“Trophy #1138 has escaped from containment! Find her!”

The guttural alien snarl echoed across the length and breadth of the Bondarian cruiser through the internal comm system, and Captain Linda Ryan forced herself not to shudder at the sheer power of the noise, quickly ducking into the nearest maintenance shaft before the first group of lizard-like aliens stormed in from around the corner. Squirming as deep into the crawlspace as she could manage, the famed United Space Fleet officer froze like a rabbit spotting a wolf as the first heavy footfalls sounded just outside the opening, bracing herself for a cry of triumph from her pursuers, and the overwhelming agony of the pain-collar igniting sure to follow.

None came, their footsteps receding down the main corridor as quickly as they had approached. Stifling a sigh of relief, Linda pushed on, her anger stoked to a vengeful flame, both by the thought of her crew suffering the Bondarians’ torment and the shame of having fallen to them so quickly. The aliens had struck with ruthless efficiency, luring the Wayfinder out of lightspeed with a falsified distress signal and into the grasp of a well-prepared trans-inverse electro-graviton net, leaving the starship completely immobilized and unable to fight back as their boarding parties descended. She’d been amongst the last of the all-female crew taken, gunning down charging Bondarians with her phase-blaster before their gas grenades left her too drowsy and weak to carry on the fight, her last conscious thought of clawed hands hoisting her limp, slender frame up off the deck. Logically, Linda knew there was nothing she could have done. Taking prisoners was the central pillar of Bondarian culture, with social advancement determined by how many such trophies a prospective leader could boast, and over the centuries, they’d honed the practice of capturing ships and enslaving their crews into a rigorous science. Yet to fall prey to such a trap still rankled, especially for a captain of her distinguished record, the thought of her five-year mission ending like this more than she could stand.

Her bondage certainly didn’t help matters. Green eyes flashing dangerously, Linda fell onto her stomach, wrists flexing impotently behind her back. More coils had been cinched tight above and below her breasts, keeping her upper arms pinned fast to her sides and ensuring there’d be no freeing herself without a blade of some fashion. The Bondarian responsible for securing her had taken care to adorn her slim neck with one of their signature pain-collars, a single press of a remote able to leave her paralyzed with agony, as well as a panel gag of glossy black leather to muffle her cries, but he’d neglected to bind her legs before the drug wore off. A swift kick of her sharp heels into his groin had given her the opening she needed to escape, not to mention the pleasant sight of the alien slaver writhing in pain as she darted out of the containment area. Don’t congratulate yourself just yet. You still need to find the crew and actually get off the ship, she reminded herself, shaking her head to shift a lock of copper-red hair that had fallen over her vision. The heat of alien machinery radiating all around her began to take its toll, and she forced herself to pause for a moment, sweat making her close-fitting blue Space Fleet uniform cling all the tighter. Not for the first time, she wondered which uniform committee had decided that a one-piece dress with built-in miniskirt, dark pantyhose and knee-high boots was the ideal outfit for space exploration. It certainly wasn’t conductive to stealth, and she took great care not to step squarely upon the deckplates for fear the click of her heels would give her away.

There was a flash of movement through a nearby grill, and Linda squirmed backwards to avoid being seen. “Are you out there, Trophy #1138?” came the alien snarl again, in-person now, so close Linda could smell the rank, rotting meat stench of the Bondarian’s breath trickling through the vent. Forcing herself to remain calm, the starship captain dared to glance out, eyes widening in horror at the sight of four of the Wayfinder’s crew arrayed out in the adjacent passageway, each woman similarly garbed, bound and gagged as herself, their muffled cries cutting into her soul like Anderbarian steel. “Do you wish to see your precious followers harmed? If not, then come out now, so I might give you a place of honour on my trophy wall!”

Not on your life, you alien scum, Linda proclaimed inwardly, taking the time to memorize each gagged, tear-streaked face before continuing, her will to escape stronger than ever. For they would escape and return home, no matter what…