Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
I haven’t moved from the spot the warlord threw me, and I feel stupidly frozen as the lights hum on overhead.
That same artificial red glow washes over everything—harsh, bloody, like it’s trying to warn me I shouldn’t be here.
I twist on my ass and finally take in the room.
I didn’t realize how large the space actually is. Where I sit is only the vestibule.
It feels…alive.
My brain short-circuits for several seconds before it can process what I see.
I’ve been in space so long that “alive” isn’t a category anymore.
I only know metal, plastic, diodes, holograms. But one entire wall is covered in thorny vines that look like they’d bite back.
Their purple leaves unfurl from tightly curled shoots into broad, flat fans dripping with condensation.
Tiny misters whisper out droplets like the plants are being kept on life support.
In front of that—an actual sitting area. Bulbous armchairs, a chaise lounge, all arranged around something round and metal. If not for the fact that there’s some kind of aperture blade on the flat surface of its top, you might assume it was a brutalist style coffee table.
Across from that, under a domed window staring straight into nothing but endless, predatory space, is a massive circular bed.
The view is obscene in its beauty: a slow-turning asteroid tumbling past, galaxies purpling and blueing in the background.
The bed could fit five humans easily, maybe more depending on leg length.
A real bed…not one of the cramped metal bunks that I used to share with the other women.
Despite my current I-might-die situation, I can’t help myself—I dive face-first into the plushness. The mattress swallows me whole. I haven’t felt anything soft since Earth, and my body practically moans at being held by something that isn’t a hard bunk or a metal grate.
I roll on my back, gaze drifting up—and my good feelings evaporate instantly. The reflective ceiling stares back, making it very clear what this bed, what this room is for, what I was purchased for.
I curl my arms around my mostly exposed body—dissociating like a damn champion—and completely miss the faint whir of something floating up in front of me.
“What the fuck?” I yelp, scrambling toward the head of the mattress as a droid rises into view.
“Hello, human,” the droid says in such polite tones I get emotional whiplash. “Welcome to Warlord Mekkra’s stronghold.”
He’s…two metal balls stacked vertically, basically. One beach ball sized, one soccer ball sized, connected by a black tube that bends like a spine. His round “eye screens” flash an animated, upturned expression that looks almost offensively cheerful.
“Um, hi,” I mutter, inching sideways.
“Hello!” he says with the gusto of a children’s show host. “I’m very pleased to meet you!”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“I have been sent by Warlord Mekkra to help you get settled in your new home. First, can you tell me what you’d like me to call you? Do you have a name?” He hovers closer, body doing the actual moving while the head drags along until he snaps upright again.
“My name is…”
Blank. Utter blank.
The Deenz never used our names—just “human,” “bubble dancer,” or worse. I blink a few times before feeling the memory of who I am blooming on the tip of my tongue.
“M-Mae. My name is Mae.”
“Hi, Mae! My model is Starcroft Synthetic Crewmate Version 44852165970, but feel free to call me something else if you—”
“Nope,” I cut in. “Starcroft is good.”
“Oh, delightful! A nickname! Friendship indicators are rising!” He makes a noise that I think is laughter. “How are you finding the station?” he asks brightly, as if I’m a tourist who just stepped off a cruise liner.
“Well,” I say, deadpan, “I’ve just been sold, so that’s not great. And your Warlord Mekkra seems awful—but hey, at least he hasn’t raped me yet, right?”
My snark shields are obviously at full defensive capacity.
Starcroft’s eye screens droop into a cartoon frown.
“Warlord Mekkra would not rape you. That is against his species' code. But I understand that a new owner is stressful. I have been resold several times—it is difficult to predict new expectations. I do not care for uncertainty.”
“I’m not a robot,” I say flatly, though the relief is real enough to sting. “But thanks for the heads-up.”
“Oh! I apologize if I missed the nuance. Probably a programming limit. In any case, Warlord Mekkra sent me with today’s expectations. Shall we review them now?”
I wince a little. Must still suck being intelligent and owned, even if you’re metal.
“Can I say no and you help me escape?” I ask.
His eyes blink twice…then go totally blank.
“Blocked command. Does not compute. Please troubleshoot with admin.”
Then he snaps back to happiness.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that! Let’s go over the expectations for today!”
“Oooookay.” I sigh and slide off the bed, following him.
“Warlord Mekkra has prepared a dinner for your arrival. You are to wash and dress in the provided clothing.” Starcroft flies over to a panel in the wall and opens what turns out to be a built-in wardrobe.
A metal grabber arm shoots out from his body orb and snags something long, sheer, and dark blue.
“Then I am to escort you to the dining hall. Doesn’t that sound fun?” he asks with the bright cheer of someone who has never once been in any kind of mortal danger.
“Bathing and clean clothes? Amazing. Spending time with that bastard? Hard pass.” I finger the whisper-thin gown.
“Well, let’s start with the first two, shall we?” Starcroft deposits the dress into my hands and zips toward a door I hadn’t noticed before. Steam billows out in thick waves.
I follow him and wave my hand in front of my face, trying to banish some of the hot opaque mists to see what this new room holds.
The bathroom is drenched in red light, black tiles gleaming like wet obsidian. In the center sits a huge, bubbling pool of warm water.
“Is that a bathtub?” I whisper, breathless. The Deenz just sprayed us down with a bitter smelling disinfectant foam if we got grimy enough to warrant the expense. My bones ache at the thought of resting in the warm waters.
“Yes—bathing pool,” Starcroft says. “I have adjusted the temperature to your species’ tolerances, but please—”
My Bubble Babes uniform hits the floor and I dive in before he finishes. The water is heaven. Liquid rebirth. My muscles unclench for the first time in years. I quickly melt into Mae soup.
“Is the temperatures suitable, Mae?”
“Perfect,” I sigh, head tipped back against the tiles.
“Excellent! I will inform Warlord Mekkra that you’ll join him shortly.”
“Wait—no—”
But he’s already gone, the door shutting with a too-final hiss.
I already told him I wasn’t going to dinner, so I’m not sure where he got the idea that I’ll ever willingly dine with that creature. But I’ll admit that I’m a little less afraid after Starcroft’s admission.
I don’t think I’d get out of this tub unless I was dragged by the hair, kicking and screaming. The only thing that could make this better, besides the obvious of never having been abducted at all, would be a glass of wine and something smutty to read on a Kindle.
It’s probably best to keep my wants down. So instead of dreaming about what I don’t have, I’m enjoying what I do.
I ball the flimsy gown up under my head and let my body float up to the surface.
I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until the bathroom door whirs open.
Disoriented, my head slips, the gown sliding with me. The wet fabric tangles around my arms and face, dragging me under. I push off the bottom, but—
A massive hand clamps around my wrist.
I’m yanked from the water like a hooked fish and slammed onto the cold tile.
I cough, water flooding my nose, clawing at the fabric smothering my face. I’m naked, drenched, gasping—
And when I finally rip the wet fabric off my face, I'm staring up at him.
Warlord Mekkra looms over me, dripping steam from his armored back spines, eyes burning neon yellow with fury. His gaze drags over my body—slow, assessing, hungry in a way that terrifies me more than drowning.
“It has been two hours,” he bellows, voice like a collapsing star. “And you are not even dressed.”
I curl in on myself instinctively, trying to cover bare skin with the soaked dress.
“Our food has long gone cold. And I am tired of this—THIS—absolute disrespect.”
My mouth opens and closes. Smart Mae would shut up. Compliant Mae would nod.
I am not Smart, nor Compliant, Mae.
“You fucking bought me,” I say, low and lethal. “I will never, ever respect you. You’re no better than any slaver. Even if you treat me like a pet, even if you don’t rape me—Starcroft said you won’t—you’re still scum.”
He inhales sharply. The air trembles as he scrapes his claws on the wall behind him.
“Put the dress on,” he growls, his restraint ice-thin, “and come to dinner.”
“I’d rather starve,” I hiss as I narrow my eyes.
His pupils flare, his fists clench—and I swear a drop of blood falls to the tile.
“SO STARVE THEN!” he roars. The sound shakes the steam.
He storms out, leaving heat and anger billowing behind him like smoke.
And I lie there shivering, wet and naked on dark tiles, realizing two awful things:
I’m terrified of him.
And part of me is terrified of how much he clearly wanted me alive.