Taquork Market: A Gift for the General

AVA

As we are ushered off the shuttle, I can hear the noise from the massive crowd that’s gathered somewhere in the station waiting for the start of the auction. There’s also shrill music being piped through the station.

The sound puts me even more on edge.

The five of us are led to some sort of backstage area. Already here are a handful of other species I never learned the names and the women I’ve taken to calling goldfish. They are quite striking. Their skin is swirled with vibrant hues of purple and blue on two of the women, and red and orange on the third and fourth.

They have long, intricate, and flowing “fins” running down their spine, and they curl the ends across their face, hiding it from view. Smaller fins run down the back of their arms and legs. While their feet are toeless, their hands have two large digits, sort of like an oven mitt.

Their wrists are clipped to anchors in the wall spaced a few feet apart, and our guards are quick to add a chain to our silver bracelets and do the same to us.

As soon as we are all chained to the wall, the guards murmur in agitation and line up in front of us.

“The High Commander…,” one hisses to another. “His generals, too,” the other replies.

“Needed a private entrance…”

“Threats against him…”

“He executed Lord Trisaria just yesterday.”

The guards partially block my view of the hall. I peer around the big body in front of me as I hear footsteps coming our way.

A large group of imposing aliens enter from where we had been brought in a few minutes ago, led by two toad men who are dressed in formal wear instead of guard uniforms. They escort a party of a dozen or more aliens while talking loudly about what an honor their presence bestows, and the good fortune they will surely bring.

Following directly behind are four lizard-looking men in uniform surrounding a fifth of the same race dressed in purple robes with over-the-top adornments. Metal tinkles with every step from the trinkets sewn onto the hem of his robe. His ridiculous get-up and haughty stance immediately tell me that he must be the infamous High Commander.

I shudder at the sight of him.

He looks like a man-sized iguana, with frills of spikes on the crown of his head with a golden circlet perched between them. His scales range from deep-forest green all the way to a lighter lime color, much more vivid than his four guards who are a bland shade of olive green. He scans the line of slaves along the wall with cold, beady eyes.

Following the High Commander and his bodyguards are four other men, all different races, and they all sport identical cool and aloof looks, barely sparing us a glance. They wear identical military uniforms with an emblem of sorts pinned to the breast, each one different. I assume these must be the generals.

They are all terrifying in different ways. One has actual horns that start where his eyebrows should be and curve up to sharp points above his head. A lion-looking one briefly locks eyes with me, his own amber gaze cold and detached. His lips curve up in a snarl and the points of sharp teeth peek out below his lips.

I shudder at his angry expression, breaking eye contact and returning my focus to the High Commander. He takes his time strolling through the holding area we are in to study us. All the attention of the group eats away at my already fraying nerves.

As soon as the group of VIPs is done being slobbered over and is escorted to a private entrance for the auction, the music dies down, and an animated voice speaks.

The sound is muffled enough where we wait that I can only make out a few words here and there, but it is obvious the auction is beginning when the first alien female in line is unhooked and led away.

One by one, the slaves are led away to be sold, the noise of the crowd growing rowdier as our numbers backstage dwindle.

The last goldfish girl ahead of me is taken away, her purple-and-blue fins ascending to the auction. Then it hits me.

I’m about to be sold.

I whirl around and lock eyes with each of the human girls behind me in turn, tears threatening to spill in my panic.

“Rain hell, Ava!” shouts Gabby, who is two wall anchors down. I can barely make her words out over the roar of the crowd, but I give a half-sob-half-laugh as they register.

“You too!” I shout back at her, earning a rough shove from the toad guard who is unhooking me from the wall.

I don’t even get an opportunity to see if she heard my reply before I am led around a corner and onto a round platform.

A hook lowers from above and the chains around my wrists are attached to it by the guard, before he steps back and presses a button to activate the platform.

“And now, for the first of our human offerings.” I vaguely make out what the announcer says through my terror as I slowly rise into the heart of the auction.

As I breach the surface of the stage, the lights are blinding. They’re so bright I can’t see the crowd.

The voice of the auctioneer continues to list off my attributes, spouting units of measurement I don’t recognize and can only assume are for height and weight.

As the circle I am standing on clicks into place flush with the stage, the hook I am bound to continues to rise.

My hands lift over my head, until I am straining on the tips of my toes. I have to arch my body to keep what precarious footing I have, and the transparent fabric of my dress stretches over my clamped nipples, explicitly displaying my body to everyone watching.

And then the bidding starts, voices sounding out furiously around me.

GENERAL KOZA

I sip on the strong green brew in my hand, fighting to keep a look of indifference on my face as the last of the Trilliquofoursi is sold. My second in command should be meeting with the rebel contact at the auction soon.

I am here only due to direct, personal invitation of the High Commander himself.

My position as the general of the First Quadrant means such an invitation is no different than a command.

So, here I sit.

I grit my teeth and resist scowling in disgust at the vagrant display of living beings being traded with such enthusiasm.

I have attended before but have been able to avoid it for many turns now.

This season’s auction is particularly crowded, as a large batch of humans are being presented as the climax of opening night. We saw them briefly as we were led through the private entrance backstage, but I admit I did not study them too closely, determined to keep my anger in check.

My attention obviously frightened the first human in line, the one with the dark makeup over her eyes. Seeing them chained to the wall caused me to break my carefully neutral facade briefly, and her shudder of fear was enough to make sure I locked down my disgust.

The Taquork Market holds their auctions only twice a turn, and they are considered by all of the upper society of the Coalition to be quite the event because of the caliber of their slave stock.

Only the Yhagi, who run the Taquork Market, take on the risk to retrieve humans. It is off limits to interact with Earth, due to its primitive technology and vast distance from Coalition Territory. While any caught close to the solar system of Earth face severe repercussion, any human found in Coalition Territory is fair game.

The Yhagi make sure humans are found within the territory. And the rarity of humans drives up their prices and brings prestige to the market. It twists my gut.

The opening night of the market is attended by the most rich and influential of society and offers only the most desirable of slaves.

Even so, the attendance of the High Commander and his entourage of guests is quite the cause for excitement.

The auction master works up the crowd over the record catch of five humans that will close out the night. As he speaks of their rareness, the High Commander suddenly turns to address me, handing his drink to a waiting attendant by his side.

“General,” he states loudly, causing everyone in the private box to turn our way to catch a glimpse of the exchange.

“As a reward for your many years of loyal service, I have decided to purchase you one of these humans as a gift.”

I grind my teeth even as I incline my head in respect. “You greatly honor me, High Commander,” I tell him.

I am well aware of the hidden meaning of this gift. Of the test that lies beneath it.

My lack of a personal pleasure slave at this point in my career is seen as dishonorable and a sign of weakness among the leaders of the Coalition.

Though I have been able to use my frequent military assignments as an excuse as to why I have yet to purchase one, the High Commander has hinted at his disapproval for some time.

He forces my hand with this gift, knowing I cannot refuse without grave insult and a good deal of suspicion.

His direct addressment of the matter causes me to fear that whispers of my alliance with the Multic Rebellion have reached his ears. He would remove my head the second the number of slaves I have freed was ever revealed, so my true involvement must still be contained. However, I still suddenly find myself in a dangerous situation.

I must accept, no matter how distasteful I find it, or else put years of work with the rebellion, as well as many others’ lives, at risk. The High Commander is no fool, and I know better than to underestimate his reach and sway. Any slave forced upon me could be his spy, even if she is human.

“My choice for you will be offered first,” he tells me, with a vicious gleam in his eyes.

The human he refers to is already being lifted onto the stage, and my gaze snaps toward her despite myself.

“My steward took the time to view them all and thought this one would look pleasant with your coloring,” the High Commander continues. He beckons to a waiter before plucking a delicate Feoji cake from the offered tray and eating it in one quick bite.

“He’s quite right, I think,” he states after wiping his mouth discreetly. “Her mane matches your hide nicely.”

I study the girl, the bids already rising around us.

Her reddish-brown hair is indeed very similar to my coloring, but shines like silk under the lights of the stage, unlike my own dull hide.

The tension of the cuffs above her head pulls her slender body taut, and her chest heaves with deep, fearful breaths, pressing the swells of her chest out enticingly.

My body responds to the sight. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, suddenly filled with self-loathing.

I am no better than any other man here, aroused at the sight of a beautiful being offered to me on a platter, despite her reluctance to be here.

“Does the human meet your approval?” the High Commander asks me, studying my reaction shrewdly.

Hellfire, I want so badly to say no. But if I do, this human will go to another, probably someone much worse…and I am drawn to her despite myself.

Politically, I am walking a dangerous line. To refuse could reveal my involvement in the rebellion; to accept could mean falling to temptation with a potential spy. But I find myself agreeing.

“Yes, High Commander. She is stunning. You are overgenerous, my lord.”

“Nonsense!” he exclaims, his eyes gleaming in victory. “Your many battles won in my name make you more than deserving.”

He waves forward his steward, Bryozoa, the one who made the pick on my behalf.

Bastard.

“Make sure we get her for the general,” the High Commander tells him.

Bryozoa bows in acquiescence, and steps toward the bidding panel to enter into the fray of offers.

I reach for my glass of brew, gripping it so tightly my knuckles turn white.

I’m about to be the owner of a human slave; may the goddess above grant me strength.