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  Huddled, trembling, whimpering women are gathered on the stage in all manner of thin, sheer dresses that are clearly – obscenely – designed to show off their young, nubile bodies.

  The image fills me with dread. I’ve seen images like this before, and I know the histories. Even before my father lifted us to the position of low-noble, I had access to a brilliant tutor who taught me the history of this region. Before the Aurelian Empire took over this sector, slavery was rampant throughout the system. It’s hard to believe that just days after the Aurelians left, we’re already back to those sinister roots.

  Chatter and buzz emerge from the crowd. I hear coarse laughter from both above and below us, and it chills my entire body as I take my seat. The so-called “upper crust” of our society are the ones making the lewdest jokes – leering and snorting as they look at the poor women on display in front of them; all rounded up from common and working families who were traded a pittance in exchange for offering up their children.

  As easy as it is to be disgusted at the high-nobles for doing this, my sympathy is strained for the families of these poor women. Even with the degree of poverty the lower classes of Tear experience, it’s hard to imagine anybody willingly giving up their daughter for just a few months’ worth of money.

  Jenna stands behind me. I wish she could sit, but convention dictates that servants must stand in the areas reserved for nobles. It was selfish of me to make her come with me – but I couldn’t face the spectacle of this night alone.

  “Straighten your back! Kendrick is looking!” My father squeezes my thigh hard. I jolt upright, forcing myself to stand tall and proud. I glance across the theater and see that my father is right. Kendrick is sitting in the section reserved for the true-nobles, in a place of honor among them, and his eyes look me over heatedly before he turns them towards the stage.

  Unlike the other nobles, who are laughing and jeering, the face of Kendrick is as frozen as a skull; white with rage and with his eyes wide and furious. His hands are balled into fists as he looks down at the masses of women gathered on the stage, and his entire body is trembling with anger.

  As I see this, I wonder if perhaps I misjudged Kendrick. Maybe he has a heart after all – or a conscience, at least. His was one of the few houses in opposition to the selling of these women to fulfill our planet’s debt to the Aurelians.

  I lick my lips, nervous as I see the three huge, empty seats in front of the stage. They’re cordoned off, the red velvet rope circling three, raised thrones that have been specially-built with haste to accommodate the three, seven-feet-tall killing machines. The Aurelians will have the finest view of the pretty, young women on display in front of them – and, of course, they’ll get their pick of them.

  The theatre is filled to capacity, and the conversation grows more hushed and nervous as time goes on. A nervous, electric anticipation is running through everyone in attendance.

  Suddenly, the huge double doors at the side of the stage open, and silence descends across the theater as if an avalanche of snow had just plummeted down on top of us. I feel as frozen as I might be in that scenario – unable to move, and hardly able to breathe in the now suffocating silence.

  The three Aurelians stride through the double doors, and a palpable shudder runs through the room. They tread onto the stage, so towering and intimidating as they loom above the spectators.

  The women on stage try to cower away, but the guards force them to stay put. As they tremble in shame up on the stage, the three Aurelian warriors approach them.

  The enormous, alien warriors are wearing the same armor as before, and we can all see the hilts of their Orb-Weapons clearly at their waist. They’re ready for anything; and despite being outnumbered a hundred to one in this crowded theater, I know they fear nothing.

  They could fight their way right up here – to the section reserved for low-nobles – and take me, if they wanted to. No one would be able to stop them – if anybody would even be willing to try.

  I shudder at the thought. I don’t know where it came from, but it keeps churning in the back of my mind. I can’t imagine the terror that must be gripping the minds of the poor women forced to wait on the stage – but part of me can’t help but imagine myself in their place.

  But the Aurelians don’t even spare them a glance – not one of the common women that have been assembled before them. They walk straight past the women, their heads held high and proud. The leader of the triad takes his spot in the middle chair in front of the stage, and only then does he turn to face the stage like he’s willing to pay attention to it.

  As he sits, I notice a deep and jagged scar running up the warrior’s neck. I shudder as a totally unexpected, and totally unwarranted thought runs wickedly through my mind…

  …the thought of what it might feel like to run my fingertips up and down that vicious scar. It’s clearly so deep that the wound that caused it clearly almost took this Aurelian’s life – and yet he wears the injury proudly.

  The other two Aurelians stand beside their leader, looking towards us, in the crowd. I assume they’re guarding their leader’s back, and the two oversized thrones either side of the first Aurelian remain empty. I notice a twin scar on the short-haired Aurelians neck, and I wonder if it was gained in battle or if they have some ritual meaning.

  The audience shifts uncomfortably. I know why. The nobles and high-nobles had thought all three of the Aurelians would be studying the girls they’d had made available to them – but instead now we’re all facing the icy stares of those two slate-eyed warriors. It’s almost as if they’re judging us; despite being the ones to accept our shameful offering.

  I can’t help but look at the Aurelian with the long, black hair – the one whose fingers so lightly touched my chin in the garden, on the day of the Scorp invasion. He is the only one not visibly marked by scars. Perhaps he’s the fastest, strongest warrior of the three of them to survive with his perfect skin unblemished.

  As I watch him, it’s almost as if he senses it – and the towering alien turns his head slightly in my direction. His slate-grey eyes suddenly find me, and burn into me like I’m the only person standing in this packed room.

  I can’t help but shiver. There’s no expression on the alien’s face as he drinks me up – literally tasting me with the intensity of his stare. Then, however, his eyes flicker past me, scanning the crowd for any hint of danger. His right hand is constantly near the hilt of his weapon.

  I’m torn – half-relieved not to be the subject of that hungry stare any more, but also half-disappointed that the Aurelian’s eyes are no longer burning into me.

  The sound of a throat clearing fills the entire room. Every eye turns upward, to where the elected Representative of the Consortium sits.

  To call him elected it perhaps misleading - he’s not elected by popular vote of the people of Tear, but by the votes of the only citizens that count - the nobles, and members of the Consortium. The Representative sits in a hanging theater box, with guards either side of him, floating far above us – and his echoing voice is projected around the theater by speakers.

  “The high-nobles, nobles, and low-nobles of the Consortium, along with the common people of Tear, have gathered here to give thanks for the defense of this city carried out by our welcomed, Aurelian guests.”

  There was a light ripple of applause.

  “Today, we honor Raka, Raekon, and Leon. Without them, many, if not all of the women who stand on stage before us, would have been ripped to shreds, or impregnated with Scorp eggs. They faced a fate worse than death, as did the other inhabitants of this city.” The Representative has a flair for the dramatic – but it clearly works. The crowd shudders at his vivid description of the Scorp invasion.

  The irony, of course, is that it was the common people who were most vulnerable to the Scorp infestation. Few members of the high society gathered in this theater here today would have faced the same danger, as they were mostly hidden away in their houses and high-
rises, guarded by their private security services.

  As with everything else wrong with Tear, it’s the lower classes who faced the brunt of it all.

  Yet even I nod at his words. Despite the disgustingness of this entire event – the proceedings as they still so blithely call it – the Representative is right. Most of the women standing on the stage today would be dead, or worse, if the Aurelians hadn’t saved us all.

  I suppose that’s how people like my father could justify this. Isn’t it better to be a pleasure slave to these beastly aliens, rather than killed by the Scorp, or impregnated by their Queen?

  I’m trying to rationalize the events, but it’s tough. It’s difficult to hate the Aurelians, after they saved our lives...

  …yet, then my eyes take in the masses of huddled, cowering women on stage.

  It’s easy to hate them for accepting this as their form of payment.

  “The Aurelians saved this city and our lives. In return, these brave and selfless young women have volunteered their own lives; to serve these Aurelians, if they are so chosen to do so.”

  The Representative speaks so eloquently that it’s almost possible to believe his lies. I know the truth, however. These women haven’t volunteered themselves. They’ve been volunteered – by their desperate families, in return for a handful of coin.

  “Let the proceedings begin,” the Representative finally declares, his amplified voice booming through the theatre. He claps his hands, and it makes a crack like a stick being snapped in half.

  The lights around the theater dim, and I watch as the two standing Aurelians inch their hands down towards the hilt of their Orb-Weapons – no doubt concerned that the lowering of the lights could serve as an opportunity to attack.

  I know no such attack is coming – it would be suicide, even if there was a reason to assault the aliens who saved our city. The long-haired Aurelian looks almost disappointed, though. I can tell by the way he hungrily scans the room – as if looking for danger – that he’s the most brutal of the three aliens.

  Yet the other standing Aurelian looks almost as dangerous, albeit in a different way. That Aurelian has a thin face, with high cheekbones that projects a haughty nobility. The thin scar on his neck does nothing to take away from his aura of superiority.

  I can’t help it – my mind races and I find myself contemplating how incredibly attractive the two of them are – although in starkly different ways. I can’t decide what excites me more – the rough, broad features of the long-haired Aurelian, or the exquisite, haughty cheekbones of the regal-looking Aurelian with the short-cropped hair.

  I can’t believe I’m even allowing myself to think like this.

  Oh, Gods! Is some part of me actually jealous of the women who are about to get chosen?

  A huge spotlight suddenly shines on stage. It illuminates the first woman from the crowd. There’s a gasp as we all see her – and for a second you could be forgiven for thinking she was the star of a theatrical show – rather than the merchandise from an auction.

  This first woman is clad in a tight, blue dress with a jutting neckline that shows off her small, elegant breasts. Her entire body trembles as she walks forward, her legs shaky and her arms wrapped around herself. She takes to the middle of the stage and I see her cheeks burn as hundreds of pairs of eyes stare at her… judge her.

  But it’s not the judgement of the nobles or high-nobles that matters…

  For once!

  No, only three pairs of eyes matter in this crowded theater, and I just know this young woman must feel them burning on her even as I watch.

  I can’t even imagine how it must feel, to have to walk in front of those three, huge aliens and be judged by them. To have them decide your entire future with a simple nod.

  “Turn,” orders the Representative, from his floating podium high above. His voice sounds too practiced – too calm – for comfort.

  I started to realize, with a chilling certainness, that this auction isn’t an aberration. This isn’t going to be a one-time event, to compensate our Aurelian saviors.

  I’d thought it was the other way around, but now I realize that it’s actually the Consortium who are using the Aurelians. These disgusting proceedings are just a test run – justified by the salvation of our city from the Scorp.

  But when they’re over… It will happen again, and again. I know that now. The ruling class of Tear are now realizing that slavery will benefit them, and open up new sources of wealth and power. With the Aurelian Empire no longer controlling us, there’s nothing to stop them continuing this grisly trade – and today’s auction merely sets the precedent that human flesh can be bought and sold on the open market.

  I shudder at the realization, and then feel the soft weight of Jenna’s hand on my shoulder. She squeezes, and I feel a moment relief. What an angel, Jenna is. She can always tell when I’m distraught.

  I reached up to place my own hand on Jenna’s – squeezing reassuringly. As I do so, my eyes return to the stage down below. I watch the Aurelians especially closely. Two of them are still standing – the one with the long hair, and his blood-brother with haughty features. Neither of them turns their head to look at the stage. Instead, they constantly scan the crowd around them, their slate-grey eyes wary and their hands resting near the hilt of their Orb-Weapons.

  What is it they’re worried about? Or is that the nature of Aurelians? Always ready for danger?

  I notice their eyes regularly flicking up to the floating podium of the Representative of the Consortium. The leader of three Aurelians has his eyes fixed on the girls – and I wonder if all three of them are communicating through that much-fabled ‘Bond’ they share. Is the leader of the triad telepathically informing the two others about the girls in front of him?

  I find it disgusting. To be giving away living humans as a commodity is one thing – but to be so blasé about it that two of the three Aurelians don’t even bother looking at the women is just rude!

  A shudder runs through me. I realize with horror that I’m maddeningly jealous of the girls on the stage. That’s why I keep thinking of things through their perspective – imagining the delicious humiliation of standing in front of them, and feeling their eyes burning on your body.

  God, I find my nipples hardening at the thought of being in that position – forced in front of those three Aurelians, and then even being selected by those Greek-God warriors.

  I’m ashamed of myself. It’s a dark, dark fantasy that lurks deeply in my mind – and burns there like a coal even as I try to force the thoughts back down.

  I take a deep breath and focus on the stage, down below. As commanded, the woman on the stage it turning around, to show off her entire body in that form-fitting gown…

  Suddenly, I imagine myself in that position, with the eyes of the Aurelians burning into me, studying my clinging, form-fitting dress as they order me to show off my entire body to them.

  God, I can almost feel my cheeks burn from the humiliation…

  …but my nipples get painfully hard at the same thought.

  Down in the front of the theater, the leader of the Aurelian triad continues to make no movement or motion. He sits there like a statue, with a straight back and his incredible physique looking as if it’s been hewn out of marble. His broad, muscular back resembles a solid wall of stone.

  Those slate-grey eyes stare imperiously at the girl on stage, and a nervous hush descends across the crowd as everyone wonders if he is going to decide on this girl, or if he’ll demand to be shown the next one.

  “Picky one, is he,” my father whispers to me, from my left.

  “Next!”

  Assuming the Aurelian’s silence is a refusal, the voice of the Representative resonates across the theater. The girl up on stage visibly sighs, and is ushered towards the steps by the owners of the theater.

  I imagine she’ll go back to her parents – who were given a small sum to allow her to be presented to the Aurelians. I wonder if her own mot
her and father will be disappointed that their daughter wasn’t chosen. If she had been, the payment they’d have received from the Consortium would have been considerable.

  I feel terrible for the girl – for two reasons.

  Firstly, she’s going home to a family that wanted to sell her. How horrible!

  Secondly, she must be wondering what she’d done wrong. Why hadn’t the Aurelians picked her?

  It’s such a contradictory thought, I know – to have been fortunate enough to avoid been chosen by the Aurelian warriors to submit to a live of servitude…

  …and yet then have to wonder why. The girl must have wondered if she wasn’t attractive enough… Slim enough, or curvy enough… Was it the color of her hair, or the way she held herself when she walked?

  The greatest irony – her freedom came at the cost of rejection.

  I dismiss these thoughts as the next woman comes onto the stage. She’s a few years older than the first, in her late twenties. All the women are in the exact, same blue dress – only the one this woman is wearing doesn’t fit as well.

  I wonder why, just for a moment. I suppose they didn’t have the time or motivation to tailor each dress to fit.

  But, of course, that just raised another question: If the Consortium were so desperate to save money wherever they could, why hadn’t they just sent those women up on stage totally naked? Surely that’s what the Aurelians wanted to see – and the blue dress hid little enough as it was. It would have saved the nobles the cost of the fabric if nothing else!

  The second woman stands in the center of the stage, and the crowd hushes in anticipation, eagerly awaiting what the decision will be.

  Once again, the leader of the Aurelians sits stock-still – as though he doesn’t even register the girl standing on the stage.

  “Next!” This time, the Representative sounds a little more annoyed when his voice echoes across the theater.

  The third girl who steps up to the stage is drop-dead gorgeous. She stands tall and proud, her spine straight and her eyes bold, unlike the two other women.