Arilee

ARILEE

" K neel."

I stumbled forward as the chain yanked me down, my bare knees scraping against the scorching sand. Pain blazed through me as fresh wounds opened over barely healed scabs. Gorin didn't even glance back. He never did.

"Well met, Captain Gorin," an unfamiliar Krelaxian greeted my master.

From my vantage point near the ground, all I saw were identical boots. But this one lacked a kneeling slave - so this guy was clearly outranked by Gorin.

"And to you. Any reports from the Crimson Sands?"

The Crimson Sands. That barren, war-torn hellscape. A vast graveyard of shattered ships, rusted tech, and sun-bleached bones stretching endlessly across the dunes. A grim monument to senseless destruction, the last battle ground of the war that had swept this system.

"My men believe we've found a buried cache of Vinduthi weapons. Old data pad entries gave the location. Apparently, an elite squad was meant to rendezvous there and retrieve the cache before descending on the Krelaxian fort due west. Of course, they never made it."

Gorin's pleased hum grated on my nerves. "And what became of this ‘elite' squad?" he prodded.

I could practically hear the other Krelaxian's eager smile. "Why, they were taken out by an aerial bombing run, sir."

"And who ordered that bombing run?"

I suppressed an eye roll. Here we go again. Gorin's endless quest for validation, desperate to remind everyone of his supposed brilliance during a war fought ages ago. How much longer could he milk that victory?

"You did, sir."

"That's right. I did. How wonderful for us. Let me know when the cache is found. If the weapons are well preserved, we can add them to the armory. If not, sell them for scrap. The treasury will thank us. Either way, you and your men will most certainly receive commendations from Governor Kael."

"Thank you, sir!" The man's boots snapped together, practically vibrating with excitement. "And may I say, sir, your pet is quite lovely."

My stomach twisted. I hated being singled out, even though that was my entire purpose. A living status symbol for men like Gorin.

Five years I'd been his property, traded away by my previous owner of three years for a taste of Gorin's favor. The sole survivor of a refugee transport, spared only because a pirate deemed me the "only thing of value" aboard.

Some twisted compliment.

My first master cared nothing for my looks, wanting only a housekeeper based on stereotypes about human women. I faked competence to avoid punishment, but his buyer's remorse was obvious.

Then Captain Gorin stumbled into the village, drunk on victory and hungry for a trophy. Suddenly, I became useful as a bargaining chip.

You'd think being reduced to a living decoration might offer some relief. You'd be wrong.

"Incredible. How long does it take to get those marks to stay?" the other man asked, leering.

Gorin's fingers dug into my chin as he wrenched my head side to side, showcasing the purple-red ring of bruises circling my neck. "Several weeks of consistent binding, plus regular maintenance. She has matching marks on her wrists and ankles. Show him."

Wearily, I raised my hands, displaying the angry red bands encircling my wrists like grotesque bracelets.

"They're starting to fade, though. I've been so busy with this salvage mission that I've been neglecting her upkeep. We'll be sure to remedy that this evening."

Life with Gorin left me too drained to even flinch at the threat.

These "fashionable" bruises were the brainchild of Governor Kael, the tyrant who ruled the three planets of the Caroma system. He'd taken to yanking his slaves around so brutally that swollen bruises became a constant feature. The sadistic trend spread like wildfire.

And Gorin, ever the sycophant, was quick to jump on board.

"Sir, I hope I'm not out of line, and I know you're not at our base for long, but the men were hoping you'd stick around this evening. Maybe have a few drinks at the canteen with us, tell us some of your war stories. They admire you a great deal, and it'd be great for morale, I'm sure."

That, finally, made me cringe. Their pathetic need for approval from this twisted, insecure creature turned my stomach. But he likely wouldn't drag me along. No pets allowed in the bar, after all.

"Well, how could I say no to something like that? , up!" The chain jerked violently, choking me as I scrambled to my feet. "I'll freshen up and meet you and the boys there. Tell them to leave a seat at the bar for their old Captain."

Back in the shuttle, it wasn't any better.

Gorin grabbed my chin, forcing my face up to meet his. "You're an extension of me. Your behavior reflects on my status. Act like it, or I'll make you wish you had."

I nodded, swallowing hard. His fingers left indents on my jaw.

He released me with a grunt of disgust. "Pathetic. Can't even walk properly."

My leg muscles twitched, phantom pains from old injuries flaring. The words flew to my lips to explain, to defend myself.

But I knew better than to try.

Instead, I kept my eyes lowered and my hands busy, smoothing out the creases in his dress uniform.

The ship's recycled air felt stale against my skin. My neck chafed where the leather collar dug into my flesh. That damned tracker charm taunted me with each tiny jingle.

The security system hummed, a constant reminder of my captivity. Sure, my wrists and ankles were free inside the ship. But that freedom was an illusion, as false as Gorin's smile.

"You'll be given half rations for dinner tonight. Eat them slowly. Whether or not you receive breakfast depends on how well this ridiculous morale visit goes. For your sake, they'd better be lapping up every word I deign to speak."

I nodded again while finishing buttoning his jacket. Then, I presented his cap, keeping my eyes cast down. He put it on and surveyed himself in the mirror.

"Something is missing… Ah, I know. A little gratitude from my pet for letting her dress me."

I stayed placid and emotionless as I carefully moved to my aching knees, bent over, and placed a lingering kiss on each of his leather boots.

"That's a good girl. Eat and bathe yourself. We'll work on your ‘jewelry' when I get back." He patted me gently on the head, a mocking gesture that promised violence on the horizon.

I stayed motionless on my knees as he left his cabin. I waited, seemingly for hours, to hear the sound of the transport door sliding shut.

The moment I did, I jumped to my feet and scurried to the galley. Since the collar had a lock on it, there was no way I could remove it normally. Instead, I dug through a drawer and found the only knife I could. It was dull and practically useless, but it'd have to do.

I was going to escape.

I had to. I couldn't keep going like this. Gorin was eventually going to kill me. Hell, he'd kill me in public if he thought for one second he'd get any attention at all.

It would have been better to wait until we were back on Quixa, maybe. The sprawling city that Gorin was based on would have more places to hide, surely.

But right now I wasn't sure I was going to survive the night. Gorin hadn't wanted to come back here to Caroma, hadn't wanted to leave his cushy post to visit this small garrison next to the sprawling, deadly desert.

And if the evening didn't go well, he'd have no qualms taking his annoyance out on me. Slaves were easy to replace, after all.

I ran the dull knife over the collar in a sawing motion as quickly as possible. For ten minutes, I worked furiously. And then I looked at my progress.

There was none. I felt like crying. But I had to keep trying. Another ten minutes and the faintest of indentations appeared on the collar. It was something - barely nothing - but something.

My tired and shaking hands slipped several times, leaving knicks and cuts on my neck. A small price to pay for freedom.

I heard footsteps outside the shuttle and froze. But those steps receded and I continued to saw.

Hours went by with such pitiful progress that at times I wondered if I should just give up.

But every time I thought that, I looked at my bruises. And I sped my efforts.

And now I was committed. If he found me like this, there would be no forgiveness. I was running out of time. I closed my eyes and moved my hands furiously.

When the collar finally fell free, I heaved a sigh and tossed it on his bed, exactly where he'd be expecting to find me when he stumbled drunkenly back onto the ship. I nabbed a sack from his closet and placed the knife, a small canteen of water, and two ration bars inside.

It was all I had time to grab. It had to be enough. Even dying in the desert was better than living one more day with him.

I slipped on my sandals, took a deep breath, and punched in the ship's security code.

194035. The date of that damn battle that he bragged about, over and over.

And Krelaxians think humans are morons.

"Security protocol disengaged," the robot said sweetly.

I set it to re-engage in thirty seconds. It was all I needed. Anything longer than five minutes, and the system would alert the account holder directly.

I slipped out onto the sands, seeing nothing for miles all around me. But I knew the sun set in the north, and the military barracks were in the south. So towards the lingering sun I trekked, ready to take on anything standing between me and freedom.

After two or so hours, I found the remains of someone else who was claimed by the sands so long ago. I gratefully took their jacket, pants, and boots. I layered my thin shift over the pants, pulled the jacket over my shoulders. And though they barely fit me, it was good enough to get me through the coming cold desert night.

My feet ached, limbs shook, and my head spun with anxiety. I could hear the calls of the nocturnal beasts emerging from their caves in the distance. My throat was parched, but I didn't dare drink my limited water too quickly.

Every instinct in my body begged me to turn around and go back to the safety of the ship. The guaranteed food, water, and shelter.

But I would never go back into his chains.

Never.