NOTE: Once again I'd like to thank takemeawaymylove for turning four months of research, labor and love into yet another adventurous, fun and exciting tale. Without her this would be just another piece of erotica. Comments and feedback are always welcome!
Of course the brunette can't hear anything. A tub of gelatinous goo muffles the screams and terror from outside. It is the same blue substance she's been immersed in for the past seven days now. It coats her body as she lies in the pool, oblivious to the horrors on the other side of the door.
Her mind is a blank as she stares at the white ceiling. She doesn't remember what she did to deserve being sent to the chamber. Obviously she'd done something. Her masters made a point of roughing her up a bit before throwing her inside, just to let her know where she stood. It's hard being a captive on a D'ray slave ship--one false move and you're scrubbing floors, peeling vegetables, or worse.
The bruises are a reminder of the consequences of disobedience. There are so many ways to end up on the D'ray's bad side. Far better to submit to their whims, than to endure the brutal and creative punishments of the D'ray.
Sluices of goo crash over the brunette's naked bosom. The blast of cool air hardens her nipples. She moans softly, half-awake, half-asleep. There is so much time to think inside the chamber.
The door unexpectedly lifts open. A rush of cool air assaults her as she struggles to stand up. Light rushes into her almond eyes as she glimpses into the hallway outside. The hum of circulating air assured her that the ship was still functioning. But it was the silence that disturbs her--an uneasy calm hovering like a bilious cloud.
At first there is elation, then confusion. Perhaps the D'ray decided her punishment has been sufficient. But there is no escort to take her back to her cell. Something is deadly wrong here.
Goo drips off her naked body as she steps into the corridor. The remnants of fighting can be seen all around. A D'ray sword gleams with blood, its owner lying face-down. There are improvised knives and clubs, axes, even a gun.
An oppressive stench lingers in her nostrils. The melee had left its share of casualties. The silence is unnerving. The brunette could feel the hairs on her neck stand up straight.
It is impossible to say who had done this or why. The captive searches for some kind of cover--a shadow, a container, anything. They'd already made an example of the D'ray--she isn't planning to be one too.
She barely has time to think as she hears the sound of footsteps. The brunette grabs the nearest weapon she can find. The idea of a five-foot two, auburn haired twenty something going up against an unknown predator is ridiculous. Only, they aren't so.
The soldiers don't look like any monster race she'd seen. Their silvery helmets glisten as they march through the corridor, nervously clutching their pulse rifles. The brunette hides in the shadows as their tunics flutter in the breeze. Who are these silvery-gray men with their sheathed daggers, diligently searching the leviathan of a vessel?
Adrenaline kicks in as the brunette steps in front of them. The sight of their weapons pointed at her does little to dissuade her as she grips the hilt of her sword. Her breathing is ragged as the weapons charge, her eyes burning with a white hot rage.
The older of the men intercedes, his regalia indicating his seniority. His hardened demeanor belies soft blood red eyes that speak of kindness and compassion. The captive looks on, more in confusion than anything.
"What is your name, child?"
The brunette glances at him, not sure what to make of the men with guns.
"People call me Dot," she mutters, "What's it to you?"
"My name is Simeon," he calmly explains, "I am an officer in the Imperial Army. We're here to take you home."
"Why should I believe you?" the captive snorts.
Simeon displays his tunic stained with the greenish blood of the D'ray. Dot is beside herself with shock. Any questions of intent quickly fall away.
"How do I know you won't sell me out to someone else?"
"Slavery was outlawed by Imperial decree two hundred years ago," Simeon smiles wanly, "Why would we risk our lives only to sell our women back to our enemies?"
Dot glances downward. Anger, suspicion and sadness bubble to the surface. It's difficult to tell whether to trust this kindly alien, or whether to trust at all.
But mostly she imagines fresh air on her face.
The brunette felt weak as she struggled to grip the sword. She could feel her fingers slipping slowly but surely.
Her last thoughts before passing out are of home; the lush banks along the Columbia River, sunlight streaming through thick oaken trees...
###
The last time she'd been with Paul was in Mount Chelan. The pickup hummed as it traveled along lonely Route 28, bearing north towards Wenatchee. The brunette watched as a sliver of golden rays rippled along the nearby lake. She listened as a jay called out to the bluish sky, glad at once to escape the torrent of real estate closings, wills, and other ephemera that weighted her office desk. Every second apart from the firm in Kennewick felt like a reprieve from the hamster wheel--for a couple of days, at least.
The getaway was planned at their families' behest. Between Magge's job as a paralegal and Paul's teaching career, the couple worked seventy hours total. There was little time to relax, let alone raise a family.
But the parents wouldn't budge. Magge's Ingrid was especially relentless.
"Ja vil ha barn," she'd whisper in her daughter's ear, "Ja vil ha barn."
"I want kids, I want kids, I want kids!"
The words ringed in her ears.
The sound of her soon-to-be husband's slurping jolted her awake. Paul's hands trembled as he gripped the wheel. They'd been at it since six, and already her dark-haired, blue eyed boyfriend was tiring.
"You look exhausted," Magge suggested calmly, "How about we switch places?"
"Not right now, Magge," Paul reached for his drink.
"Look at you," she gestured, "Your hands are shaking. How many soft drinks have you had anyway?"
"I know what I'm doing."
As if on cue, a black tailed deer skittered across the road. The vehicle halted as Paul slammed on the breaks. Magge's heart jumped out of her chest. It was the scariest thing she'd ever experienced up to that point. The brunette shot an accusing glare.
"I'll drive," she said.
The pickup gave up the ghost somewhere between Route 97 and Chelan Butte Road. She pulled the car over, thinking it was something to do with the spark plug. After several cranks of the ignition, it was official--both she and Paul were stranded.
A stiff gust blew as she lifted the hood. Wisps of brunette hair obstructed her view as she tried to get a closer look.
"Is something wrong?" Paul cried.
"I think the engine died."
Magge glanced at the trees shaking violently. Must be the Chinook winds, she thought. Birds flocked ominously overhead. The horizon was suddenly plunged into darkness, and Magge knew they were in trouble. She looked to Paul for comfort, but he was just as fearful.
