The Fly House (The UtopYA Collection)

by Misty Provencher

  "Are you insinuating that the dragon trade will be terminated?" Phuck gulped. Terminating the trade would also end Phuck's position on Earth. It would mean Phuck would be shipped back to Pluto, to toil as a commoner. His hopes of ever gaining independence from his miserable planet would be lost. He slouched beneath the Superior's heavy hand as 38596 leaned closer to one of Phuck's noise detection holes.

  "This is why Pluto has decided to expand its trades," the superior whispered.

  Phuck's cranial processor clicked with the information. Whirred, even.

  "Expansion? More dragons?" Phuck asked.

  "And to accept no more than three percent shortages on shipments," 38596 added.

  Phuck was overwhelmed at the prospect. More eggs meant more profit, more possibility. But a three percent shortage allowance? It meant the Houses would have to take turns skimming, to work together, if they were to maintain their back-room dealings and do it while staying alive.

  But with an expansion, there would have to be larger portions of land for each of the Houses. Phuck's House being the most important, there certainly had to be more land in it for the Fly House. There was prestige in that. There might even be a more impressive dwelling in it for him. Phuck began to dream of all the possibilities that would come with more as 38596 gave a severe growl to clear his throat.

  "Oh no," the superior said. "There will not be more dragons. The trade will continue on as it is, but 1295 has found another commodity to offer our neighboring planets and outlying planetary systems. It is an exciting venture. A whole new trade, based right here on Earth."

  Phuck's honest thought flowed out of his speech hole. "What else would other planets want? What other trade would be compatible for operation in this atmosphere?"

  38596 gripped his inferior's shoulders. He searched the edges of the central dark hole in Phuck's face, presumably, to locate the worker's eyes. When 38596 seemed confident that he'd locked onto Phuck's gaze, the superior overseer grinned.

  "Humans," he told Phuck. "We mean to harvest humans. Pluto will be the first to operate a Human Trade."

  ***

  "An experiment," Diem repeated, his mind struggling to grasp what this woman was talking about. She spoke differently, looked differently, and she'd obviously come from somewhere that wasn't the Houses. But how, without Forge detecting her and from where? "You can't mean in the scorching? You are too young for it."

  "What scorching?" she asked. "What was scorched?"

  "Everything," Diem said, watching her reactions with curiosity. He tried to figure out if she really believed what he was saying. "The whole Earth. We lost everything."

  The woman's eyes pegged onto the wall across the room and stayed there. He recognized the stare; it was pure shock, the same look as what Karma wore the first time he'd had to explain to her what men sometimes did to women who walked through the spindlings alone.

  "Where did you come from?" Diem asked. She blinked. He could see her hiding things away in her eyes.

  "I came from 2013," she said.

  "You're Plutian?" he growled. He had seen no indication of it, even though she dressed oddly. She used the archaic. Plutians didn't do that.

  "What are you talking about? Oh my God, speak English!" she growled back. "The Archive froze me—no, not freezing...they gassed us to sleep, to preserve us because the Earth's atmosphere was full of holes. It's way underground. I went there in 2013. The year was 2013."

  It was Diem's turn to feel the shockwave as it widened his eyes and dropped his jaw. She couldn't be from the past. Not that long ago. A body couldn't last that long. And the dragons—they would've sniffed out humans, even underground, wouldn't they? He was no longer sure. But there was no way—

  "You're lying," he said.

  "Yeah, right. That's it, I'm lying." She grimaced and looked away. Her stomach howled. Without looking back at him she said, "I talked, that was the deal. Can you at least give me something to eat before I starve to death?"

  He thought a moment and then decided there would be no harm. He didn't want her to die. If she actually did belong to a House after all, and he mistreated her in any way, especially as a Rha...

  He got up and went to the counter again. Taking down a new dish, he mixed up another portion of the gorne mash, warming it over another tiny flame. He came back to her with the dish, sitting on the floor again, but this time a bit closer. He scooped some food onto his fingers and held it out to her. She sneered.

  "You think I'm eating out of your hand? Fat chance, junior. Untie me."

  "No," he told her. She glanced back at his extended fingers. He could see her jaw move as she salivated, he watched her swallow down her desire to eat.

  "I don't even know where that's been. Do you even have toilet paper...now? What year is this anyway?"

  He didn't bother with her foolishness. He only jiggled his outstretched hand at her.

  "Are you hungry or not?" he asked.

  ***

  Damn him.

  Maeve wanted more than anything to kick away the caveman's hand and dump his bowl of goop all over him. At the very least, she wanted him to give her the bowl and a spoon. But in the end, her stomach snarled and she opened her mouth.

  His fingers were gentle. She was surprised too that he didn't seem worried about her clamping down on his digits. That's what she wanted to do, but when he deposited the warm grain on her tongue, she closed her mouth on it and her eyes shut in ecstasy. The groan of satisfaction escaped her.

  The food was buttery and warm. It melted on her tongue and drizzled down her throat as she chewed. It could've been maggot dumplings for all she knew, and she didn't care. It tasted like soft, warm, mushy, calorie-ridden, comfort food. Best of all, it didn't taste anything like an egg.

  When Maeve finished the first bite, he held up another scoopful on his fingertips. This time, she ducked forward and sucked it off his fingers, closing her eyes at the last moment and savoring every bit. The third bite, her eyes were open. A satisfied grin played on his mouth as she took the food from him. The fourth, she glanced up at his face as her lips were wrapped around his knuckles. She laved the buttery grain from the pads of his fingertips. His eyes anchored on her mouth, his bottom lip dropping as he watched. She pulled away. He only scooped up another mouthful and held it out to her.

  And damn. She wanted it. Even if this was some perverted food foreplay.

  She licked his fingers clean and didn't even care if he was getting off on it. The food was as good as sex. When she finished the plateful, he laid it down on the floor beside him. She couldn't keep her eyes from wandering to it. When she finally looked back at him, he stood, went to the counter, and made her another helping.

  She ate the second plateful too. When she was finished, she sat back on his soft, stuffed bed. The heat of the room and the warmth in her belly made her feel loose and half way to dreaming. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep.

  Maybe that's just what he was planning on. But if he was, he didn't show it. He went to the counter, pulling up the bucket he'd put his dish in earlier, along with another bucket from beneath. He washed a small wealth of dishes that must've been soaking in the bottom bucket. Maeve curled her lip as she watched. She could only guess what kind of diseases were swimming in that bottom bucket.

  He dried the dishes, seemingly unaware as she watched. The muscles in his back were impeccable in the way they rippled. He moved like a lion, all grace and muscle and ferocity. It made her mind trace his arms and play with images of his hips rocking against her.

  Entertaining herself with drowsy thoughts of how she could rape him, Maeve tried to lie back on the bed. The rope around her wrists prevented it. She could droop only half way down, the very tips of her hair dancing over the bed like Tantalus's tongue. It wasn't like she meant to do it, but she whimpered.

  He turned from stacking the pile of dried dishes on the shelf.

  "What's the matter?" he asked. Maeve bolted upright. Fuck if she was going
to tell him that she was fantasizing about sleeping on his bed. She narrowed her tired gaze as best she could.

  "I'm tied to the wall—what do you think my problem is?"

  "You need to relieve yourself?" he asked. A light bulb flashed in Maeve's head, but it was fleeting. The reality of it all was smothering. Going outside to pee, with the actual plan of kicking Diem in the cojones and running off, wasn't going to work. There was nowhere for Maeve to run. She had no idea where she was or how she could make it back down the Archive's rabbit hole, since it had caved in behind her. All she knew was that she was tied to a wall with a man who had saved her from a dragon and fed her something that wasn't an egg. Running away from him only made sense if she was running to something better than the situation she was in.

  "No," she said. "I'm tired. I just want to lie down."

  "I can do that for you," he said. His voice was weirdly tender and Maeve figured, this might just be it. She was pretty much giving the green flag on a rape scene and she was too damn tired to care. At this point, she would willingly spread if he would just get it over with and let her sleep.

  But Diem adjusted the ropes so she could lay back. Then he walked away.

  Maeve kept her eye on him, determined to do what she always did when her confidence in life and people was destroyed.

  She would survive.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Hot Season Six

  Wind walked in circles, unable to find Phuck's cabin. She wasn't sure what to do now. Find Diem? The goop on her skin was gone, but there were no other options.

  She mucked through the landscape, her tread silent. She wanted to find Phuck's cabin, but if she found Diem's first, then maybe that was meant to be. She would let fate decide.

  Just then, a small structure came into view. It was a dark shadow on the landscape, its squat width and flattened top standing out from among the trees. Wind's heart flipped. More than anything she'd ever wanted, she wanted it to be Phuck's cabin.

  She picked her way through the spindlings slowly, sure not to make a sound. Nearing the structure, her heart sank as she made out Diem's voice.

  The shutters were closed up tight. She could see the thin trail of smoke from the cave where Diem's dragon was settled in for the night. It was a miracle that Forge was not on her, destiny perhaps. It was a large fantasy, but she let herself have it as she edged closer to the bottom of one of the windows.

  She made out the smoky timbre of Diem's voice, but didn't recognize the one that obviously belonged to a woman. Wind's hackles rose. She knew that she despised the woman inside already.

  "I'm tied to the wall—what do you think my problem is?" The female sounded irritated and that alone irked Wind. As if the female was insulting something that didn't even belong to her. Wind realized that she still felt Diem was hers, even if she wanted the overseer more.

  "You need to relieve yourself?" he asked. Diem's voice sounded almost tender. The woman took a moment to reply.

  "No. I'm tired. I just want to lie down."

  "I can do that for you." There was no mistaking the tenderness in his voice that time.

  Wind moved to the door. She pushed against it and the thing wafted open a hair. Wind pushed her eye toward the slit of light and she saw a woman, wrists tied with a guide rein and secured to the wall. What really bothered Wind was that the filthy little sheathen was on Diem's bed.

  The door swayed open a hair more. A hair too much. The footsteps thundered over the floor and Wind couldn't move away from the opening fast enough. As Diem yanked open the door, she scuttled backward, tripping and tumbling down onto her rear. He loomed in the doorframe.

  "Wind? What are you doing out here?" He planted his hands on his hips. He grumbled, "I should've had Forge guarding for everyone, not just Plutians."

  "I..." She summoned up all her courage, scrambling to her feet. She craned her head to see the girl he was with, but Diem stepped in her way, blocking the female altogether. "I would like to speak with you in private."

  As Wind rose up on tiptoe to gaze over his shoulder, he stepped out of the shack and pulled the door closed behind him. His eyes drilled into her.

  "Didn't Eon return you to Breed House?"

  "Yes, but I came back...because I wanted to talk with you." She stepped closer, hoping her adrenaline would activate any residual Sex that might still be on her skin. She hoped his interest would spark hers because she couldn't stop thinking of all the sweat, from her tryst with Phuck, that might've washed away the last of Dick-Edd's potion. Maybe that was fate too. The memory of Phuck's mating shot a hot tingle straight into the valley between her legs and made her weak.

  Diem folded his arms like a barrier between them. "I want nothing to do with you, Wind. I thought I made myself very clear on that."

  She knew there was no disputing him, so she decided to deflect him instead. She hopped toward him, pushing open the door behind him before he could catch her. Diem stepped back to catch the door and close it again, but Wind slipped inside. She was a little shocked herself, as she stood at the foot of Diem's bed, peering down at the woman upon it.

  "Who is this? I've never seen her before."

  "That's none of your concern," Diem said.

  "I'm Maeve Aypotu." The woman banged the guide rope against the wall. Wind inspected the strange female and her odd clothing. Noticing the details, a dangerous thought occurred to Wind.

  "Is she Plutian?"

  "Of course not." Diem bristled.

  "Then why were you telling her all about us like she didn't know?" The thoughts clicked together the way the kernels of a dragon's underbelly aligned so perfectly. "Are you working with the Plutians, Diem? Is this how you were planning to increase your portion?"

  "You don't know what you're talking about," he said as he grabbed Wind by the upper arm and jogged her out the door and off the front porch. He let her go with a shove. "Go home, Wind. Go back where you came from. I don't have time for your nonsense or your ridiculous ideas."

  In desperation, she shot back at him, "I'll tell."

  She knew she hit a nerve when his eyes flashed.

  "Alright," he told her. "Then you can tell them on the run."

  With that, he let out a deep, growling whistle. Wind didn't waste anytime racing off into the spindlings as Diem's mighty dragon burst from her cave.

  ***

  Phuck's body stood paralyzed as 38596 released the overseer's shoulders and settled back into a chair, shaking out his human-esque mane and waiting for the overseer's response. The emotional reaction stewing beneath Phuck's skin was definitely not the one he wanted seeping out to his superior.

  Phuck's entire dream of wealth, of claiming a dynasty for himself, was swirling away from him like a puff of dragon smoke. Quotas were becoming more rigid. He didn't know how on Earth he could ever reach his goal.

  "I need enough humans to maintain House functions," Phuck said. 38596 twiddled his sensory digits together.

  "Certainly. That is what will motivate all the Houses to strive to meet the new quotas."

  "You mean, more stringent quotas that will be impossible to meet, I assume?"

  "Not absolutely impossible. We'll say, challenging," 38596 chuckled. "Each House will have its individual quota and if that quota is not met, your function, as overseer, will be to choose one of your humans to offer into trade."

  "They'll hate me."

  "You care what they feel for you?" The sculpted hair over one of the Superior's sight-hole quirked. It bothered Phuck tremendously, but to say he felt anything for the humans would be revealing. He would be ostracized by all of Pluto if 38596 knew that Phuck had shared Plutian mating with a human hardly an hour ago. Phuck decided to offer a more suitable answer to his superior.

  "It will hardly motivate them to work with me toward any quotas."

  "True enough." 38596 went back to twiddling his sensory digits. "I suppose you could insist that your Rha make the choice, if you'd like to protect your reputation, although it mig
ht serve you better if the humans feared you."

  "They fear me now."

  "It is never enough."

  "Agreed," Phuck said. No other answer would be reasonable. "What is the Fly House's new quota?"

  "At the end of this sixth season, I shall expect nine dragons, ready for trade."

  "Nine?" The black hole in Phuck's face seemed to momentarily widen, drifting out toward his hairline and chin as if it would swallow every feature he had and even part of his neck. "We've been sending five to seven each season! How can we be expected to send nine?"

  "We?" The superior's perfectly groomed sight-hole hair quirked again.

  "My House endeavors with me to meet our quota." Phuck struggled to calm himself. He thought 38596 was going to demand six, maybe even seven dragons, but Fly House had never shipped nine dragons in one season. As of that moment, there were only four hens Diem had been training. It meant five hens would have to come from the seven that Diem had just shown Phuck that evening, which also meant that there were only two hens left for profit. Phuck felt the hot, sticky beads of water collect beneath his armpits and in his creases. "I must say, nine dragons is not a challenge, but an impossibility for this season."

  "Impossibility? I disagree, 9142151316125205." For the Superior to use Phuck's Plutian name, it was as much a warning as a formality. Phuck's guts rolled in loops as 38596 stood and moved toward the door. "If you still think the quota impossible, then let us be absolutely sure that Fly House will not. I have a new proposition to ensure it. Tell the Rha of Fly House that for each dragon I am short this season, I will expect two members, not just of his House, but of his own blood line, to be offered for our human trade."

  "He has only two of blood," Phuck said, all his thoughts of Karma tumbling over one another and making it hard for him to think clearly. He could not lose her. The old woman, Breathe, would be a lovely sacrifice, and perhaps Eon would nobly volunteer himself, masquerading as Diem's brother. Phuck would allow the guise, possibly even suggest it, so long as Karma was spared.