by Amanda Milo
“So is mine.” Really, Fee-bee needs no other males, and her daughters, Chipp-chip, Moctavia, and Loula—all named after famed Zweynolarphian princesses—won’t be ready for their own mates for solars and solars.
Uteep checks his own wristport. “All right. I’m calling this done too, then.”
We head for the exit, and I’ve stopped looking at the Y-Dax on display. I really don’t need more, as I’m perfectly satisfied with exactly what I have at home.
I don’t know what makes me notice the male. But I know when I stop walking because Uteep runs into my back.
“Keedeel?” he asks. “What is it?”
I’m staring at the puffed-looking creature huddled on a podium. Unlike the other Y-Dax on display, this one is behind a small circlet of bars.
As he draws his lips back from his teeth and utters a growl of warning at me, I decide the bars are less for his protection, and more for mine.
Uteep shoves past my shoulder in order to see what has my attention. “The Embellished?” he asks, something dark in his voice.
“He’s incredibly designed,” I say—and it’s true. The male’s features are like no other Y-Dax I’ve ever beheld.
Uteep draws me back. “That’s one of Ledahlt’s Embellished. You need to walk away.”
I don’t let Uteep take me far. “You wanted me to buy something. You were making somewhat of a big deal over it.”
Uteep catches my shoulder when I try to start forward. “Not from him.”
I glance at this Ledahlt he mentioned. “Ah, bad seller?”
Uteep widens his eyes like these two words don’t scratch the surface. “He’s a stud renter, not a seller. But he’s terrible to his stock. I feel so damn sorry for them.”
Stud renters have their place, at least in theory. It’s expensive to own Y-Dax, but it’s necessary to keep genetics as open as possible. For small herd keepers, renting a stud for their females once a year makes top sense. They can easily rent out a new male to further open genetic diversity the following year. In a perfect world, it’s a sensible system.
We don’t live in a perfect world.
I’m grateful that I have the means to keep the studs that I have. I can play with some genetics—not as intensively as others, but I still enjoy the benefits of raising a small herd of Y-Dax for my pleasure. And I know exactly how my studs are treated and trained and cared for. It’s worth it to me to have this peace of mind at the sacrifice of ‘unnecessarily’ housing males year-round.
Meanwhile, stud renters keep vast numbers of male Y-Dax of prized lines, and to make profit, they often keep as many males per enclosure as they can fit in a cage, and feed them as little as they must while still keeping them active enough to breed. The fighting among males is vicious. If males are unwell or unwilling to breed when they’re taken to a farm to cover females, they’re goaded with severe punishments.
I wince and look to the Embellished again, noticing now the numerous little mars and welts on his skin. “Why doesn’t—”
“Anyone remove his stock from him?” Uteep asks. His jaw works, his maxillae popping out in his extreme agitation. “Because technically, it’s a free planet, and he makes sure all their needs are met. It’s just his morals that are an issue, and unfortunately, you can’t fine a man or take away his pets for that alone.”
He flexes his fingers, trying to work them out from making fists, and I realize I’m in a precarious position. Leave with my friend before he does something that will land him on a prison planet, or save this poor Y-Dax’s life.
A Jgrovan, a species similar to ours, approaches the Embellished’s cage. Not bothering to heed the Do Not Pet the Y-Dax sign, the Jgrovan wiggles his fingers inside the bars, smiling at the male on display.
The Embellished male snatches the Jgrovan’s hand and sinks his teeth into it.
The Jgrovan howls, and Ledahlt—I assume—rushes over, a controller in his hand. He frantically begins pounding the correction button for the collar that the Embellished wears, but the Embellished only hunkers his shoulders and bites down with more fervor.
Ledahlt hastily unlocks the small cage and tries to yank the Embellished off of the potential buyer, but the damage is done.
The Embellished spits out the Jgorvan’s severed fingers.
I start forward.
Uteep scrambles after me, trying to drag me back. “You’re insane!” he hisses. “Keedeel! Did you not see what that creature just did!”
I stop and speak low to my friend. “You see the way the Embellished hardly reacts to pain?”
Uteep grimaces, staring at the still-twitching fingers that lie on the ground as the Jgrovan shouts obscenities and kicks at the Embellished’s cage. “I did notice it seemed rather ineffective.”
“That happens when they’re punished too often and too harshly. You know that.”
Uteep’s face is a mask of disquiet. “I know that some creatures can’t be saved. Born or mis-nurtured that way, they’re mad. Anything from Ledahlt probably falls into that category.”
I shake my head and approach the furious seller.
“You’re an idiot,” Uteep groans from behind me.
“Sir,” I call firmly to the seller as he shakes the Embellished by his collar. “Sir.”
The man turns to me, looking harried. His mouth parts are out and stabbing angrily at the air. “What?”
I motion for the Embellished—and then I simply reach forward and twist his fingers from off of the Embellished’s collar.
Ledahlt knocks my hand away and tries to shove me back. “Who do you think you are?” he asks belligerently, whirling to fully face me.
I stop his furious tirade with eight words. “The Zweynolarphian who’s going to buy your Embellished.”
***
“You can still walk away,” Uteep cautions under his breath as Ledahlt scrambles to find the necessary paperwork. It seems the vaccination record for this male is missing, along with his health record and a doctor’s seal of approval—the seal that everyone must present to sell their Y-Dax.
How curious that he managed to set up here yet can’t provide any of the necessary forms. Then again, he’s been a long time renter of high-grade selective-bred studs. Nobody wants to lose the opportunity to have lines like he’s offering without having to make the commitment to keep the stud after he’s served his purpose and is no longer necessary. Therefore, it seems officials look the other way where he and his unfortunate Y-Dax are concerned.
But to not have basic health records on hand? Not even a back-alley inoculation clinic’s stamp? Has he truly sent this male to any and every farm with no concern for his wellbeing?
“I’m not leaving the Embellished,” I murmur back, holding the creature’s lead. He tried to fight me at first, but after thrashing himself tired, he let the line go slack. I haven’t gone lax in my vigilance though; I can see him eyeing me. He’s only biding his time. I expect another attempt at escape, or at the very least, a vicious grab for my fingers.
Uteep sighs. “You’re about to buy yourself a headache.”
“Then I buy myself a headache.”
This concession doesn’t settle Uteep at all. “You think you’re saving this one, but you’re only encouraging Ledahlt to breed more. He’ll tell you whatever he thinks you want to hear if it will make a sale and you can believe just about none of what he says is the truth. This is such a bad idea.” Uteep takes me by the shoulder, shaking me as if I have no sense. “There are good breeders—support them.”
I brush him off. “I know there are. You’re one of them, and you know I know it. However, I want to save this one.”
“You’re a massive fool, but your heart is in the right place,” he allows. Then it’s like he can’t contain his disquiet any longer. “I’m going to search the records myself. Ledahlt is claiming this male won the Decoration of the Fancy award in 75843 of the common era of the universe.” He makes a rude noise as he types rapidly in his wristport. “I doubt it. I highly
doubt it.” Then he goes silent. “Well. I’ll be damned.”
“I take it you found it?” I ask.
He groans. “He was the youngest juvenile to ever be shown, at least until that year, and yes, he did win the competition for Most Decorated in the Fancy. It says here that as an adult, he’s proven that he throws his strong facial structure in his offspring, and it’s his face that won him the honors. However, a disqualification arose due to the number of open wounds that were later determined to be sores covering the youth’s body.”
Anger burns inside me at this news, and Uteep is biting down on his maxillae, their ends poking out from under his upper lip. Finally, he manages a civil-sounding, “Wait here. With Ledahlt scrambling like he is, I can be sure to put all the right pressure to get you a good deal.” He takes another look at my Embellished—who, I realize, isn’t sitting on the end of his lead, exhausted—he’s chewing through his lead, or trying to.
Uteep takes a deep breath that seems to have no end. He just inflates and inflates and inflates. “He’s going to need so much taming,” he finally says, releasing his long-suffering breath.
Carefully—minding my fingers—I reach for the Embellished and tug the spittle-coated lead from his mouth. He lunges for me and I block him with the flat of my hand. I shake him off quickly when he tries to grab onto me and bite. “I have the perfect female,” I assure Uteep grimly. I think of my sweet Fee-bee, who has no idea what’s about to be in store for her. But I heard a wise piece of advice once, and I believe it to be true: you don’t tame the male. You tame his female. And my Fee-bee is perfectly, wonderfully tamed. “If any male has a hope of being domesticated, it’ll be by her.”
Uteep has turned away, but he shouts over his shoulder, “You better hope you’re right!”
EPILOGUE
KORY
FIVE SOLARS LATER…
“Dad, is it a special day?” Dean asks.
I’m crouched in front of him, my hand on his freshly buzzed head. It’s short on the sides but a bit longer on top.
He told Keeper that he wanted his hair cut just like mine.
My son was somewhat of a surprise, considering I tried like hell not to contribute to his conception.
Keeper obviously had other ideas, and his efforts to get me to fire on target just prior to him conceding to my sterilization ended up being successful.
Theresa gave birth to Dean nine months later.
He has her beautiful eyes.
He has my face.
His features aren’t as overdeveloped as mine; his nose isn’t as prominent, nor are his brows quite as pronounced. But his jaw is all me. All his other features, to some extent, we share them—and strongly.
So whenever I look at Dean, now I get what Theresa means when she says she finds me attractive. It’s the love talking. Because my son’s face is not monstrous.
He’s my son. He’s perfect.
Still, if it had been up to me, he would have inherited Reesa’s bone structure, not been afflicted with mine.
“Evidently, it is a special day,” I finally say in answer to his question.
Dean’s gaze is sharp as it roves over my features, reading me. “What’s wrong, Dad?”
Inhaling hard, I wrap my arms around him and squeeze him tight. I don’t tell him that I’m worried for him. I don’t give in to the urge to haul him so deep into the garden that nobody finds him.
Because I’m trusting Keeper not to take him away.
Over the solars, Keeper has earned my trust.
Still, a threat to my only child—the only one remaining to me, the only one that I’ve ever been allowed to get to know—it’s a test of the bond Keeper has worked so hard to forge with me.
“I love you very much,” I tell Dean, bringing my forehead to his. “And when you get to be my age, you tend to get sentimental about things when you probably have no reason to.”
Dean pulls his head back from mine, and his nose is wrinkled comically. “What’s ‘senti…?’”
I give him a wry smile. “Sentimental.” I stand and spread my hand, my throat closing when his much smaller hand takes my fingers, clutching me. “It means I’m remembering every day I’ve been able to enjoy that you’re alive, and with me and your mom, and I’m feeling very lucky—”
Blessed.
“—to know you.”
Dean’s attention span wanders faster than a butterfly can close its wings. “Why do the fish in the pond have such long fins?”
A few years ago, my answer would have been bitter. Today, I’m a slightly less angry man. Perhaps it’s safe to say I’m a much less angry man. “Because they’ve been carefully bred to have longer and more fancy fins, that’s why.”
“Why?” Dean asks, glancing up at me.
“Because the people who raise fish…” I clear my throat. “They think longer fins are more decorative, so those are the fish that they keep. They think they’re more beautiful than regular fish.”
Dean leans his weight to the side, gripping onto my fingers to stay upright, but playing with gravity as he lets his body be dragged parallel to the ground. “Are they more beautiful, Dad?” he asks.
I stare down at my son. My son who is the product of generations upon generations of selective tampering that changes the shape of his bones. Never in his life has he been called a freak. He doesn’t know that there was a time, a very long time, when his own father hated himself and considered himself ugly, cursed.
I never want Dean to feel that way about himself.
And whatsmore, when I look at my son’s face, I don’t hate it. I don’t hate it at all.
“Sometimes,” I tell him, “they are.”
Dean smiles up at me, not having a clue that I mean him. “I think our fish are pretty too, Dad.”
I squeeze his hand in mind. “Good.”
“Schweet,” Keeper calls—and I can’t help it. I tense.
My gaze swings to Keeper, who is at the door of our cage, waiting for my son.
Beside him is another keeper, one I’ve seen before. One I sort of know.
He wants to buy Theresa’s and my baby. He wants Dean.
I stare at this keeper so hard, he should catch fire.
“Schweeeeet,” Keeper warns—but he sounds almost amused. “Uteep won’t take Chekkers.”
Checkers. In alien-speak, my son’s name is Checkers. He’s got a name that could belong to a lightly spotted spaniel. It’s like a cosmic curse for all the times in the real early days when I gave Theresa hell for being Keeper’s dog.
If I could go back in time, I’d deck myself. I was a miserable twat.
“He’d better not,” I say tightly, and Keeper beckons me to come closer, promising, “Schweet—he won’t.”
Taking a deep breath, feeling my son’s gaze bounce between me and the two keepers, I guide him to the side of the fence.
Behind Keeper, Theresa appears. She smiles at me, and then calls, “Hi, baby,” to Dean.
I relax.
Dean lights up at just the sight of his mom. Forget that he saw her an hour ago when his sisters were taken to the house for baths.
He would have been taken too, but he’s reached the age when he doesn’t want to be ‘babied’—and if I don’t go to the house for baths, then he doesn’t want to either. So he stood beside me as we got sprayed down with Avox and Tranq, all of the men taking our baths like men.
He could have gone inside. I wouldn’t have thought any less of him. No one would have. And yet, as he bravely stood to be washed and didn’t so much as complain as the water (warmer than usual, and at a much lower pressure) hit his body, I was so fucking proud of him.
“MOM!” Dean cries, and he tugs on my hand, racing for the door of our enclosure, trying to rush me along with him so that we can be reunited with Reesa.
Keeper’s got the door unlocked, so it opens for him and Dean races right past the new Whistler, and launches himself into Theresa’s arms.
“Ooof,” she huffs, catching
him. Then she turns a smile on me. And I can tell she’s searching my expression, measuring to see how badly I’m stressing about this.
“Kory,” she says softly, her gaze so soft on mine.
I move to her, palming the back of her head and dragging her up to me for a kiss, squishing a squirming, laughing Dean between us.
Behind us, I hear the keepers twittering to each other, and when I give in to the urge to glance at them out of the corner of my eye, my nostrils flare. Because they’re looking straight at Dean.
Well, where he’s pinned between Reesa and me. Protected.
Reesa’s fingertips stroke down my bare side. All I’m in is a loincloth, like usual. “Uteep isn’t here to take Dean,” she whispers up at me.
I’ve locked eyes with Keeper, but I murmur back, “So Keeper claims.”
“It’s true. And Uteep is good. You’ve met JoAyyn. She’s his human, and you know he treats her like his own daughter.”
This is true. Mentioning this was a wise move, because the memory of this keeper, Uteep, and his human JoAyyn, makes me relax to the point that I’m no longer glaring at the alien anymore.
And Uteep can tell. His eyes smile. “I won’t take Chekkers until he’s ready,” he promises me, proving he either understands why I’m mean-mugging him, or he understood Theresa’s words. From behind him, he draws out a human.
A little girl human.
I was so busy fixing her owner with a killing look that I didn’t realize she was even here.
Uteep whistles to her, and she must have a really good grasp of Whistler-speak because she seems to follow his every word as he points out Dean to her.
She waves to Dean. “Hi, Chekkers,” she says.
I growl.
Theresa pinches me on the arm. “Don’t growl at her!”
“I’m not,” I murmur back, tempted to goose her right here for pinching me, because Dean wouldn’t know what I’m doing to his mother, and the keepers won’t care—but I don’t because there’s a human girl watching.
But if her attention wanders to somewhere other than us, my hand is meeting Reesa’s ass.
“I was growling at Keeper’s name for Dean,” I tell her.
