Taken (Warriors of Karal Book 3) (2 page)

Her hand tightened around the simcoff in her hand and she hurried on, wanting to be home. There she could shower, wash off the day’s grime—if the power grid didn’t fail, as it had a habit of doing around this time of day as people arrived home. Then she would eat, and sleep.

But tonight when she dreamed, would it be of a big muscly alien sweeping her off her feet and taking her away in his space ship to show her the moon, or would it be Mr. Murgrove, fucking her up against the glass windows of his office, while still watching the other workers going about their jobs?

The lottery was definitely the best option.

Malik left his room and walked through the warriors’ quarters. There were few of them here. Only the two pilots destined to go into deep space with an Earth female, and the crews needed to maintain and launch the cruisers, remained. All the other warriors were at home, preparing for the time when they would receive a mate from the lottery.

He walked across the large courtyard, heading towards the small cruiser he had use of while he was here. The day was so beautiful, he had decided to use his downtime to go and get some fresh air, he might even try to climb one of the south faces of Mushta, the big mountain that stood overlooking the grassy plains where the tower and its ancillary buildings were situated.

Stretching, he looked up at the sky. It was clear, the violet tinges almost translucent, the rays from two suns so hot they were making a heat haze shimmer across the horizon. Yes, it would be a good day to get out and enjoy the fresh air. The exercise, and cool mountain air, would also wake him up; he was beginning to find the routine of living in the warriors’ quarters mind-numbingly boring. He wished he could return home, not so much to make preparations for a mate, but to do some gardening. This was the best time of year to be working outside, and by the time his rotation was over, the days would be shortening and the glut of summer fruits would be spoiled.

“Malik,” a voice shouted from the warrior quarters he had just left. He turned to see Okil, the Karalian who was responsible for overseeing the deep space missions.

“Yes, Okil, what can I do for you?” he asked politely. Okil had been of a lower rank than the warriors until the Karal had begun to move females from Earth to Karal. Now, for some reason that escaped Malik, Okil had been promoted. Warriors were expected to defer to him about anything to do with the deep space missions.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

“Sure.” Malik stood still, waiting for Okil to either come out of the quarters, or say what he had to say from there. Little was secret amongst the warriors.

“In private,” Okil said, going back inside, but holding the door open for Malik to follow.

Malik sighed, glanced up at the sky once more with longing, and then went back into the cool corridor, where Okil was already walking away. A little bemused, Malik followed, keeping up, but not catching up, with the other Karalian. The distance gave him time to think.

Had he done anything wrong, not carried out his duties proficiently? He was sure he had been punctual at all times, and his superiors had never had a word of complaint in his work.

“In here,” Okil said, motioning to a small room that was empty save for a small desk and two chairs. The room was used for debriefing when a warrior came back from a mission; it was small, and virtually soundproof. The mystery continued to deepen.

“Have I done something wrong?” Malik asked as Okil indicated to him to sit in one of the chairs. This was not going to be a brief interview; if it was, they would have remained standing.

“No. No, nothing at all,” Okil said, sitting in the chair opposite. “Please, don’t worry.”

However, the expression on Okil’s face did make him worry. There was something wrong, the usually calm Okil appeared agitated. He sat down in the other chair, only to get up again, pace to the door, which took all of two steps, and then turn around to sit back down again.

Malik, like most warriors, was a patient man. He sat back in his chair and waited, trying not to think of the day passing, and his downtime slipping away, as Okil put off whatever it was he had to say.

“Malik,” Okil began. “I know you have been working as a member of the launch crew, so you know the timetable we have to adhere to.

“Yes, the lottery draw is today, I believe. And the female is to be transported here ready for the deep space launch in two days.” Malik, along with every other crew member, was well aware of the launch timetable. This was the third of the deep space missions, and the crews had got to the point where they were well organised, each knowing their job.

“Yes. That is correct. You are aware of the need for the launches to stay on schedule?” Okil asked, and Malik hoped they were about to get to the crux of the conversation.

“Yes. They are all planned a week apart. If this one is delayed, there will be a knock-on effect. And I imagine the Hier Council will be displeased.”

“Yes, they would.”

“Because it would be letting the President of Earth down.” Malik was digging for more information; he still could not understand why the President of Earth expected their help, and received it so freely. He would never ask his superiors openly about it. But Okil was different.

“It would make the Karal look weak, a thing the Council never likes,” Okil agreed. “But that is not important. It is not why we are here.”

“Then why are we here?” Malik asked, wanting a direct answer.

“The launches must go ahead, because the Hier Council are about to increase the flow of women coming from Earth. We are not expecting any trouble, but it would make our case much stronger, if we had done everything possible to help the people of Earth as a whole.”

“I see,” Malik said, although like many other Karalians he did wonder why the Karal were helping such a weak species as humans. They needed the females, true, but they could take those by force if they needed to.

“Malik,” Okil said, cutting through his train of thought. “We have hit a problem.”

“I see,” Malik said, even though he had no idea what problem there could be that involved him. He had pride in his work, and he had never let his fellow warriors down, but he was one among many who were equally as capable.

“No, you probably don’t,” Okil said, getting up to take those two paces again, his hand itching to push the handle down on the door and leave the room, but he didn’t; he simply sat back down, leaned forward, and said to Malik, “The problem is, the human female we had chosen for Trumin has fallen ill.”

Trumin was the next warrior who was to go into deep space with his female. No doubt there would have to be a different female found for him. Darl, the doctor in charge of these things, was a magician when it came to perfect matches, or so the rumour went. “Then the mission will be delayed?” Malik asked, seeing Okil’s predicament.

“No … not if you are willing to go instead,” Okil said, deadly serious.

Malik now knew why Okil had asked him to sit down. The room spun just a little, and he had to put his hand on the desk to steady himself.

“Me?” he asked.

“Yes, we were struggling to find a replacement mate for Trumin. However, while Darl was looking, a perfect match was entered into the lottery at the last minute. Only the perfect match for her is you.”

Chrissie arrived early to her job, just as she did every morning. She wouldn’t give Mr. Murgrove the slightest reason
not
to employ her. Although her intuition told her it was useless; this man was a predator, and she had become his next prey. It didn’t matter about her work—he wanted something more from her.

“Chrissie, how are you settling in?” Fion asked, catching up with her on the way to the lockers. Fion had been responsible for Chrissi getting this job. She had left Saviour a year ago, on medical grounds; the polluted air had damaged her lungs and she wasn’t medically fit enough to go into space.

When the Saviour Project was permanently shut down, and Chrissi was left to find a new life, Fion was one of the only people who understood how hard it would be for her to get a normal civilian job. Chrissi’s references were useless; they showed only too clearly that Chrissi had no experience of working in the real world.

“Good,” Chrissi said as Fion walked by.

“I’m so pleased to hear that,” Fion said.

Desperate for someone to talk to, Chrissi quickly pulled on her overalls, buttoning them up while she ran to catch up with Fion. “The problem is, Mr Murgrove kind of asked me on a date.”

Fion stopped walking and turned to Chrissi. “Not you too!” she exclaimed, although her voice was hushed.

“That’s what I figured. So what are the chances of me keeping this job if I turn him down?” Chrissie asked.

“Slim,” Fion answered quietly. “He's a leech.”

“Great,” Chrissi said.

Fion smiled sadly. “Mr. Murgrove is likely to make your life hell. And then when he’s had his fun, he’ll end your trial. I’ve seen it before.”

“That was what worried me,” Chrissi said. “I guess I’ll have to suck it up and see if I can wear him down.”

“He knows he has complete control, Chrissi. I’m so sorry.” The look in Fion’s eyes told her Chrissi would not keep her job unless she gave Mr. Murgrove what he wanted.

Trying to stay upbeat, Chrissi said, “Thanks, Fion, I should get to work. Maybe we can catch up for a drink sometime.”

“I’d like that,” Fion said. “Maybe Friday?”

“Yes, unless I win the lottery,” Chrissi said flippantly, as she walked backwards, away from Fion, who now wore a surprised expression, her eyes open wide, indicating there was someone behind Chrissi’s back.

Chrissi spun around, right into the waiting arms of Mr. Murgrove. “You entered the lottery?” he asked sharply.

“Yes, last night,” Chrissi said, pulling away from him.

“I am disappointed, Chrissi. I thought we had an understanding, and you intend to run off to another planet. So much for loyalty,” he said, to which Chrissi opened and closed her mouth, at a complete and utter loss for words.

“It was a dare,” Fion said, approaching quickly, trying to rescue Chrissi.

“A dare. Is this true?” Mr. Murgrove asked.

“Yes … yes, one of my friends dared me to do it.”

“And you went along with the dare?” he asked, his voice sounding like her old headmaster at school.

“Yes, you know what it’s like,” she said flippantly.

“No, I don’t,” he said. “But we can discuss it later. Now you should get to work.”

Trying not to think of what would happen later, after she told Mr. Murgrove quite clearly she wasn’t interested in having any
fun
with him, she settled into her routine. Her job was simple: keep the machines running. Easy—next to the equipment she had been qualified to use during her training with the Saviour Project, this was basic stuff. The worst part was not being able to get her hands on new parts. Many times she had cannibalised old parts and managed to get the machines working again with duct tape and luck.

How long those repairs would last, she didn’t know. However, as long as the machines worked, and nobody got hurt, it didn’t seem to matter too much to Mr. Murgrove. Thinking of him, she looked up to his office and their eyes met. A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach made her turn away and try to ignore him. But his creepy face kept appearing in front of her.

“So what’s the deal with the boss?” she ventured to ask one of the machinists as she tried to unclog a skimmer.

“Deal? Oh, you mean he’s giving you the eye?” the machinist asked. “Happens, thinks he owns our sorry souls. And he’s not far wrong, he knows we need our jobs.”

“That’s just wrong,” Chrissi said, appalled.

Great
. How was she supposed to deal with this? She needed the job, she needed him to sign the contract, but she didn’t want to have sex with him. Why the hell had he picked her? She wasn’t anything special, and even during the exercise she put in whilst in training, Chrissi had never managed to whittle away her curvy thighs and voluptuous breasts. Maybe that was the draw, she was curvier than most women, although men were usually turned off by that.

Back to work
. She kept her head down, and never let her eyes drift up to his office again. She would get out of here and go home to think things over. And hope she won the lottery.
Yeah, because that will make all the difference
; she would be swapping being forced to sleep with her boss for having to live with, and sleep with, an alien.

Why the hell had she entered the lottery? Why the hell had they cancelled the space program!

She put her tools away and went to her locker to fetch her purse. But there, waiting for her, was Mr. Murgrove. Her heart sank, and she felt the flutter of nerves in the pit of her stomach once more. Her decision was going to have to be made quickly.

“Chrissi, can you come to my office.” He didn’t ask her; he simply expected her to follow. And she did, reluctantly, all the time looking out for Fion, in the hope she could grab her friend and use her as a chaperone.

Mr. Murgrove held the door open for Chrissi, and then closed it securely once she was inside. The feeling of unease intensified. She knew that most of the workers got out of the factory as quickly as possible, meaning there was a good chance the two of them were the only ones left in the building.

She was at his mercy
.

Chrissi shook that feeling off. What was wrong with her, this guy might control her contract, but he didn’t control her. If he made any unwanted advances, she would be able to defend herself. Now she was sounding like a drama queen, like the ones she saw in the Reality StreamShows everyone loved to watch.

“Sit,” he said.

She did as he asked, cursing herself for not staying on her feet, next to the door. But when he went around the far side of the desk and sat down, she began to relax. Her imagination had definitely got carried away.

“Now,” he said, taking the same sheet of paper out of his desk and placing it in front of her. “I think we both know how tonight is going to work.”