Page 6 of Bonded Queen: to the Alien Warlord Triad

The palace is empty.

The grand hall should be filled with sycophants, the merchant Paulus sitting on his gilded throne and greeting merchants. Paulus. He was Paul five years ago and thought he could add gravitas to his name with the extra syllable around the same time he earned his first hundred million credits.

The great hall is untouched. They fled in a rush—and all that remains is tasteless, gilded ornaments, and prints in plastic frames covered in gold leaf. Fool’s gold. Paulus has wealth, but no pedigree, turning his palace into a crass imitation of royalty.

He told us he’d be back when he left two days ago, taking a skeleton staff. I watched them loading up transport crafts in the dead of night, his guards grabbing huge boxes and dragging them into the holds of space-worthy ships. Paul didn’t leave a single guard.

He told us he’d return for us servants. He gave us some excuse about meeting with another merchant family for a huge business deal. Even if the excuse stank, there was nothing we could do but wait in confusion…

Confusion that turned into horror when other ships started taking off from the city, and none returned.

They pulled away from the richest estates and mansions first. The wealthy were warned before the general population, to keep us from panicking while they took everything of value and left. Our government kept silent so there would be no revolt as officials escaped.

Then the sirens rang. There was a mad scramble in the capital, gunshots ringing out, smoke coming from burning buildings as ship after ship pulled away from the cities. The dozen servants Paulus left behind watched from the courtyard, no one speaking as we stared, transfixed. Merchant ships, civilian transport, then the military and police. All of them left.

Even the inter-planetary transports tried to leave, most of them not powerful enough to punch through the atmosphere, burning up and tumbling to the ground.

Their death was quick compared to what we face.

That damned siren. It grates my ears, blaring, silencing.

The twelve of us are desolate in the grand hall. One woman, Jess, is sitting on Paul’s throne, a throne we had to keep spotless just days ago, a throne that if he suspected we evendreamedof sitting on, he’d have us flogged and fired, sent back to the city with a blacklisted résumé. She sits with her leg over the throne’s arm and occasionally lets out a nervous cackle, wishing this was a dream.

Toa is sweeping rhythmically, her face blank. She’s been sweeping the same spots for hours, walking back and forth, lost in her routine. Her body moves like an automaton She served Paulus’s family for thirty years, from when he was a minor trader to a powerful merchant baron.

They left her behind.

The twelve of us are in our white robes. We kept them spotless. We’ve all got the same, blank expression on our faces, not knowing what to do.

The siren starts again, a long, grating wail that makes me grind my teeth. I heard those sirens three times in my nine years on this planet. Each time, they were met by army ships flying out from the capital city to stop incoming Scorp. The response was quick. Each time there were no casualties. The defense ships cut the Scorp Organic-Ships down before they could hit the ground, shredding the white, fleshy exteriors of the ghastly, distended eggs that the monsters travel in.

“The Aurelian Empire will save us.” It’s the first thing anyone’s said for the last hour, from a woman not much more than a girl. Lola. She must be almost eight, nine years younger than me, just starting her ten-year contract, and she reminds me of when I started, so long ago. She probably just turned twenty, beautiful in a pouty, scared way, a sweet thing that listened attentively when I taught her duties. She was Paulus’s favorite. The lecherous old man never touched her, but I saw the way he leered.

“There’s no one coming for us,” answers Letty, before breaking down and sobbing into calloused hands. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, tears dripping down her hands as she cries, losing herself to the panic and hopelessness.

“That’s right. There’s no one coming.” My own voice wavers, but I stand. “There’s no one coming, so we have to protect ourselves. We’ve got ten-foot walls, and they left in a hurry. They might have left weapons behind…” My voice trails off, uncertain. I’m no natural leader, that’s for sure, but no one else is stepping up.

I have to try.

Even if deep down I know our walls won’t stop the creatures. Not for long.

I’ve never seen a live Scorp—but even the reconstructed corpse of one still haunts my nightmares. On a rare weekend holiday to commemorate the day one hundred and ninety years ago when Trebulous threw off the yoke of the Aurelian Empire, ushering in nearly two centuries of prosperity, I went into the city with two other servants who got the day off. We walked around the city and stopped at the museum, which gave free entrance to mark the day of Independence. The place was packed. We moved with the flow of the crowd like we were being pulled down a river, until we got to the Scorp gallery.

There was only one. It was painstakingly reconstructed after being blown up by artillery fire when it was still in its amber cocoon in an Org-Ship.

Eight foot tall. It stood on two legs, its head arched backwards. I didn’t like that. I felt it should be on all fours like an animal, not standing on huge, powerful legs. Wires held up its two claws like a scorpion, big enough to rip me in half. If you’re up against a Scorp, it’s one of the quickest ways to die.

A thin wire held the tail that hovered over its head. The deadly barb gleamed. They put a glob of green resin at the end of the needle-like point, meant to mimic the venom that would drip down, ready to pierce into your veins and make you scream in agony. The faster your heart pounds in panic, the quicker the agonizing venom courses through your veins.

They say Scorp never stop growing, only feeding, killing, devouring and pulling terrified prey back to their queen. Its muscles were covered in scales like a crocodile, armor thick enough to glance off a knife. I was grateful as the crowd pushed me to the next exhibit.

That day we were also allowed to go into the royal palace. I remember being awed by the huge, towering walls. The royal family, the queen, king, and their two princesses were on the balcony, in all their splendor, and even the sight of them filled us with awe. We were pushed through the palace, the crowd moving like a river, when I saw a long line of men, disheveled and bitter, shackled and going down through a gate. Someone whispered that they were a local rebellion squashed, and some in the crowd threw stones at them before we were pushed away.

It was the only time I got to be close to such a beautiful palace. I’d seen it, glowing and brilliant when I ran errands, but I never imagined being behind its walls, or seeing the royal family, haughty and noble, looking down at us with generous smiles. I’d always thought that when my last year was done, I’d move to the capital city, and maybe even work for the palace…

But now that palace is empty. The royal barge-ship was the first to leave.

“We’re all going to die. We’re all going to die. Scorp…the emergency broadcast said thousands…thousands…they left us to die…” Macey’s thin and gaunt, her hands squeezed together in fear. She tended the gardens, bringing beautiful displays of flowers for Paulus’s enjoyment, hired because his daughter liked to walk among the beauty outside. The garden was walled off so onlyPrincess Bitchcould enjoy it. Macey’s speaking to no one in particular, her words sounding strangely distant.

---