He chuckles softly, then adds,
“Don’t worry, your fate’s actually better than some of the others here. These folks gave us trouble.
They’ll never accept the New Martian Order. But that’s not a problem. Half of them will be sold… for consumption. Did you know human meat supposedly has an irresistibly sweet flavor? That’s why it fetches such a high price among certain alien species.”
I stare at him, eyes wide, hoping it’s some sick joke.
But he’s dead serious.
A wave of nausea rises in my throat, but with nothing in my stomach, it fizzles into a dry heave.
“Haha! You’re so delicate, so innocent,” Anatoli sneers. “You’ll make some buyer very happy, no doubt about that. Bully’s told us all about the kinds of trade that go on in the galaxies. Everything’s for sale. Everything has a price. And me? I’ve chosen to be on the selling side rather than become the product.
And with a face like yours, I’m sure Bully will be pleased.”
He turns away as more men arrive.
The main wall of the hangar dissolves, revealing a massive vehicle.
“Load all the cages into the back,” he orders.
“Put Manu, Julien, Jean-Claude, Yaoti, and Edward in the same cube—they’re headed to the same destination.
If there’s not enough room after that, double up the rest. And hurry up, I want us out of here in thirty minutes.”
An hour later, we’re on the road.
The wolf pups are locked in an isolated, opaque cell.
A group of bear cubs occupy the next one, also behind a sealed wall.
In the other cells packed into this giant truck,
I count the first two: five people Anatoli mentioned—crammed together—destined for “consumption.”
I’m in the third cage with Pallas in my arms, along with a woman named Salome from Arabia Terra.
We’re sitting back to back, trying to give each other as much space as possible.
Then come three more cubes: three women still unconscious in the first, two men in the second.
The journey is long and slow. A vehicle this size must be way harder to handle than my old snowmobile. The prisoners wake one by one.
Paralyzed by fear and confusion, they stay silent, barely daring to sit up and find a less painful position.
About three hours later, during a stop, we get a surprise visit from Anatoli, accompanied by his driver, a guy named Serge.
“Come on, beauty,” Serge calls out. “Anatoli tells me you’re so uptight you’d turn down freedom if we offered it. Me, I think he’s wrong. We need to stop and recharge the truck… Why don’t you come stretch your legs? We can talk… Neela.”
He’s pretty short—shorter than me, even. His face is relaxed, almost innocent. You’d never guess this guy’s in the business of trafficking other humans for alien buyers.
Next to him, Anatoli studies me closely, sizing me up in silence while Serge dematerializes the wall of my cage.
Little Pallas, finally free, bolts toward the nearest tree—only to be intercepted mid-run by a sharp blow from the butt of Anatoli’s rifle.
“Tsk tsk… You’re staying right here, furball,” he says. “Neela, get out. Fast. Before I change my mind.”
With a pained squeak, my young manul stumbles back into my arms.
