The rest of my crew have been rendered unconscious by something relatively powerful. Sarkarnii are difficult generally to knock out even without our continuous training since we came to this galaxy.
But from the snores and gas passed, they are all alive, which is heartening if concerning. The Gonoz want us for something.
“Dante,” the metallic voice booms in my ear. “Good of you to join us.”
“I didn’t join you,” I respond, knowing my words will be picked up by my collar. “But I did come to kill you.”
“Kill something which doesn’t exist?”
“Everything can be killed. And things which threaten my mate will be killed twice,” I snarl, ignoring the chiming from the collar which indicates it is going to shock me for my raised voice.
“We hope that will not be necessary as arrangements are being made to bring your mate here.”
I look around me at the metal room. No door, no openings of any kind.
I do not want my Rosalie being brought here.
I never should have left her, going against every instinct I had in my body, save for the one which said toend it.
I should have ignored that one.
“My warriors are protecting her,” I respond evenly. “You will not take her.”
“She will come to us willingly, warlord.”
My heart pounds, accelerant filling my fire sacs. The collar shocks me once, twice, until I’m on my knees.
It won’t break me. I won’t let it. Flame bursts from my throat, scorching the wall. The shocks come harder and faster, threatening consciousness until part of the wall moves, and finally, I discover where the door is.
Three spindly bots enter. Their metal limbs fail as they approach me with a gag.
If I had any strength left, I’d have fought them, but the final selection of shocks is too much, even for my advanced healing. They reach me, and consciousness is exiting.
The gag is forced into my mouth and attached to the collar. The bots continue to work on me, jabbing at various parts of my body as if trying to determine which bits they want.
“I am pleased you came, Dante,” the voice says, almost as if it is in my head. “You enjoyed the little gifts I gave you when we brought you to this galaxy. Your healing ability has taken so well. And you have yet to determine how to manage the other ability I gave you, but you will.”
“The mutations are not of your making.” My voice is pathetic, a mere rasp in the darkness.
“All your mutations are of our making. We wish to determine which ones we want when we take your forms. So far, your clan has made the best of what we would like.”
“You…brought us here?”
“An opportunity presented itself, and we took it.”
As the darkness takes me, I drop into a pit I don’t know if it’s possible to climb out of. All of this was planned? All of this was the fault of something else, a species which isn’t even supposed to exist?
A species who has decided the Sarkarnii belong to them?
Colors and darkness swirl around me. There are flashes of light, flashes of the smile of my mate. Flashes of life in my ship, of my crew, of what I had.
What the Gonoz want to take.
They can’t be right about bringing my Rosalie here. I see her in front of me, all scented deliciousness, soft skin, bright smile, and hair I want on my scales time after time. I see her with the sakarnlings who adore her. I see her with my warriors, and it makes me growl and my heart sing that they respect her and they will work with her.
I see all these things, and the search for the cure was nothing more than smoke. We had what we needed, and I have given it away.
When my brain restarts again, I am on the floor, in the room with my crew, unable to move even the tip of my tail. Any chance of escape, any chance of getting to my mate before the Gonoz do seems impossible.
