Page 5 of Alien Captain's Prisoner

I shudder at the thought of succumbing to the same fate I barely escaped last time. If theseareRogue Aurelians, I’m certain they’ll try the same thing – to add me to their slave harem. Likely Sawoot will be added as well, and I dread to think what fate might befall the rest of my crew.

There’s no point fighting, either. Aurelian warriors stand seven-feet-tall or more, and they’re built like massive, burly wrestlers; all muscle, with barely a scrap of fat to them.

That’s intimidating enough – an individual Aurelian could make mincemeat of any man with his bare hands – and then there’s the fact that the bastards always come in threes; a triad.

In battle, a triad of Aurelians are formidable. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to be part of one of their harems. Imagine being taken by one of those huge, haughty creatures?

I shiver.

Imagine what it would be like to be taken bythreeof them!

Sawoot squeezes my shoulder, snapping me from my thoughts.

“So, you think they’re Rogue?”

“There’s a thin line between independent and Rogue.”

I stare through the glass of the cockpit at the unmarked Reavers. These threecouldmerely be traders, merchants or mercenaries – who work independently of the Aurelian Empire, but still abide by their rules and laws…

…but I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Rogue or not, one thing’s for sure,” Sawoot breathes ominously. “They sure as hell aren’t working for Emperor Raegan and Queen Jasmine.” Her fingers tighten on my shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, though. If these bastardsareRogue… The first one stupid enough to lay a hand on me loses his cock.”

I snort bitterly. I love Sawoot’s courage and grit.

But her defiant words only mean so much. My mouth turns dry at the thought of what might happen to Sawoot and I if these mysterious AureliansareRogue. Out here, in the dead of space, they’re clearly up to no good – and who knows how long they’ve been away from fresh, willing women. We’ll be like two juicy pork chops, tossed into a dog kennel.

Aurelians are bad enough, the haughty bastards – but those that turn Rogue are the worst of all of them.

Perhaps the only redeeming thing about Aurelians is their adherence to law, structure and process. Those who go Rogue turn their back on all that; and instead sate their endless appetite for women and warfare in ways and places that would earn them a death sentence in the eyes of the Empire.

Despite the legions of women begging to join Aurelian harems, Rogue Aurelians instead take women as property –forcingthem to become slaves in their harems, and thenforcingthem into subjugation. It’s as if the allure of a harem for Rogue Aurelians isn’t easy and convenient access to beautiful women – but the sense of power fromowningthem.

I glance up at Sawoot as she looks over my shoulder. More than any of us, Sawoot is the expert on Aurelians – and she’s told me all about Rogue Aurelians before. In fact, she cautioned me not to take the job we had with that first Rogue triad – the three who nearly added me to their slave harem. I should have listened to her then – and I’m certainly going to listen to her now.

From behind us, Chris stands up from his seat, puffing his chest out.

Chris is one more of my crew – around forty years old and as tough and grizzled as old boot leather. Out of the six crewmembers of the Wayward Scythe, Chris is the one who had the toughest time accepting the authority of a female captain – but I put up with his attitude because he’s a hard worker, calm under pressure, and reliable. I’m glad to have him with us – as long as he can keep his head.

“There’s only three of them. We could grab one of those Reavers and blast our way out.”

Chris speaks with bravado – but it’s bravado that could get us all killed.

The big man lumbers over to the weapons cabinet and wrenches open the metal hatch, pulling out a sidearm. I installed the cabinet in the bridge – just in case we ever needed to deal with a boarding party or stowaways trying to kill us on our own ship – but they were never intended to be weapons of war.

“Put that back,” I snap. “There’s are only three of themin view– but there are bound to be plenty more on board. You saw thesizeof this ship!”

Chris pauses – my words hitting home.

I continue: “See howcalmthose Aurelians down there are? Working on that Reaver? They’re not even worried about us – and probably with good reason.” I nod at the pistol Chris is clutching – it would look like a child’s toy in the enormous mitt of an Aurelian. “None of us is getting off this ship with a weapon.”

Chris’s eyes narrow. Hereallydoesn’t like being told what to do, even when he knows it’s right. He’s just lucky his other qualities have so far compensated for his rebellious nature – but that might change today.

I have no intention of getting killed or raped because Chris can’t follow a Gods-damned order – and I can practicallyseethe wheels in his head turning as he figures whether pride or survival should take precedence. The fate of my crew is hanging in the balance.

After a moment’s thought, Chris snarls – but reluctantly puts the gun back, just like I’d prayed he would. Thankfully, he knows the ship is only as strong as it’s chain of command – and if he stands up to me now, before we’ve even landed on the deck, he’ll be fracturing that chain; turning this from a team effort into a free for all.

Wehaveto do this as a team. It’s the only chance we’ll get – and every team needs a leader. In this instance, that’s me. The six souls who crew the Wayward Scythe are my responsibility – from Theme, the green recruit, to the grizzled veterans like Chris and Sawoot.

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