Page 4 of Alien Captain's Prisoner

As we’re carried across the loading bay, I scan the innards of this ship that’s just gobbled us up.

My throat closes up.

It’s bad news.Reallybad news.

There are two functioning Reavers resting in the loading bay – the assault class ship of the Aurelian Empire. Three more, in various states of repair, are being attended to by a triad of towering, marble-skinned aliens – the Aurelians themselves.

None of the aliens down below seem the least bit concerned that our vessel still has two functioning las-cannons at the ready; either of which could turn them into meat. The three towering aliens seem completely at ease, attending to the repairs of the battle-ravaged Reavers as if our captured vessel is no more threatening to them than a housefly. They’re practically ignoring us.

But if the Aurelians are treating us like we’re not a threat to them, it’s because we’re not. If there’s one thing I know about Aurelian warriors, it’s that they don’t bluff, and they don’t make idle threats.

“Keep the weapons offline,” I command the crew – knowing that any one of them might be so scared they’d try something desperate and foolish – like try to shoot our way out of this. “Don’t put a single percentage of power into them.”

A vessel like this will be scanning our energy signals – alerting them if we plan to fire up the engines and try and break out of the tractor beam, or if we start charging our weapons to begin shooting.

Either move would be suicide. Right now, our only chance of survival is to make sure these Aurelians don’t consider us a threat.

Fucking Aurelians!

I’ve done my best to avoid their species entirely during my three years as Captain of the Wayward Scythe – my battered, but trusty little ship.

I dealt with a triad of the fuckers once – and that was one time too many. They’d been Rogue Aurelians – exiles from the Aurelian Empire who’d accepted a lifetime of being hunted by Aurelian Law Enforcement in exchange for abandoning the Empire’s stringent rules and the promise of illicit profits.

I barely got out of that encounter with my life. Those three Rogue Aurelians had wanted more than just trade with me; they’d tried to force me into their harem.

Almost all Aurelians create harems – groups of human women they use as concubines. For the most part, these harems are filled with willing volunteers – but the collection of this Rogue Aurelian triad consisted of female slaves;forcedto live serving the dominant aliens, whether they want to or not.

I almost became one of them – and I might not have escaped if Sawoot hadn’t come in, las-cannons blasting, and used the Wayward Scythe to chase the Rogue Aurelians off.

We still got the payment for that job – but perhaps equally valuable was the important lesson I’d learned: Never be foolish enough to deal with that sex-mad species again.

Aurelians are dangerous – as warriors, leaders, and even lovers. Their kind is known to lose control during sex – descending into a fabled ‘mating frenzy’ that transform the haughty, imperious creatures into mindless, rutting beasts.

Speaking of beasts – we’re now in the belly of that same beast; helpless prisoners of a different Aurelian triad.

As the Wayward Scythe is carried across the landing bay by the tractor beam, Sawoot points out through the tempered glass of the cockpit.

“Look at the markings on those Reavers.”

My eyes follow to where she’s pointing – and my throat tightens. Thereareno markings.

I turn to my first officer. She’s a little unsteady on her feet, but that’s understandable after being tossed around the cockpit during my evasive maneuvers. She chose reassuring me over her own personal safety. She could have strapped herself into her seat, but she risked getting her head cracked in an evasive maneuver to keep me steady.

I’m confident her mind is still as keen as ever.

If it wasn’t for Sawoot, I’d be filled with even more despair than I am right now. She’s like my rock. We’d worked together long before I became captain of my own little ship, and she’s got a thirty percent stake in our little venture; making her one of the few people I can trust.

She breathes ominously: “Those aren’tEmpireReavers…”

I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

If this ship was aligned with the Aurelian Empire, we’d be figuratively fucked. Any law-abiding Aurelian – and the warriors of the Empire areallpathologically law-abiding – would report us in a second, and hand us right over to the authorities. Once our cargo gets discovered, we’ll all find ourselves thrown in prison for the rest of our lives.

But that might still be a better fate than the alternative. If this ship belongs to Rogue Aurelians, as I’m starting to suspect, then we might beliterallyfucked.

I barely escaped that triad of Rogue Aurelians last time – and that was only because I had Sawoot and the crew of the Wayward Scythe to rescue me.

But this time, my crew are caught right alongside me – and there’s nobody coming to save us.

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