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“You must be punished,” I tell her. “And it must hurt. And the crew must see it be done. Already, tales of your dishonesty have circulated. My warriors wish to be at the front lines of battle, and yet they are here, playing taxi to a lying little human.”
“Who was trying to save her own life.”
“You may wish to save your life. I may wish to save your life, but there are a thousand warriors aboard this ship whose lives are dedicated to conquest and war. And there are a hundred thousand warriors doing battle at the front lines of this war, who await our support. A king must make decisions for all his subjects. He cannot let love distract him.”
“You love me?”
Of course that’s what the human heard. Love is everything to these soft, sweet little creatures.
“Yes. I love you. I love you more than I can possibly express…”
“I love you too, Tyrant!”
Her eyes are shining for a different reason now. There is light and hope behind the tears. But before I can join her in that state of human happiness, I I have to address what my warrior nature demands.
“Love means pain,” I tell her. I do not know if she can understand the meaning of what I am saying. It may be that her limited experience as an accountant is just too narrow to comprehend the vastness of obligation an alien warrior king has. “You must be punished, and not in the privacy of this chamber. You must be punished before all my crew, pay your debt to them in sobs and the reddening of your flesh.”
Her jaw drops, and her face reddens. She is shocked at the notion of consequence for her reckless attempt at survival.
“But I had to do what I had to do…”
“And I have to do what I have to do. Come with me, and I will make you mine.”
Her face reddens all the more. My species are known for their flashing displays of scaled color, but I think hers is perhaps more deserving of a reputation for color displays. She blanches and then colors with a frequency and agility which I find very charming.
“Tyrant…”
She has no idea what happens to most organisms who refer to me in such a casual way. She very rarely, if ever, addresses me as Tyrant. I have rarely insisted she do otherwise, because I sense no disrespect in the absence of of my title.
“This is what you wanted. And if it is not what you wanted, it is at the very least what you deserve. And if it is not what you deserve, it is what must happen.”
“But…”
“Everybody on this ship knows we left the field of battle. Everybody on this ship knows we returned to Earth. I will not lie to them. You must be punished.”
“Fine,” she says, her lips tightening, her jaw raising just a little, the way it does when she is particularly determined about something. “If you have to whip me to let me stay here, then I accept it.”
“I don’t have to whip you. I want to whip you.”
She does not quite understand my cruelty, but she thrills to it. I see her cheeks flush, both at her head and at her rear.
I have had little opportunity to show her the full range of my fury. It is something which lives inside me, a desire for the most darkest of expressions, something which thrills to pain. What she is about to endure is something she will never forget. It will be both more and less than she deserves.
13 The Punishment
Tania
I am taken to a great bay, filled with hundreds upon hundreds of Essence warriors. Tyrant and I stand above them all on a scaffolded plinth which puts us on grand display. The warriors gleam in the darkness, lights flashing across the concentrated numbers like glowworms or those shoals of fish which flash in the ocean depths.
They are waiting for me. For justice to be done.
Tyrant speaks, and they listen.
“We turned from battle, the greatest shame of any warrior, in order to retain our accountant who told us that DICK had selected us for an audit. But that was a lie. There was no audit. There was only a human who wished to become property of your king, and of you all!”
“Wait…”
But there is no waiting. My words have no place here, and my wishes are moot.
Tyrant flashes his claws, and my dress is torn from me by unseen forces. I am made naked before his armies, and I am bent down away from them, every part of my rear on display to them, projected upon great screens which float above the crowd. I know this, because there is a smaller one before me, showing me what I look like, and showing me what they see.
