Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Cute,” Sharp says. “Today, you’ll come to the market with us. We need to restock some supplies before we depart the station.”
“Oh? Where will we be going after this?”
“We’re going to be looking to get some bounties handled,” Sharp says.
“Oh, we’re bounty hunters?”
“We are mercenaries,” he says, swatting my ass lightly. “You are our pet.”
We all end up back in the main lobby of the ship. It’s probably not called a lobby. Boss, Kronos, and Sharp are discussing what they need to get for the ship and for their missions. I listen in, but every time I seem to be too interested, they stop talking and remind me that I’m their pet.
“Do I also get a gun?”
“Pets don’t have weapons. We’re confiscating yours. You can rely on us.”
“Oh,” I say. “I can rely on you?”
“Of course.”
Of course fucking nothing. I met these creatures yesterday and they expect me to give them their full and total trust today? Madness by any name.
I am starting to think I’ve made a huge mistake. Not being murdered by my boss is one advantage of being in alien territory, but being owned by aliens seems like it’s going to be, I don’t know, actually maybe kind of boring? I’m not very interested in being told how to breathe. I don’t want to be dressed. I have been independent for a long time, as independent as anyone could be on a dystopian planet full of floating islands.
They take me out with them to the station’s market, where stalls and small buildings are inhabited by aliens of various kinds selling wares also of various natures. It’s quite a busy, bustling place, and there is always an alien hand on me from one of the three of them.
I do not give them any trouble. I am far too interested in seeing what is happening, and what they are buying. Food and ammunition seems to be the order of the day. They have both carted back to the ship by runners.
They are all dressed in a way that screams, “I will kill you, and then my friend will kill you.”
Sharp is wearing a long black cloak with an interior lining that matches my dress. He looks tall and intimidating and bad fucking ass. I feel little tingles of excitement every time I look at him. Kronos is wearing a sort of… what do they all those things. Gambeson? It’s like a soft armor with chain over it. It also looks hot. His hair flows in an impressive golden mane, and he draws eyes wherever he goes from male, female and other alien genders. Boss, well, he’s boss. A pair of shiny leather-ish pants that probably aren’t actually leather given his history, unless they’re made from Harvester hide, and he’s good to go. I am ushered between them, kept in the triangle space they naturally make when they walk.
They buy me treats here and there. I get some candy, because sugar is loved by almost everyone everywhere, I discover. Except the aliens who experience it as a powerful toxin.
It would be quite a nice outing, except for the fact that a human slave auction starts up. The women who were captured from Earth are shackled to moveable stages, which are pushed into place. An auctioneer begins to call out the lots.
I can’t pull my eyes away from the scene. In a sea of aliens, the ladies look scared. They are of all ages, most of them young and beautiful, but some more mature and beautiful. The auctioneer makes a comment on the thick breasts of one lady, who blushes furiously as the green creature handles her as if he is entitled to do so.
“What are you doing, pet?”
Kronos notices that my attention is not on them anymore.
“We have to stop that,” I say.
“What do you mean?” Boss is looking at me with a curious expression.
“I want to help the other women escape the auction. If they’re going to go to food, if they’re going to be hurt, or eaten. I can’t let that happen.”
“You want us to interrupt a human auction backed by Sligtonians,” Sharp says. “To free human females who are going to be vulnerable to exactly the same kinds of exploitation you faced, but will likely not be lucky enough to meet others capable of defending them. If we stop the auction, the likelihood of any of those women lasting more than three days is close to zero.”
“They’re being sold to breed, not to eat,” Boss says, as if that is some kind of good thing I can be grateful for and happy about. “Some of them will simply be companions. It’s quite a good deal, if you think about it.”
It’s not a good deal, but I’m not going to tell the Minotaur that he’s wrong. Every single one of these aliens has a super authoritarian complex. They don’t listen to what I think. They tell me what’s going to happen, and they think I’m just going to go along with it.