Page 9 of A Savage Bargain

I scrambled to my feet, my arms folding to cover my breasts again.

“Dress,” the Collector directed me.

I did so, even faster than I’d removed the clothing. The degradation of being on my hands and knees in front of a room full of alien strangers was something I could barely comprehend.

“Krake,” the Collector said, “she will be disposed of. She did not pass the interview.”

A wave of fear almost knocked me over. “I failed?” I squeaked out, before spinning to grab Krake’s arm. He stared at my hand, gripping his lower arm, but did not pull away. “Please. I can learn. Don’t let the Collector dispose of me.”

Krake looked at the Collector. “I believe she has promise. We are still some time from the Auction. I would like that time to work with her.”

“The finder’s fee would be useful to you?”

“Yes, Collector. I have not yet found my Runner.”

“Who are you looking for?”

“He’s a Zovan.”

The Collector paused, presumably to think.

I, meanwhile, was intrigued by that word—Runner—again, as well as another apparent alien species, Zovan. What did they look like? Would I live long enough to find out?

“I have not seen a Zovan on this ship,” the Collector said.

“That is too bad.”

“Since the fee may benefit, I will give you special dispensation to work with the human female to bring her up to standards,” the Collector concluded. “You have until the Auction. Or she will be disposed of.”

Chapter Four

Krake remainedsilent during our walk through the ship. Amazingly, so did I. My relief at not being disposed of was short-lived. Anxiety spiked higher with every step.

What had just happened?

A nonbinary being from outer space who collected other beings for sexual entertainment around the known galaxy rejected me.

A tantalizing alien convinced said Collector to not dispose of me in order to collect a finder’s fee from the alien who would eventually purchase me.

But only if I could be trained.

And somehow, all of this was supposed to be consensual and not sex trafficking. Because those involved were well-compensated. Allegedly. Or at least not shot out of an airlock.

My breath hitched. I worried I might hyperventilate.

What would the training involve?

What would I have to do to not be killed?

Who would buy me?

I clasped my hands low in front of me and focused on my breathing to slow my frenzied thoughts. The floor was thefascinating metal that seemed to be the primary material for the ship. Our footsteps made almost no noise on it as we walked.

The lighting was bright enough to illuminate the path, brightening when at the flat-screen built-in workstations, but never so bright as to be unpleasant or sterile. I inhaled deeply. Huh. Nothing. The air on the ship smelled like nothing. I wondered if there was something that I couldn’t smell—something outside my range. But it really smelled like nothing. Just clean, I supposed.

The apparent emptiness of the ship disoriented me. Once again, we passed no one. I had no idea where on the ship we were or where we were going. I couldn’t even get a handle on how large or small the ship was. The walk seemed like it took a long time. Or maybe that was my anxiety. Everything was so smooth and flat that I had nothing to use to distract myself. No tiles to count. No cracks in the floor to avoid. No distractions from the maelstrom my mind had become.

Still, Krake said nothing. Nor did I. What could I say? Thank you for not letting them dispose of me?

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