by Tracy Lauren
“Uh, not that,” she laughs and scans the area for a more child-friendly selection of goods.
While she looks, the weapons shop owner nods to me. He is not a friend, but a merchant I have done business with once or twice in the past.
“Would you like a weapon?” I ask suddenly. Maybe V would feel less fearful if she had her own means to defend herself. But the look she shoots me is one of shock and dismay.
“A weapon? Can’t you just do that kind of stuff? I’ll fly the ship sometimes, but please don’t make me get a weapon. I’d rather you just take care of me—” She stops short and flushes at her own words. “It’s just, you’re better at that kind of thing, like fighting and protecting.”
Instead of responding I stare at her. I know V’s ways, she will fidget under my gaze until she says more.
“I mean, you want to take care of me, right? That’s why you took me in the first place. Otherwise you would have left me. It’s not that you feel…” She looks away, uncomfortable.
“Feel what?” I ask, tilting her chin to face me, but her eyes still dart away.
“A duty to me. An obligation or something?” she says, wincing as the words leave her lips.
“Are you asking if you are a burden to me?” Though I know V struggles with her sense of adequacy in her new life, somehow, I am still surprised at this question. “You never have to worry over such thoughts, V. I am with you because I want to be.”
“Okay. Good,” she says, pulling away from me and pretending to focus on the shops. She does this often, I notice, tries to run away even when there is nowhere to go. I push my way to her side again and slip my hand into hers. She blushes, but her fingers remain intertwined with mine and her shoulders relax.
“This looks like the right place,” I say, locating a novelty shop, and I lead V inside.
“Oh man, I do not know what any of this stuff is,” she breathes out. “I was expecting to find some jump ropes or hula hoops or something.”
“What is a hula hoop?” I ask.
“It’s just a big hoop that can fit around your waist and you… I don’t know, you kind of spin and wiggle to get it to stay up.” She shrugs.
“We will get them hoops then. Hm, where to find a hoop?” I wonder, rubbing the stubble at my chin and thinking.
“Maela does weaving three stalls down,” the shop owner tells us.
“My thanks to you,” I call, and we make our way to Maela’s shop.
Once inside, V tries her best to explain what it is she desires to a female who typically sells woven baskets. Though it sounds strange to me, Maela nods and disappears behind a curtain.
“Maybe we should just buy them candy? What if they think a hula hoop is dumb?” she worries.
“It is a wonderful idea,” I encourage. The shop owner, Maela, returns with a stack of hoops she somehow uses in her weaving. There are plain ones and others that have been dyed. V reaches for the colorful stack.
“This is perfect, thank you!” she exclaims, and the look on her face is one of happiness, pure and simple. I pay Maela and we head back outside.
“Now to catch the little rascals so we can give these to them,” she says, looking up and down the street searching for signs of the Baudouine children.
I issue a long and high-pitched whistle, causing V to jump and cover her ears. I shoot her a grin so she knows all is well.
“Dang, warn a girl at least,” she mumbles. Slowly, one by one, the fledglings come tentatively out of their respective hiding places. The older ones inch forward. V holds the hoops nervously and looks to me. I give her a nod and she approaches the kids.
Once she starts passing out the hoops, those who were hanging back now rush forward so they do not miss out, but they all look at the hoops with skeptical expressions. V is talking to them in an excited voice, trying to explain the human game. I take the opportunity to go back to the novelty shop to buy a few bags of sweets. It is a short errand, and when I return I see that V has one of the hoops around her waist and she is encouraging the confused children to do the same.
“Okay, now you’re going to have to give me a second. I haven’t done this since I was twelve,” she admits to the children, who watch her with scrunched-up noses. V gives the hoop a spin around her waist and starts rocking her hips from side to side. The hoop makes a slow descent to her knees.
“Hold on, hold on. I almost got it,” she says, pulling it up around her waist again. She repeats her previous efforts, but this time the hoop lingers as her waist, being spun by the rocking motion of her hips. “Like that! See? Can you guys do that?” she asks excitedly.
Instantly all the fledglings are trying to mimic her use of the hoop. Some excel and others struggle to keep the toy up, but their faces are all alight with joy.
“Here,” I announce, passing two heavy bags to the little boy from before. “Share with your friends.” The kids all dive forward to see what is inside, still gripping their hoops, trilling with delight when they see the contents of the bags.
“Go on now, go play. Tell your parents the story of how you met a generous goddess and her handsome traveling companion,” I say, shooing them away. V hurries to hand off her hoop to one of the children as they run to a nearby alleyway to begin divvying up their treats.
“What do you think of making our way to the game house now?” I ask, now that I have my female’s attention again.
“Every time I get comfortable you whisk me away to somewhere new,” she points out. Though her hands are on her hips, there lightness in her tone and a smile spreads across her face.
“And every time you follow,” I counter. “I like this arrangement very much.”
“Fine, we can go. On one condition, though,” she tells me, crossing her arms over her chest in an effort to show how serious she is. I try not to allow my gaze to fall to her cleavage.
“There is nothing I would deny you,” I admit. “Out with it, what do you want?”
“Tell me, what’s alien candy all about anyway? Do you guys have chocolate?” she asks, smiling slyly.
I wrap my arm around her and she fits herself comfortably against my side. “Come, let’s get you a bag too,” I laugh, and she lets out a little squeal of delight. It is a delicious sound that I hope to make her replicate under more intimate circumstances someday.
Finally, we are on our way to the game house as V digs through her bag of treats. She takes a bite of each, extolling her favorites and passing the ones she dislikes to me with a cringe. I am vaguely aware that she is telling me a story, but I have become so distracted by her, by everything about her, that it is difficult to follow. The way she moves her hands when she talks, her shy and timid smile, how excited she gets when she takes a bite of a candy that she enjoys. And then I hear it again, that drumming. I rub my knuckle hard against my ear, but it does not alter the sound.
“And anyway, that’s why I hate marzipan. Hey…do you hear that? What’s that noise?” she asks suddenly, breaking her enchantment over me.
“You hear it too?” I ask, shocked.
“Yeah, how could I not?” she questions with a frown and brings her hands up to cover her ears. I notice it now too. A hum of white noise slowly rising into a roar.
“Oh, that. It is racers showing off,” I explain loudly enough to be heard over the engines. “Sometimes after a good race they come and mess around on the main drag—give the crowd a show.”
“That seems dangerous,” she yells. “Are we safe here?”
“You will always be safe with me,” I tell her, but the engines are so loud now I do not know if she hears me. I look ahead, up the dirt road to see what kind of vessels are coming, wondering if anything is worth racing tomorrow, but V is tugging at me. When I look at her I see she is yelling and shaking her head with a frown.
The first ship whizzes by, low to the ground, sending a cloud of dust to the sides of the road. Sand whips at my bare legs. I take it she does not like the noise. I’m trying to tell her we can leave whe
n she looks past me and her eyes go wide in terror. I spin and immediately see what troubles her.
The little Baudouine, separated from his group, still follows us. I can see he wishes to cross the road so he does not lose us, but he is young and unsure of what to do when another ship passes noisily and low to the ground. Despite the roar around us, I hear V let out a scream as the ship blocks our view of the boy. When the dust clears I see the child still standing, less sure of himself than ever. He tries to dart across the road, but hesitates again and turns to run back. Another ship is approaching. He will not be fast enough to outrun it.
I drop to all fours and dart forward. V’s nails scrape at my skin as I rip myself from her hold on me. I feel the dry sand crunch beneath my hands as I run, but all I can hear is the roar of engines. It is so close now that my vision is clouded by the swirl of dust being pushed out around the ship. Remembering where I last saw the child’s silhouette, I dive for it. I feel his small frame crash into my arms and I give one final push with my legs to clear us from the path of the oncoming ship. We roll in the dirt and I cradle him there in my arms for a moment longer, until the dust settles. Two more ships speed by before the sound fades into the distance.
“Dax! Dax!” I hear V’s urgent screams.
“I am here! We are here!” I call out. A moment later she sees us through the still-unsettled dust and is rushing to our sides.
“Are you alright? Is he hurt?” V asks anxiously, checking us over for wounds.
I sit the boy upright and scowl at him. “What is the meaning of this, wee one?” I ask him. “Where is your sister and your friends?”
The boy shakes his head, unwilling to talk, and tears begin forming in his eyes.
“That was scary, yes?” I ask him, and he nods feverishly. “Yes, it was. Next time will you remember to follow rules? Stay with the older children and never cross as ships pass.”
He nods, and I see his sister running to approach us. She quickly makes sense of the scene and grabs her brother by the arm to tote him away.
“Wait,” V calls out and hurries to hand him his discarded hoop. His sister takes it and they scuttle off in the opposite direction. V stares after them for a long while.
“They sure don’t say much, do they?” she asks with her voice cracking. She does not look at me.
“Are you okay?” I press, rubbing a soothing hand up her back.
She turns to me now, with a cocked brow. “Are you okay?” she asks, looking me up and down. Her skeptical expression turns to one of concern. “Oh, look at you! You’re a mess!” she announces and begins trying to help dust me off. I remain still and enjoy the feel of her hands running over my flesh. Quickly, though, she realizes what she is doing, and when she looks up into my eyes she flushes and her hands still.
“There,” she says, “that should be good.”
“I think that was not the kind of excitement I was looking for this evening,” I tell her.
“Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to fondle you! I was just trying to help—” she hurries to tell me, clearly embarrassed.
“I was talking about the boy,” I interrupt.
“The boy!” She swipes a hand over her eyes. “Yeah, of course…the boy,” she says with a forced smile.
“But if fondling is an option, we can head back to our suite,” I say with a grin, pulling her by her hips closer to me. She turns her face away from me, still blushing.
“We are going back, right? That scare really put a damper on the mood,” she tells me.
“The night is young. I will just have to turn your mood around.”
V bites her lip, looking unsure as the sun finally dips below the hills and twilight falls on the market district. Shop lights flicker on, a low glow illuminating the crowd of patrons. At the end of the street the lights shine bright around the game house. I take V’s hand in mine and we make our way to the opulent building standing in the middle of the desert. Our night is only just beginning.
Chapter 24
V
“Ohhhh…” I say, looking around the room with no small amount of shock. Then embarrassment hits me. Of course this is what he meant.
“What is it?” he asks me over the din.
“Nothing.” He eyes me skeptically, and I forfeit. “It’s just when you said ‘game house’ I thought you meant an arcade or something. This is a casino.”
“What is an arcade?” he asks.
I shrug, embarrassed. “A place for kids.”
“You must be pleased I brought you here then,” he says, pulling me from the doorway and into the bustling activity of the main room.
“Yeah…I must be.”
Gambling machines glow with blinking lights, and crowds surround what I assume to be the “hot” ones. A group chatters excitedly as the lights above their chosen machine go wild. Dax leads me past tables surrounded by all sorts of aliens. Most of which are too engaged in their games to pay me any mind. Still, I tighten my grip on Dax’s arm.
Not to be judgy or anything, but some of the beings we pass are hideously grotesque, terrifying even. I notice that lots of them wear gas mask-looking things, which seem to be breathing apparatuses. But to me, even the masks seem like something meant for a horror story—the perfect accessory for a monster.
Dax takes us straight to the bar. I’m grateful at the prospect of having a drink to calm my nerves, but instead of ordering he leans over the bar and whispers something to the bartender in a low voice. The bartender nods and opens up a section of the counter and ushers us in. I want to ask what’s happening, but when I see the lower half of the bartender’s body I have to struggle to hold back a yelp. His legs are long, thin, and completely translucent. I can see the alien man’s delicate bones and branching red veins. He stamps his splayed feet a little and his nails click against the floor. My eyes dart up to his face for a moment and I can see the annoyance in his eyes. I look away from him as quickly as I can and burrow in so close to Dax’s side I can barely see around his bicep.
The alien directs us to a door at the end of the bar, separate from the regular patrons, and ushers us inside. The door closes behind us; I look back to see the bartender has not followed. My heart rate increases and I look for signs of danger. With the door shut, this small room is starkly quiet.
“What is this?” I ask Dax, frightened.
“Have no fear when I am with you, V,” he replies, opening another door opposite us. I hesitantly follow him and find we are in a miniature version of the casino outside. There is a bar here too and only about 50 or so people. A nice change of pace compared to the hundreds in the main room. There’s even a band in the corner that plays low enough for people to talk over their subtle and tranquil music.
“If it isn’t Dax, one of the best pilots Quar has ever seen,” a man says, rising from his seat at a nearby table. I notice the guy is flanked by two alien behemoths—his bodyguards most likely. I also notice he looks like he came from planet Count Dracula. “Dax, welcome!”
I want to grind my heels into the carpet to keep myself from getting any closer to this frightening alien with eyes that look like bloody pools flecked with black. His flesh is a sallow gray and there are ebony plates along his brows and cheekbones. He smiles as we approach and I see his teeth are sharp, numerous, and inky. He reaches out to me and I recoil. His outer digits stretch much longer than his fore and middle finger, giving his hand the appearance of a spider. Dax supports me from behind and I try to control my revulsion. The two men clasp shoulders and the alien gives me a knowing smile, though he seems to take no offense to my reaction. Maybe he even seems a little pleased by my fear.
“The Oscillion! It is good to see you! Tell me, is there room for one more at your table?”
“There is room for two,” he answers. “Seats for my guests!” he calls out, and people hurry to obey. Dax pulls me along and nearly has to force me down into the seat next to his. I sit at the very edge, my back straight as an arrow, with my nails digging into his
hand. When The Oscillion takes the open seat at my side I nearly fall out of my chair.
The other alien men at the table all grunt out greetings to Dax while arranging small, bone-colored tiles in their hands. “Nor, Thaylor, Bouwin, good to see you all,” Dax says, greeting half of the table
“Been playing much Tilt lately?” The Oscillion casually asks Dax, hardly looking up from his own tiles.
“Trying to see if I’m out of practice?” Dax responds, and his words are met with a sly smile from The Oscillion. Another alien man, the dealer, passes Dax a stack of the tiles. When he tries to slide me a stack, I look wide eyed to Dax, silently begging him to not make me play this alien game.
“Are you sure, my sweet V? I think you would like this game,” he says to me in a low voice, but my expression gives him his answer and he shakes his head at the dealer. “She will watch,” he says, and I bite back a sigh of relief as the tiles are taken back.
