by Amanda Milo
Watching her do this, Brax groans, his long ears popping straight up.
Not paying attention to him, Tara sighs into it before jerking back, as if surprised at herself. But she doesn’t throw it off.
Lem enters the galley door and instantly slides to a halt. “Is that vomit?”
Rut me. Now we shall all be subjected to a strenuous cleansing schedule until he feels the germs have been thoroughly obliterated.
As he scrambles for the air filter on his suit, I turn to Tara and pat my chest in invitation. She doesn’t hesitate; she lets me scoop her up tight—although she keeps one hand pinched over either side of the blanket that covers her, securing it cape fashion so as not to let it slip from her shoulders.
I hop for the door, one of Tara’s arms tight around my neck, her knees holding high and tight just below my ribs in a way I very much like. I grab Lem by the shoulder, shoving him, then backing him out of the room before he can go into a full blown panic attack.
Yet I underestimated the other news’ impact. Lem looks like the world has gone sideways. He’s looking at my formerly loops-of-leather wristlet now turned braided-wedded-tether. “You’re MATED!”
A pleasant, irrepressible joy fills me. “I AM!” I caw, and he comes around my side to clap the air in the vicinity of my back.
“Congratulations!” he says, genuinely happy for me. “I couldn’t hardly believe it, but a center-of-your-circulatory-system’s congrats is what I came to tell you.”
Lem has nine brains but otherwise exists at a tissue level; he has no heart. So I am especially touched that he is happy for me.
It's exceedingly pleasant to have someone to appreciate this wondrous occasion with. “Thank you, Lem. It’s—wait, what do you mean ‘couldn’t believe it’? How did you know?”
I should have forced him to answer me.
CHAPTER 38
BRAX
“Do you have chains?” Grake asks.
I shudder. The memory forces its way up like bile; unbidden, searing, painful.
‘Gelert! Why did they chain you down like this?’
‘Because… Brax, I deserve it.’
‘It’s true? You killed them all?’
His horns scraped along the wall as he let his head slump forward. ‘They’re all dead.’
I scrub my face in crazed agitation. This can’t be happening. I trumpet into my palms. It’s a horrified sound. It is an angry sound.
It is a resigned sound.
“Should I…take that as a no?”
Even knowing what could happen, even after the precautions I tried to take: I have to accept that everything they accused my family of being is true. Tainted.
My shoulders tense as the hob takes another step in my direction. He bends down to scoop up my lost possessions, but I snarl and shakily snatch them up myself, stuffing them carefully back into my pockets.
Panic grips me when I can’t find the—
“He dropped it right here.” The hob uses the tip of his wing to nudge Tara’s spatula, the one I used to guide her with rotations ago, in my direction. I seize it, and bring the flat end to my nose to inhale the area that touched her. Then I drag the portion of the handle that Tac’Mot touched across the scent gland above my ear.
“Hoarding,” Grake says quietly to himself, as if he’s assigning the proper term to the behavior.
Teveking hobs! Always so teveking clinical!
“How long has this been going on?” he asks so neutrally that it has the exact opposite effect than it should: irrationally, I’m enraged. I want to leap on him. Was this how Gelert felt? What drove him to finally do it?
“Hob,” I snarl. “Get out of my rutting face. I’ll do what needs to be done. But stay. The tevek. Away. Understood?”
The only confirmation I receive is the soft sound of the door swinging shut behind him, followed by the deafening quality of silence that bears down when you are all alone.
CHAPTER 39
TARA
TODAY IS THE DAY!
Hastily, I cram a fluffy yellow thing into my mouth. I have to ignore that each bite of food in this dish looks like it has a face, and that if you close one eye, and tip your head, they kind of appear to be a cross between a kiwi fruit and a collie—and I know it’s wrong to wish that Brax—Brax, who seems to have lost his mind—well? I wish we didn’t all have to malign him. Just for a moment. I hate that he tried to hurt Tac. I just can’t imagine Tac doing anything to deserve being hurt. Brax was wrong. Brax did a horrible thing—but I’m desperate. If we could all just take a short recess from punishing him—or heck, just punish him. Have him perform a duty in recompense.
Like cooking an edible breakfast.
TODAY IS THE DAY.
I don’t want to hurt Tac’s feelings but… gosh, I miss Brax’s culinary skills something fierce.
Whatever this is… it’s not made-by-Brax. I gag as I take another spoonful. And it’s cold. I didn’t realize how much I appreciated the temperature Brax serves me just about every dish—still-smoking. Literally.
Right now, I wouldn’t complain like I have all the other times—I wouldn’t: I’d do tricks for Brax. I’d do all the stupid tricks he wants.
Ah, just like a collie would. A Kiwi-collie.
I gag again.
Tac bends down, trying to get a read on me, as if he can’t understand what’s causing this digestive issue I’m struggling with. He looks so concerned. He motions for the bowl, examines it, growing more and more worried, then his eyes flick towards me after he’s done smelling it like, “Well hell, these smell fine, which means this woman has a weak stomach.”
Yeah. That’s me. ‘Weak stomach’.
Today is the day! I CAN’T WAIT TO BE WITH THEM!
He’d tried to feed me the same powdery stuff that Brax bosses him around about making. When Brax is here, Tac serves it right.
And still-smoking-hot.
But now it isn’t the same. Something is missing. And NONE of these guys will let me make a meal for myself: I think they’re too gentlemanly.
Hm. Maybe Lem would let me make myself a meal.
We both know what I need. The sweet stuff. But there is no sweet topping to be found. Tac had tried to explain why by putting a finger on either side of his forehead and making a Spanish-Bull-stabbing-head-toss motion that made me laugh uproariously—at the time.
“Brax has the alien honey-sugar drizzle?” I’d offered helpfully.
So Tac focused on feeding me something else. Now he lifts a fuzzy morsel, and holds it out—but instead of a natural movement, he is very deliberately adjusting it so that—
He’s attempting to offer me the food like Brax would.
Then he tries it.
With his other hand, he snaps his fingers.
It’s an uncertain movement, and the hesitation costs him the commanding boom of sound that Brax can achieve.
It doesn’t help that no matter what, he’s still just sweet Tac pretending to be Brax. I smile at him fondly. Indulgently, even. “Aww, Tac. I’m gonna…” I take a deep breath, noting sadly that my inhale is awfully shaky, “really, really miss you.”
Tac gazes at me in consternation. He glances at the bowlful, before taking a good look at my lips, my mouth, my face. Then he pulls out a small knife, and sets the Kiwi-collie fruit down to slice—
“No!”
Tac freezes.
I grab his arm. “I’m full. Cutting it up won’t—it won’t help it go down any easier. I can promise you that.”
And really? He doesn’t have to worry. I ate enough that I won't starve, and soon, I’ll be dining on Ramen and offbrand macaroni noodles with imitation cheese powder. Thanks to this stint here, I will go years before I even think about complaining... about anything. This all has given me a huge appreciation for Life Before Abduction. Any human food, even the ‘same ‘ol, same ‘ol’, is preferable to alien Kiwi-collie cuisine.
Resigned, he packs them away. He sends a long look at the door of the kitc
hen, and his stare is far off from anything in here. I try to imagine what Tac is thinking about, but I’m kind of having a difficult time concentrating.
Because Brax is upset. Apparently, when Brax is upset, Brax gets loud.
His roaring shakes things in this ship. I grimace as Tac has to reach out and catch a cup that was shivering right off the shelf.
“We’re not going to have anything left—” I start to say, thinking I’d try to make light of this situation. But… ‘we’re?’ No. You’re. Not we’re. I’m going home!
Tac, who looked to me when I spoke, is studying me again, so I hop off my stool and busy myself. Or try to. Brax’s sounds are setting me on edge. It’s not just the roars he’s making, he makes really… sad sounds too. Like deep, wordless, melancholy songs. He started them sometime in the night and he’s been increased them throughout the day. It’s messing with my mind.
But I can’t afford for it to. I just want to go home. I’m actually going to miss this crazy bunch, plus I worry for them, especially right now, but I’m scared. I miss my babies, and I want to go home. So when Tac finishes in the kitchen I’m darn near jumping out of my skin and when he heads for me, I don’t wait: I leap on him, and for the first time in what feels like hours, he gives me a real grin. His eyes turn a beautiful heather green, and his face looks so happy and he feels so good as his strong arms help support me as I cling to him. He makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay. That I’m going to be okay.
I just won’t be with Tac.
Ever. Again.
I squeeze my arms around him tighter and flatten my face against his chest. I can feel and hear him laugh, and it makes my heart both experience the most beautiful flare of happiness I’ve enjoyed in a long time... as well as the most excruciating stab-to-the-heart sensation that—I already know—is only a small preview of what I can look forward to later.
Doesn’t matter: I can’t take him home with me.
When he takes us to a room I’ve never been in before, I wonder if we’re going to get suited up, or belted down, or whatever procedure aliens follow for landing. I feel like I’m almost literally beside myself. I look up at him, pull out all the stops, and give a megawatt smile. Because I am grateful: I am so, so grateful to go home. I’ve playfully asked him “Are we there yet, are we there yet, are we there yet?!” about a half a quadrillion times today, and, if aliens don’t do this here, then he’s a great sport because he laughed like he got my joke—and also like he got that I was totally serious about being excited out of my mind for this. Being that he’s Tac and he’s awesome, he also made all the reassuring sounds.
I hug him.
He grabs me up, hugging me back with a tenderness that makes my eyes burn.
It has to be this way. I think of Mona & Meg. I try not to think of how I’m going to find them, or what’s ahead of me once I get home and have to answer some serious questions to all the people and authorities that are going to want answers.
One step at a time: this is all I have control of right now. I’ll tackle everything else as it comes. Just getting back to Earth is the biggest hurdle I had no way of solving by myself. I exhale a long, long breath. “Thanks, Tac. Whatever it is we’ve got to do here to get ready: count me in!”
My enthusiasm along with my amiable mood’s return seems to settle him a lot, and he gives me back my squeeze, making me suddenly feel warm all over. I squirm and patting his arm: our system to let him know I’m ready to stand on my own two feet.
Once I’m doing that though, I’m confused. I look around; then behind Tac. “Um…” There… there’s actually nothing in here that indicates we’re about to land. Uhhh… there is no indication at all that landing on Earth’s surface is in our imminent future. This whole place is full of… twigs. Huh.
Stacks, and stacks of… twigs.
My heart doesn’t fall: it pulls a full dead-man’s-drop, crashing straight to my feet.
No. No, no: no. “Hey Tac… tell me this isn’t what it looks like.” I look around again, wildly taking note of exactly what this looks like. I try take a deep breath, but I can’t breathe. Don’t overreact. I could be wrong—I mean, this looks like a roomful of colorful kindling, and a day ago, he’d held up one finger, and I thought ‘one day to hyperspeed us across space: it’s an alien spacecraft—that sounds perfectly doable to me’. Surely, surely, he didn’t mean it would take him a day to fill a room up with sticks. Plus, where in the heck—no, why in the heck does he even have a room full of weird sticks to begin with? Who does this? Actually—forget I asked. It doesn’t matter: the why of it doesn’t matter. The what are we going to do about it, does. Try to explain. Remain calm. My breath wheezes when I release it. Alright, regain calm. Deeeeper breath. “Okay. Let me be very clear: I don’t need firewood.” I point to the intricately arranged piles, and shake my head vehemently. This is what he was working on all last night? I thought he was making last minute landing preparations! “I need my babies.” I bite my lips and pick my arms up again, really trying to sell rock-a-baby motions because I’m at a loss for how else to show him.
Tac excitedly hops up and down, before leaping over to a pile, extracting what looks like the exact same freaking yellow stick he brought me less than twenty-four hours ago.
These sticks are special to him, and that’s the only reason I don’t send this one soaring across the room like a javelin. I’ve observed him moving his driftwood pieces and shells around in specific patterns, and before I knew that he had a particular arrangement, of course I’d thoughtlessly touched them—then felt awful afterward as he meticulously returned them to their original state of… organic sprawl.
It’s just Tac’s way. He’s so perfect, he didn’t even seem bothered by my touching and messing them up then. 24 karat proof of his awesomeness, definitely, but… I can’t help it. My voice breaks. “Tac! You don’t understand!”
And he doesn’t.
He really doesn’t.
He looks nearly as distressed as I feel—at least I think so; my vision swims as my eyes fill with tears and he just becomes a blurry kangaroo man-shape with funny eyebrows.
When he tentatively tries to perch his special yellow stick across my arms—my arms which are still held in position as if I’m rocking babies—I lose it. When he gently grasps my elbows and sways us so we’re making the rocking motion together, I really lose it.
“Just stop! You’re breaking my heart!”
Just then, Grake pops his head into the room. He starts to urgently call to Tac, but seeing me in a mid-disintegration meltdown seems to disrupt his thought.
Wearily, Tac wraps an arm behind my back and hugs me to his side as he calls Grake’s name, and they proceed to have a rapid-fire, not-good conversation.
About what?
Please, please, please, please be heading to Earth after all! PLEASE!
It’s then that I notice it’s quiet.
No more scary bellowing. No more sad-whale songs.
Defeated, I slump against Tac. He takes the opportunity to lift me off of my feet and take us to the 7th level of the ship: what I like to call Deck Heaven. It smells nice here. It smells like Brax here. I’ve noticed none of the other guys hang out here; I imagine that has a lot to do with Brax’s stunningly sunny personality. But now it’s beyond eerie as we make our way to a door I’ve never been brave enough to so much as touch.
There’s an ominous rattling happening on the other side of this door.
“Tac?” I whisper.
Tac hugs me tighter, taps his lips against the top of my head, and puts his hand on the sensor that will cause the door to open.
It opens all right.
“Tac?”
Inside, is a sprawled-out Brax. In chains. And he is the reason for the rattling noise: he’s shivering like he’s freezing to death. Even his fangs are clacking together!
Suddenly, I’m being peeled off of my warm, safe, Kentaur-transport. Tac is setting me down! Here!
“TAC!”
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Not that it helps, but Tac doesn’t look happy about putting me down. In fact, he looks a little bit worried.
“What is going on?!” I’m beyond freaked now—Tac’s face is starting to look pained, and the chains begin to rattle louder behind me, so I don’t initially realize that Tac is adding pressure to where he’s got his hand planted on my person. He’s obviously not comfortable doing this, yet he’s still—albeit gently—shoving me (Okay, fine: guiding me, but STILL!) at Brax. The same Brax who attacked him only a few hours ago! Brax who has been roaring so loud the ship’s walls shake. All night! All morning! It’s been terrifying! And when, in a fit of sleep deprivation as I stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, I’d mumbled that I’d do anything to make it stop, Number One: I was talking to myself, because obviously no one else can understand me here. And Number Two: I thought… Well to be honest, I don’t know what I thought! But I sure as hellsbells didn’t expect THIS. “What—Stop! Stop it right now! Don’t do this, don’t leave me—Tac!”
Tac’s skin is flooding with inky blue, and red, and other dark blotchy spots. His expression is decidedly worried as I’m snatched backward; two thickly-muscled, scaly arms suddenly dragging me into the embrace of a monster.
CHAPTER 40
TAC’MOT
“You need to calm yourself. She’s safe with him,” Grake says in a level but nasally voice. He’s covering his nose and mouth, standing well away from me to prevent from being knocked out. Wise; because I’ve never seen my skin secrete toxin like this—it’s actually visible, beading like finely pressed oil before it rapidly evaporates to affect any who are nearby.
It is what forced me to leave Tara. I was afraid if Brax was knocked unconscious again, with the way he was clutching her, he’d collapse on top of her and crush her under his weight.
