by Dixon, Ruby
Vordis nods. "It is a surprise, yes?"
I can't help but laugh, because “surprise” feels like such an understatement. "You could say that. It's bad enough that I've been kidnapped by aliens and I don't know what happened between then and now, and I've woken up on a cold iceball of a planet with a bunch of strangers.” When he doesn’t interrupt the rush of words, I continue, talking faster and faster. “I'll never see my home planet again, never experience a summer day, never eat another pizza, never see my boyfriend or my parents or my friends ever again. All of that’s been taken from me. And because I was asleep for so long, I know I should be devastated at losing them, but the part of my mind that processes that feels kind of dull. Like my brain already has grieved it all out while I slept and I’m mad that I didn’t even get to do that. And…I'm pregnant. I'm the only one that woke up pregnant, and I have no idea how or why it happened, if my baby's going to have horns or a tail or even a human face or if this is going to be like something from the movie Aliens."
Of course, just thinking about that makes me shudder.
He grunts, indicating I should go on.
Go on? God, I could go on all day. I splay my hands over the mound of my belly, spreading my fingers. "It's a lot to get used to, and I think I'd do all right if I had friends to lean on, but everyone treats me like I'm made of glass. No one knows what to say to me so they all tiptoe around and talk to me in sweet voices as if I'm going to have a nervous breakdown if someone asks me to help out around camp. Everyone's going hunting and learning skills and making friends and I'm just sitting there on my ass like the world's most pregnant bump on a log." I let it all out with a gusty breath. "That enough for you?"
"Yes." He nods as if everything I’ve thrown at him is perfectly sensible and not whiny in the slightest. "That is a lot of feelings. Have you told the others how you are unhappy?"
I shake my head and stare out at the roiling water, tired. "Nah. I'm human. We don't talk openly about how we feel, we just bitch about it in private. Besides, what would I say? ‘You guys aren't including me in the club?’ That would just make things worse."
"If friendship is the greatest lack you feel," he begins slowly, "then I would be honored to be your friend."
And he drops to his knee in front of me and kneels.
Eek. This isn't the first time Vordis (or Thrand) has knelt in front of me as if I'm bestowing them some sort of honor for no reason at all. "Vordis, get up, please." I glance around the beach, hoping no one else saw that. Another red figure shows up on the horizon, and as I watch, Vordis's twin starts to jog in my direction. Well, crap. I gesture at Vordis, wanting him to get up. "If you keep acting like that, I'm going to feel more isolated than ever."
"Why?" He gets to his feet, but his expression is confused. "Why would my honoring you isolate you?"
"Because you don't do the same to everyone else," I say desperately.
"Of course not. You are the one I am dedicated to."
I hope that just means he has a pregnant lady crush. "Okay, well, if you want to be my friend, act normal, all right? I would love that more than anything. Well, almost anything."
He brightens, his eyes gleaming. He leans in, and for the first time, I notice that his ears are slightly pointed, like an elf's. "What is it you want more than anything?"
"I'm pregnant, right?" I pat my enormous belly. "And I always thought it was a joke that pregnant ladies had cravings, but right now, I'd fucking kill for a pickle."
Vordis's expression turns downright grim with determination. "Say no more."
"Er, about what?"
"I will hunt you this pickle," he promises. With another nod of his head, he glances down the beach at Thrand who has almost arrived. "When you see me next, it will be with pickle."
And he saunters off, heading back to the encampment.
I…hope he doesn't think he's going to find a pickle there. Of course, if he does, I will love him forever. I watch him go, a little confused and amused at the same time. Talking with aliens is…different. As I watch Vordis pass Thrand, the latter glares at his brother as if he's done something wrong. Vordis ignores him entirely, and that makes me wonder.
I remain where I am, and I'm not entirely surprised when Thrand moves about twenty feet away and drops to a crouch, watching me from afar like the always do.
"You know you can come closer," I offer, but he just stares at me. Doesn’t say a peep. He's not the same as his twin, then.
I sigh and stare out at the ocean, watching the waves crash into the rocky shore.
2
VORDIS
Angie requires a pickle.
I storm back to camp, full of purpose. Her words and her soft, gentle voice still ring in my ears and I will be thinking about them—and her—for many days to come. I think of how she reached her hand out to me, a mere clone, as if I am her equal. I think of her faint smile, and the way she brightened with laughter when I was too slow to go “in the hole.” It is the first time I have heard her laugh, and I am enchanted.
I am the luckiest of a'ani to have such a purpose.
The beach camp is not much to look at. I have stayed in better arenas and in far more luxurious ship holds, but there are no masters here, and so I like this place best. Angie is here, too, and that also makes it best. I pause, scanning the faces here to assess who will be best to answer what sort of creature a pickle is, and how I can hunt one. This time of day, though, the encampment is mostly empty. Thrand and I were invited to go hunting with one called Bek, but I declined, pretending that my foot is hurt. Thrand immediately said the same, which made Bek scowl with irritation. He did not believe us, but he also did not press the issue. I like the thought of hunting, but I also do not wish to leave Angie's side if she will be alone. Thrand could have gone, but as usual, he follows what I do.
I want to find it irritating, but I understand it. We are clones. Our primary purpose is to serve a specific task, and that task is protecting Angie. Of course Thrand thinks the same as I do. Hunting, no matter how enjoyable it is, can wait, as long as she is safe.
Sometimes I wish he would leave her—and me—alone, though. We are a'ani, so we are not supposed to think for ourselves. We have tasks and are to follow them until we are dead or new ones are implanted in our minds. This is how it has always been. I think, perhaps, that as clones go, I am a faulty duplicate. I have…thoughts. Not the same thoughts as Thrand.
He might be the faulty duplicate, but I am fairly certain it is me. I woke up early this morning so I could spend time with Angie, alone, without Thrand there talking and distracting me. He will be angry when he returns, but how to explain it? I am not supposed to be jealous of the time he spends in her company, and yet I find myself gritting my teeth whenever he moves near her.
He is just following his primary purpose, as am I. I repeat this to myself, even as I scan the faces in camp. Nothing but females, all of them uninteresting. I do not see the pregnant one that is the hunter, just the pregnant one with red hair and the speckled face. She sits with two females off to one side, scraping hides that are stretched over frames. Her mate, a blue-skinned male, watches nearby. Two other human females sit near the fire, sewing. Their giggles rise into the air, and I notice they do more talking than sewing. I head for them, since they look less busy.
"Females," I say by way of greeting. "Your assistance is needed."
One with brown hair frowns at me, while her black-haired friend ducks her head and giggles. "We have names, red boy." She points at herself, then at her friend. "Bridget. Flordeliza. Learn ’em, because this whole 'female' thing gets old fast."
"Hi," the one with the long name says, the giggler.
"I do not care about your names," I say truthfully. "I am searching for a pickle. Speak where I can hunt such a creature."
The one that calls herself Bridget squints at me and then sticks a finger in her ear. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
I grow irritated at how difficult she is to talk to. "I hu
nt for a pickle."
"Is this some sex thing?" she asks, confused.
The other just breaks into more giggles.
"Is it?" I am shocked. Was Angie asking for me to service her and I misinterpreted? I drop to my knees, staggered. I clutch my chest, listening to the pounding of my heart. To honor a clone with such a request…
And I left her with Thrand.
A roar of outrage snarls from my throat, and I jump to my feet again. If he has touched her—
The females scream, flinging their sewing aside and falling backwards in their seats. Before I can turn, the blue-skinned male tackles me and knocks me to the ground, and we roll along the sand. I flip him off expertly and spring to my feet, and the warrior in me is pleased to see that he recovers quickly, managing to return to a low crouch and a bared snarl of his teeth.
"I do not wish to spar with you," I tell him. "Another time. I must return to the beach before Thrand services Angie."
"He what?" someone cries out.
"What's going on?" The heavy-bellied female with the red hair gets to her feet, staggering forward. "Rukh, Thrand, what are you doing?"
"He attacks the females," Rukh says.
I snort. "Those females? Not I. They hold no interest for me in the slightest."
"Damn, dude," Bridget says, sitting upright. She is covered in the pebbled sand, a disgusted expression on her face. "First you scare the shit out of us, and then you insult us? You are not making friends around here."
"I did not approach you to make friends," I retort, even as Rukh circles me warily. I know he is going to stop me from going back to the beach. "I had a question—"
"About pickles," Flordeliza chirps in.
"Pickles?" the red-haired female asks. "What do pickles have to do with anything?"
"It is a request for sexual pleasure?" I clarify, since she seems to know what pickles are.
"What?" Her jaw drops. "Um, no. Thrand, I think—"
"Vordis," I correct sharply. It should not matter, because as a clone, I answer to “servitor” or “A'ani” or “thrall” or anything else my owner designates, but here, they use my name, and I find that I grow too used to it. And as the days pass, I dislike being mistaken for Thrand more and more. "Thrand is another."
"Right. Sorry." She grimaces as if pained. "You look a lot alike, but I'll get it right soon enough. Vordis," she emphasizes. "A pickle is a food. Not a sexual request."
I frown, looking to Bridget, who was the one to suggest such a thing. She just gives me a confused look. I hesitate, and when the red-haired female continues to give me a patient expression, I decide I believe her. I move toward her slightly. "These females are mentally impaired, then?"
"Jesus Christ," Bridget says.
"Wow," Flordeliza adds. "Just…wow."
"Vordis," Harlow continues, and moves forward. Her mate starts to her side, but she raises a hand to indicate she is all right. She moves to my side and gives me a patient smile, ignoring the fact that everyone is staring at us. "Sometimes human slang is difficult to follow. I know it can be confusing. Tell you what, if you have a question about something, why don't you come ask me, all right? I will make sure it's explained properly. The girls are new to this planet and to dealing with aliens, and so they might not understand when you ask for clarification."
So they are mentally impaired. I nod, my suspicions confirmed. "I wish to hunt a pickle for Angie," I tell her. "Tell me where I can slay such a beast."
"He is something else," Flordeliza whispers.
"Angie can fucking have him," Bridget adds, louder.
"Ladies, please," Harlow interrupts, giving them a stern look. "It's all just a misunderstanding. I'm sure Vordis didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Right?"
I nod magnanimously. "I had no idea you were slow of learning."
"Wait," Harlow yelps. "No—"
"Yeah, I'm just gonna pick up my stuff and leave," Bridget says, interrupting. "C'mon, Flor. Let's go find us a short bus."
Flordeliza just groans and the two women head off, dusting their clothes with their hands.
I turn back to the red-haired female and see she is pinching a spot between her brows as if it pains her. "Tell me what sort of creature this pickle is so I may hunt it," I begin again. "I wish to please Angie.”
“You can’t hunt a pickle,” she tells me patiently.
I wait for her to explain, and as I do, I think of our conversation. Of her request for pickle meat. Of her hand slap and how I was too slow. “If I cannot hunt a pickle, tell me how to be fast enough to get in her hole.”
Harlow stares at me, her eyes so wide they look like blue pools. She takes my arm and tucks her hand into it. “You and I are going to go for a walk, and you’re going to have to explain to me slowly what you mean. Very, very slowly. Because I’m pretty sure I’m misunderstanding.”
* * *
A short time later, Harlow and I return to the beach, no pickle in hand. I am vastly disappointed by this, as it seems “pickles” are an Earth food not found here. Harlow has made it clear she was teasing me with her hole, and that pickles are not a thing here. I can only conclude that Angie meant to send me away on a fool’s errand. My pride is wounded that she would do such a thing and choose to spend her time with Thrand.
But when I get back to the beach, it is empty and Thrand walks the shore, picking up wood instead. I jog to his side, displeased. "Where is Angie?"
"She has returned to her cave," he says with a shrug. "If she is in the encampment, she does not need watching. We are free to do as we like." Thrand studies a piece of wood, then tests it with a swing. "Would this make an acceptable club, do you think?"
"If it does not splinter, then yes." I cross my arms over my chest. "She…did she ask you for anything?"
Thrand looks bored, swinging the club again. "She tried to speak to me, but I respectfully kept my distance."
I grunt. I do not know if that is good or bad. At least he is not with her, speaking to her. Getting her smiles. A flash of jealousy stabs through me and I ignore it. I must ignore it. I am a'ani. Thrand is my brother clone. I should be pleased to serve at his side instead of wanting to shove him into the water. "I…think I shall see if there is hunting with nets to be done," I say after a moment. "I wish to get Angie something fresh to eat." If I cannot bring her a pickle, perhaps I can bring her something else that will make her smile.
"A fine idea, brother," Thrand says, and casts his armful of wood aside. "I will join you."
I fight back the irritation that rises. We are both dedicated to her safety. Nothing more. Such a thing should not worm under my skin like a burr, but when I think of Angie smiling at him, I want to take that club and break it over my knee.
Then, I am ashamed of myself for even thinking such a thing. This…will not do. I am a'ani. I am made to serve, not to be independent. If my masters heard of such a thing, they would take me to med-bay and wipe my mind of any malignant or unwanted personality traits so I could serve better.
But…there are no masters here. And I am left with jealousy gnawing at my gut and an unsettled feeling in my bones.
Angie sent me away. She gave me a fool’s errand so I would leave her alone. It is clear that to her I am just another a’ani, a person who is not truly a person and who does not count.
3
ANGIE
The next day, after picking at my breakfast, I go for my usual walk on the beach. I check behind me repeatedly, hoping to see a flash of bright red skin. It feels a bit like a silly crush, but it can't be that, because I'm way pregnant. I'm pretty sure my hormones are off limits until this baby arrives.
It's that I want a friend, I tell myself. Just a friend, and Vordis is nice and likes my corny sense of humor. Nothing more. I take my usual walking stick and poke at things on the beach. There's a distinct lack of shells here—whatever wildlife is in the ocean, it doesn't do much in shells, it seems. Or maybe they have hard cartilage like the sa-khui do. Or maybe something in the deep is e
ating stuff before the shells can float to the surface. Whatever it is, there's never much to find on the beach other than wood, which is kind of depressing. I poke at a round ball-like thing that looks like an enormous seed, but the ground is too far away for me to bend down and pick it up. I flick it back into the waves and shudder when something immediately snaps it up.
Glancing around, I see a figure walking behind me. Only one of the red twins, and my heart skips an excited beat. I pause, waiting to see if he's going to come and talk to me. I wave, too, just because I'm lonely and bored and would love to talk to Vordis again. I bet he's never heard a knock-knock joke, and I have a million of ’em. I love the thought, because I can't wait to see his reaction. I want to see him smile again.
But he doesn't come any closer, and when he's a safe distance away, he drops to a crouch, waiting, like he always does. He doesn't acknowledge my wave.
Weird. Maybe it's Thrand, then. I study him, trying to tell. I could swear it's Vordis, just because the body language is slightly different. Vordis is more controlled, whereas Thrand is quicker, his motions jerkier as if he's impatient with his body for not being as fast as he wants it to be. But…maybe I'm wrong. I think for a minute, and then turn, heading in his direction. If it's Thrand, I'll try to befriend him again. As I get closer, though, it's clear that it's Vordis. I recognize his nose, the scar there, and the set of his eyes.
"Not feeling friendly today?" I ask, smiling to hide my confusion.
"I did not wish to bother you." His expression isn't welcoming in the slightest.
"Bother me? I thought we were becoming friends." I'm confused.
"You do not have to talk to me, Angie. I will keep my distance and not speak to you unless you need something." Vordis gives me a grim little nod. "I will protect you either way. It is my purpose."
