Page 20 of Hooded

FERN

I hammer my fists on the back of the Tormelek, my hands bouncing off the metal. It’s ineffectual, of course, but I’m not going to lie over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes while Klynn howls with rage somewhere behind us.

I’m still completely confused. I had no cargo, and my ship was too small for the Tormelek to make use of it. Why did they put so many resources into taking us? Usually, space pirates give up once they’ve got close enough to scan what you have, and the second you show any resistance they generally break off most attacks.

So, why me? Why my ship? I curse my bad luck yet again. If I hadn’t changed course because of my error with Klynn, we’d not be in this situation.

The air around me gets less pungent, and I find we’re in a cleaner passage, presumably not the cell block anymore. I can’t do anything other than hold myself up. Twisting to see where we’re going earns me a grip on my thighs which is painful in the extreme. Finally, we walk through a doorway into a room which glows a weird pink color, and the Tormelek pulls me from his shoulder by the scruff of my neck.

“The female,” he says, voice metallic. “As requested.”

Now I’m sort of on my feet, I’m able to see where I am. And it’s not good. It looks like a cross between a boudoir and a morgue. The pink is horribly distracting, but it’s very clear this is not a fun place.

“Put it on the specimen table.” A creature smaller than the Tormelek has its back to us, a long tail—part scales, part feather—twitches from below a long pink coat.

I curse as I’m lifted into the air again and dumped on one of the morgue slabs. As soon as I’m on it, a bright light, like the one in the cell, hits me, and yet again, I’m unable to move my limbs.

“Let’s see what Lord Halfen has brought me this time,” I hear the creature grumble.

What looms down at me has a beak like a fish eagle. The scream catches in my throat, unable to pass my immobile lips.

“Well, it is female,” the thing says. “And mammalian, which is a plus.” It looks over, presumably at the Tormelek. “You can go. I will complete my examination and ask for you when I need the female returned.”

“Do you wish to examine the male?” he says. “I can bring him.”

“I have no desire to examine the Gryn. And he’ll probably rip your head off if you try, so leave him where he is,” the eagle creature snaps. “I’m not answering to Lord Halfen for any injury to you.”

There’s a long pause, then the sound of metal feet stomping away.

The eagle looks down at me again. “So, now we begin.”

I feel tears of terror running out of my eyes and into my hair as a large crane-like arm is moved into position over me. It whines, and I screw my eyes closed. Something rakes down my body. It’s not entirely unpleasant, especially as I chose to leave the warmth of Klynn’s feathers before I’d rid myself of the chill which seemed to go to my very bones.

Fragrant feathers I woke up in, strong arms and spice scented skin. And it was not the worst way to wake up, not by a long shot.

I open my eyes to be confronted by the beak again. I’m genuinely not sure which I dislike more, not being able to move or wondering if it’s going to peck my eyes out. It cocks its head to one side and fixes a beady eye on me, the pupil contracting.

“What is the situation, Narlix?” a harsh voice barks into the room. As I can’t move, I can’t see if there’s anyone else there. “Is it female?”

“Yes,” Narlix says. “It’s female, mammal, like you believed. It is capable of breeding.”

As if I wasn’t already frozen, my blood turns to ice.

They want to breed with me?

My stomach turns at the thought of being anywhere near one of the Tormelek.

“What about the Gryn?” the voice says, and it’s becoming clear it’s over some sort of comm because Narlix raises her beak to the ceiling in a universal gesture of exasperation.

“I’ve not examined the male, but he is intact and…lively. He can breed too.”

I’m now genuinely not sure what is worse, me having to do the nasty with a Tormelek or Klynn being made to do the same with some willing…or god forbid, unwilling, female.

Perhaps they prefer to do things in a more clinical way. Perhaps they’re all into artificial insemination these days.

“Put the female back in with him. Make them mate,” the voice growls. “I want her with young in the next nova-month. She’ll be worth more carrying a Gryn hybrid.”

Any hope I had for any sort of future melts. My rigid limbs cramp, and my brain goes into free-fall.

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