Fall (Cold Mark 1)

I moved my hair aside as another Human girl came to stand next to me, appearing nervous. I smiled gently to her, then placed my head on the table, face down. I jerked when the Mian’s fingers brushed remaining strands of my hair aside, his fingers so frigid they sent a shiver down my spine. He jerked his hand back, but then continued shoving any stray hair away, his skin now regular temperature against mine. I gritted my teeth against the touch. He was a litigator of the Mian, so he had to know that skin-to-skin contact was illegal for Humans. It grated on my nerves as he toyed with me, taking his time removing the lingering strands of hair from my flesh.

But I quickly forgot that when he shoved his hand down on top of my head. “Do not move during this.” I could barely breathe with the force of his hold shoving my mouth against the cold metal of the table. I did not know how he expected me to move. “The pain should only last seconds.”

I slammed my hands on the table when a feeling such as I had never known froze into the back of my neck from the rod he struck there. I squelched the scream that wanted to tear from my lips as I was literally branded with the Cold Mark, vertical black lines in a short barcode. But just as quickly, the pain disappeared as the rod was swiftly pulled away from the back of my neck. The Mian removed his hand from my head and I straightened immediately, shaking my head past that immense agony. I blinked a few times and rubbed my eyes to make sure no tears fell.

The Mian with the flame red hair smiled without humor, the action pulling the scar on his face grotesquely. “The first Human with the Cold Mark. I never thought I would see this day.” He tilted the rod and the rings fell off the end onto his palm. He placed them into a box he pulled from under the table, writing my name on the top of it and set it aside. He pointed to the Mian next to him, who was avidly watching. “Move down the line.”

My forehead creased as I stared at the box with the two rings now in it. “What about those?”

He appeared to be trying to reign in his temper. “After the arrival ritual, if a Vaq picks you for their Harem, then the rings will be given to them. Otherwise, they will be given to your owner to do as they wish. Most likely, you will be a slave to a house Harem, where your duty will be to meet the needs of the ladies.” He reached across the table and grabbed my elbow, roughly shoving me down the line of the table. “Now, do as you’re told.”

Holding my travel helmet in my hands, I waited inside the Mian’s spacecraft. I had been searched, more cold fingers on me, and then made to change into the flight wear. It consisted of a black, skintight suit, black boots, and black gloves; all space travel safe. I now stood where I was buckled against the wall with the other nine females who had been chosen to travel to Triaz. The chosen Human men were milling around inside the cavernous area we were in. Their boots were equipped with a magnetic pull to keep them grounded when the spacecraft finally launched; the magnets were their only safety harness to keep them from tumbling. By this action, it was obvious that even as a slave, the Mian protected the women over the men.

Jax stood directly in front of me, not saying a word.

I was scared and relieved that his name had also been called by the President.

I felt the floor beneath us begin to shake, the spacecraft readying for takeoff. I gradually put my helmet on. The Mian litigators had informed us that as soon as the helmet was connected to our suit, we would have just enough air to survive the trip to Triaz, and then one hour afterward. Only a Mian could remove the helmet with their fingerprint on the side of the helmet. If we chose to try to escape, we would die from lack of oxygen.

All ten of the women had been Cold Marked, while each man now wore a black slave’s bracelet on their left wrist underneath their black spacesuit. None of us had any clue what the ‘arrival ritual’ would entail, but by the cruel gleam in the Mian’s glowing eyes, it did not bode well. My body was trembling now, out of eyesight of the Mian soldiers at the end of the room, but I lifted my arms to Jax.

We were sparring partners. We always had been.

Jax and I were also two of the few who had received the ten marked tattoos on the undersides of our wrists for achieving our combat training. We never touched skin-to-skin, but after he placed his helmet on and moved into my embrace, holding me tight for takeoff, his boots sealed to the ground as the spacecraft began to lift, neither of us moved.

We merely held each other even tighter as the shouts of Human men were heard all around as their bodies were jerked back and forth, only their boots keeping them from crashing into each other. The wise men immediately sat, even as the Mian’s laughter at the end of the room could be heard. Too bad not all of them were that quick to catch on.

The ‘arrival ritual’ was as Jax and I suspected. Only, it was for men, not women.

I stood inside a coliseum made of blue glass while Mian war cries battered my eardrums. The helmet did not even help to drown out the horrific noise. The other women and I were on the front row with Mian guards at the end of our aisle. Marble bleachers were filled with Mian from the west and the east, apparently on a truce just to attend this unheard of event. Before us, in the center of the coliseum, was an area filled with the Human men still in their space travel wear – helmets included. The ground they walked on was pure brown dirt. They peered up at the spectators, unsure of when the attack would happen. The Mian litigators had explained – oh so briefly – that the men would be in the ‘ring’ for fifteen minutes. They would face off against Mian warriors from the east and the west, and they would be given blades to protect themselves. If they survived the fifteen minutes with the Mian warriors, they would prove themselves to be adequate slaves of the Mian.

The only way I even knew where Jax was compared to the rest of the Human men was the Mian number he had on the back of his spacesuit. His was 43. He was in the middle of the group, turning slowly in circles and watching the entrances of the ground level. The halo-glow above all of us clicked on, showing fifteen minutes on the countdown.

It started.

Mian warriors raced down the stairs of the bleachers and leapt over the circular railing with long, wicked swords in their hands. A drum began beating in a sickening rhythm that could only be for war. The lone way to distinguish these Mian should even be in the fight, compared to the rest of the war crying Mian, was the black attire that they also wore, though their black leather patched masks were much more frightening than the helmets of the Human men.

I gripped the edge of the barrier, only feet away from the first Human male who was skewered through by a charging Mian warrior. His cry of pain…I did not think I would ever forget. His torso arched and his knees buckled from being stabbed in the back. His helmet turned in our direction right before his head hit the dirt, forever dead to us. The Mian’s eyes were already on another target as he stepped on the Human’s dead body to remove his sword, blood flying in an arc and splashing my gloves.