I’m confident her mind is still as keen as ever.
If it wasn’t for Sawoot, I’d be filled with even more despair than I am right now. She’s like my rock. We’d worked together long before I became captain of my own little ship, and she’s got a thirty percent stake in our little venture; making her one of the few people I can trust.
She breathes ominously: “Those aren’t Empire Reavers…”
I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.
If this ship was aligned with the Aurelian Empire, we’d be figuratively fucked. Any law-abiding Aurelian – and the warriors of the Empire are all pathologically law-abiding – would report us in a second, and hand us right over to the authorities. Once our cargo gets discovered, we’ll all find ourselves thrown in prison for the rest of our lives.
But that might still be a better fate than the alternative. If this ship belongs to Rogue Aurelians, as I’m starting to suspect, then we might be literally fucked.
I barely escaped that triad of Rogue Aurelians last time – and that was only because I had Sawoot and the crew of the Wayward Scythe to rescue me.
But this time, my crew are caught right alongside me – and there’s nobody coming to save us.
I shudder at the thought of succumbing to the same fate I barely escaped last time. If these are Rogue Aurelians, I’m certain they’ll try the same thing – to add me to their slave harem. Likely Sawoot will be added as well, and I dread to think what fate might befall the rest of my crew.
There’s no point fighting, either. Aurelian warriors stand seven-feet-tall or more, and they’re built like massive, burly wrestlers; all muscle, with barely a scrap of fat to them.
That’s intimidating enough – an individual Aurelian could make mincemeat of any man with his bare hands – and then there’s the fact that the bastards always come in threes; a triad.
In battle, a triad of Aurelians are formidable. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to be part of one of their harems. Imagine being taken by one of those huge, haughty creatures?
I shiver.
Imagine what it would be like to be taken by three of them!
Sawoot squeezes my shoulder, snapping me from my thoughts.
“So, you think they’re Rogue?”
“There’s a thin line between independent and Rogue.”
I stare through the glass of the cockpit at the unmarked Reavers. These three could merely be traders, merchants or mercenaries – who work independently of the Aurelian Empire, but still abide by their rules and laws…
…but I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Rogue or not, one thing’s for sure,” Sawoot breathes ominously. “They sure as hell aren’t working for Emperor Raegan and Queen Jasmine.” Her fingers tighten on my shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, though. If these bastards are Rogue… The first one stupid enough to lay a hand on me loses his cock.”
I snort bitterly. I love Sawoot’s courage and grit.
But her defiant words only mean so much. My mouth turns dry at the thought of what might happen to Sawoot and I if these mysterious Aurelians are Rogue. Out here, in the dead of space, they’re clearly up to no good – and who knows how long they’ve been away from fresh, willing women. We’ll be like two juicy pork chops, tossed into a dog kennel.
Aurelians are bad enough, the haughty bastards – but those that turn Rogue are the worst of all of them.
Perhaps the only redeeming thing about Aurelians is their adherence to law, structure and process. Those who go Rogue turn their back on all that; and instead sate their endless appetite for women and warfare in ways and places that would earn them a death sentence in the eyes of the Empire.
Despite the legions of women begging to join Aurelian harems, Rogue Aurelians instead take women as property – forcing them to become slaves in their harems, and then forcing them into subjugation. It’s as if the allure of a harem for Rogue Aurelians isn’t easy and convenient access to beautiful women – but the sense of power from owning them.
I glance up at Sawoot as she looks over my shoulder. More than any of us, Sawoot is the expert on Aurelians – and she’s told me all about Rogue Aurelians before. In fact, she cautioned me not to take the job we had with that first Rogue triad – the three who nearly added me to their slave harem. I should have listened to her then – and I’m certainly going to listen to her now.
From behind us, Chris stands up from his seat, puffing his chest out.
Chris is one more of my crew – around forty years old and as tough and grizzled as old boot leather. Out of the six crewmembers of the Wayward Scythe, Chris is the one who had the toughest time accepting the authority of a female captain – but I put up with his attitude because he’s a hard worker, calm under pressure, and reliable. I’m glad to have him with us – as long as he can keep his head.
“There’s only three of them. We could grab one of those Reavers and blast our way out.”
Chris speaks with bravado – but it’s bravado that could get us all killed.
The big man lumbers over to the weapons cabinet and wrenches open the metal hatch, pulling out a sidearm. I installed the cabinet in the bridge – just in case we ever needed to deal with a boarding party or stowaways trying to kill us on our own ship – but they were never intended to be weapons of war.
“Put that back,” I snap. “There’s are only three of them in view – but there are bound to be plenty more
