Page 28 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

“Silence!”

The single, angry word echoes out across the chamber.

On the other end of the walkway, one of the Toad guards is screaming at us – spittle flecking from his flabby lips. The leader of the Toads strides past him, and then steps sure-footedly onto the metal walkway.

The bastard’s only sure-footed because he has webbed feet, which stick to the gleaming metal like suction cups.

Towering over us captive women, the leader of the Toads uncuffs the first girl in our grim procession – detaching the chain, unclasping her handcuffs, and then uncuffing the restraint around her ankles.

For a moment, the girl is elated. Her eyes widen. She rubs her aching wrists – tasting the sensation of freedom for the first time in hours…

…and then the Toad kicks her with one of his powerful frog legs – sending her flying out above the water.

The girl screams as gravity embraces her – plummeting downwards and plunging into the clear water with a deafening splash.

I gasp, peering over the edge as the water churns down below.

Gods! What if she can’t swim?

Ling’s voice echoes in my head – telling me that I should be more concerned about myself. It’s like in the safety holo-vid we had to watch before boarding the Elnor – that told us to secure our own oxygen masks first in the event of an emergency, and onlythentry to help the other passengers.

“You can’t help the others if you can’t help yourself,” the echo of Ling’s wisdom reminds me.

I look down into the water. If I fall down there –whenI fall down there – I might be able to tread water, but nothing else. For all the talents Ling taught me, lifeguard is not among my skillset.

Ling’s echo awakens the shadow of the old me. My brain shifts to analytical mode. I look down and wonder why the water below is so clear – especially given every other pool or body of liquid on this vessel is dirty, brackish and foul.

I look at the shimmering walls of the pool. I realize they’re not shimmering – it’s the refraction of light on thick glass. Those must be viewscreens down there – to let observers view the women flailing around inside the water.

I gulp. Whatever could be lurking on the other side of those glass viewscreens?

Down below, the surface of the water has settled. I gaze down, counting the seconds in my head. First five. Then ten. I hold my own breath, trying to see how possible it is to go without breathing for this long. It doesn’t take long for my lungs to burn.

Then – thank the Gods – the girl crashes up through the surface of the water, flailing and struggling to keep her head above the churning waves.

My heart beats again, and I drag in a lungful of oxygen as I see the woman flailing below me do the same. The stars stop appearing before my eyes, and my lungs stop burning.

As my breath quietens, the noise is replaced by muted, raucous laughter. I look down into the pool below, where that poor girl kicks and struggles to stay afloat.

She’s terrified, and struggling to keep her head above the surface of the water. Her clothes are dragging her down. The loose fabric flows and then clings to the curves of her body with the motion of the water. It’s almost hypnotic.

The raucous noises came from below her – and I realize I’m hearing the sound of whoever is behind the glass viewing screens. I hear arguing amid the laughter now – deep, guttural voices gurgling in a language I don’t understand, but am familiar with.

Bullfrogs.

So,thisis the auction we were being taken to. With the aquatic nature of the Toads, I should have known it wouldn’t be held in a traditional auction room.

The tank below is designed to show off the merchandise – that’s why the water is so uncharacteristically clear.

The girl below is flailing and kicking in the clear water, and behind the glass screens an audience of Bullfrogs cheer, jeer, and place bids on purchasing her.

For the dangerous elite of the Toad species, this must be the perfect viewpoint. Through the glass, they have a front-row view of the poor girl as she stretches and kicks her long limbs.

The loose clothes she wears are buffeted by the churning of the water, and cling seductively to her curves on every downstroke. It’s even more sensual than seeing her stripped bare. In fact, the poor woman looks even more naked than she would have without clothes.

I can only imagine the reaction of the Bullfrogs behind those screens – gawking at her from the other side of the glass; assessing the value they place on her, as if she and all us other captive women are lobsters at a fancy restaurant.

Eventually, the heated gurgles and croaks from down below quiet – as if the bidding process has come to an end. As it does so, I look down at the poor girl in the water, and then see something in the darkness rearing up beneath her.

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