Alien Savage's Doll

Chapter 1

Kator

“We’re landing in twenty,” the pilot’s voice announces through the ship-wide communications system. There’s not a trace of tension in his voice. Given the fact that we’re about to land on a shithole planet known to have Zuvok the Terror shooting down every ship that tries to reach the atmosphere, that’s surprising. Then again, I’m not known to tolerate subordinates who crack under the pressure. If you want to work with me, you better know how to handle your shit.

Leaning on my seat, I look out the porthole to see Luvon growing in size. A sphere of bright green and blue tones, it doesn’t look like the dumpster every report I’ve read makes it to be. Of course, when it comes to planets, looks are even more deceiving than if you’re talking about women. I’ve visited paradisiac moons that were infested with slavers and mercenaries, the calm sight from orbit nothing but false advertising, and I’ve seen dull and pale colonies that were a haven for peace-loving farmers. In short, you never truly know what you’re gonna get.

The cruiser takes a couple of minutes to breach the planet’s orbital perimeter, and the pilots manage to make it happen without having anyone harass us. I only relax fully when we reach the atmosphere, the ship’s stabilizers kicking in to prevent us from shaking and rattling like a battered cargo transporter. Reaching for the small panel next to my seat, I slide it open and grab a bottle of aged Kraaj liquor. I pour some into a round glass and, without bothering with all the intricacies and bullshit that come with drinking something more expensive than a soldier’s yearly wages, down the whole thing at once. After all, there’s nothing better than to have a slight buzz going on right before you land on some backwater planet. 

Most Kraaj would be extolling the virtues of a clear head and all that shit right now, but I honestly couldn’t care less about any of it. I don’t play by the same rules those other assholes of my own race do and, if I’m being completely honest, that has worked out just fine. I mean, you don’t get to head an underground criminal organization that operates in most of the galaxy without breaking a lot of the old rules and traditions. If you ever want to succeed in life, you have to become someone the rules don’t apply to. You have to become something more.

“Three minutes to location,” the pilot’s voice comes alive once more, and this time I can sense the palest relief hiding behind his words. Not that I’m surprised. As experienced as someone might be, trying to break through a well-patrolled orbit is always a risk, especially when it comes to the Kraaj. We’re known to shoot first and ask questions later, after all, much like the Vakutan. Still, even though I can agree that the Vakutan are also a bunch of trigger-happy assholes, I’d say that the Kraaj take the cake when it comes to having ‘kill ‘em all’ as a first option. 

Looking out the window, I watch as we fly over a city that clearly has seen better days. Tall skyscrapers have large dents on their side, their innards exposed to the elements, and some have even become hunchback versions of their previous selves, their tops torn apart by war. The roads, a cobweb of asphalt that stretches underneath all the buildings, is covered with debris. Here and there, groups of roaming humans seem to be going through whatever thrash they can find, probably looking for something that resembles a meal. Not exactly a nice place to live in, but it has all the markings of a place where my organization can thrive. 

All in all, I’m pleased. 

We land just a couple of minutes outside Luvon’s capital city, our target location a sprawling slum that has grown from an amalgam of refugee camps. In here, the tall skyscrapers give way to low roofs of zinc and walls of naked brick and cement. No matter where you are in the galaxy, some things never change: in the slums, the only requirements for a place to be called ‘home’  is that it has four walls and a roof, no matter how pitiful the end product turns out to be. And you can trust me when I tell you that the end product is always a pitiful mess.

“Chief Kator, we’ve reached our destination.” Standing outside the cockpit, one my pilots places his closed fist over his heart and bows his head, saluting me as if I were one of the Council’s cloak-wearing bastards. In truth, I don’t really have a ranking or anything of the sort. Even though most of my subordinates operate under military discipline, my organization exists outside the law, a true creature of the shadows. We’re hated and hunted by the Trident Alliance, the Coalition, the  IHC, and the Kraaj Council alike. Sure, from time to time we have some dealings with all those assholes, or at least with some well-positioned officials, but we sure as fuck don’t bend the knee to anyone.

Stretching my legs, I place the bottle back in the side compartment and rise to my feet. I’m a good head taller than my pilot and the security detail I have accompanying me, and they all seem too painfully aware of that. As I walk down the aisle and toward the exit ramp, they all keep their heads bowed as they hold their collective breath. 

“Are you Anthon?” I ask the short man waiting for me at the end of the ramp. He has thin lips that immediately curl up into a nervous smile, and his thinning hair has been combed over his pate in an awkward way. Even though he’s wearing a dirty-looking tunic, his wrists clink with jewelry as he bows down to greet me. 

“Yes, I am, Chief Kator,” he replies, his voice surprisingly smooth and even. Despite his nervous appearance, he seems to be able to rein in his emotions.  Not a bad trait to have when you’re a slaver. “I’ve been awaiting your arrival most anxiously. Would you care for some refreshments?” Straightening his back, he waves his hand to the side, where someone has left a small cart with crystal glasses and an assortment of decanters. Behind the cart stand two human males that seem to be nothing more than teenagers. Even though they don’t have the markings or tattoos of a slave, it’s obvious that they are Anthon’s property.  

“Maybe later,” I respond, taking in my desolate surroundings with one quick glance. Despite the tendency to have cramped alleys and houses squatting over each other in the slums, Anthon’s base of operations is located on an ample square wide enough for my luxury cruiser to land in.  “I want to see the merchandising first.”

“Of course, of course.” He bows once more, and then steps to the side and points toward the concrete building standing a pebble’s throw away from my ship. It looks like a rundown warehouse, but all the doors and windows seem to be in pristine condition—and they are all reinforced. “I think you’ll be quite pleased with what I have in store for you.”

“I hope so.” I follow after him as he leads the way toward the warehouse, and only stop when I hear the steady footsteps of my security detail. Looking back over my shoulder, I give them one quick glance and that’s enough for them to know that I won’t require an escort. Truth be told, I very rarely need one There’s little these guys could protect me from that I wouldn’t be able to handle myself. “I’ve heard a lot about the women of Luvon. It seems like my fellow Kraaj have developed a craving for them.”

“Quite certainly,” the slaver says, flashing me a quick grin. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Magistrate Kavan has taken a woman for his mate, as have some of the most powerful Kraaj in the planet. As it is, if you want to be someone of importance on Luvon, you gotta have a woman by your side.” 

“I see,” I respond, not particularly impressed with anything I’ve been told. As far as I see it, those that need a woman by their side to feel important are nothing but pathetic creatures. Not that I’d have them change their ways—after all, the more men feel like that, the easier it is to move my product across the galaxy. “If things are as you say, slaver, I’ll be happy to fill your pockets with coin. But if you’re wasting my time…”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he cuts me short, that grin of his once more dancing on his lips. “I know you have many important matters to attend to, and I’m humbled that you’ve come all this way to see the merchandising for yourself. Your time won’t be wasted here on Luvon, Chief Kator.”

“Yeah?” I ask him, waiting as he approaches the large double doors leading into the warehouse. Fishing a magnetic keycard from inside his tunic, he holds it against the control panel and I hear the locks turning in the place. “ I’ll be the judge of that, slaver.”