smell it on your skin. You have not broken yet."
"I'm not going to break," Aiden said, and he meant it. "You can do whatever you want to me. I'm not going to break."
Xokax released his chin and stepped back, his eyes still fixed on Aiden's face. "I will take this one," he said, and his voice carried through the room like a command. "I am buying him."
The other buyers murmured in protest. A fighter like this was valuable.
They had been waiting for the chance to bid on him, to claim him for their own purposes.
But Xokax was a commander, and no one argued with him.
He raised his hand and made a gesture that Aiden did not understand, and a guard stepped forward and unlocked something on Aiden's collar.
"I have already transferred the credits," Xokax said. "He is mine."
Aiden felt the collar shift on his throat, felt the data inside it change as it registered his new owner. The metal was still warm and tight, but something in the way it sat against his skin felt different now. He was no longer property of the collection vessel. He was property of Commander Xokax.
"Get him to my quarters," Xokax said to the guard. "I will deal with him later."
The guard grabbed Aiden's arm and started to drag him off the platform.
Aiden twisted and fought, but the guard was too strong, and the collar was already pulsing with a warning heat that made his vision blur.
He looked back over his shoulder and saw Xokax watching him, those two mismatched eyes fixed on his face with an intensity that made his stomach tighten.
"Let go of me!" Aiden shouted, and he swung his fist at the guard's face. The guard ducked, and the punch missed, but the collar flared hot and sent a jolt of pain through his body that dropped him to his knees.
"Stop fighting," the guard said, and his voice was flat and bored. "It will only hurt more."
Aiden got to his feet and kept fighting. He swung his fists, kicked his feet, twisted against the guard's grip with everything he had. He would not go quietly. He would not submit. He would not make this easy for any of them.
The guard dragged him through the market, past the other buyers and the other captives, and Aiden kept fighting the whole way.
He was bleeding from his knuckles and his lip was split and his body ached from the collar shocks, but he did not stop.
He screamed obscenities at the guard, at Xokax, at every alien in that room who had looked at him like he was nothing.
"I'm not your slave!" he shouted. "I'm not anyone's property! Fuck all of you!"
Behind him, Xokax watched with a cold smile on his scarred face. The human had spirit. He had fight. He had something that Xokax had not seen in any other slave, something that made his blood heat and his claws flex with anticipation.
He was going to enjoy breaking this one. He was going to enjoy it very much.