Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
I can barely hear the rumble of my stomach over the gasping sobs I’m trying to muffle against the pillow pressed to my face—but I can feel it. That sharp and twisting pang pinching neatly inside my stomach.
I don't bother keeping track of the time, it'll just make everything worse to know how long I've been in my new cage. It feels like days, and it's getting harder to feel anything but despair.
Even the Deenz, for all their faults, never let me go hungry. Sure, the food was a nearly tasteless sludge, likely some amalgamation of the cheapest foodstuffs they could get their hands on. But it was filling, given at regular intervals, and I hadn’t felt empty since I’d been on Earth.
I press up, my palms sinking into the huge soft mattress, only to be greeted with a pair of digital eyes right in front of my face. I let out a little yelp, startled by the robot’s closeness. I flip over onto my back.
“How long have you been there?” I ask the droid as I clutch my chest.
“Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay.” I sniff, wiping away the wetness on my cheeks with the back of my hand.
Starcroft hovers over me as I scoot to the edge of the oversized mattress, his pixelated eyes drawn with concern.
“I’m not well-versed in the needs of humans, but if you’re anything like Warlord Mekkra, you sound hungry.”
“I am,” I admit as I stand. Starcroft whirls around me until we’re “face” to face.
“So if you’re hungry…you should go eat with Warlord Mekkra, no?” The droid sounds confused as it hovers in front of me.
“No, I won’t be doing that,” I tell him as I draw my shoulders back. “I want nothing to do with that beast.” The last word spits from my mouth with venom.
“Oh, he’s not so bad,” Starcroft says quietly. “Unlike me, you need to eat to survive, correct?”
There’s a beat of silence before I exhale quickly through my nose and answer with an annoyed little, “Yes.”
“So, your plan is to die?”
Another beat, and I can’t even bring myself to roll my eyes, because I’m realizing that he’s right. I will die if I don’t eat, and I won’t eat with Mekkra.
“He bought me,” I say slowly to the robot as I shake my head. “I can’t break bread with someone like that.”
“Hmm, I can’t say I understand. Warlord Mekkra purchased me as well—maybe it’s a bio-being problem? I’ll admit that food customs strike me as bizarre.”
“It’s not the same. You’re a thing…not a person.”
I realize as soon as his little animated eyes drop that what I’ve said hurts his feelings.
“Well, all the same, you should still eat—” His screens go blank for a second, like his consciousness has left for a second, before returning with kind-looking eyes. “It appears Warlord Mekkra has retired to his chambers for the night. Would you like to follow me down to the station’s kitchen?”
I tilt head. “Is that allowed?”
“It’s not explicitly against any of my set parameters…so yes.” The robot’s eyes crinkle in simulated joy. “And besides, Warlord Mekkra sent me to make sure you were comfortable, and I simply can’t let you go hungry, can I?”
“I find it hard to believe that…monster cares about my wellbeing,” I scoff.
Starcroft blinks.
“I assure you, you are wrong. You’re an investment—”
“Let’s go,” I tell the droid as I walk over to the door. I don’t really care to hear about what a great buy I am. I smooth the sheer fabric over my thighs before standing.
“Of course, follow me.”
Starcroft zips in front of me and bumps up against the door lock panel a few times before whatever key fob is inside him activates. It slides open.
I file away the information that this little droid can unlock doors. I wonder if he could fly a ship too.
“Follow me!” he says enthusiastically.
I do, careful with my footing, as the red lights that illuminated everything before are now barely on.
We go straight for a long time before making a hard right through a doorway that is only just large enough for me.
“How does Mekkra squeeze through this?” I grumble as I duck my head. It’s gotta be comical to see that seven-foot-tall alien hunch into the kitchen.
“Warlord Mekkra doesn’t come in here,” Starcroft says. “The doorway is sized for his droid attendants. They prepare his meals.”
“Checks out.” I snort. “Not only is he a dick, he’s apparently incapable of doing a single thing for himself.
” I pause, my brow knitting as I search for a version of the question that won’t offend the machine standing three feet away.
“Does Warlord Mekkra have anyone on this station who isn’t…
you know…” I gesture vaguely. “Synthetic?”
“No, of course not—aside from you.” Starcroft pivots toward the kitchen. “Though you’re not really crew, are you?”
The droid reaches the far wall and taps a precise sequence into a hidden panel. The room answers immediately. Like a conductor raising a baton, Starcroft summons an orchestra of tiny droids from unseen compartments. They buzz and beep in a choreographed routine, each knowing its predetermined path.
One ignites a broad steel cooktop with a high pitched trill.
Another—a polished metal sphere sporting a single oversized blade—rolls forward and begins carving a kelp-like alien vegetable into perfect slices.
A third arrives to shepherd the pieces onto the griddle, where they sizzle and curl as they cook.
No voices. No hesitation. Just machines, executing their niche purposes with unsettling grace.
“That smells pretty good.” The aroma filling the air is surprisingly spicy. Though I fear anything might seem spicy compared to the slop I’ve been eating with the Deenz.
“I’ve had our chefs prepare the food to match what we know about human palates.” Starcroft gleams as he looks down on his little army as they work.
Once the bot switches off the griddle, Starcroft plates the stir-fry and brings me a shallow bowl.
“Should we head back to my room?” I nod toward the doorway.
“Unfortunately, I have direct orders you are never to eat in your room. So if you could eat here, I’d appreciate that greatly!” He hands me a two-pronged fork that seems like it would fit in Mekkra’s hands much easier than my own.
The food almost looks like short green noodles in a vaguely threatening orange sauce, which would suggest poison on Earth.
“If this kills me, I want it on the record that I didn’t consent to death by alien grub, okay?”
Starcroft buffers for a moment.
“Your consent isn’t required for nourishment,” he tells me flatly.
“Comforting.”
Bringing it to my nose, I smell its briny, slightly metallic scent that reminds me of having a bloody nose.
I twirl the long, chopped pieces of the kelp-like veggie around the twin twines.
I hesitate long enough for my stomach to grumble.
Victim to the hunger pangs, I put the loaded utensil into my mouth and chew with gusto.
There’s a wave of initial heat that melts to a nutty sweetness. I test the texture with my teeth. The exterior gives way to the soft, chewy pulp just under the seared skin. It’s unexpectedly tender inside. Not bad, not bad at all.
“That reaction indicates satisfaction, correct?” he asks.
I take another bite, this one unguarded.
“Okay, it’s pretty good,” I say, mouth muffled by my meal.
“Excellent, I’ll catalog this recipe as approved for human consumption.” His eyes light up.
I frown, wondering if he wasn’t all that sure what humans could eat.
Glancing around the kitchen, I watch as the tireless little machines clean up and reset themselves. Burrowing back into the cubbyholes, they recharge for the next task. No expressions, no complaints, just ready.
I drag my fork over the last bite in the bowl. The orange sheen of the remaining sauce forms drag lines under my utensil.
The flavor of the meal, heat and salt, almost brings me some kind of comfort.
For a station run by a warlord who never cooks, never eats with anyone, never even enters his own kitchen, it tastes almost…human.
I don’t say that part out loud.
Starcroft takes the dishes from my hand and deposits them into a slot I can only assume is some kind of dishwasher.
“Back to your chambers then?” he asks.
“I mean, sure, unless you can get me out of here?” I joke.
“Blocked command. Does not compute. Please troubleshoot with admin,” he says like before, his eyes dead. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened there.”
“That’s okay,” I sigh as I walk through the doorway back into the hall. “Back to bed I go.”
Only when I extend fully from hunching through the kitchen’s opening do I realize that I’m mere inches away from my hulking alien captor’s chest.
I tilt my chin up, heart about ready to break free from my chest.
“Lights on,” Mekkra seethes.
His voice snaps through the hall like a live wire, and the formerly dim red lights of the space flare to life. I stumble as I give him my attention. Not because I want to offer him any kind of compliance, but because my body understands the command faster than my pride ever will.
The spines on his back flare as he grabs me roughly by the elbow. I don’t dare say anything because he seems absolutely pissed at me. Sure, I’m mouthy on my best day, but I’m not stupid on my worst.
He’s moving fast, almost too fast for my feet. I feel like a child being dragged through a department store by an annoyed parent. His spines scrape the metal wall sharply as we turn back into the main corridor. With his jaw set he's clearly mad, but more…disappointed.
“You asked the droid something you shouldn’t have.” Not a question—an accusation.
“I asked a lot of things,” I whisper carefully. “Starcroft answered. That’s usually how polite conversation goes.”
His hand slams into the wall just over my head, and I stop cold. The metal buckles—the impact of his palm echoes through my bones. I flinch and shut my eyes.
“Stop trying to be clever,” he growls.
I force myself to meet his stare. I just have this strange intuition that backing down now might go worse for me. His eyes burn into me as he leans in. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Trying to find the weak points in the station…trying to escape.”
“Maybe you need to take a good look inside yourself to figure out why I’m trying to escape a situation you put me in…I can’t even begin to understand your damn logic right now—”
His hand drops from the wall and swiftly moves to cover my lips.
“I didn’t bring you here to understand me,” he growls. “I brought you here because this station requires balance.”
“Balance?” I mutter into his palm.
“Without a mate, my kind grow…unstable.” His anger slips for a moment, revealing a wary look of fatigue.
Mate.
The word hangs heavier than any of his other threats ever have. Slowly, he takes his hand off my mouth and brings himself to standing.
"I've heard of mates among a few of the alien species, but they made it seem like it had more to do with fate. Do you think we're fated?"
"Nothing so poetic," he scoffs. "We're compatible."
“So I’m just here to make sure you stay stable?” I ask incredulously. Somehow, that he wanted me for sex hurt less than he needs me for some kind of warlord stability.
“I need yo—a mate, to stay anchored. Without one, my rivals will know that I am unbalanced, reckless, and ripe to overthrow. I need a signal that I am…anchored.”
Anchored. Right.
“But you are irreplaceable,” he adds abruptly. “Which makes you dangerous.”
“I’m just another girl lost in space. I don’t know what you want from me.” I gulp.
His eyes harden.
Then, as if he’s speaking to himself, “I need your obedience, and your discretion. Don’t confuse my restraint with mercy. Don’t make me regret choosing you, human.”
"It's not human, it's Mae," I say before I bite the inside of my cheek, the penny taste of my own blood filing my mouth.
He drops his eyes and steps back. “Go to bed, Mae, before I forget why I even need you.”
Mekrra turns dramatically and his spines jostle as he whips down the hall, into the darkness. The lights dim as he leaves.
I’m left with the ghost of his anger still crackling in the surrounding air and some spark of softness that scares me more than his cruelty ever could. What in the universe could have me, a space stripper, be irreplaceable?