'Firefly meets Battlestar Galactica'.
A merchant's daughter is captured and sold into slavery.
A genetically modified survivor of an alien attack scours the galaxy for her taken brother before he is 'disassembled'.
An alien scientist u...
He lay in the dark, the cold metal slab nipping the naked flesh of his back. The skin of his right arm and leg prickled against the chill air while his left side felt nothing, numb. Where am I? He wanted to ask, but no words came to his lips, no sound from his throat. Am I dead? He tried to lift either hand to touch his face, the first threads of panic weaving into the calm pond of his thoughts. No, death wouldn't be so uncomfortable. Not that it mattered. He couldn't die; he made a promise. He tried to move his limbs once more. His muscles struggled to comply, as if two ton weights hung from his wrists and ankles. Slowly, he lifted his right arm, concentrating with everything he had until he rested his palm over his face.
His fingers touched metal.
Tentatively, he traced the shape, wondering when the outrage and fear would catch up to him. Not now, he couldn't afford fear now, he had to get out of here. What if they took her too? He brought his hand back to his side, the movement growing easier the more he tried. Have to get out.
He rocked his body back and forth on the slab until his lower half slid off. His feet hit the floor with a thunderous metallic thud. He rolled to his stomach, refusing to think of that noise, the sound of metal on metal, or how heavy his left side felt. He pulled his arms in, his left forearm scraping across the slab, until he was able to lift himself up. Now what? Could he walk like this? It might be better to drag himself along the floor in this pitch black room. Before he came to a decision a light flicked on overhead. He should have flinched, but he didn't, he couldn't. His vision was a mess, colors and textures completely off. It took him several moment to realize he gazed down at his hands, what was left of them. He heard a soft gasp, and a door sliding shut before light footsteps approached him.
A female appeared in front of him, her shirt stained and burnt beneath an equally stained leather apron with bulging pockets. She stared at him in awe, one hand digging through a pocket at her hip, pulling out an intricate tool she brought to his face. He felt her fingers slide under his chin.
"How unexpected," she muttered, her words heavily accented, but common. "It should be impossible for you to move like this. Fascinating." Her fingers fiddled with something in the corner of his vision. For a moment he lost sight in his left eye before it snapped on with a mechanical buzz, properly attuned. He stared at the female. She was Nisseri, but unlike any he'd seen before. One eye was human, a deep blue contrasting with a mechanical eye, finely crafted and altered to appear the same size and shape as her other one. Her nose was human as well, seamlessly grafted on. There weren't any scars on her face. Her white hair was pulled back in a thick coil atop her head, though strands had escaped, framing her fine boned cheeks and jaw. Her light gray skin with smudged with machine grease. She smiled at him, revealing a mouthful of small rounded teeth.
"There, better?" She studied him, the pupil of her mechanical eye contracting and expanding on its own. "Oh! That isn't helpful." Her fingers caressed his throat, pressing above his Adam's apple. His esophagus pinched, making him cough.
"Gods, what did you do to me woman?" His voice was hoarse, echoing in his ears as if two of him spoke at once. Her fingers massaged his neck, a frown creasing her brow.
"Hmm, more reverberation than I like but I think I salvaged a decent voice box." She peered into his face, turning his chin to the side to view his left eye. "Some more adjustments are needed. Can I activate your musculature without you trying to strangle me this time?"
"This time?"
She squinted at him. "You seem to have suffered some memory loss." Her fingers moved along his jaw, up to his temples. "What species are you?"
"Uh, human," He would have frowned at her but his facial muscles refused to cooperate.
"What is your age?"
"Thirty solar rotations."
"Interesting measurement of time," she said, stepping away to dig in her numerous pockets. "Do you remember your name, human?" She asked, extracting several tools. He recognized many of them from working in his father's shop.
"Miles," he said, watching the pretty Nisseri with renewed interest. "Miles Glouschester."
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Author's Note: The same song, I Run to You by Missio has been purposefully used between this and chapter 4 to reflect the mood of both :D
