Alien Tribute Page 2

  I do not understand how they could have disappeared so completely.

  We've been hunting the Vgotha for tsencycles and what Tribute Dawn described is technology like they've never had before. Where did it come from? When did they upgrade their ships? Who would have helped them?

  So many questions and more. Over a thousand Tsenturion warriors depending on me. The High Commander relying on me.

  When I reach my quarters, my suit retracts automatically. I rub my head, wishing I could remain on duty forever, and never sleep. Never remove my helmet.

  There are times when I find myself wishing I had resigned my commission earlier. That I hadn't taken that last trip. Because then I would have been on Tsentur when the Vgotha destroyed it. I have no death wish, but the burden of living has become endless and with the addition of Tribute Dawn we have both hope for the future and an even higher burden.

  She is another innocent life, another responsibility to bear. Adding more Tributes to our population will only increase the onus of keeping our small fleet safe from attack. Before, if the Vgotha had killed us, our mission of vengeance would have ceased, but we are all willing volunteers to the cause. We are all Tsenturion warriors, ready to lay down our lives in battle. The Tributes will be neither.

  I march to my private console and scroll to a view of the solar system nearby, directing the unit to scan it for Vgotha signatures. A small gesture but at least it’s something. I cannot sit in my quarters and do nothing.

  I do not like to think about what would have happened if Tribute Dawn had not escaped from the Vgotha's clutches. The pain the High Commander would have felt... I know it too well. It is not a pain I would wish upon anyone. The only one who has a semblance of understanding is Medik, but his grief is so far beyond my own that I cannot fathom how he has remained sane. In some ways, he has taken all the remaining warriors under his wing and become our communal mentor, a replacement for our lost parents, but I have not been able to agree with him when it comes to the Tributes.

  He sees them as our future’s hope, but the truth is, they are just another thing we could lose.

  2

  Pareena

  I hate Frllil.

  I hate my training.

  I definitely hate my ‘Bride Trainer.’

  I hate my brain.

  If this is some kind of subconscious attempt to prepare myself for death… well, it’s almost working. Because after days of training, which apparently means a lot of sexual arousal but no actual culmination, I am ready to do something drastic. Unfortunately, being a Tribute also means that I no longer have any control over my own body. It was far more fun reading about it than it is experiencing it, even in a dream. Whenever Frllil’s not looking, I claw at the Bride Trainer he’s put on me.

  The Bride Trainer is a belt that goes around my waist and down between my legs, covering my pussy completely and splitting my buttocks like a thong. It’s surprisingly comfortable when it’s not driving me mad. When I stroke it, it feels like regular cloth but trying to break through it... well, I might as well be trying to tear apart steel. It's pliable, fitting to my shape exactly. Too exactly. I can't even wedge a finger between the thing and my pussy.

  Frllil says its nanotechnology. The damn thing even cleans itself and me, after opening just enough for me to go to the bathroom but not enough for me to ever touch myself.

  Supposedly my Tsenturion warrior will be able to control it with his mind, which is when it will finally be removed so that he can claim me. Which sounds hot, in theory, but it’s not in reality. Well, in my dream-reality. Mostly it's so frustrating that I'm beginning to feel murderous.

  It’s my dream, I should be able to get it off and play with myself if I want to. The sexual frustration feels very real.

  The fact that I haven’t been successful makes me wonder if this is maybe an internal metaphor for my cancer. Just another instance in which I have a complete lack of control over a situation’s outcome.

  How very frustrating.

  According to Frllil, this is exactly what being ‘primed’ is supposed to do. I’m plenty primed. I’m so primed that I couldn’t possibly get more primed. I’m ready to climb the walls I’m so primed.

  Frllil promises that I’ll be able to climax when I’m finally given to my Tsenturion Master.

  Bogdan.

  A large part of my ‘training’ involves staring at photos of the alien male while being aroused by the vibrations through my training belt. Alien, but attractive. I’m pretty sure I’d be aroused even without the belt. Square shoulders, square jaw, he looks like a battering ram come to life. Alien, but attractive. Golden skin. Actual metallic golden skin. Not much of it is visible underneath the armor that covers his entire body though.

  The armor changes color according to their mood, supposedly, but in every vid and photo Frllil has shown me of Bogdan, his armor remains resolutely black. I do catch flashes of color from the others around him, although I never see their faces. They're unimportant apparently; it is only Bogdan who matters, Bogdan who is going to be my world.

  Right now, as long as I get off, that doesn't sound like too bad of a deal. Lurking in the back of my mind is the fear that I'll never get off again, that at some point this dream will end when I die... perhaps when I'm taken off of life support. I have such a weird imagination. I’ve accepted the fact that yes, I am dying, or already have. This is one long hallucination of the book I was reading. Pure deathbed fantasy. How do I know? I have eyebrows again and they look amazing.

  But did I have to imagine so much orgasm denial?

  Then again, I can't deny that it's working. Staring at the hot alien my mind has conjured up is a welcome distraction from my reality.

  Who can worry about death when a vibrator is tormenting them while they're staring at what looks like six and a half, maybe seven, feet of pure muscle?

  No wonder the Jabols hired the Tsenturions to be their muscle. The Tsenturions are so buff, when the time came for evolution to hand out muscle to the Jabols there was none left. Frllil is just an amorphous blob that can form into any shape at will. While he tries to hold his humanoid shape, he often 'ripples' in a way that makes my stomach churn. He changes more rapidly when he’s excited.

  Why my subconscious has conjured up such a strange being, I'm not sure but there must be some reason for it.

  “Pareena, you will pay attention,” Frllil chirps. He points at yet another vid of Bogdan. My pussy clenches and I want to scream because I already know it's going nowhere.

  “Dr. Singh,” I mutter, frustrated beyond belief with both him and the training.

  The Jabol quivers around the edges of his form. “Explain.”

  “My name is Pareena Singh, and when I earned my PhD, ‘doctor’ became my title. You’re pissing me off, so you don’t get to use my first name anymore.” Normally I’m not such a hard ass but my pussy is throbbing, and I want to cum!

  Frllil gives a little trill. He’s such a pill. He needs to chill.

  Great, now I’m rhyming. I recognize the distraction technique and wish it worked a little better.

  “I am using your first name to engender goodwill. I was instructed to do this by one of your species.”

  “The state I’m in, you’re not engendering anything. And what do you mean, ‘one of my species?’”

  “Another hu-man,” Frllil’s pronunciation of the word is still odd, no matter how I've tried to help him. “Dawn Cahill. She was the first Tribute, you are the second. She instructed me in the proper way to address Tributes. After a certain period of time, we have become familiar and it is correct to use only your first name.”

  Well that explains why he finally stopped calling me ‘Pareena Singh’, but it doesn't help my frustration in any way. He's sexually torturing me, and I'm not even attracted to him.

  I narrow my eyes at him, because I think he actually sounds a little petulant. Frllil is so often completely unemotional, but apparently the name thing is important to him in some w
ay.

  "Yeah? Well I'm going to start calling you He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named if you don't help me out." The noise he makes is definitely unhappy and I hide my smile. "But you can use my first name if you get this thing off me.” I rap my Trainer hard, but I can’t even feel it through the tech.

  “Your Trainer can only be removed by your Tsenturion Master,” Frllil sounds both reproachful and frustrated at repeating himself again. Well, join the club. “I have explained this.”

  “Pretty sure I'm going to die first," I mutter. Because I'm well past 'primed' and yet there's no sexy alien in sight.

  “You are not dying, Pareena. Your system was in a state of shut down when you first came through the direth wormhole, but your health functions have been restored.” As usual, Frllil takes my statement completely at its word.

  “I know, I know,” I rub my face, feeling my eyebrows and then run my hands back up through my hair, luxuriating in the silky strands sliding through my fingers. While I want to scream at him, there's no point. This is all a coma dream, right? So I'd just be yelling at myself. And I already know from my days of training that Frllil is easily confused by my emotions. He's pure logic. Thanks, whatever part of my brain conjured him up. "I'm just really, really, really ready to meet Bogdan.”

  Meeting Bogdan, aka, getting my orgasm.

  “Your Master," Frllil reminds me sternly.

  “My Master.” I sigh but try to be agreeable. I’m no stranger to BDSM. I visited a munch or two and went to a few parties as a submissive. I'm not surprised by this aspect of my dream.

  Orgasm control and denial can be a big part of BDSM. I didn't think it was one of my fantasies, but it must be for my brain to have dug it up. The only other option is that all of this is real, which, of course, is impossible.

  Therefore, some part of me must have been interested in it. A really, really stupid part of me that didn't think through how awful being teased and denied an orgasm for days would be.

  Or maybe I've already died and gone to hell.

  My hand drifts upwards to my hair, stroking the long strands. My hair has become a comfort object. And I can't imagine that I would have my hair in hell. No, if anything, the return of my hair confirms that this is a formulation from my imagination.

  Bogdan

  I am not surprised when my presence is requested on the bridge even though I am off duty. It is a normal enough occurrence.

  I am surprised when I walk through the door to find the High Commander there, an actual smile on his face, and his Tribute by his side, on her collar and leash. The long dress she is clothed in would not be out of place on a Tsenturion bride. To our collective surprise, somehow the pair fully bonded in the manner of our people and her dress shows off the mating mark she now bears.

  I thought for sure they would not be leaving the High Commander's quarters during this time of rest they are taking. If it weren't for the gold color of the High Commander's armor and his expression, I would be alarmed, assuming his unexpected presence indicated another unexpected Vgotha encounter.

  That cannot be the case, though, and I do not know what else could have lured him and Tribute Dawn from his chambers.

  "Commander." I come to a halt in front of him, my fist clenched in salute.

  Something about the way Tribute Dawn is beaming at me makes me uneasy. While we have reached an understanding in interacting with each other, I have never seen her look so happy to see me. It is unsettling.

  The other warriors on the bridge are staring with curiosity and it is obvious they have no knowledge of why the High Commander is present either. Which does not reassure me.

  "Bogdan." He greets me with a nod, his suit turning brighter gold with a quick streak of something else through it. Ever since his mating with Tribute Dawn, his control over his emotional indicators has been affected. Or perhaps he just no longer cares. "I am pleased to inform you that your Tribute has been selected and her training is almost complete."

  "What?!" I'm not the only one to practically shout the word, across the room, Arkdhem is now on his feet, his suit flashing red and orange with rioting emotions, the dominant one being envy, before settling to black. My own suit barely flickers, but I feel the emotions sticking in my chest, behind the wall of ice where I keep them. When the High Commander claimed Tribute Dawn, he’d said I would be next, but I had dismissed his words as a mere threat or perhaps even a jest. The Jabol chose the matches, not him.

  "And she's the perfect candidate!" Dawn says clapping her hands happily while I stare at her. She has been my only ally against the procurement of more Tributes for some time, even though she's been helping Medik, the fleet’s doctor, refine the selection program. I always assumed she was undermining it, as she was so outspoken against taking more human women from their home planet. To see her celebration of this shocking news feels like a betrayal. "Not only did she have almost no emotional attachments to Earth, but she was dying. We saved her life by taking her!"

  This time my suit does flicker, too quickly for anyone to see the color, which is well enough. I cannot identify the emotion that stabbed through me so quickly and viscerally. But I am not unaffected at hearing that the woman would have died without the intervention of the Jabol.

  Still... why must she be my Tribute?

  "Why him?" Arkdhem nearly shouts the question. Although his armor is now a controlled black, his fists are clenched by his sides, and I do not think I imagine the frustration seething in his eyes. He is one of the biggest supporters of the program. "He doesn't even want a Tribute! He is not fit for one. Why not one of us?" He gestures to the rest of the bridge, but it is clear he really means himself.

  I draw myself up. While I might not desire a Tribute, I will not let Arkdhem impugn my worthiness either. I have my pride.

  "A Tribute for you?" I ask. My disdain does not need to be broadcast by my armor, as it is clear in my voice. "As what, a reward for allowing the High Commander's Tribute be captured?"

  Red streaks through the black of his armor, shaded with the bright yellow of his shame. He takes a step toward me, the promise of violence in his eyes. If he wishes to fight, I will not deny him. In fact, I find myself eager to take out my own frustration on him.

  "Bogdan! Arkdhem!" The Commander barks out our names and Arkdhem comes to a halt, still glaring at me. I turn back to the Commander and Tribute Dawn, ignoring the other warrior. My move can be construed one of two ways—either that I trust him not to attack when the Commander is watching, or that I do not consider him a threat, and therefore do not care that my back is to him. I don't care which way he takes it, but I hope it's the second.

  Tribute Dawn gives Arkdhem a sympathetic look before focusing on me. The expression on her face is far less friendly now. This does not bother me as I do not wish to be friends. I wish to be left alone.

  I stare at High Commander Gavrill rather than meet her gaze, knowing that I am not as immune to her pout as I wish. However, I will never reveal my weakness, and that is the difference between Arkdhem and me.

  "The Jabol matched Tribute Pareena Singh with Bogdan," the Commander says, sweeping his gaze around the bridge as if daring anyone to contradict him. "It is a near perfect personality match, according to them." His eyes meet mine. Any hope that the Tribute might be bestowed upon a different warrior dies with his words. "You will prepare for your Tribute and fulfill your duty. Her file has been sent to you. I recommend that you read the provided manuals."

  Because he knows that I am one of the few Tsenturions who hasn't touched the manuals. When the Commander and Tribute Dawn had bonded in the Tsenturion manner and it was announced that more Tributes were to come, I was the only one not to request the manuals.

  I can feel the weighty stares of the rest of the crew, feel their collective wish that they were the ones receiving a Tribute. Arkdhem's envy I do not mind, but I do not want the others to think I am wasting a gift many of them long for. I know how to do my duty.

  I will not allow her to distract me
from the rest of my duties. I will learn from the manuals and I will train her as quickly and efficiently as possible so that she is well behaved and out of the way until the Vgotha threat is taken care of. And perhaps when the Vgotha are gone, I will no longer ache with loss and I will be able to set down this heavy burden of justice, and truly bond with my Tribute.

  Until then, at least I will receive some enjoyment from watching Arkdhem writhe with jealousy.

  "Of course, High Commander," I say formally, with another salute.

  3

  Bogdan

  Accepting the congratulations of my fellow warriors, all of whom now look at me with the hope that they will one day be in my position, rankles. I leave the bridge with as much dignity as I can and return to my quarters.

  While part of me wants to dwell and seethe, I do not have much time. As with Tribute Dawn, the Jabol did not inform us of my Tribute until she was nearly ready for me. Like us, they do not accept failure lightly, so they do not announce they have something until they are sure that they do. Which means Frllil is very certain that Tribute Pareena is ready.

  Ready for me.

  Something tightens my throat, an emotion I'm not willing to acknowledge, much less put a name to.

  I will not be weak.

  I will not fail.

  Accessing her file, I push away everything that threatens my composure and make myself focus on my new assignment. That's all she is. I read about her life, finding myself strangely fascinated. She is a strong female. I cannot regret that her life is saved by becoming a Tribute. Perhaps her strength is why the Jabol decided we are a near perfect match. I am strong for my kin and she has been strong for hers as well as for herself.

  She will need such strength.

  I am relieved as I read through the file. Nothing about Pareena reminds me of her.