by Stasia Black
My father got me into the program early and unlike many, my body did not reject the treatments.
We must blend in with the humans if we are to walk among them. Secrecy is the first directive. None but the elect few even know of our presence hovering above their planet—and even they do not know our true purpose in coming here.
I turn and grasp Ezo’s forearm. “Soon enough you will be ready.”
Ezo’s eyes light up, a blinding blue that broadcast his caste. He is among the military caste—not the lowest caste but near to.
We were not the first choice for this task. But too many of the upper castes died in the initial attempts because the ‘treatment’ to combine human DNA with that of the Draci is sometimes more art than science. They still do not know why transformation takes in certain cases and does not in others.
Whatever the reason, it falls to the disposables like Ezo and me to take up the mantle and save our race.
“Think of all the things you’ll see,” Ezo continues excitedly. “The primitives still use wheeled conveyances! Promise me you will ride in one. And all the foods! And maybe you can finally solve the mystery of why all the humans gather together to watch and scream when a small number of them run back and forth with a ball. Is it religious? Something they must do to balance their endocrine systems? Do they do it because—”
I glare his direction and cut him off. “I am not going down there because I am curious about the primitives, Ezo. I do this only to bring honor to my family name.”
He just stares back at me. “You mean your family who abandoned you as a bastard to the junkyards of Ogrocu when you were only a child?”
I yank my glowing blue scylathe from its sheath at my waist and thrust it up against Ezo’s throat. “Do not disrespect my family name. My father is King Thraxcruhxas. I take this mission so that I might bring honor to his name and the royal blood that runs in my veins.”
Ezo raises up his still-webbed hands. “Okay, okay. Don’t take my skin.”
After another moment, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, I drop my weapon back to its sheath. Ezo is a good friend but I have endured enough insult in my long life. I climbed from the junkyards of Ogrocu to the mining pits and then to the construction crews of the Salvation Ships, which earned me passage off of my dying world. And now I have a chance to finally ascend to the station that ought to have been mine by birthright.
When I succeed in this, the first to ever do so, my father will finally name me his son.
I breathe out harshly and turn away from Ezo, pausing a moment to stare at my new face in the looking shell. It is me but not me. My hands go to my soft, alien face.
The flesh is soft where I am used to hard scales. Inefficient. An enemy need only strike me once and I will bleed. My unwebbed hand touches my ‘nose,’ the human equivalent of a snout, apparently. Instead of thin, hard lips, my fingers touch soft, full flesh.
And on my back, there are no wings.
I have disfigured myself and sacrificed everything for this. I will conquer in my father’s name until I am first in his eye instead of last.
I turn away from the looking shell and pull on the last of the strange body coverings over my head. Why the humans find so many coverings necessary is beyond me.
The Draci respect three things: strength, intelligence, and cunning.
So if you have great strength, such as I, you do not hide it beneath coverings. The same is true for those with wit and cunning—they also train daily and try for the biggest muscles possible, so they may be mistaken for only having strength. That way no one will suspect them of weaving their elaborate plots.
That is only for the males, though. Everyone knows females are the most cunning of all, plotting constantly, always ten steps ahead of the rest of us.
It is understandable. It is all they have left, since none of them have given birth to a live child in two hundred and fifty years.
“Good Fortune, my friend,” Ezo calls after me as I exit our barracks chamber.
I ignore him because I do not need Fortune on my side. I need only my skills, my strength, and my wits.
I hold my head high as I walk down the endless interior hallways towards the shuttle bay. The ship is large. She has been our home for a century and a half and in spite of our talented engineers, she shows her age. The pyrthithium-shelled corridors flake and must be re-fired on a routine basis but the metal can only withstand so much manipulation before it breaks down completely.
Our food rations dwindled long ago and it was only by putting the majority of passengers into stasis that we survived this long.
All in hope of reaching this planet.
Earth, we now know it to be called.
It was only a pinpoint in the furthest reaches of our star maps two centuries ago. And now we are here. Our true salvation insight.
But even as I embark on this vital mission, the many Draci I pass in the corridors do not so much as acknowledge my existence other than a few rude, wide-eyed stares at my alienness. I ignore them.
Eventually I round the last corner to the wide open space of the shuttle bay. The bay is busy, both with Draci busy at work and those who have simply come to stare at me, the mutant, as I leave for this venture that many are certain is doomed.
I glare them all down. I will prove them wrong, I swear it on my father’s name.
I square my shoulders and approach the shuttle I have spent many, many hours in, preparing for the short journey down to the surface. My mood only sours when I see First standing at the door to my shuttle.
Thraxahenashuash, The First. Commonly known as First.
“Brother,” I greet him stiffly. My little brother, by two months. But still he is considered firstborn, not me.
First scoffs, not even bothering to meet my gaze. His dark purple scales glint in the lights of the bay. They proclaim him to be his mother’s son, royal purple, of the highest caste.
“Do not insult me by association. You might have Father’s blood but you do not have my royal Queen Mother’s. And now you’re a hybrid mongrel in addition to a bastard.”
He waves a hand dismissively and my jaw clenches.
“Well,” I smile slowly, gesturing down at myself, “this bastard mongrel is the hope and future of our entire race, brother. You better start treating me with respect since one day my son will be born as the Hope and Savior of the Draci.”
First leans in, his tongue flicking out into the air. “That will never happen,” he hisses. “Father will see the foolishness of this quest and then we will kill these humans and take their planet for our own.”
I go toe to toe with him. “And have our entire race die off within a generation?” I scoff. “You would sentence us to extinction. Need I remind you that no Draci child has been borne in two hundred years?”
First’s eyes narrow to slits. “Our scientists were too busy getting us safely off Draci before our sun went dark. And then they were consumed with sustaining us on our long journey. Now that we are safe, they can focus again on the fertility problem and—”
“It was the scientists who led us to this crisis in the first place!” How can he be so blind? “Their genetic splicing and manipulation—”
“Crafted us into the most perfect species we could be,” my half-brother breaks in. “Eradicating disease and controlling the population when resources were scarce—”
“They’ve almost controlled us right out of existence,” I spit. “Now I’m going to go do something about it.”
First shoves his finger in my face. “I will not stand here and tolerate your disrespect for your elders and forebearers.”
I step forward, forcing him to lower his hand. “Then get out of my way and let me do my mission.”
First hisses, steam curling from between his teeth, and then he shoves a tablet against my chest. “Here. Your female to target. Her DNA profile is ideal. Get in. Impregnate her. Report in regularly about gestational successes and failures.” His lips tilt cruelly. “
Emphasis on failures. We will be watching.”
“Then you will have a fronts row seat to my success.”
I turn, get in the shuttle, and slam the door shut behind me.
Hours later, sights and scents bombard me. The location device in my ear calls out directions but I cannot orient myself.
Everywhere I look, primitives crowd me. Humans. There are…just so many of them.
I studied tirelessly for this mission. I watched projection after projection of media we gathered from the planet, both audio and visual. Humans are strange and curious and violent creatures.
Learning their language was only a matter of a scan in the med bay. While there are seven thousand spoken on the planet, it was determined we only needed to download the top twenty.
I thought I was prepared.
But as I walk down the streets of a city called Sacramento in the kingdom of California to the coordinates I was given, I can barely separate the sky from the architecture. The buildings tower above me at dizzying heights. Our cities back on Draci were far grander, but I rarely spent time in them and I am young. Most of my life has been spent on the Salvation Ship.
“Well hey, good-lookin,’” a female calls out as I pass by. I startle and pause when I realize she is talking to me. She sits on the stoop of a dwelling with several other females, some of them with white sticks in their mouths, smoke curling from the ends.
“Damn, we got ourselves a Channing Tatum look-alike,” says one with massive amounts of poofy brown hair. Hair is still something I am getting used to. I can barely manage the short crop on my head. How can she deal with so much?
“Naw, he’s cuter,” says another. “And look at those muscles. Channing Tatum wishes he was as hot as this guy.”
I pause. Hot? Being bound in so many coverings is uncomfortable but I do not think my temperature is elevated.
Although, considering how little the women sitting on the stoop are wearing, perhaps covering oneself in so much cloth is not as important as my commander seemed to think it was. Almost all of their skin is on display.
One of them jumps up and comes towards me. I take a step back, adopting a battle stance. I have trained extensively in several battle styles should the need arise on this mission.
“Take my picture with him,” the female says, then she slings her small arm around my neck and looks back towards her friends.
“Smile, honey,” calls one who holds a small, clunky primitive tablet out towards us. Could it be a weapon? If so, why is her companion standing so close to me?
“I don’t think this one is gonna smile, hoe,” says the female holding the device, laughing. “He’s too GQ model for you.”
“Just take the damn picture,” says the female from beside me.
“One, two, three.”
“One more, I was blinking!”
“Jesus, Marie.
“Just take it!”
“Fine.”
I begin to extricate myself from the female. I do not think she means me harm but she is impeding my mission. “I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Aw, are you sure you don’t want to hang out with us a little?” asks the female who has now plastered herself to my side.
I have never been so close to a human. It is not a very pleasant experience.
She smells. Strongly. Of what I cannot say. It is not a scent I have ever encountered before. But it is pungent and I do not like it.
I do not like the look in her eyes either, or how she has painted her face, or how she has gripped onto me without my permission.
“I am leaving now.” I peel her hands off of my arm and stride away as quickly as I can.
I frown deeply as I walk. My mission requires me to be extremely close to a human female. How have I not considered the actual nature of my assignment before? I will have to touch one of these creatures. I will have to touch them intimately.
I edge the tip of my tongue out of my mouth to investigate my surroundings and immediately pull it back in, shuddering. This world is foul. Yes, we have begun work to clean it up for the humans but…
What if First is right? Do we really want to befoul our race by mixing with these creatures?
My ear navigator tells me to turn left and I am alone with my disturbing thoughts as I walk the last three blocks to my destination.
I look up at the sign. 3rd Street Coffee House. Coffee is one of the things Ezo is terribly curious to try. If nothing else, I can purchase a cup and tell him about the experience.
I walk in and join the line at the counter, proud of myself for remembering the social etiquette. Humans are very fond of lining up one after the other for some reason.
There is a female ahead of me and I wonder if she will behave like the group of women outside.
I tense, waiting for her to accost me.
But she takes no notice of me and when she gets to the front of the line, begins to talk easily with the male behind the counter.
My head tilts, curious as I listen and watch them interact.
Ezo says that all the males and females on this planet think about is copulation. Are these two copulation partners, I wonder?
Before I can make a determination, the female spins and run straight into my chest.
“Oh!” she says but then she stops, frozen as she stares up at me. “Hi.”
I, too, am stopped in place.
This female is nothing like the others I have seen. She is petite, with long flowing black hair. Her features are as foreign to me as any humans, but for some reason I find her face pleasing. Before I can think better of it, my tongue sneaks out over my lips to scent my surroundings.
But all I can smell is her.
And I’ve never scented anything so delicious in my life.
MINE.
It’s all but a convulsion that tears through my body.
What? No! No, this cannot be happening!
My denials are weak, though.
Far louder is the cry: Mine, mine, mine, mine, MINE, MINE.
By all the ancients, I’ve heard of this, of course. All Draci have. It is the hoarding impulse—the ancient curse of the Draci that caused so many wars and deaths among my kind. Kingdoms rose and fell because warring Draci became so possessive of their treasures, they sent out armies to demolish any who ventured near their borders.
But hoarding was one of the things those geneticists had supposedly bred out of us hundreds of years before I was born.
“Next!” shouts the male behind the counter and the female jumps.
“Oh, sorry.”
And then she scurries away. Just like that. As if my planet did not just tilt on its axis.
I stare after her.
The male behind the counter laughs. “I know man, believe me, I know. But Juliet’s not the kind of girl to be impressed by a lot of muscles.”
“Juliet?” I whisper.
The male just shakes his head. “Dude, I’m telling you, lost cause. What can I get for you?”
“I will have what she had. Juliet.” I like the sound of her name on my tongue. I would like much more of her on my tongue.
I have had only the tiniest scent of her essence, mixed with a hundred other competing fragrances.
What would it be like to taste her skin? I can only imagine the explosion of sensation such an experience might bring.
It is difficult but I manage to focus long enough to exchange currency and then pull myself away to sit at a table nearby the female, Juliet. I do not trust myself to be too close to her at the moment.
The hoarding instinct—I cannot believe how strong it is. No wonder our ancestors collected vast stores of gold and other precious items to hoard deep in the mountains in the ancient times.
Have others felt this or is it simply because I am an aberration now? Did the human DNA somehow trigger it?
A sudden beeping in my ear distracts me from my thoughts.
Target in range. Target in range.
I look back towards the counter a
nd there she is. The female I am meant to target. The female with the ideal DNA. I recognize her face from the scans I was shown.
Then my head swings back to my Juliet.
No. They got it wrong.
I cannot mate with anyone but Juliet. I am sick at the thought of anyone else but her.
Once Draci mate, in almost all circumstances, we mate for life. It is why my bastardom was such a shock to the royal court. Why did my father abandon my mother and marry another, even when she carried his kit? But then again, First’s mother, the Queen, is famously the most cunning of the Draci.
Still, this human and I have not even touched, much less mated. So why do I feel so drawn to her?
First’s voice comes over my ear com. “Affirm that the target is in range.”
My teeth grind at his voice in my ear. The fact that he has been chosen as my liaison to the ship is another stone in my gullet. I pick up the large flimsy paper with human scrawl covering it. A newspaper, the word pops in my head.
“Affirmative,” I say under my breath.
“We will be listening for impregnation.”
White fury blinds me and without thinking it over any further, I pluck the small bud from my ear, let it fall to the floor, and stomp on it with the hard sole of my boot.
And then I drop the paper back down so that I might watch the scene in front of me. The brightly colored female drags my Juliet to a table that is further away from me. I swallow a frustrated growl as the target female joins them.
They are deep in conversation and I cannot pick up anything that they say. While Draci excel in the arenas of taste, smell, and sight, we are not as good as mammals at hearing.
But I watch Juliet laugh. I watch her intelligent eyes and the way her body shifts this way and that.
Human anatomy is not so different from the Draci. What would it be like to peel off her coverings? To touch and taste what is underneath?
This is now the second time I have considered the intimate aspects of this mission, but unlike earlier on the street, it does not disgust me now. Not when I imagine Juliet is the female beneath me. In fact I am bewilderingly…excited by the thought.
