Page 4 of Anna's Bounty
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For the most part, I stay huddled at the back of my cell, embracing the oblivion of sleep every chance I get. When I’m awake, I keep my eyes trained on the floor or any spot where I can’t see the terrifying neighbors on either side of me. I’m careful to keep out of their reach. Just in case.
A feeder periodically drops granola-looking bars, but I can’t tell if it’s once a day or randomly. Whichever it is, I have a small pile of them collecting under the feeder. Whatever they’re made of is dense and hard as a brick. They taste about how I’d imagine a brick might taste, too. I hold out as long as I can before my stomach starts to ache, then I soak one in water to soften it enough that I can nibble on the end while I plot possible ways to escape.
A loud snarl echoes through the cargo bay, and the hair on my arms stands up. How could something that sounds so fearsome have managed to get itself caught?
Beside me, my slug-like neighbor, the same nondescript shade of gray as my surroundings, takes up most of its cage. With my heart lodged in my throat, I continue to avoid getting within reach of its oddly smooth tentacles. I swallow down the urge to gag when another tentacle suddenlyunfurls, then another, until dozens of them are slithering out from its blobby body, sliding across the floor and ceiling of its cage. They encirclethe bars, testing their strength with violent tugs and thrusts, but none of the bars so much as wiggle.
My other neighbor is quieter but still something I definitely don’t want to get anywhere near. In fact, it’s thekill-it-with-firekind of nightmare that had me screaming when I first woke up in my cell to the caress of a black-hairy-leggedthingalong my hair and neck. Hyperventilating with quick, shallow pants, I turned to eye the embodiment of every single one of my worst fears: an alienspider-man. It’s not the Lycra-wearing Tom Holland kind, either.
Thisthinglooks like the grotesque effect of splicing a human and a spider inside a nuclear reactor, with its lithe body covered in tufts of course, black hair. Standing on two legs, its human-like hands curl around the bars with additional creepy arachnid-like legs sprouting out of its torso.
Oh, God!I struggled not to pass the fuck out when it stared at me with too many shiny black eyes.
But there are more aliens than me and my two neighbors. A lot more. Cages line both sides of the rectangular cargo area, though, blessedly, the four cages across from me are empty. I purposely avoid looking down the row of cages, not wishing to see any more freaky aliens than I already have.
Just as I am wondering what has the others so agitated, another snarl cuts through the room, and something catches my attention. Brushing back a stringy lock of hair, I narrow my eyes when I see two of the mantis aliens walking toward my cage.
“I cannot believe our good fortune,” the more greenish one says as its long-fingered hand gestures toward me. A long sheath of silvery material covers its sexless body. “To find such a rare specimen. A pure human, no less.”
“SurelyMig-gnasmiles down on us,” the reddish alien following behind agrees, keeping its long fingers steepled in front of its chest.
“It won’t be much longer, and we will be drowning in coin.” The first giggles when it stops in front of my cage with its large eyes trained on me.
“How many pleasure houses have shown interest now?” the second alien asks, standing slightly back.
“All of them, if you can believe it.” The one standing at my cage curls its creepy three-fingered hands around the bars, peering in at me with its horrible, unblinking eyes. “The bidding war will be talked about throughout the seven systems.”
Pleasure houses? And just how many areall of them?
A shiver runs down my spine, and I turn my head away so I don’t have to look at them watching me. Unfortunately, I can still hear them, thanks to the thing they drilled into my head.
“What about breeding contracts?” the second asks.
Breeding?My head snaps forward once more.
“Oh, yes, Dej-am is working them up as we speak,” the green one says shrewdly. “Along with the breeding price, he is insisting upon a percentage for every pup they get off her.”
The burn of bile hits the back of my throat, and I struggle to swallow it back down.
“With an additional percentage for each second generation pup that whelps. Truly, our riches will be never-ending.”Pushing itself away from the bars, the green alien turns and falls into step with the other.
Both aliens chortle back and forth as they walk out of earshot.
Oh…shit.
* * *
The feeling of utter hopelessness doesn’t creep up on me as much as it slams into me like a runaway freight train. The absolute hopelessness of knowing that I’m not only an exotic pet, but the alien equivalent of a prize mare as well.
Seriously,pleasure houses?Did they mean—did they meanspace-brothels?This can’t be for real. How did I end up in a campy science fiction? Except there’s no hero to swoop in and save me before I’m sold as a prostitute. And not just any prostitute, but one that they hope to…breed.
The last granola brick I ate turns to lead in my stomach, and the backs of my eyes start to sting, signaling the start of another bout of crying. How much more of this can I take?
The answer is simple. I will take anything and everything they send at me.
Clenching my teeth, I decide that when they come for me, I’ll bite and scratch. I’ll go for their hideous eyes and strike out at their willowy bones. I’ll fight them until my very last breath. No matter what, I willnotlet them win. I will fight to the death, if it comes to that.
