by Amanda Milo
See, I knew he was upset. He needs to let this out.
Frankly, I expected him to explode immediately, but the shock of seeing the Gryfala clearly discombobulated and waylaid him. The Gryfala in question jerks her hand from mine, stumbling back when his fist connects with my arm.
I punch him back. His suit makes a puffing noise as it adjusts to the blow. “Lower your voice! You’re scaring her!”
He shoves me. “YOU lower your voice! Seven solars’ wages you CUD-CHEWING, TREE-SAP-BRAINED—”
I sigh. He needs to decompress, yet when he gets worked up like this…
Threateningly, I pull out a wrench that I keep in my back-suit pocket for just such an occasion.
Well, not this occasion. I can say I’ve ever done anything quite so deserving of a fight, but, even he should be able to smell that this female is starting to grow fearful. I’ll be the first to admit I deserve what I have coming, but there’s no need to be uncivil in front of a princess.
I toss the wrench up before catching it mid-air, making Lem’s eyes narrow before he lunges for me again.
A dangerous snarl that promises imminent harm and life threatening injury cuts through our shouting. “What. The. Tevek…”
Metark, I inwardly curse.
Brax is back.
CHAPTER 5
TAC’MOT
Brax inhales deeply and swings his head… looking confused.
I wait for the explosion.
It... doesn’t come.
Brax only shakes his head and scrubs a hand down his face. While his attention is diverted I flick a glance… and see the Gryfala is gone.
METARK!
I let out an involuntary noise of alarm before I snap straight—which causes Brax to eye me.
Right before he sneezes.
It’s a frightening sound, to those uninitiated to Rakhii-isms.
His kind has a complex nasal cavity that acts as a resonating chamber. I don’t know how other Rakhii use their… face… but Brax makes mostly dangerous sounding noises with his. All sorts of dangerous sounding noises and for all sorts of reasons. Of course after this many solars together, Lem and I aren’t even fazed. But as soon as Brax sneezes, he looks around suspiciously, like he can’t believe the scent his nose just caught…
I drop the wrench that I’d been threatening Lem with.
It’s most likely that I wouldn’t have had to use it on him. It loosens the bolts on his suit’s hood and he avoids this scenario at all costs.
Of course costs haven’t ever been as high as, say, purchasing half of a Gryfala, for example.
Loosening his suit’s bolts won’t hurt him: but the panic of breathing air that hasn’t been filtered through his system’s helmet would’ve kept him too busy to worry over the money I essentially stole from him.
When I see that Brax is waiting for an explanation for my odd outburst, I scramble to think fast. “Bug bite,” I blurt.
Bug bite?
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Lem roll his eyes, the overhead lights casting a reflection on his face shield.
I never have been any good at making up excuses on the bounce.
I see Lem peer behind me, then look in the other direction.
When he slowly turns back to face me, he gives me a quelling look, one that threatens a serious beating later. I just might need that wrench after all.
Fair enough. Seven solars of our lives in toil just escaped.
And if Brax finds out I’ve stowed a passenger on his ship that could get his ship detained—Creator forbid—scratched—destroyed?
He won’t kill me.
Not until he carves out my heart and burns it to ashes in front of me.
I anxiously scratch at a spot on my chest.
Brax’s heavy brows lower over deeply set eyes that hold concern rather than gruffness. Well, this explains it! I must be dreaming. Buying a princess, and Brax looks like he’s worried about me.
I laugh.
Brax’s ears cock, one flipping up, the other dropping slowly, as if it is hesitating, as if he is hesitating. “Did the auction… Are your mites back?”
Lem edges backwards as if I was just diagnosed with a plague.
As soon as he said the word ‘auction’, I got nervous. But of course, he’s thinking I’d be struggling with memories. I was. I did. Then someone came along and shook me up enough that memories aren’t what’s on my mind now. And mites, really! I sigh. “One time. One time in seven solars! They’re long gone. That special shampoo has done the trick of keeping them away.”
He eyes my fingers, which are still nervously scratching. I freeze them by sheer mental willpower. “I’m fine,” I assure. “Different sort of bug bite. You know. All sorts of critters flying around auctions.”
“Or not flying,” Lem enunciates.
Not looking entirely convinced, but willing to drop it, Brax dips his horns.
It is actually rather warming that he cares. But caring and compassion are not emotions he’ll have for me if he finds out what’s going on. Of course, he will find out, eventually, but I’ve no intention of dying today. I’m hoping to hide the female until we can drop her off. If everything goes well, he doesn’t have to know before it all happens—and maybe there’ll be a finder’s fee for returning her unharmed. That will make him happy...er. Happier. It won’t be so bad for him to return to his homeland, surely, and her people will be incredibly grateful and of course they’ll want to show that. It’ll be fine. This really will all work out.
Lem’s words are already trying to haunt me though.
...If her people don’t simply shoot us out of the sky.
They aren’t known for taking kindly to any sort of threat or harm on their inhabitants. It’s not as if it happens often—and a Gryfala being abducted and auctioned off? That has never happened. And to have so many... I’m honestly not sure how they’ll react to it. I clear my throat.
“It’s a good thing the mites are gone. Lem’s disinfection drills are still something I have nightmares about.”
Brax is still building a laugh in his nasal crest at the memories when he starts to pass by me—and grinds to a halt.
This is going to be unpleasant.
I brace.
Fortunately, he only inhales again, tilting his head—then his horns almost touch either side of the corridor as he tries to shake off what’s bothering him. Uneasily, I watch his tail flick in agitation.
I know what has him bothered. He thinks he’s going crazy because there’s no possible way he could be smelling a princess. Frankly, 100% of the time, he’d be absolutely correct. There is absolutely no reason or chance that a Gryfala would stay on his ship.
Bearing that troubling thought in mind, I take off to find the Gryfala that doesn’t want to stay.
CHAPTER 6
TARA
My heels clop in rapid staccato as I race down the long tunnel-thing we followed to get here, and I’m trying—without any real success—to process what I just experienced.
My first ever alien fight, for one.
And second… I actually used the word ‘cute’ to apply to an alien.
In contrast to the weird one in the suit, the Mutant looks even more human; yes, sure, simply for standing in as comparison material. Torso-up, at least. For the most part. But all on his own, if I’d never seen another alien, I suppose I would still have applied the word ‘cute’ without any prompting.
The alarming part? I wasn’t thinking it in a puppy-dog sort of way.
I meant it in a cute guy sort of way.
And that. Freaks. Me. Out. It’s only been two years and change, but clearly, raising toddlers who squelch any real social life has its drawbacks. Moms can start thinking that even aliens look hot.
When he’d set me down back there and started talking to the other alien, I’d had a chance to look all of him over. My glasses are still smudged, but I’m not blind.
Unlike the other one, the Mutant only wears pants and a shirt; no sc
ary spacesuit. No creepy helmet. And when he’d set me down and I could see all of his body, I couldn’t help—and didn’t stop—my eyes from scanning over him.
He doesn’t actually look like a kangaroo; it’s just that his skeleton must be very similar to one, because it’s uncanny how he moves… well, just like one.
But look like one? Not really. Up top, he’s too ‘human’ for that. His skin looks human enough. But there’s still…
If you snapped a photo of him, and if his bottom half actually looked human, there’d still be something… something impalpable, just enough that it would cause a person to pause if you were to show them a quick glimpse of his picture.
A close up though would tell all.
Because those eyebrows for one thing. Chinese dragons are depicted with a sort of fleshy series of Koi fish-like whiskers on their faces.
This alien has them over his eyes. Multi-fish-whiskers.
For his eyebrows.
Dude.
That’s weird.
And he prettied them up too, the way some people put beads in their braids. He stuck beads on some of his brow-fishie-whiskers. Brishkers?
Honestly, the brishkers should be too much. That should be too weird.
But it… it’s not. I guess it’s baby potatoes when you realize it’s not the weirdest thing on him. Besides whatever’s going on with those, he’s also got these very non-human little, pointed, seal-like ears. The first time I was able to see him clearly, when he showed me that he’d been thoughtful enough to save my eyeglasses, I’d noticed that not only does he have seal-ears: he has two of them. Two of them on each side of his head. So… NOT like a seal.
And it was when I was staring at them back there—because he can move all of them—that I had the crazy, crazy thought that his ears were almost kind of cute.
I was just having trouble with the amount of them and wondering why four ears should bother me more than two, because I never would have considered myself ear-ist before today—when my eyes caught a flicker of movement. My gaze shifted from staring at quad seal ears, to meeting the eyes behind the unsettling blend of Jules Verne-esque nautical diving helmet meets Cold War Era space suit.
It was unnerving, the way this other alien was watching me look over the Mutant. I faced forward right away but I felt like I’d been caught doing something.
That’s when the suited alien addressed me, then waited liked he expected me to answer him.
That’s when the Mutant had looked down and given me a small, reassuring flash of curved lips.
And that’s when I had the thought.
He’s cute.
...What in the fudgesticks was that?
Cute?
The other one socked him.
After that, I reeled back and stayed out of their way as the hit set off a thudding, bone-jarring fight with strange, strange alien vocalizations and crashes. The noises were pretty terrible to hear, but they seemed to be taking each other’s blows without real damage.
That was nice. How… really... nice for them.
But I have two little girls who need me, and I need them, plus I didn’t want to end up dead because one of those guys landed on me while they were squabbling.
The Mutant had been kind enough to me, but whatever’s going on back there is his problem, not mine, and I have no intention of getting damaged trying to help—which I’m convinced I can’t do anyway—because as they started dragging each other around, it became more than apparent that I am no match in strength for either one of them). So I left them to it and—heart thundering—I squeaked along the wall, expecting them to catch on, to see me, and grab me. When they only continued arguing with each other, I quietly slipped away.
My not-so-sensible-for-escape footwear are killing my feet a little and I’m a bit worried—who knows how long I’ll have to be strapped in these mini devices of sole-torture. I’m also a little disappointed: in all the shows and movies, women can do a little running in heels, no problem.
A little.
Fiction versus reality is a stark slap in the face.
I should have bought Keds. This is why Keds are making a comeback. Not because of alien abductions—I don’t think… but after today, who knows!—but they are kind of comfy, and though they have no arch support, being back in style now, you can almost pull them off even when you’re wearing a dress. Cute-chic, or something. Gives you a relaxed, hip look. Plus best of all: if you are abducted by aliens, you can motherforking run.
And dang, these not-Keds are loud! The sounds just echo in this tunnel. I’d yank them off for a more sure-footed getaway but I’m afraid I’ll need the extra layer of foot protection once I make it outside. Outside? What will I do when I get out?
I don’t know! But barefoot on an alien planet surface doesn’t sound like a smart move. Technically, neither does running wild on an alien planet…
I slow down, my clop-clop-clop turning to taps as I place the majority of my weight on the heels themselves instead of my toes. Maybe I should go back, wait out the skirmish, and see if the Mutant can help me somehow—
A hair-prickling roar shakes the ship.
The sounds of the conflict cut off immediately behind me—then that peculiar noise the Mutant makes happens right before there’s a dinosaur screeching bang and pop, and another snarl. Was that like a death-squeal?
Did the Mutant just get killed? My heart doesn’t trip: it mimes a nuclear explosion and I stop thinking. I just run.
***
No, I don’t know what I’m doing. No, I don’t know how to get home, I just know that somehow, I have to get there. I can’t stay here! I have got to get home. I just need to… I need to…
I fall back against a large slatted box, trying to get my breath back. The box isn’t metal; it isn’t wood. It’s alien material of some kind but it doesn’t look like it bites or burns or stings so I rest up against it and try to think.
This would be a fine plan. What I don’t account for is the danger of the thing trapped inside the box.
I choke on a screech when a two-pronged tentacle reaches through the slats and clamps onto my face.
CHAPTER 7
TAC’MOT
My senses aren’t as finely tuned to a Gryfala as, say, a Rakhii’s would be, but I track her well enough to Bay 11. On an unfamiliar ship, she has managed to unerringly locate a level that not only has plenty of stored items to hide behind, it also has an open-access door while we’re grounded. I grind my teeth in an attempt to stave off panic, and hop faster. Gryfala are known to have a brilliant instinct for all tech and sundry; ships included. I should’ve expected she’d somehow figure out the most expedient route to escape. This bay’s door isn’t as big a hatch as the cargo hold’s. It’s for chute hook-up when Brax has livestock shipments: built big enough for large beasties with big horns. And of course, Brax left it open because it is a wide enough door he can walk through without bumping his blasted horns.
I chicker softly to myself thinking that one could make a remark about the irony of that.
One could...but one would come to regret it. Brax is a big beastie with a volatile temper.
While amusing to contemplate, I don’t have it in me to laugh right now. This same chute door is plenty big enough to let one small Gryfala slip out.
My heart settles a fraction when I hear an odd sound, because I know I’ve reached her; I’ve reached her, and she isn’t running around unprotected outside. I want to breathe a sigh of relief, but this doesn’t lessen my anxiety over and for her because that sound? There was almost an air of distress to her vocalization, and it becomes quite clear why when I see the infant Culc has ahold of her face.
The Culc has ahold of the Gryfala’s face!
Lem often devolves into bouts of hypochondria, discussing his ulcers at length. This instant burning in my stomachs, nearly severe enough an equivalent in pain to match my unchecked fear for the Gryfala, tells me I should really listen to him next time and try to learn more.
/> Just in the course of half a rotation, I believe I’ve developed one myself.
I deftly knock its tentacle off—but it’s too late. One of the toothy sucker tips has already munched into the skin of her cheek. Her eyes are impossibly wide when she touches her face and her hand comes away with blood. She’s so stunned that she doesn’t notice another tentacle reaching around her back. My voice comes out coarser than I intend when I warn her to get away from the teveking crate. As I knock this tentacle off, she does dash back.
And keeps dashing.
She’s spotted that open door now, reeking with fear as she runs for it with everything she has. Her pretty footwear is odd though, seeming to hinder her grace—though, I note, not her progress.
I let out a warble of warning.
She sprints faster.
“HALT!” I’m aware she can’t understand but—tevek! Can’t she hear the warning in my tone? The genuine concern? I kick it then, bounding hard to cover the distance.
If it wasn’t for the thin black spoke of her footwear snapping, I don’t think I’d have ever reached her in time.
I catch her around the waist just as she collects herself, rips off the strange shoes from her feet and scrabbles half-out of the door, my arms dragging her back in by her hips. My eyes widen in no-little admiration: small she may be, but she is mighty-gripped. And oomph!—she has an impressive kick, I can attest, as I try to be grateful her foot only feels like it half-ruptured my spleen instead incapacitating me with a liver shot.
I should have expected a Gryfala would be wicked-trained in self-defense.
A group of loitering Krortuvians takes notice of our struggling—and when their eyes zero in on what I am trying to drag back inside?
They rush for us, unstrapping their weapons as they come.
Metark!
I’ve traveled to places all over the galaxy, but have yet to come across a good one among their kind. They were probably either spectators from the auction, or randomly picked up her scent and trailed her here and loitered, wondering how dead they’d be if they dared to simply board the ship through the open door. The answer to that is unequivocally dead: Brax isn’t afraid to leave it open because few would be so stupid.
