Authors: Jaye Peaches
Table of Contents
Chosen by the Governor
Copyright © 2016 by Stormy Night Publications and Jaye Peaches
Copyright © 2016 by Stormy Night Publications and Jaye Peaches
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
Chosen by the Governor
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
Images by Period Images, 123RF/tsuneo, 123RF/algolonline
This book is intended for
. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
She rattled the shackles against the edge of the stool. Her ankles were bound to its legs and her wrists to the back of the small seat. Crouching on the low stool with her knees pressed together to prevent them from shaking, she waited.
The room was intimidating with its bare walls, lack of windows, and low ceiling. Central to the room was a vast desk and seated behind it was the anonymous man assigned to interrogate her. His face was cast in shadows, while she was illuminated under a spotlight.
She was starting to perspire.
He swiped his hand over the console and finished reading. “Tell me why you are here.” He articulated his words clearly, but she understood him easily. Language wasn’t going to be the issue. What she needed to hide was the truth.
“My name is Freya Caspari. I’m a journalist for the International Eagle Network. I’m part of the cultural exchange program initiated by both of our governments to improve relationships between humans and the Vendu,” she rattled off the familiar response. It wasn’t a lie. She was a journalist and her visit had been sanctioned by both sides of the divide.
He shrugged. “I know all that, Freya. What I want to know is why else you are here.”
“I’m part of the cultural—”
“I’m not lying,” she retorted.
“You’re not telling the whole truth either, are you?” He sighed and puffed out his lips. “I really hoped we could avoid this.”
She swallowed hard. From out of the shadows stepped another man. A bear of a man, and like many Vendu—the alien invaders who’d arrived on Earth decades ago and never left—he wasn’t much different from humans, except somehow he managed to appear bigger and brawnier than a typical male human. Her interrogator rose from behind his desk, stretched his arms and his mouth yawned open in a false display of boredom—he wasn’t a great actor. Unlike the guard, this man was tall with lines etched about his eyes and mouth. However, his senior years hadn’t turned his hair gray or thinner.
“What are you going to do to me?” She failed to mask her quivering lips or wavering voice. She stared up at the looming guard, who’d folded his arms across his chest and planted his legs firmly either side of the stool.
“When our great emperor permitted the opening of our border to your emissaries, allowing them generous access to our cities, we assumed the Earthlings would honor our rules. Sadly, Freya, you were caught trying to capture images of our facilities.” He removed from his pocket a small item—her ring.
Freya closed her eyes.
“Yes,” hissed the interrogator, “we know that it contains a camera.”
She inhaled deeply. Whoever had betrayed her had stitched her up good. Four days after she’d left Phoenix, the capital of the Americas, one of a few cities that had survived the onslaught of the Vendu invasion, she had been arrested while visiting a key terraforming facility in the middle of Australia. However, according to the Vendu, it wasn’t Australia any longer—they had renamed it in their own tongue. Its surrender had been part of the peace pact between the alien invaders and the collaborative forces of Earth’s defense council. Give up one continent in order to live in peace, side by side. Once the Australians had been evicted to other countries, or killed fighting the occupiers in one last futile attempt at saving their heritage, the Vendu had barricaded themselves on the vast island, shut their borders, and refused to enter into any further dialogue.
With their satellites destroyed or taken over by the Vendu, the fragmented intelligence agencies had no means to spy on their unwanted neighbors. Little had been gleaned from them prior to the treaty. The Vendu warriors chose self-sacrifice over captivity and on the rare occasions when they had been caught alive, they refused to speak. Eventually the handful of captives been demanded back as part of the treaty’s prisoner exchange program.
She opened her eyes and exhaled. “I’m a journalist—” she began again. Under pressure and swamped by nerves, trying to recall her training, especially the advice from her mentor, proved challenging. The thundering headache and waves of nausea, which emanated from her churning stomach, befuddled her already anxious mind.
“Do it,” the interrogator ordered with a nod.
She glanced around, trying to gauge what tools of torture were present in the room. She wanted to vomit. The tension was terrible. The fear of the unknown was far worse than she had imagined.
Something sharp pricked at the vein in her neck. “Ouch! What have you done?” She twisted her head to one side, but it was too late. The guard had already completed the injection.
She expected pain. She waited for the agony of it.
The man behind the desk chuckled. “Do you think us barbaric, that we haven’t mastered the art of questioning without resort to ineffective torture? We have conquered many worlds and have yet to find a humanoid that isn’t susceptible to this drug.”
“What drug?” she whispered.
He laughed and it sent shivers down her spine. “It won’t harm you. Now you will tell me the truth because you won’t be able stop yourself.”
Truth serum. Whatever it was called. Would it work on her?
The room swayed. Or had she moved? Everything had a fuzzy edge to it, including the man, who seemed taller than ever as if he were touching the ceiling. The distortions continued to worsen. However, with the strange visual effects came a sense of euphoria. The nausea lifted and she ceased shaking. Instead, she felt relaxed, almost happy.
“Now, Freya Caspari,” the man perched on the edge of the desk. “Why are you here?”
“I’m part of… I’m a…” Who exactly was she? She smiled; oh, yes, that was it. “Earth’s technology advancement task force recruited me as a spy. I came here as a journalist, but I’m also conducting a covert operation on their behalf.”
She couldn’t stop the words tumbling out of her mouth. In the back of her head, a little voice shouted at her to stop, but she ignored it. He bombarded her with questions and she answered each one while bathed in a swath of warm contentment. It didn’t matter, she kept telling herself, she felt safe in her cocoon.
However, later, when the drug had worn off, she knew that each word she’d uttered had sealed her fate.
Waking from the dreamless sleep, for a few seconds she’d forgotten where she lay. The stasis tube, which was long and thin, offered little room for movement. Lying in the pitch black, she opened her mouth, ready to call out for help, when the lid lifted and a blinding flood of light filled the narrow cot.
“Good. You’re awake.” A man held out his hand and she grasped it. She needed his strength to climb out.
What now? For two months she’d been locked inside the tube in a state of hibernation while the interstellar ship transported her from Earth via the wormhole hidden in the rings of Saturn to the isolated planet of Tagra, which the Vendu used as a penal colony. For the rest of her natural life it would be her home. Her prison. Military spying carried the maximum life sentence and the Vendu preferred to keep their prisoners as far away from their habitats as possible.
The guard who’d been assigned to wake her directed her to a shower cubicle. She stripped off the thin camisole and panties, grateful he’d waited outside and given her privacy. The water helped clear her head, but her legs continued to shake and her empty stomach rumbled. She needed food. The clothes left out for her were rudimentary—pants and t-shirt, nothing else. No clean underwear. She frowned—to whom could she complain? She was a convict, not a guest any longer.
When the guard returned, he brought a plate of food—something that resembled tomatoes, cheese paste, and crackers. She was too hungry to ask what it was exactly. As she wolfed the plateful down while sitting at a small table, he stood by the door waiting for her to finish. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Would he talk to her?
“How much longer before we reach Tagra?”
He shrugged. “The wormhole brought us within a day.”
The Vendu, using technology they’d stolen from some other conquest, had constructed the wormhole. That was what they did—used their increasing military might to overrun worlds by nearly wiping out the indigenous populations, stealing advanced technologies and forcing the survivors to live under servitude. Except on Earth, after only months of fighting and easily overwhelming Earth’s limited defenses, the Vendu had ceased hostilities and brought the conflict to a peaceful resolution. Only years later when more was known about the Vendu had Earth’s leadership questioned the sudden halt. What greeted their diplomatic enquiries was silence. The Vendu put up a vast force shield around their colony, switched off their communication channels, and refused entry to anyone but their own species—until Freya’s expedition. In the meantime, there never had been a satisfactory answer to the change in tactic.
The guard had referred to Tagra’s day and not an Earth one. What was the point in remembering how long an Earth day lasted? “You’re a soldier?” She bit into the hard cracker, which was solid and tasteless.
“Yes. Third order. This will be my first rotation on Tagra.”
“I’m the only prisoner on the transporter?” She’d been placed into stasis on Earth and not witnessed the takeoff. Had she’d been the only one from the group of journalists and cultural attachés charged with espionage? The sole prisoner dispatched to Tagra?
“Yes. The rest of the manifest are my comrades. Fellow soldiers tasked with keeping order amongst the orderless.” He stood straighter, clearly proud of his role.
“Me. I’m not exactly a high risk, am I?”
He smirked. “Not you. But on Tagra, life is hard. You’ll find out.”
She finished the last mouthful and pushed the plate away. She couldn’t imagine the food being any better on the colony. “Where are my shackles?”
Another swift grin and the thin lines around his lips added to the two scars running down his cheeks. “Where are you going to go? We’re in space.”
Good point. She was trapped on board a spacecraft with a single destination. “Do I stay here?” She waved at the tiny room with the stasis tube against one wall. She didn’t fancy using it as a bed.
“No. Come with me. You can sit with the others in the main cabin.” He opened the door and ushered her out. With no sense of how large the transporter was, she followed him to what could be the rear or the front of the spacecraft. The interior of the cabin resembled an airplane with rows of seats and a few empty ones next to small portholes.
“Can I sit here?” She pointed to an empty seat by a window.
“Wherever. Just stay put.” He left her to join a small group of soldiers a few rows up. More soldiers. More new guards for Tagra’s penal colony.
She settled into the seat and stretched out her legs. At least they weren’t bothering her. She must be an unusual addition to the usual lineup for the transporter. The first prisoner to be sent from Earth to Tagra in decades. During the war, when Earth had been attacked by the Vendu, many captured soldiers had been sent to distant penal colonies. When the treaty had been negotiated, the one that gave Vendu the continent of Australia to colonize, the stolen men had been returned—those who had survived the ordeal.