Caged Beauty: A Dark SciFi Romance

Chapter 1

Aryssa

Loud footsteps ring against the metal of the floor as reapers run by outside. I’m huddled in a tiny nook behind a main wall. In every ship there’s usually holes and tunnels for engineers to work in. I only learned this by scrounging around on Cold Hope, but I’m a smart girl when it comes to machinery. As the Maul started to break apart, I managed to get into a service area for the big cataclysm.

That was several days ago—I think. Any part of the ship that got torn apart in the battle has been isolated. Ishana ships are well set up for any eventuality, or so it seems to me. Everything back here is incredibly neat, wires, crystal core connectors, screws, and bolts. I’m pretty sure Mahresh’s crew didn’t do anything to this ship except paint it black.

Maul tilts slightly, sending me sliding into the opposite wall. Closing off all the doors that lead to the gaping holes in her sides didn’t do much except save the oxygen that we have left. She needs her thrusters balanced and her grav system recalibrated. No one’s going to fucking do it, though.

Under these conditions, the Maul will tear apart in a matter of weeks. There’s no stopping it.

I have to wonder why I’m trying so hard to stay alive. My anxiety levels have not lowered once since the big attack. I’ve spent the entire time scuttling through walls and pressed into tiny crevices.

Once the crowd outside jog past I wriggle into the deeper canals of the ship. It’s probably the biggest ship I’ve ever seen and even with the missing parts, there’s still plenty of room to get lost in. No one has come back here at all. I’m guessing that none of them have the knowledge to fix her.

There is some kind of world ending party going on out there. Fighting, fucking, and drinking nonstop. Lots of singing. This is reapers at the end of the world. Drunk, furious, and horny.

The lights flicker around me, the service lights failing. These run on emergency power so if they are flickering, it’s serious business. The crystal veins that run through the ship are flickering too. There’s a nearby groan from the metal of the hallway and part of the wall buckles. 

I slip through the corridor as fast as I can until I reach a stronger section. Deeper into the ship, parts aren’t as likely to fall off. I’m struggling along, not paying too much attention, when Mahresh’s voice freezes me in my tracks.

“You!” She screams. “Get in there!”

I peek through a small crack in the wall and I see her out in what looks like a rec room. Reapers are drinking and singing and ignoring her. She’s got a huge bottle of whiskey that she swigs from and from the way she staggers, she’s terribly drunk.

She’s trying to get them into the tunnels to fix the ship, but they are ignoring her. They fear the ship breaking up more than they fear her, but I was right. No one knows how to fucking fix it!

Mahresh tries a few more times before she drops her whiskey, picks up a club and lays into them. She takes off one guy’s head and that does it—they all scatter. Not a single one moves for the tunnels. She screams in fury and tries to chase them down, tripping over her own feet.

She slams into the ground, hitting her head. She lets out a high, disturbing whine, then starts to laugh.

I back away slowly, not making a sound. I’ve seen her like this before. It’s some kind of battle response, extreme attack mode. It happens when she gets hurt. Her senses will get twice as sharp and she’ll be able to move faster. The wall won’t save me.

Once I’m a few turns away, I start to scurry faster. There are screams behind me and lots of guns being discharged. Fuck knows what they are doing out there. Maybe they’ll kill each other and leave me alone on this damn boat. I don’t mind that. On my own, the energy and life support would be adequate. I might even be able to fix her if I could move around freely.

The searing ache of my stomach rises up through my belly into my throat. I’m always hungry, I think I have been my whole life. I wouldn’t have survived on the Maul for this long if I wasn’t used to starvation. I know it’s hopeless, but I head for the kitchens just in case. 

After watching the food preparation on the Killswitch, I realize just how lazy and fucked up the reapers on this ship are. Nobody cooks. On every other ship, cooking and food is a huge deal. These guys had supplies to start with and they’ve pillaged along the way, but not one reaper took up being a cook for the joy of it. 

It’s as if they are so used to the conditions of Cold Hope they don’t think about tasty food. 

I peer through a crack in a kitchen wall. The place looks like it’s been torn apart by rats. I listen carefully, making sure no reapers are nearby before I slip out and creep around. 

A very hard heel of bread and a handful of nuts is all I can find. Scattered across the floor, I find a few raisins and gather them up before jumping back into the wall. 

I move through the tunnels, looking for a place to stop. I need to eat and sleep. Sleeping is almost impossible. I know, wherever I stop, I am not safe. I could be happened upon at any moment and a reaper finding me doesn’t mean just death—it means terrible, painful death. Mahresh might even torture me for days if she finds me.

My hearing feels super sensitive and even after I curl up in a tiny corner, I can’t stop jumping at every sound. I’m sure they are coming for me, utterly convinced of it. I know that they don’t even know I’m here. They can’t know. But now the unreality of exhaustion and starvation is starting to come upon me. Dehydration and sleep deprivation have kicked it into full-blown delusion.

I can’t keep this up. My body is in worse shape than it was on Cold Hope. Mahresh had to keep us semi strong for our work in the mines, here I have no value except as a very short-lived toy.

My eyes close of their own accord. My head feels too heavy to lift. My hands and feet feel numb, the pins and needles creeping up my limbs. I’m powerless.

Maybe, I’ll go numb all over. I won’t feel it if they catch me and kill me. The terror of being raped and tortured to death is starting to pale against slowly dying of thirst like a rat trapped in the walls. Every which way I look, death is my only choice. 

I can’t keep doing this. I don’t know how long I can last, and I don’t even know why I’m hanging on. Is my life really so valuable? I’m beginning to doubt. 

A peaceful death might be better. Willfully choosing to go out on my own terms. A nice draught of reaper moonshine would do it.

My eyelids close and my head drops down. Tears run down my cheeks, stinging my eyes. I don’t want to die. But I’m a slave. I was born to die.

I’m nothing.

I’m no one.