Ransom

Blackmane has a slight frown on his face, an expression of concern, or perhaps guilt. “How many times have you done that to a woman? Forced her to bear some alien abomination?”

“I’ve never forced any woman.”

Do I believe him? I do not know. He did not strictly force me. I was seduced. But I know of his reputation. I know the tales that are told. And I know that he has seeded himself across the universe. He may as well be an emperor.

“There is something wrong with my father’s seed,” I say, carrying on. “For whatever reason, it never takes root in a woman. At least, it didn’t until I was born. So he could never bring himself to get rid of me. He needed me. I had worth. At least, I did until you pushed yourself inside me and desecrated my womb.”

He makes a soft growl. “You said you began performing…”

“Murders,” I tell him. “Yes, murders. That’s what they are. I know what I am.”

“How long did it take for your father to realize what you are?”

“Oh, a long time,” I smile. “They all seemed like accidents at first, until I got tired of hiding. And then he had me locked away. I escaped. So he had me locked away somewhere more secure. I escaped again. That cycle repeated over and over until you found me. And now I am free.”

“Free, but feral,” he murmurs under his breath. “I do not wish you harm, but I will not allow you to do harm either, do you understand?”

“You can’t stop me,” I tell him simply. “It is in my nature.”

“You are a rogue,” he says. “And we are a ship full of warriors. You have some natural advantages, but they are quickly being lost. I don’t believe you want to hurt anyone. I think it has become reflexive for you. You hurt because you have never been loved.”

I feel a very uncomfortable sensation deep in my belly, a sort of quivering thrum that I’m not used to and don’t know how to act on. He mated me and I felt a certain sense of relief and power and joy and… now I don’t know what I feel.

“I don’t believe in love,” I tell him. “There are only some people I don’t hate yet.”

Chapter Eight

Blackmane

WWWWWWEEEEOOOO!

A few days have passed and the war is yet to begin. However, that seems to have just changed. A high-pitched alarm rings out, startling me not from slumber, but from a warm and comfortable reverie lying in bed with Astaria curled up against my side, her head on my shoulder.

“What does that mean?” She looks up at me curiously.

“We are under attack. Don’t worry. We are almost impossible to destroy. Your father does not have the forces to touch us.”

“I never worry,” she says. I realize that she is right. Concern is something very foreign to her.

“Let’s go to the helm,” I say. “Keep your hands to yourself and behave.”

She nods and makes a murmur of agreement as we get up and get dressed. I do not know if taking her with me is smart, but I know that leaving her alone is stupid. With Astaria there are no good choices, there are only less bad ones.

“We’re not under attack,” Redpelt says as Astaria and I reach the helm. “But we do have some very weird guests. They didn’t appear on the sensors at all until they appeared before our eyes.”

He and I have seen most weird things in the universe. For him to have rung the alarm bells over something weird, this must be a very strange encounter indeed.

“Look,” he says, gesturing toward the grand screen that wraps around the helm and projects images from the exterior with such high resolution it looks like a window, almost as though we are traveling through space with the top down.

We are surrounded by glowing, gleaming shapes mutating with an iridescence and pearlescence that makes me think of something I have seen before, if only I could recall it right now.

“Those aren’t human ships,” Redpelt says obviously. “I’ve scanned them all.”

“And?”

“And there are carbon-based beings aboard them, but that’s about all I can tell you.”

“Are there any references in the deep database?”

“Not that I can find. I’ve never seen anything like them. The technology they use is very advanced. We should try to capture one intact.”

“It would be good to see one closer.”

“It would be good to see one at all. They’re so damn shiny,” Redpelt complains. “Every attempt I make to isolate the ship, the instruments get overloaded. We can’t actually see them. I mean, we can see them, but the ship can’t.”

“They look like your headdress, Astaria,” I note.

“You know what my headdress looks like?” She seems surprised.

“Of course. The image of you wearing it is famous across seven star systems, at least. Where did it come from?”