Planet Athion: The Complete Series by Angel Lawson

30

Mercy

I wantto say they treat me badly, to add to my rage and despair of being held captive, but that isn’t the case. The women aren’t overtly kind but efficient, Rhise is oddly respectful, not reappearing until I’m fully covered in a silk robe. As I’m in the chair getting my makeup and hair styled, I study him in the mirror. His hands are thin—elegant, like an artist or a musician’s. His features are sharp and exquisite.

He doesn’t do the work himself, just supervises, a critical eye studying me the whole time. I assume Kane owns him too, or he’s at least compensated on how much I’m auctioned for. His life may depend on my sale. Who knows. No one speaks during the process.

He waits outside of the dressing room with a variety of dresses, each slinkier than the last. I’m used to scrubs and medical gear—even back on Earth I never dressed up much, more focused on my work than fashion. We didn’t have clothes like these, though. The fabrics are sleek and soft like silk. There’s no need for undergarments, it adheres to my body like a glove, accentuating all my curves and compressing any flaws. I barely recognize myself in the mirror. My red hair is shiny and curled, my skin bronzed. My breasts appear firm, lifted magically by the material, a deep V that plunges between them. I stare at myself, already feeling lost—who is this woman? Where has Mercy gone? I see my face, my hands and feet. I fidget uncomfortably.

“Don’t show them fear,” I hear suddenly, Rhise appearing in the full-length mirror. The women have vanished into thin air. “Act aloof. Defiant. Make them see that you’re not afraid.”

I snort. “Easier said than done.”

“Your future depends on it—your life, really.”

“How so?”

His eyes bore into mine via the reflection. “The men at the auction don’t want strong women. Not the ones looking for a birther or companion. They want weak, distressed women they can easily manipulate and dominate. They aren’t the Athions that believe in love and respect. Only those serious about your skills will appreciate a strong demeanor. It will be the difference between being sold for sex and sold for your abilities.”

Sold. I swallow back bile at the word.

“Y-you don’t think whoever purchases me won’t want both?”

His head tilts. “They may, but if you’re upset, you can’t help with the birthings, and that is the most important thing to the Trads. The only thing.”

I nod and suck in a breath.

“I can try.”

“You have no choice, darling.”

There’s a chime and Rhise glances at the data pad. “The auction is beginning, come along.”

My feet are glued to the floor. He pauses and gives me an empathetic but firm look. “Mercy, I know things seem out of your control right now, but trust me. Do as I say. From there you can find your footing.”

A different door slides open, this leading to a much nicer hallway—warm like the room we just left. He takes me to a small holding room—again, more respectable than the one I was in before.

“Good luck, Mercy,” he says, giving me a small, tight grin. Then he attaches the binding handcuffs around my wrists.

“Wait,” I say, not wanting him to leave, he’s the only one that’s been friendly to me since I arrived. “What do I do out there?”

He pauses and turns, uttering one word that sums up my situation, “Survive.”

I’m not alone for long; the door opens and my hooded escort returns. This whole time he’s been aloof, distant, but now, even if I can’t see them, I feel his eyes on me.

The tension of the whole situation finally takes over—bubbles to the surface—and to my shock as much as my guard's, I begin laughing. Hysterically.

He shifts uncomfortably but does nothing, so I speak because I can’t take the quiet any longer.

“This whole thing is fucking perfect, you know. Just…” I look down at my dress as I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I came all the way to space to slap on a pageant dress and put myself up for the highest bidder. I’m from North Carolina—like, if I wanted to be in a pageant, there’s one every weekend. We had the big hair and the crowns. The sashes and sequined dresses. Even those kiddie pageants like Honey Boo Boo. It’s just so ironic, freaking ironic, that this is where I end up. I mean, if I wanted to sell myself to a creepy old guy with money, I could have found one of those years ago.”

The guard doesn’t exactly face me or reveal that he’s watching, but I know he is. I can sense it, especially when I lift my hands to my breasts and push them up. “Do you see these things? Back home people would kill for fabric that does this. No more need for plastic surgery. Just pull on a dress and gain two sizes.” I walk over and shove them in the direction of his face. Not in his face, he’s way too tall. “Seriously, do you see them?”

He swallows. I see the bob of his Adam’s apple but otherwise he’s a statue.

I sigh, feeling the adrenaline of my outburst waning. I lean against the wall, even though the shoes they put me in are like magic and I don’t hurt at all.

“Do you think they’ll hurt me? I didn’t come here to be a sex slave. I came here to help people. Like, really help them. I wanted to make a difference.”

The guard's head turns, facing me for the first time since he snatched me out of my cell. His eyes connect with mine—they’re turquoise—the brightest shade of blue I’ve ever seen. Even knowing it’s just a manipulation, I’m rocked by their beauty, and when he opens his mouth to speak I brace myself, wanting to know what he’ll say.

The words never come. There isn’t an opportunity. The door slides open and Kane appears, eyeing me like I’m the cherry on top of a sundae.

“Excellent,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “They’re waiting.”