Most of us don't agree with them, not fully, but few have effectively taken on our most vocal minority.
At least not until recently.
Reports that nearly half of our female population is dead or missing has caused a backlash, but not soon enough to protect me.
Or Veentann and the many women like her.
My mouth tastes sour and my heart pounds. We always think we'll have so much time and leave so much undone and unsaid. After a moment's hesitation, I open another call with my dam. She looks surprised when she answers.
I waste no time in voicing what needs to be admitted. "I was a terror, and I deserved every punishment."
Her whiskers droop. "You're scaring me, Thiv. You've never admitted that."
"You were the best dam anyone could ever ask for and I wish my sire could see how beautiful you are after all these years."
Her muzzle is pale, and her fur is quaking. "The slimes . . ."
She can't finish so I do it for her. "There was a proximity alarm. No one is in range to help."
The sound of them locking on to the hull joins her outraged, heartbroken roar. It only takes a few moments for them to cut through the thin membrane and a canister to drop in. It pulls my eyes away from her. Why would they even attempt gas on our species?
But then I can feel it taking effect.
I turn back to her precious face. It's a good view before death. She is stoic now, her usual impressive emotional control in place.
"I've always been proud. You never conformed and I wish I let you follow your sire's path into the Sentinels."
I can't leave her with that regret. "I did what I wanted, and this was it. Tell someone the slimes made a new . . . compound."
I'm struggling to stay awake. "I love you," I say as my eyes drift closed.
Her responding roar fades to static as I succumb to the darkness.
3
Ree
There are women scattered in front of me like bright jewels and I'm to be their keeper.
After years of working one of the hardest jobs imaginable I'm not thrilled to be thrust into the role of brothel madam. Nine of them. All mine to keep in line, but right now they can't even fucking talk to me.
"Boredom is preferable to death," I mumble to myself, ensuring I'm only mouthing the words and not vocalizing.
No need to draw unneeded attention in this hell.
I'm locked into a tiny room of alien design, one side taken up by a viewing area for our captors. The walls and floors gleam like an ultramodern, sleek hotel, but appearances don't change the fact that it's a cell and we are captives. In a small hall connected to my glass cell are nine upright cryogenic chambers with women inside of them.
They face each other in pairs, with the one behind them offset just enough so the camera mounted at the back of my cell can see their full, naked bodies.
The only clothing we have is a thin band of black around our waists we aren't allowed to use. The women rest against the soft red fabric in what looks like peaceful slumber. At the end of the row another stands, as if waiting to be seated at the head of a table.
None of it matches the horror of our reality.
None of them know what I've learned. My jaw clenches as I think of trading places with them, but as their leader I am the one who is always awake with no reprieve from the terror.
I hate thinking of them as colors, but they're unable to tell me their names. There are ten of us in total. I'm Indigo, since it only seems fair to reduce myself to a color if I'm to do the same to them.
Some day soon I hope to find out each of their names and tell them my own.
