Wasn’t that the truth. Wilderness search-and-rescues were difficult. Sometimes people went missing for weeks. Sometimes they, or their bodies, were recovered. Sometimes nothing was found.
Perhaps those poor folks hadn’t become carrion for the scavengers like she had always believed. Perhaps they were abducted. Which fate was worse? She shivered. “You said your dad named the alien. Was your dad abducted in Scotland?”
“Aye. Taken from Ben MacDhui.”
“Why didn’t he run away when he felt the evil presence?”
“It wasna evil that he sensed. Rather he heard the soft, soothing call of a Siren, and he followed her higher up the mountain. It was the Hyboreans, using their minds to lure him to their ship, you ken.”
“Minds?” Feeling uneasy, she plucked a blade of grass and began tying it in knots. “You mean telepathy?”
“Aye. Ye wouldna think it to look at all that fur, but Hyboreans are highly evolved humanoids. Their brains are verra advanced and have long ago learned how to communicate telepathically. They dinna have spoken language, and we believe they lost the ability to produce sound centuries before. They have no need for vocal cords, just as we have no need for an appendix.”
“But I heard them purring.”
“Did ye now. Or perhaps ye
sensed
them purring?”
Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t heard them making any actual noise. She'd perceived it. The aliens had worked together but neither one spoke to the other. “Are you saying I’m telepathic?”
“Aye and no. Because human and Hyborean brain waves and neural pathways are so different, we dinna have the ability to transmit our thoughts or feelings telepathically. Thus Hyboreans can no' read our minds at all. Nor can we read their direct thoughts. However, we have a primitive ability that allows us to sense or perceive their emotions and feelings, though none of us interprets them in the same way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We decipher the same idea—being soothed, for example—differently based on our own experiences. Ye had perceived purring whereas I might have perceived relaxing by a fire drinking a hot toddy.”
She flicked the knotted grass. “If our brains are so different, how do we communicate?”
“Hyboreans understand our tone of voice and body language same as we can understand the meaning of a cat’s purr or hiss. But alas, ye can jabber away as much as ye like. They dinna comprehend our language. Therefore, we can communicate, but canna converse. ‘Tis a shame, really.”
“If they can’t talk to you, how do you know so much about them?”
“Same as any foreigner learns about a country’s society when they dinna speak the language. Astute observation and shrewd interpretation. And a wee bit of trial and error through the generations.”
People had lived on this planet for generations? Never before had she felt so small. An insignificant being in a grand cosmos. Yesterday, her life had purpose and meaning. She was a law enforcement officer in Klamath National Forest. She was an athlete. She was
free
. Now, she was trapped on an unknown planet somewhere in the universe forced to make babies for some alien survival race.
Deflated, she slouched against the hologram wall and looked up at the perfect sky—soft blue with wisps of white clouds—wishing she had wings to fly home. Home to her log cabin in the woods. Home to Zira, curled up on her lap as she watched late-night TV. Home to her determined, father whose life mission included craming her freezer full of berries from his hyper-prolific patches. She couldn’t pull out an ice tray without causing an avalanche of berry Baggies.
Every year since she could remember they’d have a marathon jam-making session. Who would help Dad can his blackberry jam now?
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She forced them back, refusing to cry. Crying admitted defeat. And her fight wasn’t over.
“Come.” Duncan stood and held out his hand to her. “Let’s walk. There is so much more to show ye.”
Knowledge is power.
Addy took his hand, determined to learn everything she could in order to figure out how to escape. She dusted off the back of her jean shorts. “I have no memory of coming here. Do you know how I was abducted?”
Before Duncan could answer, an enormous warrior whacked him on the back. “Hey, Gramps, bring me two more bottles of whis—” He stopped midword to size her up and down. “Hello, pet.”
Towering over Duncan, he must have been six foot six, but as he stood there in his militant stance scrutinizing her, he grew another foot. Sweat dripped off his long, dirty-blond hair and rolled down his Conan the Barbarian chest. He wore tight black pants—the kind a football player wore, only without the padding—tucked into tall boots that hugged his calves. A belt hanging low around his waist held his wooden sword and scabbard.
She recognized him as the winner of the swordfight.
Though he didn’t look much older than she, perhaps twenty-five, she couldn’t mistake his commanding presence. Everything from the way he carried himself to his entitled gaze radiated authority and power.
Time paused while he appraised her as though he were sole judge of a wet T-shirt contest. Shuddering from discomfort, she folded her arms across her chest.
“Regan,” Duncan began, “may I present Addy.”
Not wanting to appear as intimidated as she felt, she extended her hand to the warrior.
Regan reached behind her head, fisted a clump of hair, and jerked her to him for a kiss. She gasped, and his tongue snaked inside her mouth before he yanked her away again. The taste of his sweat and salt lingered on her tongue. If she weren’t in shock from his brusque assault, she would’ve spit. “Did Gramps, here, explain the breeding box?”
His leering gaze boiled her blood. Would it be considered police brutality if she punched his smug face? “He didn’t need to. I’ve already been there.”
Regan’s eyes lit with surprise before they narrowed. “Who was your stud?”
“Och, now it doesna matter, does it, lad?” Duncan stepped between them in a protective manner.
“The hell it doesn’t. I’m the alpha in this Yard.”
“Mmph. Well, perhaps yer master doesna see it the same way as ye do.”
The angles in Regan’s face sharpened with contempt.
“But if it makes ye feel better, it wasna anyone from our Yard. Come, lass.” Duncan took her trembling hand to lead her away, but the gladiator caught his shoulder and turned him around. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he stared Duncan down. Her heart pounded. She had no doubt Regan would get his answer by force if necessary.
“Don’t toy with me, Gramps. That body”—he pointed at her but kept his eyes locked on Duncan—”was meant for breeding gladiators. Who was her stud?”
Duncan tapped his lips in a slow and deliberate show of contemplation, further annoying the warrior. “I do seem to recall a name.”
“Well?”
“I believe it was...Max.” Duncan smiled as if he laid down a royal flush.
Regan howled with laughter.
Why he thought her being in the breeding box with Max was so funny, she had no idea.
Funny
wasn’t close to the word she’d use to describe it. She lowered her gaze, suddenly interested in the grass.
Regan’s meaty hand covered her shoulder. His condescending eyes patronized her. “My poor pet. Having to endure that old man. Lucky for you, he couldn’t last long, eh? Don’t worry. I’ll show you what a real man can do.” He slapped her butt.
Heat surged angry through her veins. “He’s more man than you.” Max had jumped off her after she called him an animal. This cocky bastard would never do that.
“You say that now because you don’t know any better. I’ll see you in the breeding box. Stepping closer, he licked his lips and whispered in a husky voice, “If not sooner.”
She pushed him back, but her hand slid off his sweaty shoulder. He didn’t move. “You’ve got spunk, pet.” His mouth curled into a wicked grin. “I’m going to have fun with you.”
“Ye best get back to practicing, lad, if ye wish to best Max at the championship.”
“Ha. Beating Max is no wish, Gramps.”
A musical tune like a cell phone ringtone sounded behind Regan.
“If I’m no’ mistaken, it hasna been reality either, aye?” Duncan grabbed Addy’s hand and quickly ushered her away, but not before she saw Regan’s face flush with anger.
“I expect that whiskey before I leave tonight,” he yelled after them. His voice and the musical tone faded into the distance.
Once out of the warrior’s sight, Addy turned on Duncan. “Thanks a lot for introducing me to Mr. Alpha Jerk back there...Who the hell does he think he is?...It wasn’t my fault I was in that stupid box with Max...Why doesn’t he go pick a fight with your stupid Hyborean?”
“Settle down, lass. I had no choice on the matter. Regan is the alpha gladiator in the Yard, and no mistake. That wee display of power was his way of explaining things to ye.”
“Well he didn’t have to hurt me to do it.” She rubbed her sore scalp. “A simple ‘Hi Addy, I’m in charge here’ would have sufficed. This planet is insane.”
“Aye, well, Hyborea is different, to be sure.”
“Different? I’ve been here one day, and half the people I’ve met shoved their tongues down my throat. I’m like S’mores at a Boy Scout jamboree. Duncan, these men can’t help themselves to me whenever they want. I won’t allow it.” She smacked a low hanging branch out of her way. “I can’t stay here.”
“Dinna fret, lassie. It’s no’ so bad. Ye’ll get used to the way of things.”
Was he serious? Who could possibly get used to being a sex slave? A human broodmare? He was as insane as the rest of the planet. She stopped, turned to him, and lowered her voice. “Max told me he knew someone who had escaped.”
Duncan’s face changed from surprise to sadness then back to normal. He shifted his weight to the other leg. “Did he now? Perhaps that was another of his wee fabrications. Like the baby-selling cult.” He started walking again, his pace quicker than a moment ago.
Clearly Max wasn’t the only one lying.
* * *
They spent the rest of the day walking the perimeter of the Yard—which, according to Duncan, was three miles long by one and a half miles wide—so she could see for herself there was no way out. Duncan agreed to the trek only on the condition they take multiple stops to rest and eat some food they picked along the way. He led her around like a proud museum curator, spouting facts and numbers about the Yard.
She committed every detail to memory.
“The Yard is over 2,800 acres. We’ve training fields, woodlands, farmland, and many water bodies. All the flora and fauna ye’ll find is indigenous to Earth.”
Just how many times had he’d given this little everything-you-need-to-know-about-the-Yard speech? It sounded way too rehearsed to be off the top of his head.
The sun crossed the sky as they strolled passed people swimming, fishing, and lounging in hammocks. Groups played soccer or practiced some kind of martial arts. They passed three pregnant women knitting baby blankets. Duncan waved to someone farming in a field.
Only two Hyboreans had been in the Yard until the sun lowered and the temperature fell. Then more aliens—children, presumably, by their shorter stature—had come out to play catch with their full-grown human pets. None of the aliens had paid Duncan or her any attention, thankfully.
“How come some people wear chokers and others don’t?” If she didn’t want to get zapped while escaping, she had to get rid of hers.
“The decision is up to the individual master. Mostly though, gladiators, Earthlings, and anyone new to or visiting the Yard wear them. Most Hyborea-born humans—or Hyborhus, as they’re called—don’t.”
“Do you and Tess wear one?”
“No, lass. Except when Ferly Mor takes us on his travels.”
“He lets you out? Where does he take you? How often do you leave? Will he be going back to Earth?”
“Och. I hope yere no’ of a mind to escape. Ferly Mor won’t let that happen.”
The metal around her neck seemed to tighten. She tugged on it, though not as hard as yesterday. She didn’t want to risk pissing off the Hyboreans. Would they remove this damn shock collar if she demonstrated good behavior? Searching for an answer her gaze drifted up at the holographic mural. The wall could barely be seen behind it.
“Duncan, how high would you say that wall is?”
“Too high for what I think ye’re thinking.”
“You don’t believe I could climb over it?”
“No.” Before she had a chance to get riled up and prove her athleticism, he said, “The Yard is no’ what it appears. The walls enclose us in a synthetic habitat. Our sky is nothing more than a brilliantly engineered holographic dome. Hundreds of ultraviolet lights brighten and dim in correlation to the Hyboreans’ solar system.”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying we’re actually inside a giant atrium...with a planetaium roof?”
“Aye. That about sums it up. Ye must agree the 3-D forest mural is a nice touch. We don’t have to look at ugly buildings like in the subclass’s Yards.”
The sun setting behind the trees painted the sky in a pink-and-orange glow. Hair swept across her face by a gentle breeze that carried the scent of wild onions.
How could all of that be fake?
Duncan’s eyes shone with tenderness. “I ken this is difficult for ye to understand, but what I show ye tonight will help. Come, lass. We’re nearly home.”
By the time darkness covered the Yard, Duncan pressed a black button in the camouflaged wall. A section sublimated. Hyborean doors didn’t open on a hinge, slide, or revolve. Their matter transitioned from a solid state to a gaseous state without becoming a liquid first, like dry ice.
She remembered Max appearing in her bed as if out of a white fog. That must have been when the Hyboreans sublimated the door and placed him into the breeding box.
They stepped through the swirling white vapor into Duncan’s kitchen. The doorway crackled as the gas transitioned into its solid state once again. She never would have guessed they’d been standing outside of Duncan’s home. When she’d sprinted out of there that afternoon, she hadn’t looked back to notice the “glass” wall was only transparent from the inside, like a window in an interrogation room. How many other houses were concealed behind the hologram murals they passed today?