Her Alien Commander (3 page)

Now, from what she had managed to make out from the furious row between her previous captors and the current one, she was headed for another cell. The brig on this ship would no doubt offer better accommodations than those provided for her on the planet, but a prison was still a prison.

He took a sharp left and she scurried along in his wake. The alien, clearly the commander of this vessel, paused to check something on one of the small screens set into the corridors at regular intervals. He spared her a glance, then continued on his way. He turned to his right, then halted before a sealed door. He hit some keys on a wall-mounted pad and it slid open.

“Inside,” he instructed, gesturing for her to pass him.

Caria obeyed. There was no other choice. She stepped forward into her new jail.

She paused, her jaw dropping as she gaped about her and took in the functional yet spacious room, not luxurious but without doubt comfortable. And most decidedly not a prison.

Caria turned to regard her new captor, her bafflement surely writ large across her features. “But, this is not your brig, surely?”

He frowned at her. “Of course it is not. Why would I wish to install you in our brig? These are my quarters. You shall share them.”

“Your… quarters? This is where you live?”

He offered her a short nod. “As will you, from now on.”

“With you? I am to live with you?” Caria repeated the words, knowing she sounded stupid and slow, but this was just too much, too bizarre.

“With me, yes. I have a use for you.”

She stared at him, trying to make sense of this turn of events. Perhaps the Vahlean commander intended her to perform some task for him, domestic labour, most likely. Caria swallowed hard. This was not what her training had prepared her for but perhaps she could manage that. Anything was better than being locked up and starved again, and though this man was the most intimidating individual she had ever met, he had not, so far, shown her any deliberate cruelty.

“I… I am to work for you, sir?” she enquired cautiously.

“There will be no requirement for you to undertake any specific labour on board the
Empyrean
, unless you choose to do so.”

“Oh, I see. Then…?” Caria was at a loss.

“You are here because I intend to fuck
you. At will. It is my intention that you shall bear offspring for me, who will be reared to become part of the Vahlean race.” He paused, seemed to take in her dazed, incredulous expression, then continued in a less harsh tone. “Please be assured that you, and any children you may produce, will be well treated. I shall require obedience and respect from you, and failure to satisfy me in those regards will attract punishment, but otherwise you have nothing to fear.”

Nothing to fear?
Terror bubbled in Caria’s throat. He would hold her as some sort of sex slave. This powerful alien commander intended to breed with her, whether she cared for the notion or not. Or so he thought. He had a rude awakening coming his way if he hoped for that particular outcome. She staggered forward as her knees started to buckle.

The captain was quick. He stepped forward and caught her, then lifted her in his arms and carried her to a low seating arrangement along one wall. Caria briefly considered struggling but thought better of it. The man was three times her size and would not be defeated by any physical efforts of hers.

Once he had settled her upon the seat that hovered, suspended in the air at about the level of his knees, he straightened and regarded her from his somewhat lofty height.

“You should eat. I will explain your situation more fully after you have done so.” His tone was gentler now and he seemed to intend her no immediate harm. Even so, Caria watched fearfully as he left her where she was and strode back across the room to the outer door. Beside it was a small grill with a keypad alongside. He pressed a button then spoke into the grill.

“I require sustenance suitable to the nutritional needs of a human female adult.” He hesitated and glanced back at her. “Increase portion size by thirty percent.”

He leaned against the far wall, his arms folded across his wide chest. He regarded her under lowered brows, his expression thoughtful. Several seconds passed, then a small light flashed beside the keypad. The Vahlean opened a small door set into the wall at shoulder height and extracted a tray. On it Caria could see a bowl of something that emitted both steam and a tantalising aroma. He returned to where she sat, kicking a low table into place before her, and set down the bowl.

Caria leaned forward and sniffed. It was some sort of hotpot. She could see large, solid chunks of meat and the strong colours of fresh vegetables. The smell was amazing, mouth-watering after the frugal fare she had existed on for the last few months. A spoon lay beside the bowl.

“For me?” She hardly dared believe it.

“Yes. Other nutritional options are available, naturally, if you prefer a different meal.”

“No! No, definitely not. This is perfect. Thank you.” Caria was ravenous. She set aside her fears and grabbed the spoon, then dipped it in the stew. She lifted it to her mouth and savoured the explosion of familiar flavours. Despite everything she couldn’t restrain her smile as she looked up at her companion. “This is wonderful. The best thing I’ve tasted in ages. Is there any bread?”

He offered her a sardonic bow and returned to the keypad.

“Bread, please. Same nutritional parameters as my previous order.” Seconds later the light flickered and this time he produced a plate bearing three crusty bread rolls and a tub of butter. He carried this over to the sofa and set them beside the bowl. “I can see that you need some time to adjust to your new situation. Also, there are matters requiring my attention on the bridge, following the implosion on three seven nine. I shall leave you to enjoy your meal in peace, and then you may feel free to explore these accommodations. There is a shower, offering both aqueous and atomic cleansing functions and you may request clothing of your choosing from the ship’s bursar.” His gaze raked her scanty attire with obvious interest, and a sufficient hint of disapproval to cause Caria to squirm in her seat. “You saw how I contacted housekeeping?”

“I… yes. The speaker thing.”

He nodded. “The beta key will connect you to our core processing unit, and you may make any verbal requests you like. Our translation software will ensure that you are understood. I wish you to be comfortable whilst you are here.” He strode in the direction of the door, then paused and turned to look at her again. “Your name, please, human?”

“Caria, sir,” she replied.

“Is that it? All of it?”

“My parents were called Montgomery.
Are
called Montgomery.”

He nodded and turned to continue on his way.

“Wait!” Caria called after him, setting the bowl aside.

He stopped and turned his head to regard her over his left shoulder. “Yes?”

“May I know your name, sir?”

A few par-beats passed, then he inclined his head to her in a gesture she could only describe as both formal and incongruously polite given his clearly stated intentions for her. “You may. I am Phahlen Verdar, commander of the
Empyrean
and a member of the Vahlean High Congress.” He completed the remaining paces to the door. “I will return as soon as I am able. Please, make yourself at home.”

* * *

The door had barely closed on the commander before she was pounding on the outer portal, seeking a way out. She established fairly quickly that nothing she did would cause the outer door to open again so she was unable to escape the confines of this apartment to seek freedom elsewhere on the ship. Even if she did manage to get out of Phahlen’s quarters, she reflected gloomily, there was nowhere to go. She abandoned her efforts with reluctance and instead decided to make good use of this time alone. Her first priority would be to finish her stew. She had been on starvation rations for weeks and her growling stomach would not wait. Then, she would wash the filth of her subterranean prison from her body.

Caria emerged from the shower feeling refreshed and clean, the first time she had enjoyed such a sensation since her ship was shot out of the skies by the Galeians. She had selected the aqueous option since she’d never really warmed to the atomic style of personal cleansing—too dry and functional for her taste. Caria loved the sensation of warm water peppering her skin, reminding her that after all, despite all the odds, she was actually still alive.

Pleasantly well-fed, and now clean, she wrapped herself in a huge bath sheet and strolled around the spacious quarters. She knew of the Vahlean civilisation. They were allies of Earth and made regular visits to her home planet though this was her first direct encounter with them. It was clear the Vahleans did not lack for technology, and nor did they live simply. She wasn’t able to fathom the operation of everything she discovered, but soon realised she would not lack for entertainment whilst here, nor for educational opportunity. The holo-station she found in the main living space could fabricate pretty much any object she might desire, though she learned quickly that some items required special clearance. Her attempt to acquire a laser pistol failed for that reason, as did her request for an intergalactic communication device. The Vahlean commander appeared generous, but cautious too.

She took intense pleasure in stuffing her filthy, tattered smock into the atomic recycling chute and ordering a new outfit to replace it. The clothing Caria requested was simple but comfortable. She put on the loose fitting all-in-one suit made of a soft, drapey fabric and cinched it in at the waist with a wide belt. The neckline was low but still modest, a consideration she felt was significant, prudent even, given the Vahlean’s earlier statement of what was to come.

She also requested a hairbrush and now her long blond curls rippled down her back in some semblance of order as she perused the alien’s collection of classical literature from the Solaris zone. The Solarians were renowned proponents of the interplanetary arts, a learned, scholarly race and their culture widely regarded as among the highest across all known galaxies. Caria was particularly fond of Solarian poetry and hoped it might help to settle her nerves. Certainly, she would require her wits about her when Phahlen returned. She downloaded a collection of verses she had not encountered before and settled down on the hover-sofa. She was about halfway through when the door slid silently open and the Vahlean entered.

The digital reader slithered to the floor as her nerveless fingers released their grip. She scrambled to her feet, ready to make a run for it.

Phahlen spared her a glance, then he requested a glass of mineral water from the grill on the wall. He sipped his drink in silence as he took in the evidence of how she had spent her time. He strode toward her, and as Caria shrank back onto the sofa, he crouched to retrieve her reading matter.

“Good book?” he enquired pleasantly.

Caria nodded.

Phahlen reactivated the device and skimmed a few lines. “Ah, Solarian. Excellent choice. Uplifting, motivational literature. I applaud your taste, Caria.”

“I… I always liked the poems best,” she murmured.

“I see. And do you feel uplifted now, little human? Suitably motivated perhaps to hear what I have to tell you?”

She gazed back at him and shook her head. “I…
those things you said earlier. I cannot do as you wish. It wouldn’t be possible. You must release me. I am a citizen of Earth, and—”

“Ah, yes, an excellent place to start. I’m glad you brought that up. It appears the global judiciary on your planet are most anxious to have you back among them, Caria. So much so that they are about to initiate extradition proceedings. There’s a reward for your capture. Did you know that?”

She shook her head again, her heart sinking. Who could possibly require a frying pan when she could simply hurl herself onto the flames that seemed to await her around every corner? “You have been in contact with Earth?”

“Naturally. We needed to ascertain just what space vessel the bloody Galeians opened fire on and file a report with the owners. Imagine my surprise when I learnt that our little scaly friends were not entirely wrong about you.”

“I am not a spy,” countered Caria, her defensive hackles arising.

“Perhaps not. But you
are
a thief. Your ship was listed as a mercenary pirate vessel, and there are intergalactic arrest warrants out for all the crew. Sadly, I have had to inform the authorities that there was only one survivor, but they are most anxious to talk to you.”

“You cannot send me back. Please…” She reached for his wrist without thinking, grasping his forearm as though that might lend weight to her pleas. “I did nothing wrong. I was just—”

“I have no intention of returning you to Earth, Caria. I believe I have made my plans for you quite clear, and they do not include squandering a perfectly good female in such a manner.”

“Squandering? What do you mean by that?” His choice of words was odd. Caria’s confusion grew along with her fear.

“I shall explain. First, what do you know of the Vahlean race?” He bent at the knees as though intending to sit, and a seat materialised behind him. He settled into it, right in front of Caria. “Are you aware of the somewhat peculiar situation my group of planets now faces?”

Caria shook her head. “I have heard of Vahle, and I know where in space your worlds are located, but I am not aware of the details. You are a technically advanced species, I can see that, but I have never directly encountered your race before.”

His answering grin lacked warmth, though Caria still found his expression pleasant enough. Indeed, were this man less of a threat to her, if his power over her fate was not quite so absolute, she might even acknowledge that the Vahlean commander was a stunningly attractive specimen. When he had removed his helmet in the lounge, it was all she had managed not to gasp out loud. She had already noted his height, over six feet tall, and on Earth his features would have been described as Nordic. She had read legends of the Vikings from Earth’s distant past and this male epitomised her image of those legendary beings. His hair was a pale ash blond, much lighter than her own, and was not much shorter than hers. His was straight though, and swept back from his stern face. His eyes were incongruously dark and held a determined glint, a deep midnight blue fringed by pale lashes. His complexion was fair too, his features well defined. His jaw was square, his mouth mobile and expressive. Her captor exuded strength, wore his authority like a cloak, and not simply because of his muscular build though that contributed to his aura of dominance. She assumed his clothing to be a uniform, and it fit him as though it has been sprayed on. The metallic gleam of the fabric put her in mind of other ancient civilisations where the warriors protected themselves with armour, though the commander’s garments were supple and form-fitting, the perfect showcase for his powerful shoulders and sharply planed and chiselled torso. She could readily pick out the play of muscle and sinew beneath his clothes as he moved, and she wondered if all the males from his world were similarly striking.