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The Lost Seal: A Seal Romance

Page 30

by Bell, Victoria


  My body is going through that peculiar pressure dip, like when a plane elevates and descends. When the rumbling stops, and there’s a brief wobble before we impact, I know we’ve touched down on the Yaru’s planet. Another earth-like place, full of alien life forms, from the Yaru to the people they’ve stolen from across the galaxies.

  When the guards come to escort me out, I feel a slight pang of loss when I pass Reon. I feel the heat, and energy rush through me, as if I have suddenly taken ill. Something flutters in my stomach, like disappointment. He gives me a wave, a friendly smile, but we’re both aware this may be the last time we’ll see one another. Unless he manages somehow to procure me in this stupid alien auction, where they’re going to sell us off to official bidders.

  Like an old style human slave market. All of us, the humans and other alien females, are unceremoniously herded onto a stark gray platform, over a futuristic, metal laden space port. There are many vehicles landing and departing, and I see one other line of what looks like alien women being shuffled as well, from a different ship. The guards stop us by a kind of vehicle hovering above the ground, streamlined and multi-seated, the cross between a bus and a train, except the seats are obviously designed for the taller Yaru. Each back seat seems to have a cup of water, and I’m puzzled as to why. For them to slurp on? I’m still examining the interior of the vehicle, using it as a focal point to not feel overwhelmed by the sheer amount of activity humming in the port, from the thousands of vehicles, spaceships, and swarm of aliens turning the place into a near metropolis of chaos. The port stretches for as far as the eye can see, and I suspect it’s of proportion similar to cities back in America, like Seattle or New York.

  The other women around me are in various stages of amazement or hyperventilation, and then there’s me, determined to keep my shit together, to try and wrap my head around what I’m seeing, which is both alien and familiar at the same time.

  It’s what I could imagine humanity striving for, give or take a few hundred years. If we don’t blow ourselves up by then.

  I overhear someone speaking to the guards. “What’s the order for this lot?” His voice is low and guttural, sounding a little harassed as if he hasn’t got time for this. I’m picking up on nuances better, though I still struggle with sarcasm and when they're deadly serious. They always sound deadly serious to me.

  “The pink aliens are going in a separate vehicle from the others,” one of the guards replied. I turn around, hoping to see Reon, but he’s nowhere. I’m not sure if he had to stay on the ship, or was forced to go elsewhere. Either way, I’m a little sad there isn’t a familiar and friendly alien face with hair tentacles to look to. I fix on him, sometimes, when the home memories aren’t enough. To remind myself there are nice aliens. I also fix on him because he looks good, and he arrests my attention. And sometimes catches me staring for too long.

  Could you blame me, when I’m still trying to get used to the appearance of the aliens around me?

  “Is that so?” The official squints at us, bulbous brown eyes contemplative. “These ones are a new species; I’ve not seen them before. Is there a reason for the separation, though?”

  “The linguists think these ones will sell for millions. They’ve proven to be fast learners, faster than the other aliens we’ve had. And the report came back from the lab. They say the pink alien DNA is promising and likely to be very compatible with our genes. Of course, I couldn’t afford one of these fuckers,” the guard adds sourly. “And I’m the one who has to go out and get them…”

  “It’s a raw deal,” the official agrees smoothly. “Fast learners?” His eyes focus on me, and I realize I’ve been staring at him a little too obviously. He has little barbles (their word for tentacles) sprouting out of his chin, and his lower face reminds me a little of the bullfrogs as they bloat, ready to ribbit.

  “Yes,” the guard replies, oblivious to the implication behind his query. “They won’t need much training, compared to the others. They can be sold almost straight away.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t look as though I actually understand what they’re saying. Or, well, the rest of us. Tia’s struggling not to laugh, and we catch each other’s eyes.

  “Curious,” the official says.

  I figure it more entertaining to keep him guessing, as do the rest of us. The alien women are placed onto the vehicle we’re next to, leaving the humans waiting for something else.

  What turns up is rather surprising. It’s a hovercraft again, but one look inside, and we gape at how it resembles a luxurious hotel suite. The inside is tinted, preventing anyone from looking in, and there are soft, brown seats all along the sides, along with cup holders and trays, a small serving bar at the end with an alien there, standing straight with his hands resting on the counter. There’s even a type of screen flickering; It takes me a moment to identify the images as a news report since they’re babbling on about a wave of burglaries that have been happening on some west coast of somewhere.

  “Neat!” Tia exclaims in English, and I agree. “If we are going to be sold like cattle, at least we do it in style.”

  “Now this is something I can get down with.” I then examine the same container of water behind the seats. “But what the fuck is this shit for?”

  We get our answer when we all take our seats, relaxing on the soft material, allowed to chatter to one another without repercussion. The official comes onto the vehicle with us as well and calls for the driver to start going. The four guards with us sit at the end nearest to the driver, and they rest the back of their heads into the water bowls. Their tentacles float there, and again, Tia and I exchange a glance and try not to giggle.

  “Well, I guess it’s a tentacle pool,” she says.

  “It’s not water,” I say, dipping my finger into the material. It comes out with a thick, sticky substance. “It’s like oil.” I sniff it, and it’s aromatic, sweet, but not a scent I know.

  The official is glaring at us as if we’re uncouth and ill-mannered, but I don’t think any of us care at the moment. At least he knows how it feels to be stuck in a room where you can’t understand the language of anyone around you – and we gleefully chatter away in English, all the women amongst us who can, anyway.

  We’re served food that doesn’t look like brown slop and drinks of water from cups. We can stare out the tinted windows to our heart’s content. The food tastes like seafood – it has that same, rubbery texture, with bones that peek underneath, which you have to peel the flesh away from carefully. One of the women in our launch is an obvious vegan, and she’s the first to break the language barrier we’ve been enforcing to ask for plant food. Since we never learned the word for vegetables.

  “Plant food?” The official appears puzzled by this. The vehicle is humming smoothly over a large motorway, and others whoosh past us. Everything’s floating. The motorway structures are a little different from the concrete jungles I’m used to – they use a blue material instead, and not only have many lanes but many levels. Some vehicles are higher than us, and they seem to be following some pre-set path. I don’t understand the pathing, as people under us are going in the opposite direction, and others are even going diagonally upward, without causing accidents. It’s all so bizarre and completely different from American road rules that I’m momentarily speechless.

  “She means food that doesn’t have meat,” Tia supplies to the official. “Some people on our planet don’t like eating meat.”

  The official blinks at her articulate response. “We do have non-meat samples. I’ll see to it.” He raises one of his brows in interest at Tia. “You seem to be rather fluent.”

  “I know three other languages,” Tia says. “We speak many languages on our planet. Learning a new one is simple for me.” She’s boasting, and I sense she’s deliberately doing it to increase her value. I add, “Our people, in general, are good at learning languages. We’re social creatures and language is important to us.” Well… not all humans are good at learning. I was t
errible, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “I see,” the official says, clearly impressed. “We only have one language spoken by the Yaru. Not barring the diversity, the aliens bring, of course.”

  “Do you learn other languages, or try?” Tia asks, and the official shakes his head.

  “Why should we?”

  Exactly the argument for most English speakers, I notice. Why bother learning a new language when you can make everyone else learn yours?

  Official Tanven and Tia end up engaging in hearty conversation. I add a few bits in but mostly dwell within my own head, trying to pick up on the information I can. Honestly, I feel intimidated. We’re definitely not in Kansas anymore. I observe a timer above the screen, which I think is their equivalent of a clock, though I don’t understand the symbols because I haven’t learned a word of the written language these aliens practice. I assume they simply hadn’t prepared for it, believing we wouldn’t be able to learn sufficiently enough language to merit it.

  The official’s wrist bracelet seems to buzz, and he holds it to his ear. I hear a voice come out of it. The official’s pale-yellow face seems to drain further.

  “Oh!” he squeaks. “Sir! W-what a pleasant surprise to be hearing from you!”

  Tia casually leans on her elbow as she chews on a fish stick, listening. I look at her briefly and notice all the women closest are paying attention.

  “Oh! Yes. I am. Oh, um, of course, I can. Do you want them for yourself, sir?”

  I narrow my eyes suspiciously. I can’t catch the speaker on the other end of the bracelet, but I don’t like the impression I’m getting.

  “Yes, sir, they’re very intelligent. I’m able to converse with all of them fluently.”

  Tanven nods along to what he hears. “Yes, I had heard about their marvelous genes. But I thought, wouldn’t it be better to auction them, sir? They’re valuable.”

  Official Tanven’s jaw drops. His fear turns into a nervous smile. “Oh! Wonderful! Yes! My goodness. Right away. Well. Take care, sir. We’ll be with you shortly.” Tanven drops the bracelet and yells for the driver to change course to “Pristen Way.” The driver gapes at him. Tanven then faces all the interested females.

  “I suppose you’ll be wondering what that was about.” There’s mirth playing about his lips. Whatever conversation he’s just had, he’s pleased with the result.

  “Yes!” I exclaim. “What happened? Are we still going to auction?”

  “Ah, no.” Tanven actually beams. “No, you won’t. The person I was talking to has close connections to the royal family. Word has spread about your good genes and your fast learning. You’ve got all the upper classes in quite a stir. Thousands want to know where you’re being auctioned and are trying to bribe the auctioneers as we speak. Our esteemed royal family has caught wind of this and has proposed instead for all humans to be prize rewards in the Pristen kashtumung.”

  I bite my lip. “I don’t know that word.”

  Tanven seems more than delighted to explain. “It’s an event. A yearly event where people from all over the world gather. They compete against one another, take part in traditional fights and sports – and every year, there’s a grand prize to be won in the Great Trials. You’re to be part of that spectacle! How wonderful! I may take part myself.” He’s smiling from ear to ear.

  “Sounds like the Olympics or a tournament of sorts,” Tia mutters to me in English.

  “Yeah.” I switch back to Yarussian. “We’d be prizes?”

  “You will. And you should be happy. Only the strongest, smartest and healthiest of our kind can win in the kashtumung events. Our nobility wants your genes to be going to the finest of our people.” Tanven sits back, satisfied, his long fingers tapping on his knee. “Oh, I’m all excited now.”

  I’m not. I realize my expectation of maybe having Reon buy me out of an auction is next to zero. And if he has to compete against strong warriors, I just don’t see how I’ll ever end up safely in his household.

  Fuck it.

  Nothing better I suppose, then the light of hope wrinkling and dying as I sit in a trendy alien car galaxies away from home, trying to drown out the pit of despair by munching on alien fish.

  Chapter Three

  We’re locked up again, though it’s in a nicer place than before. Instead of being stuffed into some shoddy cells without any spare changes of clothes or efforts to preserve our dignity, we’re placed in what can only be described as a hotel mansion.

  It’s a place of luxury, and we have aliens catering to us. I notice that the staff is a mix of male and female Yaru, and two females greet us at the reception. It’s clear from the treatment the women received, that they expect to be respected and revered. There’s some kind social construction here I’m unaware of. Almost as if the oppression a few centuries ago in the Yaru timeline has reversed. I wonder if this is the ultimate progression of all space faring nations. More equality in society. More opportunities. If the petty squabbles put us through is what stops us progressing.

  It does feel like that sometimes, especially when you see people fanning their rage and hate for no reason other than that they can. It gets tiring. I did it a lot, back in the days of Facebook and Twitter. I body shamed girls, defended our current president against haters by calling them soft and snowflake-like – not because I believed in our president, but because I liked watching people get frothing mad. Like poking bears with sticks just to see their reactions.

  I wonder if it’s people like me that stop us from being more than what we are.

  The thoughts make my head hurt, and I fast dismiss them out of mind when I settle into my new abode. The Yaru indulge in art – there are paintings all over the rooms, depicting places I’ve never seen, cities, unlike any structures I’ve seen ours. Where we have block skyscrapers, busy single roads, and monuments, the pictures show bubble houses, whole segments devoted to greenery and plants, and many structures with bark-like walling. There are some futuristic places like the space port, but the surprising amount of nature based paintings makes me think they must have reached the issue of climate warming at some point in their world as well.

  My fingers trail over the paintings. I explore the room, which is a rustic, light brown color, with a dark wood bed covered in white sheets. The toilet is a hole in the ground, and a shower is set in a separate compartment, unlike the rather charming toilet and shower combination we experienced back on the ship. There are clothes in the wardrobe which I try on, though most of them are simple body suits like what I already have, just in different colors. The room itself has similar structures to the interior of a human’s hotel, but architectural choices are different. The beds by the door, the wardrobes, and places where belongings are put are at the far end of the triangle shaped window. The window itself is on a hinge, so you can push the top to swing it down, and peer down at the streets and buildings below, whilst leaning on the glass. There are pavilions in the distance over a vast string of field – where they must be holding the tournament. I say pavilions because they have that tepee like shape to them, but they’re colored brown and incarnadine as if made from wood. Next to these pavilions are more buildings, rustic houses, wooden walls, and what looks like a kind of biome, barely peeking above the houses.

  So, the aliens want to sell off all the humans as prizes in whatever’s happening over there. Some big kind of international event. Official Tanven seemed ecstatic at the idea of being able to win a human in a competition – probably because he didn’t have the coin or influence to nab one from an auction.

  And all I can now think about is how blithe the fucking Yaru are, how casual they are in how they deal with their stolen females. They take us against our will. Stuff us on a ship, insult us, and herd us around with the deep assumption that we won’t speak back, and have accepted our position. As if they know we don’t have any chance of getting back home, so we better deal with it, or fall behind.

  Irritated, I run my hands through my red hair, tryin
g to make sense of my mind, of my reality. My blue eyes have a new hardness to them that didn’t exist before, as I examine my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  I think if I spotted a Yaru at this point, with their stupid flapping tentacle hair and barble studded faces, I’d want to slap one to death.

  There’s a knock on the door a short while later. My heart instantly twitches, and my legs wobble in a flash of shameful fear. Fear? I gather myself together and open the door, reasoning that I’m probably not going to be stabbed if I do so.

  Reon gives me a smile from the other side. “Hello.”

  I blink. My mouth drops open, wide enough to let in a swarm of flies. Maybe I don’t want to slap this particular Yaru. “What are you doing here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Reon casually steps past me, examining my room. His gray eyes flit from object to object. His hair is slicked back and tied together, giving him a ponytail/dreadlock appearance. It allows me to see the shape of his face better, which is wide, angled, and welcoming. Some people might look as if they want to kill you, thanks to the luck of their jaw structure, or the way their eyes have sunk into their eye sockets. Reon looks like the kind of person who would stop you in the street and ask for directions, and you’d be happy to do so because he looks nice and non-threatening. He follows on his words with, “Hmm. It’s good accommodation. Certainly, a step up from the filth of the ship. Sorry about that, by the way. They have to cut costs to save on travel.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” I consider it to be rude that he just barged in without me actually inviting him, but at the same time, I can’t help but feel pleased to see him here. It causes that annoying fluttering thing in my stomach. It causes that slow trickle of heat. It makes me want to follow him everywhere, so he doesn’t slip out of sight.

  “They need to have a translator on hand to continue teaching and guiding the humongs. And, well, I do have some pull with the local establishment. So, I figured – why not? Since it did come to my attention that you’re not being sold off anymore.”

 

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