With the remainder of humanity in chains, Shasta keeps her head down and tries to weather the storm. Servicing the filthy needs of a superior alien race, each day passes in a blur, the struggle to survive outweighing everything else.
After ten years...
"Are you combat trained? Fighting, weaponry, tactical warfare?"
"Um, no." I can't help but look down at my frail, battered body. Do I look like someone who has been extensively trained in combat?
He hums, taking another bite. "You were chosen for me because of your wounds. You appear to be a fighter, are you not?"
"No," I'm not sure why but I feel embarrassed about this. My stomach clenches, angrily cramping at the intrusion of real food. Sweat starts to gather above my lip and on my forehead. I'm trying to breathe through it but it's becoming more difficult with every inhale. My stomach feels like it's four times its normal size.
"Eat."
I force myself to take another bite even though I know it's a terrible idea. My body is already struggling with what I've eaten. I don't want to upset him or appear ungrateful for the food.
With my head tipped down, I try to study him through my lashes. I can see his face clearly now. He's so... unique. I can't quite place if that's a good or bad thing just yet. His horns are a nice distraction from the horrible feeling building in my stomach.
"You are very thin." He stares at my arms. "Eat."
"Um, I should slow down. It tastes delicious and I'm very grateful. I don't even remember the last time I had meat." I have to suppress the urge to gag.
"Are you ill?" He sets down his utensils and looks at me with downturned lips.
"Is there a bathroom here?" I suddenly feel frantic. My stomach is folding over on itself, cramping so horribly that I can't stand upright.
He presses a panel on the wall and I don't even look before running inside. I'm pretty sure I'm about to lose more than just the meat, maybe all of my organs as well.
I'm not sure how long I've spent here but I'm grateful that he never comes to check on me. Just let me die in peace. Sitting here on the floor, I feel defeated. After this, he's going to be really disappointed that he picked me. I'm not a warrior, which he apparently wanted, but I can't even eat. He got the runt of the liter, the dud.
When I feel like I can stand again, I hobble out of the bathroom and collapse on the soft rug. I'm sweaty and weak and my body is trembling.
"Are you defective? Or will your condition improve?" He stares at me. I can't tell if he's just grossed out or disappointed.
"I'll be fine. I just haven't had meat in so long and my digestive system wasn't ready for it."
"What can you eat?"
"Do you have bread? Or fruit?" I perk up slightly.
"Fruit is for animals." He definitely looks disappointed.
I'm about to apologize when he stands and leaves the room without a word or a glance.
The irony of this situation is not lost on me. For years, I longed for food - real, hardy, warm food that would make me feel full. I find someone who is actually willing to give it to me freely, and I can't handle eating it.
My stomach feels like it's locked into a painful tight ball, but otherwise, I'm already feeling much better.
Sitting up, curiosity takes over as I look around the room. I wonder how much is hidden in the panels of the walls. So far I have seen three of them. There are at least twenty more.
When the door opens, I am startled. It's so quiet in this room that any sound from outside is jarring.
"You may eat these," he sets a tray on the table that has several fruits that I recognize from Monturian tables.
"Thank you." I'm stunned by the kindness. No one, human or alien, has gone out of their way to do anything for me in a very long time. It's disarming to experience even the most basic decency after so many years.
"You need to bulk up." He sits and begins to eat the meat again.
Bulk up? For what? I'm afraid to ask.
"What's your name?" I pick a safe question. Once he explains why I need to 'bulk up' I'll never be able to unhear it. I want to spend as much time as possible in this state of ignorant bliss. He hasn't tried to hurt me, until I know with certainty, I can pretend that he's not planning to hurt me at all.
"I have no name." If he hadn't answered my question I would think that he didn't hear me. He doesn't look up or stop eating.
"No name?" Even the Monturians had names.
"No, do you have a name?" Again, he responds and even asks a question of his own but he doesn't look up from his tray.
"Shasta."
"Shasta of Earth." He nods thoughtfully. My name sounds odd in his voice, like it doesn't belong.
"If you have no name, what should I call you?"
"I have an identifier. It is not a name that I give for people to use in reference to me but there is a word that refers to me." He finally sets his utensil down and looks at me.
"What is your identifier?" I can't seem to stop myself from asking him questions. I know I should stop before I annoy him but he doesn't look annoyed.
He speaks a single word but it doesn't translate. I try to repeat it but even to my untrained ear, I know it's wrong.
His brow furrows as he nods his head. "No." He repeats the word again, more slowly.
Taking a breath, I try again, repeating it slowly. It's wrong again, I can feel it. My voice box can't make those sounds, my tongue can't move that way.
"No." He repeats again, this time he looks a bit irritated.
"I'm sorry. I know I'm not pronouncing it correctly. I'm not meaning to offend you." A shudder works its way up my spine.
He hums, looking down at me over his nose. "I am the Destroyer. I bring ruin to our enemies." He says before repeating the word for a third time.
The Destroyer? Great - that's just wonderful!
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