“You belong to us now, girl. Best you understand your place. Doesn’t matter who you were before now. Matters who you are here, now.”
‘Here’ is a crappy outpost on a wild world. I am dragged to the Vikar camp, a place clearly set up hastily and out of temporary structures. I wonder why they’re here, what they think this place has to offer them.
Unlike these beasts, I come from a beautiful place. I have seen vistas of nature and shining cities that bring tears to my eyes. This settlement is rough. There is no care for or interest in aesthetics. The dwellings are made from black corrugated metal alloys, lit red with electric cables that power the Vikar tech. The edges of the shelters, walls, even tables are sharp. Nobody’s bothered to fix the edges. That would take care and show compassion for their fellow men. They don’t want to do that. I guess it explains the patches on their leather attire, though. Everything these people are wearing looks scuffed and scarred, much like them. Aside from the man with the brutal smirk and a four-minute mile, this is a rough crowd.
“Get her processed, then bring her to me,” he orders. “Don’t touch her in any way other than is absolutely necessary. She’s mine, you understand?”
“Yes, Jarl,” the man now controlling me says.
“Good.”
Jarl Drako—I guess that’s his name—strides off into his trash camp, and I am left offended at the standard of building.
“Why don’t you roll the edges of this stuff?”
“You’re a prisoner of Jarl Drako. You’ve got better things to worry about than how we build our towns.”
“This passes as a town for you people? It’s barely a collection of hovels.”
“Spoiled Frayer girl,” he says, referring to the broad name of the people I belong to. The Vikar and the Frayer are technically the same. We’re both human. But that’s where our similarities end.
There are no pavements between the buildings, only paths made by heavy boots. I can’t imagine what this place looks like when it rains. The wreckage of my ship has more aesthetic appeal than most of these deliberately constructed places.
My captor takes me into one of the buildings. I’d like to say it’s a medical one, because a glaring red LED in the shape of an X is displayed crookedly over it. The interior contains rusty crates containing what might loosely be described as medical supplies. Vikar don’t really pursue medicine. From what I’ve heard, they pride themselves on dying of sepsis.
It sounds stupid, but that’s only if you don’t understand what they really value. These are warriors dedicated to death. Everyone else’s and then their own. They cherish killing and they eagerly await their own ends.
I don’t know why I am here. They’re not going to clean my wounds, I know that much. And they’re not going to take pity on me in any sense.
“Sit.”
When I do not immediately comply, they force me down onto a chair. An alcohol swab is swiped over the back of my neck, and a second later I feel a thick needle pushing something into the limited amount of flesh available there.
I cry out at the sharp pain, as a tracking chip is inserted into me, something that marks me as a slave to these men who are on a rampage. They will keep moving after this. They might take me with them, or they might leave me behind, but regardless, they will always know where I am.
“That’s your mark,” he says. “One you’ll never be free of. We’ll track you to the ends of this world and beyond if we need to.”
“Cool,” I tell them. “There’s just one problem.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m already taken. I’ll never belong to any of you. So you can all go to hell.”
They look at one another, and then they start to laugh. It is a harsh, mocking sound.
“There’s nobody else left for you to belong to, stupid girl,” the crude warrior says. “I don’t know how you survived, but I can tell you now, nobody else did. You’re lost property, and Jarl Drako has claimed you for his own.”
“Is she ready?” Drako steps into the medical shack. I guess he decided to come find me rather than wait for me to be brought to him.
“She’s been chipped, Jarl. But she’s mouthy.”
“Leave us,” he says, waving the men away. They go, and it is just me and Drako, face to face in what passes for a medical center for these people.
“Nice trash town you’ve got here,” I say. “But usually, when you build out of garbage, the idea is to recycle it first.”
He smiles at me, his teeth flashing in a shark-like grin. “You’re already feeling better,” he says. “You recover quickly. Impressive, for a woman of your bloodline. Most of your kind would have chosen to die rather than be inconvenienced with trying to survive after a crash.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” I say. “Women of my bloodline are amazing, and you’d be lucky to lick the shoes of any of them.”
