Darla felt her stomach drop to her feet as her blood flowed cold at his words. Their captors were enormous lizard people. And just like Komodo Dragons or other apex predators, it made sense that they would eat meat. Unfortunately, that diet now included humans. Suddenly she realized why the woman called Mei was so quiet. She was the last of her batch of captives. Who knew what sort of horrors she had witnessed.
But this one, this alien, he wasn’t human, so why was he in here with them? He looked like he could give the Raxxians a run for their money in a fight. Maybe that was how he wound up here in the first place, and how his clothes got so torn up.
A lightbulb flashed on in Darla’s mind.
“Hang on a minute. Why do you speak English?”
“I do not.”
“You’re speaking it right now.”
“You are mistaken, but I will clarify, yet again, as I have had to do for most of your cohort. You have been marked with the translation rune. It is a weak pigment with very limited power normally used only on livestock and lesser creatures.”
“I’m sorry, you’ve lost me here. A translation what, now?”
Maureen turned her head and lifted her hair, showing the small symbol tattooed behind her ear. Several others did the same, all bearing the same mark. The alien, likewise, showed her the marking behind his ear, though his was more ornate and with a darker ink that seemed to shift under his skin ever so slightly.
“These are translation runes. Symbols that harness the power of the pigment, allowing us to understand one another,” the alien said. “In the case of livestock, such as yourselves, it tends to be less robust, but it serves its purpose.”
“Its purpose being?”
“To make it easier to direct animals,” he replied matter-of-factly. “When your beasts understand, one can direct them without the need of prods or ropes.”
Darla hated to admit it, but it made sense. She raised her hand, touching the area behind her ear. She almost jumped when her fingertips grazed the still-tender flesh where she had been marked. The area was warm, almost tingling with the pigment still fresh in her skin.
Dammit, my first tattoo and it’s as some freaking alien cattle?
She was more than a little pissed that after all those years not giving in and getting impulsive ink on a drunken bender with Tammy and the others, she was finally a member of the club. Only this version was not a club she wanted to be a part of. Not one bit.
“How is this possible? It’s just ink,” she wondered aloud.
“Not ink. Pigment,” the alien corrected. “Living color, extracted from very powerful plants, bonded to your flesh to provide certain enhancements.”
“Hang on. You’re saying this is magic ink—I mean, pigment?”
“Magic? Hardly. It is a core power of the universe, harnessed by a few certain species of plant life from their contact with sunlight and galactic energies, condensed into pigments that can enhance a person’s natural abilities when combined with the correct runes to direct its power. And in return, the host’s own life force keeps the pigment alive. It is a very beneficial, symbiotic relationship.”
He rolled up his torn sleeve to reveal an even more muscular and defined arm than she had envisioned. From the back of his hand, black and brown lines traced his muscles, small symbols, or runes as he called them, interwoven into the flowing design as it ran all the way up, disappearing under the cloth.
Darla found herself wondering just how far those designs went. They were beautiful. Alien. And as she looked at the faintly moving ink under his skin, she felt something far different than fear in her belly.
“These are power runes,” he said, pointing to his arm. “This one gives strength. And this one endurance.”
Without thinking, Darla reached out and touched his arm. As her fingers traced the design, the warm fluttering inside her grew even stronger, moving lower and lower. She shifted in her stance, clenching her legs together tightly in a little shimmy as she lifted her hand free and stepped back from him.
No way, Dar. Don’t even go there. He’s an alien, she chided herself.
She turned to Maureen and Diego. “So, we’re just some alien’s snack, is that it? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Maureen looked at her apologetically. “You’re new. I wanted to ease you into it.”
“And this is just some normal thing for these Raxxians? How come no one noticed? Why didn’t the military do something?”
“They’re aliens, Darla. Human technology doesn’t hold a candle to what they’re capable of. From what I’ve gathered, they’ve been harvesting from Earth for longer than anyone could imagine. Using the planet as a sort of pit stop to fill up on supplies as they fly through the galaxy.”
Diego nodded in agreement. “Just think of how many people go missing every year. Who knows how many of those were snatched up?”
Darla’s mind was racing, but she was actually taking this information fairly well. Rather than freak out, she had slipped into problem-solving mode. It was why she was everyone’s go-to call when the shit hit the fan back home. She was the fixer. Only now she was the one needing help, but no one was coming to her rescue. Even if they knew she’d been taken, there was nothing they could do.
“I guess it makes sense in a way. Sort of like a Predator setting us up for a hunt.”
Diego laughed. “Oh, you’re funny. You also watch too much television. There’s no elaborate hunt. No games.”
“Wait a minute. Are you speaking English?”
“Nope. I’m from Argentina. I thought the big guy just went over this.”
“He did. I’m just processing, here. This thing behind our ears, it works for every language?”
“Seems that way,” Diego replied.
The alien nodded his agreement. “He is correct, though with your weak pigment there is the possibility it might not work for every race. He is also correct that you are not part of a larger game scenario. Do not flatter yourselves with such delusions. The Raxxians do not play with their food, and your kind are not worthy of combat.”
Darla cocked her head at the enormous alien and put her hands on her hips. “Okay. Fine. We’re weak and useless, thanks for that. But what about you? Why are you in here with us if we’re just livestock?”
He opened a small pouch on his waist and withdrew a box, opening it carefully. Inside was a set of fine needles with what looked like some sort of mechanical handles. Next to them, securely tucked into its own compartment, was a little container of dark pigment.
“I apply the runes,” he said. “It was a hobby on my own world, something I studied in my leisure time, but one I became rather proficient at. Here, the hobby makes me valuable, and I am better treated for possessing this skill. Not many know how to properly apply the markings.”
Darla pondered his words a moment. “Are there others like you here?”
“Like me? No. I am the only one with this skill. But captives? Yes, there are a great many captives aboard this ship. The Raxxians have a long history of warring across the systems and have taken many prisoners in their conflicts. Most serve as labor—”
“But you said there were no slaves.”
“No. I said your kind were not slaves. Others are of far more value to the Raxxians alive than in their bellies.”
“But where, then? I don’t see any other aliens in here.”
“Aliens. How quaint. You are the aliens here, little one. A human minority far from your world. Though your time is short, it would do you well to remember that. To answer your question, we are aboard a Raxxian long transport. It is a rather large vessel, comprised of many compartments like this one, the prisoners spread out among them, the sections interlocked for the journey. Eventually, they will head to one of the Raxxian controlled worlds to offload their cargo to sort for shipment to their final destinations.”