Free Alien Alliance by Maxine Millar

dark. Navigation was the first exam
he’d passed so he knew where he was. Fifteen minutes later and he
could see the landing zone. The lights were on. He circled, noting
some crashed planes hauled to the side. They were burnt out. Had
there been a crash? Collision? Had someone hit the Control Tower?
It was only a skimpy, temporary structure, little more than a hut.
He could see it but it was dark. That didn’t explain why they
weren’t contacting him by phone and were not answering theirs. Had
they been shelled? Over run?
    “Stop panicking,” he told himself. He didn’t
listen to himself. Low on fuel, he was out of options. Land here or
find somewhere else in the dark? Lousy choice. Reluctantly, he
lined up as directed by the lights on one of the two runways and
landed, the lights beckoning him in. He came to a stop at the edge
of the runway and taxied off to park. At least he was being
directed, albeit electronically. He logged in his hours on his and
then the Zeobani data link, did his checks, flipped open the fuel
door and when he couldn’t delay any longer he stiffly and slowly
eased himself out and pushed the button to let down the steps. He
climbed down.
    As Kaswa cleared the side of the plane he
saw four Nashi waiting for him. Armed with disrupters. Pointed at
his torso. Disrupters destroyed nerves; sensory and motor. One
collapsed in a screaming heap. The next ten or so minutes of life
were spent in agony as all the nerves were destroyed. Inability to
move was instant as the motor nerves wouldn’t follow instructions.
Death came when the lungs or heart stopped. Consciousness remained
almost to the last. So did pain. These Nashi were juveniles. Even
more pitiless than the adults. He didn’t like Nashi which was one
of the reasons he was happy to work for the Zeobani against these
invading Nashi. Nashi considered themselves an alpha Race, were
humourless, lacked compassion, wouldn’t know empathy if they were
hit by it and had a nasty dollop of cruelty, which was why their
weapon of choice was the disrupter.
    He didn’t speak Nashi. He didn’t need to.
Nashi was spoken using many sounds he couldn’t duplicate and body
language. He could perfectly understand their body language. It
said, “Got you. Do the wrong thing and you’re dead, go that way,
hands up, I don’t care if you live or die, dead would be
enjoyable.” Their fat, khaki, simian bodies were rocking with
enjoyment and insolence and their long muzzles clacked in contempt.
They were wearing army uniforms and had spiked bands on their long
fat powerful tails. Which they liked using as clubs. Their fighting
limb of choice. Although young, they were already over two meters
tall when standing upright as they were now. And trigger happy. Why
was he still alive?
    He complied. Exactly. He tried to keep his
expression neutral. His attitude could get him killed. Anything
could get him killed. Very unpleasantly. As he entered the pilot’s
barracks, he saw about 20 dead People of varying Races and what
looked almost like a firing squad of adult Nashi.
    “Scum, worthless creature, you will pilot
for us or you will die. Choose.”
    “What do you want me to pilot?”
    “Gas planes.”
    “No.” It came out before he really thought.
He would not do that! He would not kill the Zeobani! “Never.” He
added as he straightened, defiantly, waiting, and gasped as he was
shot. He hit the floor and lost consciousness. His body was pounced
on by the juveniles who, in payment for the debasing task of
stripping him, could keep everything they wanted.
    Some considerable time later, he woke up,
his body a mess of agony. Everything hurt so much. He was dizzy and
had the worst headache he had ever had. His head felt like it was
being crushed. Horrified, he realized he was naked. He knew what
that meant. His bracelet containing all his ID was gone, his bank
access link, his precious data link, his phone, his rights, his
freedom. He was now a slave. But why? And how had