Page 1 of Across the Crimson Sands

ARILEE

“Kneel.”

I stumbled forward as the chain yanked me down, my bare knees scraping against the scorching sand. Pain blazed through me as fresh wounds opened over barely healed scabs. Gorin didn’t even glance back. He never did.

“Well met, Captain Gorin,” an unfamiliar Krelaxian greeted my master.

From my vantage point near the ground, all I saw were identical boots. But this one lacked a kneeling slave - so this guy was clearly outranked by Gorin.

“And to you. Any reports from the Crimson Sands?”

The Crimson Sands. That barren, war-torn hellscape. A vast graveyard of shattered ships, rusted tech, and sun-bleached bones stretching endlessly across the dunes. A grim monument to senseless destruction, the last battle ground of the war that had swept this system.

“My men believe we’ve found a buried cache of Vinduthi weapons. Old data pad entries gave the location. Apparently, an elite squad was meant to rendezvous there and retrieve the cache before descending on the Krelaxian fort due west. Of course, they never made it.”

Gorin’s pleased hum grated on my nerves. “And what became of this ‘elite’ squad?” he prodded.

I could practically hear the other Krelaxian’s eager smile. “Why, they were taken out by an aerial bombing run, sir.”

“And who ordered that bombing run?”

I suppressed an eye roll. Here we go again. Gorin’s endless quest for validation, desperate to remind everyone of his supposed brilliance during a war fought ages ago. How much longer could he milk that victory?

“You did, sir.”

“That’s right. I did. How wonderful for us. Let me know when the cache is found. If the weapons are well preserved, we can add them to the armory. If not, sell them for scrap. The treasury will thank us. Either way, you and your men will most certainly receive commendations from Governor Kael.”

“Thank you, sir!” The man’s boots snapped together, practically vibrating with excitement. “And may I say, sir, your pet is quite lovely.”

My stomach twisted. I hated being singled out, even though that was my entire purpose. A living status symbol for men like Gorin.

Five years I’d been his property, traded away by my previous owner of three years for a taste of Gorin’s favor. The sole survivor of a refugee transport, spared only because a pirate deemed me the “only thing of value” aboard.

Some twisted compliment.

My first master cared nothing for my looks, wanting only a housekeeper based on stereotypes about human women. I faked competence to avoid punishment, but his buyer’s remorse was obvious.

Then Captain Gorin stumbled into the village, drunk on victory and hungry for a trophy. Suddenly, I became useful as a bargaining chip.

You’d think being reduced to a living decoration might offer some relief. You’d be wrong.

“Incredible. How long does it take to get those marks to stay?” the other man asked, leering.

Gorin’s fingers dug into my chin as he wrenched my head side to side, showcasing the purple-red ring of bruises circling my neck. “Several weeks of consistent binding, plus regular maintenance. She has matching marks on her wrists and ankles. Show him.”

Wearily, I raised my hands, displaying the angry red bands encircling my wrists like grotesque bracelets.

“They’re starting to fade, though. I’ve been so busy with this salvage mission that I’ve been neglecting her upkeep. We’ll be sure to remedy that this evening.”

Life with Gorin left me too drained to even flinch at the threat.

These “fashionable” bruises were the brainchild of Governor Kael, the tyrant who ruled the three planets of the Caroma system. He’d taken to yanking his slaves around so brutally that swollen bruises became a constant feature. The sadistic trend spread like wildfire.

And Gorin, ever the sycophant, was quick to jump on board.

“Sir, I hope I’m not out of line, and I know you’re not at our base for long, but the men were hoping you’d stick around this evening. Maybe have a few drinks at the canteen with us, tell us some of your war stories. They admire you a great deal, and it’d be great for morale, I’m sure.”

That, finally, made me cringe. Their pathetic need for approval from this twisted, insecure creature turned my stomach. But he likely wouldn’t drag me along. No pets allowed in the bar, after all.

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