Chapter Two
She is trouble, this little human. She lost consciousness almost immediately upon takeoff and did not regain it for hours. Fortunately her vitals remained strong, indicating that she was not in any immediate danger. I was in more danger from the stench rising from her filthy body.
She lay quiet as I carried her into my quarters and entered the washing chamber, her eyes fluttering. Her limbs twitched a little and I thought perhaps she was dreaming. No doubt of escape, given the way she reacted to her rescue.
Human females usually do not fight for long against their Rathkari masters. Most of them quickly understand the essential futility of it. I have seen thousands of women before this one, and though some expressed fear, none of them were quite this troublesome. I am sure she is not entirely unique in these traits. I have heard stories of other human females who made life difficult for their masters, but she is certainly unique to me.
Her clothing disintegrated as I removed it from her insensate form and its stench was so incredible that several alarms were triggered and a bio security unit was dispatched to my quarters. Having incinerated her attire, I laid her naked body carefully in the tub and disinfected her fragile form as carefully as possible, showering the dirt from her skin. In the process I discovered that she had several untreated wounds, all of which needed to be carefully cleaned. Her unconscious state was a mercy. Scraps of fabric had clung to some of them, and the local fauna had begun to attempt to use them as places to breed. Had she been awake, the process would no doubt have been painful.
I knew she was beautiful before I cleaned her. I did not realize precisely how stunning she would be when her face was no longer marred by dirt. She has a delicate frame, small features, breasts that are barely a handful, but a hippier shape as her waist flares out. Her hair contains all the colors of a woodland reflected in the strands, which run from reddish to sand brown.
Now she has been medicated and bandaged and soon she will be fed—if I can soothe her sufficiently. Every time she wakes she does so fighting. I cannot tell if she has a particularly aggressive temperament, or if her rough circumstances have forced her to adapt.
“Let me go!” She glares at me as if the very force of her personality might be enough to command me.
“I will loosen the bonds if you calm down and sit up. You need to eat. You are weak and cannot stay conscious long enough to fight me.”
I see a flicker of intellect in her gaze. If she will not behave herself long enough to eat, I will have to keep her strapped down and feed her through a tube. She is painfully thin from hard labor and I am concerned for her life if she does not stop struggling and start taking on nutrition.
“You must stay calm,” I repeat. “If you raise your voice or begin to fight me, I will tie you down hard and you will be fed by a tube. Is that what you want?”
She shakes her head the small amount her bonds allow her to. “No, that’s not what I want. What I want is for you to take me back to Earth, then get the rest of your friends and fuck off.”
Her rudeness is quickly becoming intolerable. If she were stronger, I would punish her severely. As it is, I must be creative.
“You cannot move,” I tell her. “If you wish to regain the privilege of any form of movement, you will refrain from your hysterical shouts and exclamations. You will address me with respect.”
“Respect is earned,” she says, her eyes darting to me with venom.
“It can also be demanded. And enforced.”
My words seem to evoke some kind of reaction. I see the pale skin of her face coloring pink, and she no longer looks at me quite so defiantly. She averts her gaze to the ceiling.
“Fine,” she says. “I’ll be quiet if you feed me.”
I am pleased by her acquiescence.
“Sit up slowly,” I warn as I loosen the straps holding her to the bed. “You are very weak.”
“You’re very…”
She does not finish her sentence under my sharp stare.
I have food waiting for her, crumbled biscuits formulated with the proper levels of protein, carbohydrates, minerals, and vitamins. They are soft and pink in color, and I know she is used to them because they are similar to the rations fed to the workers.
I present a few of them to her on the palm of my hand and she plucks them away with her fingers, stuffing them into her mouth, barely chewing before she swallows. She eats like a starving thing. I ration her portion to a small amount, no more than the palm of her hand. To give her more would be to risk her health. She must be fed slowly and often.
“More,” she says, giving me the look every animal does when it craves nutrition. I sense that the meal has awakened her hunger. Humans and other animals become accustomed to not eating. They can last incredible lengths of time without food, but once they taste it again, they become nearly insatiable. Her blue gaze holds a near feral need.
“You will have more very soon. In thirty of your minutes,” I say. “Your stomach needs time to…”
She has ignored me, grabbed the bag from which her rations came, and is already shoving a half dozen portions into her mouth. In seconds they are gone—and in another few seconds it returns, all over the bedding and her.
“Uhm…” She looks at me, a hint of shame on her features as she anticipates punishment. She is right to do so, but not now. It is not the time.
“Back to the bath,” I say, sweeping her up in my arms. I am accustomed to tending to difficult things, though she may be the most difficult thing I am yet to deal with.
Her nudity makes it easy to clean her off with slow jets of water. The bedding is easily replaced. A press of a button and servants enter my quarters and strip the bed. They move swiftly and quietly, and I do not believe she has time to notice as she squirms in my hands, her naked form slippery in the water as I gently play the flow over her stomach and thighs where most of the food landed.
She has little to say now, I note as I lift her from the bath and dry her off with a soft towel. Perhaps her weakness is getting the better of her. I take her pulse and find it fluttering against my fingers.
I settle her back on the bed and offer her a liquid nutritional supplement. She sips it gratefully, though she is not pleased when I lower it from her lips after a few seconds.
“You will be sick again,” I remind her as she looks to be on the verge of making a complaint.
She falls silent and rests back against the pillows. Her eyes close and I see her breathing deep and slow.
“It feels so good to eat,” she murmurs softly. “They don’t feed workers enough. We’re all starving.”
I have seen what she is talking about for myself. The conditions on the planet are not as they should be. The overseers believe that they will be rewarded for producing as much as possible for as little as possible, and many of them skim the difference between the ration allowances and what they feed their workers for themselves. I have seen ample evidence of corruption during my inspection and consequences are already underway—but that will be of little to no comfort to this girl who has gone hungry.
“That was wrong,” I say softly. “The overseers will be punished.”
She does not react. I don’t expect her to. The likelihood of her believing me is low. She has clearly experienced little mercy at our hands. I cannot expect to be looked upon as a rescuer when all my kind have ever inflicted on her is misery and pain.
I lift the liquid again, but she does not respond. Her breathing has slowed and deepened. Just like that, she is asleep, utterly exhausted by the stress of her ordeal.
I look at her for a few long minutes, all too aware that had I not found her at the very last moment, this beautiful creature would be so much fertilizer. The overseers have failed in their task, and to say that I am displeased is a great understatement. Had I not found this little human when I did, it would have been a very different scene down there on that planet.
It is a simple matter to secure my chambers with my newest possession inside. Before I leave I don my uniform, as I have official business to attend to.
I am Commander Seale Karlo, and I bear responsibility for much of what has happened to her. There are great numbers working beneath me, and I am far removed from the situation on the surface having arrived from Zeta Reticuli just days ago, but that is no excuse. A commander must be responsible for what happens to the least of his charges, no matter how far away they are.
I’m looking for the Rathkari Earth delegate, the man who is responsible for the running of the colony. I find him not at the bridge, or in any of the work spaces, but rather in the bar, which is empty aside from him and a vessel of some kind of presumably intoxicating Earth concoction.
“Fulcron!”
At my entrance he slides up from his seat and snaps to attention. He’s a lanky young man, all arms and legs and too much hair that absolutely does not meet any kind of regulation. Earth is his first colonization project. I can see ambition in his eyes. His uniform still has its first starch intact. He should not be in a position of such responsibility, and likely would not be if his father were not commander of several systems in the anterior quadrant.
“Commander Karlo!” He beams. “It is an honor to…”
“I’ve been on the surface,” I say, not stopping for pleasantries. “Boy, you’ve created hell down there.”
He deflates almost visibly, his shoulders slipping. I wonder at the fact he expected to be congratulated.
“Sir, I’m sorry, sir.”
“You’ve got women of all ages crawling around in the dirt down there,” I growl. “Most of them sick, all of them underweight, some of them starving. That is not how a Rathkari colony operates. I’m ordering full inspections globally—and you will undertake them. Yourself. Workers must be clean, well fed, and in a healthy weight range. And they are not to be used in the fertilizer production vats. Nothing larger than a few pounds should ever be introduced to those machines anyway.”
He nods swiftly, eager for my approval. When he hears my last objection, he has an immediate solution.
“We could chop them up first?”
I take a deep hissing breath and refrain from choking him. He has no concept of the horrors happening in his name, and he has literally zero understanding of the human species.
“Humans are sentient, sufficiently so that they take offense to desecration of their dead. Follow their burial customs.”
A sulky expression crosses his face. He’s thinking of his numbers. “Commander, our production will suffer…”
“There are greater principles here, Fulcron. Longevity being one of them. Production is only sustainable with a healthy population. You are running them into the ground, and you are creating misery en masse. When was the last time you undertook a field inspection?”
His nose wrinkles. “The fields are unpleasant…”
“Yes. They are. Because your overseers have been allowed to run amok. Get control of them, or I’ll get control of all of you. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
“Don’t let me catch you resting until this is taken care of,” I add. “If you’re not eating, drinking, or sleeping, you’ll be cleaning up this mess.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Fulcron stammers. “Right away, sir. May I be dismissed to attend to this?”
“Go,” I growl.
He practically flees the room, but before he leaves, I snap his name again.
“Fulcron…”
“Yes, sir?”
“Get a haircut.”
“Yes, sir.”