The Goddess-Queens of Pudendor - The Abducted - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Human Cargo

I don’t know how long we were on the ship but five days would be a likely guess. Five times the lights dimmed to near darkness and remained so for an extended period. With no way to tell time it was impossible to say whether they were keeping us on a twenty-four earth hour cycle or merely retaining the light/dark pattern while acclimating us to a longer or shorter day. Whatever it was, trapped naked in an invisible cage too small to stand up straight in or to stretch out full length when lying down and with nothing to do made the passage of time interminably slow. I found the only way to get comfortable, for a time at least, was to sit flat on the floor with my back against the invisible wall. When that became uncomfortable I lay down on my back with my legs up against the wall.

Twice in each light period one of the aliens would bring us meals, if you could call them that. Each consisted of two good sized squeeze bulbs with nozzles on the end. I expected him to have to bring down or suspend part of the force field that formed my cage, but somehow he was able to pass the bulbs through the walls of our cages. I noticed that the sleeve of his garment bore a button-like device that seemed to serve no purpose that a button would serve. I supposed it must have been a device to negate the force field.

One of these bulbs contained water. It likely contained some other substances, for it had a slightly off taste. But under the circumstances who was going to complain? The other bulb sometimes contained a thick paste material, something like the poi I’d had on vacation in Hawaii, but actually better tasting. It had a sort of fruity flavor, though it looked like library paste. Other times the bulb contained syrup, also tasting like some vaguely familiar but unidentifiable fruit. It was much better than being on bread and water, but by the fifth day I was ready to kill for a cheeseburger.

That other necessary animal function initially posed a major problem, especially when the unexpected side effects of our alien meal kicked in. Within half an hour of our first exposure to whatever was in those bulbs it was like chili night at the frat house multiplied by ten. It makes sense now, thinking back on it. Our intestinal flora was not used to the strange diet and reacted, as they tend to do, by producing gas and generally engaging in microbial rioting. We were quickly disgusted with each other and ourselves and increasingly desperate. The cages appeared to be unequipped with any sanitary facilities and there was no way to communicate our need to the aliens. We tried, when one came into the chamber, but he just ignored us, not that our improvised signals would have conveyed meaning to even the most intelligent beings. Stanley and I discussed the matter, Stanley in an increasingly agitated manner. Finally he said that if he was going to be a rat in a cage, he was going to act like one.

“Don’t look, this is going to be gross,” he said. “This corner is now my official poop corner.” He indicated one corner of the enclosure.

I turned away. I really didn’t need to see that. I also knew I was going to be in the same situation shortly. Any dignity I had left was living on borrowed time. I turned back when I heard Stanley swearing in amazement.

There on the floor was a watery turd, very gross as Stanley had predicted. But it was rapidly disappearing, sinking into the material of the floor. I felt the floor of my cage. I could detect no openings or even evidence of pores.

“Wow. Now it’s on wash cycle,” Stanley said. “It’s like a thin film of scented water running over the floor and sinking in. I can’t tell where exactly it’s coming from. And now everything’s neat and tidy.” He felt the place where the turd had been. “The floor’s slightly warm.”

I could sense the excitement in his voice at these observations and thought, “Nerds!”

Fortunately for us, an hour or so before the next meal our captors distributed a small bulb containing a pale yellow, yogurt-like material. I suspect it was a culture containing the proper micro-organisms for our diet. When the main course arrived it caused significantly less discomfort, and after three or four doses our systems were close to normal.

Beyond the thrills of mealtime, there was little to occupy us in our captivity. No inflight movies. No commute hour talk radio. Not even elevator music. Sound penetrated the invisible cages and that made life a little bit more bearable. At least I could talk with Stanley. There was a certain amount of suppression, though, as if there was a thin piece of foam rubber between us. I could hear the woman next to him and make out some of what she said.

The other two I could hear but their voices were too muffled to understand. We could still communicate by those in the middle repeating messages, like that kid’s game, telephone.

The blonde girl, when she wasn’t on a crying jag, managed to tell us her name was Shirley and that she was from a small town west of London. That was about all we got out of her.

The Asian girl was Chinese. Fortunately, she had studied enough English to carry on a basic conversation. Her name was Li Mei and she was from somewhere in central China, from a town I’d never heard of in a province I’d never heard of. She seemed bewildered rather than upset by her predicament and spent most of the time sitting rather stoically, arms around her knees, keeping her thoughts to herself.

The Russian turned out to be not Russian but Ukrainian. He was very adamant about that. His name was Vladimir and he periodically described in great detail what he intended to do to the aliens if they ever let him out of the cage.

Establishing all that killed an hour or so. Then it was back to pure boredom and listening to Shirley weeping. As much as I felt sorry for her, and myself and everyone else in this predicament, I really wanted to ask her where the hell her stiff British upper lip was. We didn’t know where we were or where we were going or what was going to happen to us, but the constant whining only made it worse. Besides, it made me feel very uncomfortable to think that her behavior indicated that she was likely to flip out and do something suicidal.

As we settled into our captivity we began to notice something peculiar going on. It became noticeable when things were quiet, as they were when we had nothing to say. As noted, the aliens weren’t providing any in-flight entertainment. At first I thought I was imagining it, or that maybe it was just the results of too many loud concerts, but Stanley said he heard it to, as did the others. A kind of buzzing sound, just at the very limit of hearing. But not steady or a rhythmic buzz, as one would expect if it was the sound of the ship’s machinery or tinnitus. The sound was modulated erratically. In fact, at times it almost sounded like words. Sometimes, if I concentrated hard, I could almost pick out English words in the stream.

After several days, Stanley jumped up from his sitting position, bumping his head against the top of his cage.

“I know what it is,” he said, geekily proud of himself. “It’s a language. They’re trying to teach us a language subliminally.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No, really. They’re just slightly off so we can almost hear it. Haven’t you noticed strange words popping into your head?”

Now that he mentioned it, I had been noticing that. It was like when phrases from high school Spanish class pop into your head. Strange words, certainly not Spanish, and strange phrases had been coming to me. Once or twice when I spoke to Stanley the sentences came out half in English and half in something else. Even stranger, Stanley understood me. Geek or not, I began to believe he was on to something.

On the fifth day, not long after the aliens had brought our second meal of the day, the ship lurched so violently that all of us were thrown against the walls of our cages. Fortunately for us the graduated resistance of the force fields acted like a cushion so no one was hurt.

The light in the chamber shifted to an odd blue shade and began flashing. I was puzzled at first, but then I thought of movies about submarines where a flashing red light meant a crisis. For the aliens, blue must be the color of warning. I tried hard to suppress panic, as visions of naked me being blown out into space by a reactor explosion or something as catastrophic flashed through my head. Not that being fully dressed and blown out into space would be any better, but being stark naked just seemed to make it that much worse.

The door slid open and the two aliens raced into the chamber. They were obviously in a state of alarm. One of them went to a control panel. Five long, narrow panels slid open in the chamber wall behind us. The other alien opened the Russian’s cage, grabbed the startled, unresisting Vladimir, and almost threw him through the nearest opening, which immediately closed behind him.

The alien came down the line, opening each cage, pulling the occupant out and pushing them through the appropriate opening. When he came to Stanley’s cage, Stanley looked at me, shrugged as if to say “What the hell?” and as soon as he was released, he took three long strides and disappeared through the opening.

I followed his example, not waiting for the alien to grab me. As soon as I was through the opening, I was plunged into darkness. I felt cushiony material pressing in on me from all sides. I noticed an odd smell in the air. The closest I could come to describing it was anise. But I didn’t have time to really think about it, because I passed out shortly thereafter. I recall that my last thought was, “Oh, crap.”

Continued in Chapter 4