Snatched

SNATCHED

By Vijaya Schartz

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 978-0-2286-0075-6

Kindle 978-1-926965-58-1

Amazon Print 978-0-2286-0076-3

Copyright 2010 by Vijaya Schartz

Cover art by Sheri McGathy

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stores in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Chapter One

Zania winced at the deafening explosion. The first tank in her military convoy burst into flames and came to a rolling stop.

By Aries! She locked the three wheels of her ATV in a shower of sand.

Column, halt! she screamed in her helmet. Black smoke rose from the tank. DP five! Move it! Old defensive positions often worked best in primitive warfare.

Swerving her vehicle, Zania raced toward the smoking tank. When one soldier crawled out of the wreckage, coughing, she jumped off her ATV and pulled him away from the inferno, but she knew another remained trapped inside.

Holding her breath against the smoke, Zania climbed into the burning tank. Choking on smoke, ignoring the heat and the flames, she pulled out then dragged the severely burned victim away from the wreckage.

As she carried the unconscious man, the other soldier stumbled after her and climbed on the back of the ATV. Zania slung the limp body across the frame in front of her.

Hang on! she yelled as she gunned the engine. Humvees, trucks and motorcycles moved into configuration to form a protective circle away from the wreckage. Zania parked her ATV between two trucks, closing a gap, then eased the wounded men inside the protected zone.

Tighten that ring! On the double! She pulled her oversized automatic out of the saddle holder and motioned the medic running toward her to hurry. The enemy would attack anytime now. Get down!

She dropped to the ground. Her men took cover. Guns aimed outside the ring, haggard eyes full of fear seeking a still invisible enemy.

The sand demons surged from under the sand all around, like a swarm of buried locusts taking flight. Dressed in camouflage rags the color of the dunes, with no protection but their blind bravado, the ragtag human horde rushed downhill in a savage roar.

Crouched behind her ATV, Zania radioed out. Mayday! Mayday! This is Lieutenant Zania Nolev, of the North American Federation Army. Supply convoy ambushed! Send air support immediately! Fix on my transmission for coordinates.

Zania armed her automatic. When the sand demons came into range, she shouted, For freedom! Fire at will!

A barrage of explosions hit the human wave unfurling toward them.

Ignoring the deafening volleys of Zania’s unit, the madmen of the dunes threw incendiary bombs and fired outdated contraband automatics. They kept advancing although the unit’s superior weapons decimated their ranks.

She grabbed a grenade on her belt, pulled the pin and threw it far outside the ring. She never knew her days as a pitcher would come in so handy. The grenade exploded in a flash of bright fire, taking several assailants, but the enemy kept rushing through the black smoke.

Where was air support? She reloaded and fired in a wide sweep.

Amidst the chaos of gunshots and explosions, blazing debris showered the ring. Scorched sand flew into Zania’s face, clouding her goggles and filling her mouth. She spit out the grit and wiped her glasses with one sleeve. Out of the surrounding black smoke, a bright flash surged. A shot rang, louder than the rest, and explosive pain seared her left hip.

I’m hit! Zania screamed, Sergeant, get ready to take over! She bit her upper lip against the splitting pain as she reloaded again, then shot outside at random, unable to focus on the many targets rushing toward the ring of vehicles.

Warm blood gushed and soaked Zania’s camo pants, but she kept firing blindly in the enemy’s general direction. For freedom, for her country, for the people she loved... so the children would know peace.

Was this the end for her? Around Zania the battle raged. The sand demons had breached the circle and finished off the wounded. She turned to the inside of the circle and pulled the trigger, but she ran out of bullets. A sand demon came at her. She drew a knife from her boot and threw it at the man's chest. The enemy fell forward.

Zania slammed a clip into her automatic, her hands shook. Her strength waned. The sound of gunfire and the screams of dying soldiers dimmed around her.

When a large shadow settled above the fighting circle, blotting the sun, Zania looked up. Air support? No, the craft was too big. As the behemoth dropped, hovering twenty meters above ground, its reflective underbelly seemed to stretch for kliks. What was it?

Zania must be hallucinating. She aimed her weapon at the craft, but the automatic slipped from her grip. Too weak to move, she closed her eyes for an instant. If air cover didn’t come soon, she’d die here, her blood consumed by the thirsty sand. They were grossly outnumbered, if not outgunned.

Her ability to concentrate drifted away.

Gods of Mount Olympus, please, save my unit. Let us live to fight another day.

A strange, insistent whine above her made Zania drowsy. Though she struggled to remain conscious, her surroundings melted into a sea of black.

*****

The excruciating throb in her hip told Zania she still held on to life. Straining to open her eyes, she blinked at the glare then struggled to focus through half-closed eyelashes. Tubes ran in and out of her body, with liquids of various shades, some obviously blood, others light or clear.

She couldn’t turn her head, let alone move her arms or legs, not that she wanted to, and her head felt so tight it might implode. Her mouth tasted like lead, and her best effort to speak turned into a silent breath. So, she had been rescued. She wondered about her unit and hoped they were safe, too.

The idea of an extended stay in a hospital sounded almost comforting. Better than death in any case. Zania noticed a persistent humming. Not the familiar purr of an air conditioning unit, but a strange, dull vibration. Then she realized she wore no clothes.

Her bed had no sheets, not even a mattress. She lay, restrained, on a hard surface that seemed molded to her body shape, in some kind of oval box with a transparent lid, like a sealed pod, or a high-tech coffin.

As her heart raced, a shadow crossed the lid of the oval box. A woman looked down at her with compassion. Zania recognized the face. It was her own, gazing back at her! Hallucinations... Did it mean she was about to die and meet the gods of the Pantheon?

Uttering a muffled oath, the woman with her face pressed a key on the lid. Immediately the pain dissolved, and Zania fell into a dark, bottomless pit.

*****

When Zania came to, the pain in her hip and head had vanished, but she didn't dare open her eyes. Was she still in the hospital? She could feel the strange vibration. How long had she been unconscious? A sinister thought crossed her mind. Could she be dead? Or worse... in enemy hands? But why would the enemy save her life? No. The hospital pod she remembered resembled nothing the technically-challenged sand demons could ever manage.

What about her unit? As a soldier, Zania must face the truth, no matter how grim. Dreading to find out, she opened her eyes slowly but did not move, in case someone watched her. As far as she could tell, she was alone, lying on her back. The mattress felt soft and comfortable.

This was no hospital room. Blue... Cerulean blue, glittering and alive with soft iridescence that provided muted lighting… The walls, the floor, the ceiling... The bare square room had no windows, no door, no opening at all. No furniture, not even a sink. A blue cell?

This looked nothing like the prisons of the sand demons, at least from what Zania had heard. The floor shone with cleanliness and gave off an eerie glow. Was this the heavenly Elysian Fields? Or the cold hell of Hades?

As she detected no recording device, Zania sat upon her shelf mattress and stared in disbelief. What was this place? Force of habit made her look for her uniform and something to use as a weapon, but this room contained absolutely nothing. Surreal...

Looking down at herself, Zania saw the short dress of diaphanous veils, like an old babydoll, the same Cerulean blue as the walls. Feeling the smooth skin of her bare calves and thighs, she realized she had been bathed. She wore no underwear and was totally shaved.

She checked her wounded hip. No scar marred her smooth skin where she had been shot. The marks of her previous battles and childhood mishaps had vanished as well.

Was it a dream? Did she still lie in a coma on some hospital bed, hallucinating? She pinched herself, and it hurt. If this weren’t a dream, then where was she?

When Zania ventured one bare foot on the cool hard floor, her chestnut hair cascaded down her shoulders and bounced as she dropped down. She pulled on it gently. Not a wig. She always kept her hair short. When had it grown so long? At six inches a year, it seemed at least two years... How long had she remained unconscious? Maybe she had fallen victim to some sick psychological warfare. For what purpose?

Her mind raced. It seemed someone had groomed and prepared Zania for something special... but what? A slave market? Had she been sold to a harem? The very idea made her want to hurl.

A clear, feminine voice shattered the silence. Harems are not allowed anymore, Zania.

Looking around, Zania could see no one, not even a PE system. Where are you? How do you know my name?

We can read your mind through a neural implant in your brain. It also serves as a universal translator. Did the voice emanate from the walls? ...and a locator, in case you thought of escaping.

Escaping? So, she was a prisoner. We? How dare you intrude upon my thoughts? Zania palpated her skull and neck for any trace of implanted device and only found smooth skin. She’d heard of military studies on such implants, but nothing this sophisticated.

It is time. Please follow the blue path. All your questions will be answered. The regular cadence and cold synthetic quality of the voice evoked a computer.

Zania wouldn’t take orders from a computer. How about answering my questions first, then I’ll decide whether I want to go or not. She resolutely sat back on the shelf mattress, crossing her arms over her chest for good measure. What happened to my unit?

Insubordination is not acceptable. No anger, no irritation in the feminine voice.

Acceptable? Zania couldn’t believe it. I have rights!

Not here. Here you obey or you die.

Die? Zania fell speechless. A lonely, depressing silence ensued.

After a few minutes, Zania couldn’t stand being abandoned, forgotten, with no explanation. Were they going to just let her die? She saw no food, water, or facility in the cell. It would be a miserable, worthless death. She’d never heard of anything that weird mentioned in any military manual. Zania could handle physical pain, but being left to die seemed such a waste. Claustrophobia nibbled at her dwindling resolve.

Frustration threatened to overcome Zania, but she reasoned. Why get mad at a computer? Computers had no emotions and more patience than she would ever have. Struggling to remain calm, she decided she’d better control that temper of hers. She needed answers.

Okay, Zania managed to say without yelling. If that’s what it takes, let’s go. But at the first sign of hesitation, or if I feel you are lying to me, I stop in my track and go no further. You get that?

We understand. The electronic voice paused. To answer your question, no one won that battle. Everyone died.

Dead? All of them? Sadness and guilt punched Zania's gut. She remembered the men and women in her unit, their names, their familiar faces, and she felt responsible. Most of them had families. She’d failed them.

You feel grief. A statement. No compassion in the voice.

Is the war still going on?

The war is long over. Millions died.

Millions? The scope of the devastation seemed too much to comprehend.

In front of Zania a doorway appeared in the wall, revealing a Cerulean blue corridor. How could she have missed it earlier? She jumped off the shelf and stepped out of the cell into the blue corridor. Anything must be better than this hermetic prison.

Did you mention earlier that harems are forbidden?

They are.

Could the war have fomented the change?

All sexual relations have been abolished in these parts, the synthetic voice volunteered.

Abolished? Zania stifled a nervous chuckle as she kept walking. It doesn’t make much sense.

The tendencies that bring sexual passions, or passions of any kind, also breed violence, and all violence has been bred out of the citizens of this Earth. It is the price they pay for lasting peace and safety.

The concept sounded so foreign, Zania started to suspect she had wandered into delirium. She must have lost her mind. Did you say Earth?

That’s what the natives call their planet.

The natives? So her captors were from some other place? From space? Zania slowed down but remembered she had to keep walking in order to get answers.

This Earth is different from yours. It survived. Your native planet is long gone.

Gone? How could a planet be gone? What do you mean?

Gone as in destroyed, reduced to interstellar dust, volatilized.

Zania couldn’t accept that. The idea that Earth as she knew it was no more bothered her beyond belief. When did that happen? How long have I been unconscious?

Your battle happened one thousand, three hundred and thirty one Earth years ago, the voice stated with confidence.

What? Zania’s legs turned to mush. Something in her gut told her it was the truth. Her father, her brothers, her cheating boyfriend, all dead... They never found her body, declared her MIA. How is that possible?

You were selected and preserved for our specific purpose.

What purpose? Zania couldn’t stand not being in control of her own destiny. Who made that decision for me?

We did.

That We again. The corridor ended into a sharp turn. The sound of many voices filtered into the hallway. What’s this place?

The time has come to perform your duty.

Before Zania could protest, she emerged into a brightly lit arena, with people in the bleachers, cheering and yelling her name. They all wore gray robes and hid their faces under a hood, like ghosts. Why do they all wear gray?

Color is not allowed on their Earth. Color breeds passions.

But I wear blue, and the mat is red.

This is clandestine entertainment We provide for them. They hide their faces for fear of being recognized.

Stepping on the soft red mat, Zania raised her gaze to the highest levels of the arena and noticed a gigantic projection of herself on the ceiling.

The deep blue veils suited her well, enhancing her dazzling blue eyes and apricot complexion, and revealing much of her body. With the long flowing hair and the eye makeup of an Egyptian queen, Zania hardly recognized herself. She looked more beautiful than she remembered. Of course, she’d never been the pampering type.

The cheering suddenly stopped and Zania realized she no longer stood alone on the mat of the arena. There, in the bright light, walked a tall muscular man, young, his long blond hair framing a tan face with icy gray eyes... The visage of Adonis on Hercules’ body.

Her gaze roamed over the regular lines of his jaw, the full, sensual lips, dimpled chin, down the expanse of his hairless pectorals, and stopped on the leather cod piece embossed with Tor’s hammer. That’s all he wore.

So, he was a Viking. Zania could easily imagine him swinging a sword or a battle axe like his ancestors. He certainly had the biceps for it. His bare thighs bulged with muscles, yet his face held an almost feminine beauty. She couldn’t help a shiver of appreciation for this perfect male specimen.

Are you Adonis himself? If he were, Zania would have to prostrate herself.

No, Zania. My name is Svend. His amused smile told her he enjoyed her surprise. Who is Adonis?

Never mind. How could he not know the gods of the Pantheon?

The synthetic female voice interrupted her thoughts. This is the mate We selected for you.

Mate? Zania realized only she could hear the voice as Svend didn’t react to the outrageous comment.

You must join with him here, now, for the pleasure of our illustrious clients. The lack of emotion clashed with the loaded words. In exchange, you will live another day.

You don’t say. Mating was out of the question.

Think before you decide. If you delight the crowd, you may be auctioned off to a prosperous patron, or even earn your freedom.

Freedom... That had been Zania’s battle cry. This is blackmail! As a soldier, she had no tolerance for such practices. She didn’t risk her life in combat to end up as an unwilling porn star. I’m not mating with this... She lacked the words. Viking prince? Golden god?

Svend smiled and walked to her with debonair confidence. Shall we give them a good show? How long has it been since you were fully satisfied? The deep voice caressed and enveloped her.

How long indeed! Don’t touch me! How dare this stranger think she’d go along with his parody of seduction. I can only have sex with a man I love. The man she’d loved had cheated on her while she fought on the front. Of course, she’d had casual sex before, and sacred sex at the temple as well, but she wanted to make a point.

Svend laughed, revealing perfect white teeth. It can be love if you want it to be... He circled her like a wolf, or a big cat stalking his prey. Sooner or later, you’ll give in, though. We can’t escape our urges and feelings. That’s why we are here... We are not like them.

Them? Zania turned to face him as he circled her. What are they?

Eunuchs, sexless shadows devoid of emotions trying to escape their gray lives. Who cares? He flashed a wolfish grin. They find their thrills vicariously through rare specimens like us.

Zania wondered how rare.

We are the highest ranking slaves. Svend moved closer. The sex champions of this new era. Come on. Don’t deny yourself. You can’t resist me forever. I am the best at what I do.

The best at sex? What arrogance! Zania’s warring instincts took over. She’d never been a victim, and no man would ever force himself upon her, not even a gorgeous Viking. And certainly not in public, for the titillation of some sick degenerates. How can you accept slavery so easily?

Svend winked. It’s not so bad. I get all the pretty girls.

I’ll never submit to this. Zania balanced herself on both feet and bent her knees in a defensive stance, wishing she had better suited battle gear. At least the short flowing veils wouldn’t impede her legs. If you come any closer, you’ll regret it.

Ignoring her threat, Svend took a step forward. He didn’t look one bit afraid. If you fight back, they’ll switch you from sex games to combat to the death. They have those as well, and, believe me, they are less pleasurable.

Zania struggled to grasp his meaning. But she wouldn’t be intimidated. At least, in a fight, I make my own destiny. Prepare to suffer, Svend. Zania spit the name with disgust. She hated him for being subservient. And she would never let anyone control her.

But as she faced him, Zania realized that her muscles lacked conditioning. If she’d slept that long and hadn’t trained... She only hoped her determination would make up for her diminished strength.

Svend dodged her drop-kick to the face with uncanny agility. So, he could fight, too. All those muscles weren’t just for show. And he looked like he’d been to the gym every day of his life. The vision of Svend working out brought heat to Zania’s cheeks. Such physical perfection and rare beauty. But no man would ever impose his will on Zania.

She kicked to the ribs. Svend sidestepped and averted the kick. She somersaulted and landed behind him then leapt on his back. Grabbing hold of his neck, she squeezed in a sleeper hold.

His long flaxen hair caressed her face as she scissored his chest with bare legs. She could have kicked his crotch or pulled out his hair, but for some strange reason, she wanted to fight fair.

Svend shook her off and threw her over his head then pinned her to the mat as if she weighed nothing. Her flimsy dress bunched up around her waist and a slight breezed on her bare skin made her feel naked. Around them, the crowd cheered and stomped in cadence, chanting Svend’s name, probably hoping for some naughty action.

But they would be disappointed. Although the temptation of giving in crossed her mind, Zania wouldn’t submit. Arching against his weight, slick as an eel, she wormed her way from under his body and quickly jumped on him as he rolled over. Just the way she liked it, on top and in control.

Up in the bleachers, the divided crowd protested or cheered. Had Zania seen currency changing hands? Of course, they would be taking bets. Pigs!

Had Svend just smiled? Something didn’t feel right. Zania’s distraction cost her the advantage. Svend escaped her grip, rolled away, then he rose to face her again.

*****

Svend had never seen a woman with such fire in her veins, not even Dakini. Zania reminded him of the goddess Freya, or the legendary Valkyries, the angels of death of his native land who led the fallen warriors to the pleasures of Valhalla.

Obviously new to the games, this feisty girl wouldn’t last long if she didn’t play by the rules. This little rebellion would cost her life, unless she could demonstrate true talent as a warrior and vanquish the best of them. And, as the very best, Svend stood undefeated.

The crowd didn’t seem to mind Zania’s defiance. They liked a good fight as much as a good sex show. Given Svend’s reputation, they probably hoped it would end up in mating anyway. But there