by Dixon, Ruby
She sighs with pleasure, the sound as sweet and enticing as anything I’ve ever heard. Then, she tosses the second shoe aside and rolls her shoulders. I should say something, but I’m too curious about what’s going on. Instead, I watch as she reaches into the cowl neck of her dress and pulls a thick, wedge-shaped thing out of her dress and drops it on the floor as well. Her shoulder now looks half the size of the other.
What is this?
She pulls out the second shoulder pad, sniffs it, and then makes an unpleasant noise of disapproval before casting it aside.
Without the shoulder pads inside her gown, she looks…tiny. Something about this is all wrong, and I realize she’s much, much smaller in stature than any adult mesakkah would be. The elegant dress that fit her perfectly a few moments ago now pools around her.
“Who are you?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest and waiting for her to answer.
The woman turns and gasps, and as she does, her face shimmers. She gets to her feet and I realize she’s no taller than the middle of my chest. But that barely registers, because a moment later, she reaches up and removes the hood, and I realize why her face shimmered, and why her expression seemed so curiously dead.
It’s a hologram. The moment she removes her hood, it fades away and reveals her true face. The hair underneath the hood isn’t a dark, rich black. It’s the same golden-brown shade that the crops are when it’s time for harvest. Her face isn’t a becoming shade of blue but a strange beige color. Her features are small and her face is flat, with no brow ridges or horns to break up the contourless texture of it. She lifts her head and stares defiantly at me, as if daring me to ask her a question.
Somehow, I appreciate that defiance. It fills me with relief even as it makes me angry that I’ve been deceived. She’s not dead-eyed. She’s a fake. “What are you?” I ask, changing my question.
“I’m a human,” the female says. “And you can call me Nicola.”
2
NICOLA
I’ve been found out. Of course, I knew I would be. It was just a matter of time before I’d have to confess. But the way it happened has me rattled. I knew he’d be angry. I just hoped…
Well, I’m not sure what I hoped. But the dark anger shining in my new husband’s eyes isn’t entirely unexpected. Time for me to launch into the speech I’ve been practicing over and over again since Leandra and I first concocted this plan. “Allow me to explain,” I begin, trying to keep my voice smooth and calm, and to keep my ‘human’ accent out of my words as much as I can.
“Oh, please do.” His eyes narrow and his tone is hard and furious.
Right. I pull off my gloves, tugging on the fingers. My ring finger is throbbing from being bound to my middle finger for so long in the hot plas-leather, but the gloves were necessary as part of the disguise. All mesakkah have three fingers and a thumb, and my hands would have given me away immediately. “I know you sent off for a mate,” I continue calmly. “Your requirements were that she have no criminal record, which I do not. That she be willing to work hard on a farm for the rest of her life. I am. And you asked that she be willing to bear your children. I’m willing and quite capable of doing all of those things.”
The look he gives me is downright incredulous. “You’re human. I don’t even know what that is. I’ve only seen one in…” He stops and gets a funny look on his face.
“In deviant sorts of vids? I know. My kind is stolen from our planet and sold on the black market like animals.” I smooth my gloves in my hand, because it gives me something to do to stop my trembling. “We’re not a lesser species, though. We’re just different.”
“Yet you speak our language well. No pauses. No accent.”
I nod. No pauses because I’ve learned his language without having to rely on an internal translator chip. No accent because I’ve worked hard to train it out of my voice. I wanted everything to be perfect for my disguise. “I’ve been among your people since I was twelve.” He physically recoils, staring at me, and I realize why. The mesakkah don’t consider a female ‘adult’ until she reaches twenty of their years, which is about seventeen of Earth years. “That was over twelve years ago,” I add so he doesn’t panic and all of this comes crashing to a halt.
“So you’re a…” he coughs.
“Pleasure slave?” I shake my head. “I was sold to a very kind, very wealthy elderly mesakkah lady who enjoyed owning a menagerie. She thought I was interesting, and when she realized I was smart, she made me a companion of sorts.” I think of Leandra with a little ache in my breast. She was difficult to get along with at times, but being her friend was the closest thing I’ve had to a family since being stolen from mine. “My lady was very old, though, and when she realized she would not live for much longer, she helped me make arrangements for my future.”
“Arrangements,” the male says flatly. Emvor, I remind myself. That’s his name. He has a face now. He’s not just a notation on my travel documents.
I nod, pushing forward even though I can see I’m losing him. I was hoping for more sympathy, more understanding from a lonely farmer who wanted a wife. But this is what I’ve got to work with, so I’ll give it all I’ve got. “Yes. She was worried—and rightly so—that when she died, her possessions would be confiscated by family and no one would give me a home. Humans are illegal to own, you see. We’re not taken to our home planet when we’re found. No one’s allowed to go there, and those that stole me certainly aren’t going to bring me back. So I’d end up in a zoo somewhere, experimented upon, or, if I’m very unlucky, I’d end up in a brothel on a seedy station somewhere. My lady loved me in her way and didn’t want to see that happen. So we tried to think of someplace that I could be safe and out of the way of most that would harm me.”
“And so you came here.”
“Yes. Your planet is very sparsely populated, and I looked up your farm records. You’re the farthest out from all other claims on this continent, and you do well. I figured if I could just stay here on the farm and bear your children, you wouldn’t mind so much that I’m not…mesakkah.” The look I give him is pleading. I need for him to understand. I need for him to realize how hard this is for me, too. I’m trading my body and my future in the hopes that he’ll keep me safe, because I will end up in that spaceport brothel if he doesn’t give me a chance.
Life is hard for a human in charted space. I’ve learned that over the years. Leandra has carted me around with her on a leash and I’ve been pinched in more places than I realized I had places. I’ve been abused and groped by people who thought she wasn’t paying attention. And I’ve gotten far too many curious, lascivious stares from male aliens who wonder what it’d be like to be on top of a human. Ever since Leandra died, I’ve been all too aware of these things. I’m alone in the universe and no one will help me if I get in trouble. If an alien grabs me and rapes me and another alien comes along? I’m more likely to be raped by the newcomer than rescued. No one thinks humans are real people.
So…I’m stuck. And I need this man’s help desperately.
“It’s illegal to own a human,” he says slowly, his expression as hard and unforgiving as ever. “But I’m supposed to marry you?”
“You just want company, right? Help around the farm? I can do that. I don’t need to be mesakkah. A human can help out just as easily.”
“Can you, now?” Emvor tilts his head at me. “You good with beasts?”
I smile, eager. “Yes! I actually took care of Leandra’s menagerie and read several farming manuals on the trip out here. I’m acquainted with what needs to be done and how to take care of them. I grew up on a farm back on Earth, so I’m positive I can be helpful.”
He grunts. “You’re half the size of a mesakkah female and I’d wager half as strong. What happens if I need help hauling hay for the meat-stock?”
I’ve been preparing for questions like this. “A farm mech can help with those sorts of things just as easily as a mesakkah. You don’t need me for carrying. We bo
th know that.”
He doesn’t admit that I’m right, that the robotic mechs probably do most of the farming. Instead, his expression gets more and more remote and I can’t help but feel like I’ve said something even worse. He looks me up and down after another silent moment, and his expression is as cold as ever. “And I’m supposed to take you to my bed? Get you with child so no one can take you away?”
I have to admit, that was part of my plan. If I’m a parent to his children, and they’re even part mesakkah, I’ll be safe. “I realize we’re differing species, but I’ve been working with a fertility doctor, thanks to my old owner, and I’ve been taking hormone supplements. I can get pregnant at any point within the next two months and after that, I can take additional supplements to extend my fertility.”
Emvor’s expression is impossible to read. “Well, you’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“I tried to,” I say nervously. So much rides on his decision.
“Everything except how I might feel about being tricked and being forced to take a runt of an alien for my wife.”
I flinch at the anger in his voice and remain where I am as he storms away. I knew he’d be mad. I’m just hoping he’s the type that gets over his anger easily. That maybe he can see I’ll be just as good as any other woman he wanted to marry. He wasn’t picky about looks in his bride request, so why should my humanness matter? We’re so remote from most civilized hubs in the galaxy that no one will ever come out here looking for contraband aliens. I’ll be safe…as long as he lets me stay.
I need to convince him that I can be the right woman for him. So, even though I’m tired, I change clothes and get to work.
3
EMVOR
Human. Keffing hell, I don’t even know what to make of that. She’s not what I asked for, that’s all I know. I do a quick search of humans on my datapad out in the barn. Not that I’m hiding from her, but it’s not a huge house. It doesn’t tell me anything I don’t already know. Two arms, two legs. Planet in a distant galaxy on the fringes of known space, Class D. The pictures and vids included are all from bestiaries or a large zoo. A quick search on news articles shows me that she’s not wrong—most humans are “found” in brothel raids and “confiscated.” Of course, the moment I start searching my datapad for humans, an ad pops up with a bunch of rather explicit photos of humans in varying positions, who can all be mine for a reasonable price. I shut down my datapad with disgust.
I hate that she’s not wrong.
I may be a surly sort and not fond of people. In fact, I hate most people almost as much as I hate mechs. But I’m not that big of a bastard. I won’t ship her off knowing that she’ll be trapped into a life like that. Of course, it doesn’t mean I have to marry her, either.
I pull up my marriage records. They’re made out to Emvor Vas Kilasen, a mesakkah from Homeworld, and Shiarii Mil Askrav, a mesakkah from a station name I only vaguely recognize. It won’t hold up, that’s for sure. She’s neither mesakkah nor this Shiarii person. The contract between us is invalid. She’s not mine.
All right, then. I can find her a nice home somewhere quiet on Cassa where she won’t be threatened. People around here like animals. I’m sure some wouldn’t mind an extra pair of hands around, even if they are oddly five-fingered. Once I find her that home, she’ll no longer be my problem and I can go back to the marriage agency and request a new bride.
Like that won’t look fishy? But one thing at a time.
I run the machinery in the barn for a few hours, letting it cycle through chores. There’s milking, feeding, the changing out of hay and sawdust at the bottom of each stall. There are animal vital signs to be logged and recorded. Most farmers and ranchers cheap out and employ a variety of mechs to do such things, but I still have nightmares about the mech that shot my face up back in the war. I don’t mind doing this sort of thing myself, even if it means that I occasionally have to climb into the stall with a rather angry bull to loosen up a piece of jammed equipment. Does me good. Helps me think.
I think about the human waiting in the house. I think about her a lot, of course. Much as I might want to send her on her way, I can’t. She needs a roof over her head, and food. A bed to sleep in. Of course, that part’s a bit of a problem. My house is small—didn’t see the need to expand it unless I had children. And you only get children two ways—your wife decides she’ll bear them naturally, or you rent a plas-womb and donate your genetic material and a small fortune in fees. ’Course, since I don’t like mechs, I sure don’t like the thought of renting a plas-womb. Everyone out here on the fringes does things the natural way. Probably disgusts all those city dwellers back on Homeworld, but I’m kinda intrigued by the thought of touching my wife without plas-film separating our bodies to keep our bacteria to ourselves.
Maybe it’s deviant of me, but I like the thought of filling my wife with my seed, making her pregnant.
And that makes me think of the human again. The human with her flat face and her odd-colored skin. Her delicate bones and the way she only reaches my chest. She’d be all belly if she carried my child.
Not that she’s going to. I’m sending her on her way just as soon as I can find a home for her.
Irritated at my own thoughts, I finish up my chores in the barn, slap the bull on his flank to let him know I’m leaving his stall, and then head back toward the house. Even before I reach the door, I can smell food cooking. My mouth waters. How did she make my processor smell so keffing good? I use the thing all the time, but my food never smells like that. Mine is palatable. Hers smells…incredible.
I push the door open and the smell wafts over me. As I step inside, I can see her, small back to me as she works in the kitchen area of my home. The large processor set into the wall that normally produces all of my food is switched off, and she’s stirring something in a pot over the small stove I use to burn fuel in the winter.
Shiarii—no, that’s not her name. The human looks over at me with a small, apologetic smile. “I hope you don’t mind if I made you dinner. It’s the least I can do.”
I rub my jaw, thinking. I’m sweaty and tired and mentally worn out from her arrival, but more than anything, I can’t stop thinking about the smells coming from that pot she’s stirring. I move forward to the only seat in the house, near the fire. Doesn’t feel right to sit down, not while she has to stand. I grab a big chunk of firewood, roll it toward the fire, and sit down, using it as a makeshift stool. I study her as she stirs the food again, glancing over at me with a tense expression underneath her sweet smile. Her hands are shaking.
And now I feel like a monster. She’s clearly terrified. Kef. I rub my jaw again. “You know there’s a processor that will cook anything you want. It’s already loaded with ingredients. All you have to do is turn it on.”
The human glances over at me and her smile grows a little wider. She’s got the weirdest little indention in her round cheek, but it’s kind of charming. “I know. I learned how to use one a long time ago, but I think it makes the food taste strange. Too processed. Plus, I like cooking. It helps me when I’m stressed.”
I want to ask if she’s stressed, but I stop myself. Of course she is. I just told her a short time ago that she betrayed me and she’s not staying. And I refuse to feel guilty about it, either.
She saves me from coming up with a response by ladling a bowl full of the food and offering it to me with a spoon. “I hope you like it. It’s the least I can do to apologize.”
I grunt a response and shove the spoon into my mouth. Flavor bursts across my tongue and I have to bite back a groan. This is…better than anything I’ve ever tasted. I eat another mouthful, and it’s just as tasty as the first. Spicy, hot, and delicious. “This is good,” I admit. “What is it?”
The female beams with pleasure. “Back at home we have something we call ‘chili.’ Your food and spices are similar, so I thought I would make some. It was one of Leandra’s favorites.” She gets a sad expression on her face.
She smiles again, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “It’s all right. I just miss her. For so long, she was my only friend and I haven’t had anyone to talk to.”
I eat another spoonful of the delicious soup and then admit, “I’m not much for talking.” Before she can say anything in response to that, I add, “Which is why you’re not staying.”
Her face grows pale and she gets very still, her gaze focusing on the bowl in my hands. “I see.”
“No. You don’t. This isn’t about company. I wanted another farm hand.” And a wet cunt to fuck, but I don’t bring that up. “You aren’t going to be able to help me much with that sort of thing. And I understand your situation, so I don’t want you panicking. I’m a fair man. I won’t send you back.”
The tension in her small shoulders relaxes. “You won’t?”
“No.” I gesture with my spoon. “I’m not the right one for you, but there’s plenty of men on this planet that need a mate and won’t care that you’re small. There’s a gathering in a few days. We’ll go there and find you a man.”
She goes still again. “But what if I’d rather stay with you?”
I scowl. “Why would you want to do that? I just told you I’m not much for company.”
“I don’t mind that. You treat me like a person. Even when you’re mad at me.” She clasps her hands in front of her chest. “Do you know how rare that is? When Leandra was mad at me, she’d act like I was a misbehaving pet, not a human being with an intelligent mind. I loved her, but she couldn’t see past who I was. I’m happy to stay with you. I’ll be quiet if you need quiet.”
“I’m ugly,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “And stubborn. And cheap.”
