Our Flower

by S M Matthews

  Oh, Shit. I left my lunch.

  I’m fiddling with my gloves as I turn the corner. Someone speaks to me. In English. I’m caught completely off guard and am literally on the back foot.

  She’s not real. So convinced have I been for so long that I’m losing my fucking mind that for a long moment I can’t think anything else. I’ve broken and created an imaginary friend.

  She says her name’s Maisy. She asks if I’m okay.

  For a moment the world behind her goes all fluffy and I think I might actually faint. I find myself moving forward instead; the tears are already starting. I reach out to her, we hug. She’s actually real. My knees give out completely from under me and we both go down. She’s patting my back and making shushing noises while I ugly cry onto her shoulder. My breath is hitching and my whole body is racked with it. I struggle to breathe; my throat and nose hurt.

  I’m mortally embarrassed; but I also can’t stop. She seems to understand this because there’s no platitudes, no ‘there, there’. She’s just rubbing my back and trying to soothe me.

  I cry until there’s nothing left. Literally nothing. I must look a state and I try and wipe the snot and wet off my face with my sleeve. I spot the wet patch I’ve made on her and I’m mortified all over again.

  She guides us up and I realise I’m surrounded by them; I glue myself to her side. She’s a newfound port of safe normality in amongst the weirdness.

  We’re following Dark Tips back to their place.

  “I’m Poppy,” I manage to choke out to her as we walk. I’m too stunned for anything else.

  We get back and I sit. My legs are wobbly and my thoughts are racing.

  I’m not alone any more.

  Doughnut comes over with a drink and tries to give it to me. I can’t even look at him at the moment. He puts it on the table in front of me.

  Maisy orders everyone out. There’s a brief discussion that I don’t really listen to. The horror that is Disembodied Woman talking over everything.

  Maisy has a confidence that I can only envy. She tells them to leave their own home; and they do.

  ACER

  We ask about how they came to have Maisy. Tark vaguely starts to tell us about buying her at a market. I reassure him that if any ‘laws’ were broken, now is not the time that we would concern ourselves about it. After that he is happier to go into more detail. The market was of the illegal ‘pop-up’ variety. Several ships land on some unregistered moon or planet for the very short term to have ‘out of hold’ sales. Pate is quick to clarify that he disapproves and was not involved.

  Of course, I think to myself; did you just shut your viewer off and not check your course for a handful of turns? You were on the ship that went there! I dismiss it though; it doesn’t matter now. If Pate chooses to ignore what his brothers get up to then that is their concern.

  Interestingly enough, there may have been anywhere up to 20 humans just that he saw. He picked Maisy because he liked the look of her fur. He’d also just seen the prey type skin and thought ‘herd animal, might make a good pet’, and bought one.

  After Tark gives a brief, and very naive, I think, description of the ship and the ‘Pet Dealer’ who sold Maisy, Titus interjects, “That’s who dropped Poppy off with us. The last one, didn’t sell.” We don’t mention that we suspect those brothers had also kept one themselves.

  “Has Poppy told you about the transport cage?”

  “No? Still doesn’t talk, remember?” I ask, we all lean forward; ears pricked at this.

  “Maisy says that briefly, they all woke up. Something must have happened during transport. What appeared to put them back to sleep, well, Maisy describes it as ‘green and floppy.’” Abner sits back in his chair after delivering that, both ears turned out waiting for our reaction.

  Micka speaks first, “I do not believe that any of our males, criminals or not, would ever do a deal with the Ta’Naw. No. It just wouldn’t happen.”

  Abner shrugs, “Ask her then, ask your Poppy. See if she saw the same.”

  I have to admit though, “Since they were scattered, they travel much further than any species we know of...it would make sense they would produce a new species we have no record of.” Micka huffs in agreement. Unhappy agreement.

  We all sit quietly; thinking.

  Abner adds, “Do you know of any other species who would come across a clearly intelligent, and from what Maisy tells us, technologically advancing race, and then abduct some of them?”

  All three of us shake our heads. The Ta’Naw however, wouldn’t think twice about it.

  I ask, just to be sure, “What evidence would there be of their intelligence? Would it be obvious?”

  Titus nods, enthusiastic now, “Maisy says they’ve been to their moon. They have a space station in orbit and a lot of communications satellites. There would have been no mistaking it.”

  We all sit and digest this as well. For all the logical sense it makes, it’s all completely irrelevant information. The current ‘peace’ with the Ta’Naw is tenuous at best. The only thing making them seemingly agreeable to the laws of our colonies and assets is because we are simply the most widespread. If you want to survive in space, you have no choice but to have something to do with us at some point or another. They are now so few, so widespread that it’s likely they will go extinct. I thank the stars for that...and then mentally wince that I could have that thought about an entire species but...up until as recent as three generations ago Ta’Naw were still self-destructing their own ships with intent to hurt us. Until they must have also finally realised how few their numbers are and put a stop to that ridiculous, and fruitless, tactic. They seem completely unable to let go of the old rivalry.

  I debate if there’s even a point to asking Poppy. Although it explains how they came to be here, it’s still effectively useless information. Especially if bringing it up might upset her all over again.

  I have stopped listening, I realise, and pay attention again to the conversation going on around me.

  “...so she just needs to be cared for.” Micka is saying, and shrugs. “She has nowhere else to go, and she is very vulnerable.” Pate actually snorts at that, but just looks away. “We don’t know what she was stolen away from, she has been so...displaced and…well, it’s like she’s been mourning. It’s been a huge trauma for her, we think.”

  “Well, just being taken from your Homeworld and people would be enough for anyone,” Abner says, “but Maisy has been...remarkably resilient in adapting to her new...lifestyle.”

  “So you’ve found her to be...accepting...of our ways?” Micka asks. I know we’re not being in the least bit subtle, but it also doesn’t seem right to just come out and ask.

  “Oh yeah,” Abner answers, totally deadpan, “I’d go so far as to say she’s outright enthusiastic about our cultural differences.”

  Abner and Pate hold our gazes, but Tark turns away in his chair and takes a deep shuddering breath, clearly trying not to laugh.

  I feel like I have to try and salvage this, “Well, it is interesting just how similar their biology is.” As soon as I say it, I realise that was not the way to go.

  Abner nods, continuing his completely deadpan delivery; “Fascinating.”

  Tark lets out a long rattling chuff, Pate elbows him in the ribs.

  None of us bring up how appealing we find Poppy’s scent, it feels...well, it seems wrong to openly discuss something that feels so private.

  We eventually return to our quarters only to find they’ve been into our drink. They are singing. Loudly.

  We’ve gone from a female that won’t speak to one which is unbelievably loud.

  Pate doesn’t hesitate, he marches across the room and bodily lifts a protesting Maisy from the floor.

  Maisy is rowdy when inebriated.

  Poppy is standing on the table, still singing. She is quite clearly also very drunk, and when we surround her she slides and starts to fall. I catch her easily.

  “You have
all got stupid furry faces!” She’s slurring, and all the words run together drunkenly. She slides out of my arms, and she’s giggling. She stands in front of me, poking at my chest. “Let me go,” I step back from her and she wobbles to the bathroom. We follow, nervous that she’s going to fall over.

  She turns on us, drunkenly irritated. “Personal space! I need to pee!” And she goes into the bathroom. We’ve all had our translators updated, so we can understand everything clearly.

  We look at each other with absolutely no idea what to do with this. But she can talk! We slowly share a grin.

  Once she emerges, we again follow her wobbly progress across the room; this is completely new territory and none of us know what to make of it. We follow her into her room; she climbs up into bed and flops down, hugging a pillow.

  We stand and watch, it doesn’t seem long before she is snoring. We turn off the lights and head back into the main room. There doesn’t seem much else to do.

  POPPY

  I wake up slowly. It hurts.

  Everything hurts.

  My eyes are filled with what feels like a full bag of sharp sand, so after the first blink I give up and just lie there. I try to roll over but everything sloshes. My stomach and my brain. I lie still again, waiting for it to settle.

  Please don’t puke. Please don’t puke. I can’t move.

  I don’t remember getting to bed. I’m still fully dressed apart from my boots.

  Actually, I’m pretty sure I took those off when I got on the coffee table. How thoughtful of me.

  Oh no. I have to get up. I part roll part crawl out of bed and make my way across the lounge, holding my stomach and leaning on things as I go.

  I’ve never been drunk before; not really drunk. I was only just old enough to even buy drink back home.

  I silently vow to myself that I will never, ever touch another drop of alcohol if this is the result.

  My slow progress is delayed when my mouth fills with saliva and I have to lean on a chair and concentrate with all my might on not vomiting in the middle of the lounge.

  I know all three of them are there; watching me.

  I think I’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours at most; all the furniture is still untidy from where me and Maisy left cushions on the floor and moved the coffee table. Pretty Nose wouldn’t have been able to leave it like that for long before he’d have to tidy it. Doughnut wouldn’t care though.

  All three of them stand and I put my hand up, palm flat out to them; “Please don’t.”

  I continue my geriatric shuffle to the bathroom; the doors slide open and the sight of the toilet is apparently enough, my mouth fills with saliva again and I only just make it before the entire contents of my stomach violently ejects itself.

  One of them comes in, I hear the door through my own pitiful groaning. He comes over and gathers my hair out of the way; I try and slap the paw away but get nowhere. I want to tell him it’s disgusting, there’s probably already sick on it, but I’m busy being sick again.

  And to add insult to injury, he’s rubbing my back.

  I sit there, limply, my cheek actually resting on the seat, but I just can’t do anything about it at the moment.

  A growl from somewhere behind me, and then the Disembodied Voice speaks.

  “I’m going to take you to medical now.”

  My “No,” sounds more like a pained groan but he gets it.

  More growling, followed by the voice, “Then I will summon a medic here, you are injured.”

  What’s he on about? I consider just not answering, but then that might result in there being a medic here, and I want that even less than I want this.

  “It’s from the drink, it’ll pass.”

  Soft growling, then voice kicks in almost over the top. “You are bleeding because of the drink?”

  Oh. Oh no.

  I hadn’t even noticed what with the pain and the puking, but there is a definitely a bit of a greasy wetness between my legs now that I’m aware of it.

  Shit. I’d relegated this possibility to the back of my mind in the vain hope that the stress of the situation might delay my next period until...I don’t know...I died, maybe?

  Well this just went from the regular kind of just being absolutely mortified to a horrific all-encompassing embarrassment that I don’t think I will ever recover from.

  I am pretty sure the floor inside a space station is unlikely to open up and swallow me whole, but I pray for it anyway. I can’t help but let out a frustrated groan.

  How can this get any worse?

  The other two walk in. Oh, there it is.

  I sort of knew that it was Pretty Nose that had my hair, but seeing the other two confirm it. Doughnut has a glass of water and some tablets, and he comes and kneels next to me. He silently offers them.

  We sit at an impasse for a moment, he looks so unsure of himself.

  I’ve created this, and it’s suddenly horrible. They have been nothing but nice to me for so long, and I’ve done nothing but ignore them at every available opportunity. I can’t even imagine what my mother would think of me, probably seriously disappointed. These people have quite clearly done nothing but help me out. Like really, really help me out. I could have landed up in an alien torture den...or a brothel...or anywhere. Instead I’m clean and clothed and well fed. And it’s because of these guys. I can just hear my mums voice, berating me for my lack of manners.

  And yet here they are, Pretty Nose with his hair holding and Doughnut actually willingly kneeling in god knows what to help me.

  I’ve been awful.

  I start to cry.

  Dark Tips speaks from the doorway, “Enough now, I’ll get a medic.”

  “No, please don’t. I’m begging, please. I don’t need one I promise. I’ll explain.” The words are broken up by my hitching breath, but no one moves.

  Doughnut presses the water to me and I take it, then he hands me the tablets one at a time. The growling noises he makes are so quiet and gentle, it makes the Disembodied Monotone Lady seem so jarring and ugly in comparison.

  “Painkillers and something to settle your stomach.”

  I cautiously take a few sips of water and then take the tablets one at a time. It feels painstaking but I get there. I sit here for a few minutes more; Pretty Nose has hunkered down behind me now and is still gently rubbing at my back.

  The tablets seem to work remarkably well, and remarkably fast, and I do start to feel better. I drink all the rest of the water, and Doughnut takes the glass from me.

  “Want some more?” I shake my head experimentally. All is seeming better and better.

  “Not yet thank you. I’m going to need a shower though...”

  Dark Tips speaks again, “Explain first, we need to know you’re okay before we leave you.”

  I sigh at the floor, “Look...this is embarrassing...can’t you just take my word for it?”

  Dark Tips doesn’t hesitate with his snapped response, “No”

  Even Doughnut’s ears flinch at that, but no one says anything else. And to be honest, I guess I deserve it.

  I try and summon up the most detached clinical way to go about this, their females obviously don’t have anything like it. I’m struck by a momentary envy of that.

  “So our reproductive cycle is…very simply, our womb lines itself ready to support a baby, an egg gets released about once every four weeks or so, but that can vary; a lot. If the egg is fertilised, it lands in the lining and grows a baby, if it doesn’t then that lining...is discarded...which in my case takes four or five days, and then it all starts again. So that’s what’s happening now. Totally normal. Just inconvenient and disgusting.”

  A few moments of silence pass while they all seem to digest that.

  Growling from behind me then, “How many times does this happen?”

  “What, ever? I’ve never really thought about it, for arguments sake let’s say...times a year...puberty to menopause… I don’t know? Like 400 maybe? I’m pretty s
ure it’s going to feel like thousands while it’s actually happening.”

  “And you don’t need...help with that?” I frown at Doughnut, what an odd question.

  “No, it all happens on its own.”

  I look around, no one’s looking at me, they seem to be communicating...and now I’ve started talking, I might as well keep going. I ask the question which I have, on occasion, wondered about. Sometimes they all seem to go quiet during conversations, and although I haven't been able to understand...sometimes they do odd things. Like sit quietly, and then all move off at once, like they are reacting to something I’m completely unaware of. Sometimes they suddenly look to each other, for seemingly no reason...and then after a few moments, look away and carry on with what they are doing. My two guesses have been that they are a little telepathic...or ear semaphore.

  “Are you guys psychic?”

  They all look back at me now, all three slowly shake their heads.

  Right...Okay. “Can I shower now? I feel much better.”

  The shared look again...I can feel a group decision being made without them having to speak. I am not convinced they can’t read each other’s minds.

  They move to file out, but Pretty Nose turns back and asks via growling and then Monotone Lady if I need anything.

  Oh this is just the most awful conversation ever. I can’t look at him, so I look at the floor.

  And then shut my eyes too because just not looking at him didn’t seem quite enough.

  “Some sort of absorbent pad I guess? At home I’d just stick it in my pants but I don’t have those, so I don’t know how to hold it where it’s meant to be.”

  I’m sitting on a bathroom floor, possibly with sick and blood on myself, discussing period logistics with an alien. Time to just give up and embrace the crazy.

  The growling noise that he makes carries all the inflection of a confused question. None of this translates and the Monotone Lady simply drones out “pants.”

  I put my hands over my face now, I’ve passed through the other side of suffering and embarrassment and exhaustion and gone straight into delirious.