The Human Pet: A Sci-Fi Romance

Part 2

Tarak

I am Tarak of the scourge and commander of Draco, a fighter ship. My job is to lead my crew into battle, dominate other aliens, and harvest their supplies that we then bring to our starship, Hydra.

Hydra gave us a mission. Illegal settlers had stolen from us, claiming our territory, twin moons, as their own. The scourges cannot permit such an act of defiance to go unpunished, even if it was for occupying insignificant rocks on the edge of the galaxy for which we have little use, so we set off in pursuit.

When we find that the criminals, the settlers, have not only run but another spaceship is sheltering them, we fire on them. The ship just floats there.

"Keep their ship from fleeing," I order, and my crew activates the pincer, Draco's metal claw.

Like most opponents to Hydra, our opponents are powerless and weak, showing no sign of resistance as we hold the puny-looking ship.

"Storm them."

The sounds of our metal-tipped boots striking the floor of our opponent's ship bounce from the metal walls, echoing. We arrive at a flimsy door, which we break.

We march into a large room where our weak opponents huddle, and I gag. The air stinks of death and disease. Perhaps a millennium from now, these thin and sickly creatures would be ready for space flight, but as for now, they seem incapable of surviving, let alone protecting themselves from us.

Dragging out the punishment of such weak creatures is cruel, even for us.

"Tell them to submit," I tell the robot.

The robot speaks gibberish in a raspy voice and the creatures blink at us like confused cattle.

"Permission to speed things along, sir," asks one of my crew, grabbing a little one and threatening to throw it from the airlock.

Jettisoning them all from the airlock would be more merciful than their slow, drawn-out death. "Proceed."

One of the weak creatures approaches me, muttering something unintelligible.

The robot insists the weakling is speaking an actual word: mercy.

I glance at the quaking creature. Does she know how worthless the concept of mercy is to the scourge? She must be sick, too, because liquid leaks from her eyes.

My crew looks to me for guidance. We are only postponing the inevitable. We are scourges. It is our right to take and dominate.

I give the order. "Proceed."

Then she invokes the word-Thoth.

This pitiful creature is offering herself to me, and this changes everything.

My eyes rake over her body. Grime coats her hair and skin. Don't these creatures bathe? More fluid leaks from her eyes. She's definitely infested with a disease.

Compared to a scourge, she is small, but she also looks well-proportioned and lithe. My hand whips out, gripping her chin, tilting it so I can examine what will be mine should she accept the title of Thoth.

Her bright green eyes snap to mine, flashing in defiance. Her defiant glares might make some want her less because this might indicate a hard-to-train pet. Not me, though; that spark of resistance feeds my hunger for her. I have a sudden urge to scrape my teeth on her shoulder and mark her as mine.

To her eyes, we probably look large and ugly and as if we might eat them. We could, but... Scourges can also be gentle, merciful, and kind. How else would we come to have a ship filled with pets from every corner of the galaxy? So, when this alluring creature invokes the word Thoth, volunteering to be taken as a pet, I can't turn away. I want to show her my kinder side. I want her to be mine.