Tren, his feet propped on his main console, cursed as an alarm went off.
“What the frukx is going on now?” He mumbled under his breath as he punched in a sequence of keystrokes on the armrest of his seat, forcing the screen in front of him to bring up the video for the transport bay. More than likely, one of his specimens had gotten free of the tractor beam, not a huge worry with this latest batch. The planet Earth wasn’t known for its deadly denizens. On the contrary, their creatures tended toward the docile side, especially the liquid faring variety.
The bay, with its huge vats, appeared in his view screen and he scanned the room, panning the camera in several directions. He didn’t see anything, but then again, some of the critters he’d captured were quite small. Not like the knovakian’s with their forty astrometric long tentacles. Those he’d had to sedate before capturing them for transport.
With a sigh of annoyance, he stood from his chair and stretched his bulky frame before stomping to the elevator that would take him to the lower level. He stopped just before entering and barked a command. “Proceed to the seventh planet in the quadrant and then drop into hyperspeed. Heading, the Jifnarian galaxy, third planet.”
“Course locked.” The smooth voice of his computer confirmed his orders. He grunted as he swung into the elevator and jabbed the button for the transport bay.
Going to wrestle a fish. The thought made him sigh. He’d come a long way from his career as a mercenary. His new life as a wrangler and transporter for rare species from undeveloped galaxies might bore the frukx out of him, but it sure beat getting his ass shot off every time he turned around. Of course, nothing could compare to the rush of a mission where he outsmarted security systems, pitted his skills against deadly guards and came out ahead. But the life of a warrior for hire wasn’t a long one hence his career change.
However, no one warned him that retirement would mean he’d end up bored out of his mind. He’d tried the life of leisure for a while, he’d certainly amassed enough credits to do so, but a male could only get drunk so many times and plow so many females before everything turned stagnant. So he bought a ship and started a new career—acquisitions specialist.
At least with his new business, he got to travel, fight the occasional reticent species and kill off pirates. Those still stupid enough to engage him that was. His reputation preceded him and now even the scum of the universe avoided him.
Time to change ships perhaps and fool them into thinking I’m new. He chuckled at the thought and made a mental note to have his business manager look into it. He could use the sport, and it always paid to keep one’s skills sharp.
The door to the elevator slid open, disrupting his mental plan to fool pirates into playing and he strode into the large transport bay.
“Lights,” he barked.
The dim cavern immediately illuminated and he strode through the tanks heading toward the newest one to see what caused his alarm to still ring shrilly. He didn’t bother masking the sound of his arrival, the heavy thump of his combat boots loud in the cargo bay. It wasn’t like the specimens he’d caught could grow legs and run away. What a shame. He wouldn’t have minded some form of entertainment.
Arriving at the recently filled vat, he peered around on the floor but found nothing around the base of the tank. He clambered up a ladder to reach the catwalks. He no sooner set foot on the metal grate than he saw a prone, wet lump.
“What the frukx is that?” It didn’t look like the illustrations he’d seen of Earth’s aquatic species. He wrinkled his nose at the stench, a briny, wet fish odor. Toeing the pale creature, he whipped his pistol out when it grunted.
What he’d mistaken for seaweed moved, and then, lifted until he found himself face to face with a face, a pale humanoid one. Big, brown eyes shot with red streaks blinked at him and blue lips parted on a gasp.
“Holy shit. You’re like Han Solo on crack,” croaked the human. And with those strange words, the Earthling he’d accidentally abducted, slumped forward again. Its eyes rolled back in its head and its forehead smacked into the grated flooring.
“Ah, frukxn’ crap.” Tren braced his hands on his hips and grimaced down at the sodden mess. Kill the Earthling or keep it? He got the impression it was female, although given its contorted position and bedraggled state, it could have also been an effeminate male. Either way, he didn’t want it. There wasn’t a large market for Earthlings, not given their temperament. The females especially tended to cry all the time and descend into hysterics, especially when introduced to their new masters. Apparently, they took issue with the whole sold as a sex slave thing. It was why Tren stuck to creatures. They couldn’t talk back.
I wonder if I can just drop her off somewhere on her planet. He discounted that idea almost immediately. One, he couldn’t be bothered. And two, medical expeditions learned their lesson after the Earthlings who came back after an abduction freaked, telling all who would listen about probes and needles. Like we’d use such archaic forms of technology. It made him sneer. Most of the civilized worlds considered Earth a barbarian planet, one bent on destroying its natural resources. It was why he’d made a trip to pick up specimens. At the rate they currently destroyed their oceans, he figured it wouldn’t be long now before the whole planet expired, making what he’d grabbed a possible rarity.
Not that he cared about their fate. The galaxy had more than enough viable planets and sentient races. They wouldn’t miss the loss of one backwards planet out in the far reaches.
But what to do about the Earthling? He raised his pistol to end the human’s life, but hesitated. What had it meant when it called him Han Solo on crack? His translator didn’t know what to make of it, and dammit, now he found himself curious.
I’ll kill it after I find out. Decided, he holstered his gun and then crouched to grab the limp body. He rolled the human onto its back and that’s when he noticed the damage done to the female. And female she certainly was with her plentiful bosom spilling from the top of a soaking rag—only two breasts, though, instead of a lush four or five. He ignored her feminine attributes as he took in her twisted leg, broken in at least three places he’d wager.
I’m surprised she didn’t scream her head off when she woke there for a moment. Probably shock kept her from noticing her injury. She’d certainly have plenty to say when she woke again—blubbering and gushing tears he couldn’t abide. For a moment, he again debated just shooting her now before he had to put up with lunatic raving, but stopped at the sight of her looking so utterly helpless. He cursed as he holstered his gun. He, the coldest killer in the known galaxies, couldn’t kill her. That’s it. I need to go on a mission before I turn into a complete frukxning softy. He’d let his contacts know he was back in business as soon as he got rid of his cargo, including one sure-to-be-annoying female.
He slid his hands under her plump frame and drew her toward him before standing with her cradled in his arms. With no effort on his part—he kept himself in impeccable shape—he carried her to the end of the walkway and the equipment lift. A short elevator ride later, he spilled onto an upper level where he kept his room and the medical chamber.
Curiosity made him peek at her while he carried her. Her skin appeared pale, extremely so and beneath its surface he could see a fragile network of veins. He would have called her unblemished but noticed her skin appeared marred by a strange line of pale dots across the bridge of her nose. That’ll decrease her value. She sported dark lashes and brows at odds with her pale colored hair that streaked from a light gold to a dark brown. Her lips, an odd blue color, were full, and through their parted seam he could see white teeth, flat edged, making him wonder if perhaps her kind were herbivores. Her body filled his arms, opulent and soft, yet not obscenely so. The wet fabric she wore molded to the round fullness of her breasts and clung to her prominent nipples.
To his disbelief, his groin tightened at the sight. Apparently, he’d waited too long between brothel visits if this pale, sodden female could incite lust, especially considering she only owned two breasts—a common trait among her kind or a genetic abnormality?
Disgusted with himself and his interest in her as a copulating partner, he dumped her onto the diagnostic table in his medical room. The repair and diagnostic unit descended from the ceiling with a whir. Tren punched in a few commands on the device and then walked away, only to return a moment later when the machine beeped.
“Stupid machine. It can heal anything, but it can’t stand wet clothes,” he grumbled. He grasped the damp fabric adorning her frame and tore it in half before peeling it from her body. Womanly curves greeted him and, despite her dual mounds, he hungrily drank the sight of her in from the dark blush of her nipples to the brown thatch between her legs. His hand couldn’t help but trace the round softness of her belly with its intriguing hole in the middle. He wondered what it was for, and had to admit it made her body intriguing to behold, a fact his hardening cock agreed with.
With a curse at his lack of control, he whirled and stomped out of the chamber, letting the unit do its work. His clothes, damp and stinking of the Earth’s ocean, required changing and he proceeded to his chambers to do so. He dropped his soiled garments in the ship’s cleansing unit before dressing in a clean and dry outfit. It was as he tucked his shirt into his pants that it occurred to him he’d have to clothe the female.
Or let her run around naked, his mind whispered with a dirty chuckle. His cock twitched at the thought. Tren tightened his lips into a thin line. I am definitely visiting a brothel at my next stop.
Not owning any feminine garments, he snagged a spare shirt and pants of his. He’d pick her up some clothes in one of his docking ports. Or he’d sell her naked, whichever he thought would fetch him a better price.
Knowing the medical unit would require a few more galactic units to complete its work, he went back to the command center, the spare clothes bundles under his arm. He wanted to do more research on Earthling females and discover ways of muzzling them, because with his luck, she’d probably end up the noisy, wailing type.
And all males know the only time a woman should speak is during sex when she screams our name.