Our Flower

by S M Matthews

  I snort so hard I worry I’ve peed myself a bit. My stomach is so tender from the vomiting that laughing hurts.

  I try and explain, sort of slicing my hands across the crease at the top of my thighs to illustrate, “Yeah, they are tight and sort of end there. And then you have your trousers over the top.”

  “You wear small, hidden trousers underneath your trousers?”

  I’m taking deep steadying breaths; I won’t laugh. I will. Not. Laugh.

  Suddenly his big furry nose is right in my face, “Where does it hurt?”

  I push him away but...it’s friendly and half hearted. I’m not quite ready for that yet but...I can’t actually remember really touching one of them before, not really; the fur is so soft and dense. Like it’s not real. It’s some sort of stuffed toy. Pretty Nose takes it okay though and saunters off to gather me supplies while I shower. He tells me to wait where I am after and he will bring clean clothes too.

  It’s...really thoughtful.

  And it’s what they’ve been doing this whole time, and I’ve just been taking it totally for granted.

  I very thoroughly shower, whatever was in those tablets is actually amazing.

  I’m still in the shower when the door slides open and I let out a little yipped scream, but no one looks or comes in, and a clear crate slides in through the door before it closes again.

  There’s bits and bobs that look like straight up medical supplies, all tightly wrapped and, I presume, sterile. There’s also sealed rolls of material which I open, and it’s like a pair of shorts. They are made of really stretchy material, and there's holes where the tails would go. They stretch to fit me snugly, but there's so much give I feel like one of them would fit into it easily too. With a bit of tape I manage to come up with something that works. It’s not ideal, and the tail holes feel weird at the small of my back, but it is definitely serviceable, and there's enough supplies to keep me going for a little while, I think.

  He’s bought me a clean uniform, so I put it on and brave the lounge...but it’s empty. I’d got myself all ready to actually speak and say thank you and...and apologise. I was finally genuinely ready to sit down and have a conversation...and they just aren't here. This is a bit of an anti-climax.

  With nothing else to do I go to bed.

  It feels like the middle of the night now; I’m bleary eyed as I slip into my uniform. I pull it over my shoulders and hold it closed over my chest; I gotta pee. Again.

  Although those tablets seem to have done wonders and I’m already thinking I’ll be fine for work tomorrow, the inside of my mouth feels like a cat’s litter box. The door to my room slides open and I pad barefoot across the lounge. It’s dimly lit, the kitchen light is still on. All three of them are there, huddled around something. Sniffing it.

  They all freeze and look at me in the same moment that I stop to stare. Dark Tips and Pretty Nose are both trying to subtly ball it up to hide it but end up working against each other.

  I am fairly certain it’s a uniform. It’s small.

  It’s my uniform.

  And since I’m wearing a clean one, and I know there’s another clean one in the drawer, that means that’s the dirty one from today. That’s gross. There’s probably blood on it. Maybe some sick.

  There’s a lot of tail and ear twitching. Some shuffling. Doughnut and Dark Tips actually bump into each other trying to leave. It’s like the world’s worst comedy sketch.

  This is just…beyond weird.

  I was ready to talk; I thought we’d made some sort of progress. I can feel my Resting Bitch Face is out in full force.

  I go pee. I pray to whatever might be listening way out here that they’ve gone by the time I’m done.

  Fucking weird clothes sniffing fucking aliens.

  My routine returns to normal, except I now have a friend. Maisy joins me at work every day whilst her...guys...do what they need to do.

  Oh...and now I can sort of have a conversation with the aliens I live with.

  She comes to work with me every day, and every day that we talk...I find it a little easier to go...home...and talk to them.

  She grills me every day about them. She talks about her guys openly. Lovingly.

  Now I’m talking about it with Maisy, I’m forced to admit it to her as well as myself. They’ve been nothing short of wonderful to me. All the things I resented were not their fault. None of it. And I can’t blame them for it. I’ve been shitty. I’ve been mean. Maisy tries to butter it a bit by saying we’ve been through a lot. That I’ve been through a lot. That I’ve lost a hell of a lot more than she has. But when she explains her story to me, trying to communicate was the first thing she went along with...and I have been stubbornly silent the whole time.

  I find myself not being able to excuse my behaviour. I need to make an effort. I need to make amends. Somehow.

  It seems to be in Maisy’s mind that the only reason they would keep me the way that they have is because they...you know; like me in that way. I’m not sure though. But then how would I know?

  She harps on about their sense of smell and it doesn’t take me long to realise that if I’ve...sorted myself out...before going to sleep they might be able to smell it. Especially if it’s one of them that’s been washing my bedding.

  That’s a little bit mortifying.

  I admit to her we are getting along a little better and by day two of her hanging out in the gardens, she’s pushing me about a translator. Which I do agree to, if only because I hate the Monotone Woman.

  A day later and she’s pushing me about clothes. I explain my financial situation. Maisy really doesn’t think it’s fair that I work and don’t get paid for it, but I brush it off. Even I think this is between me and them.

  Maisy has pretty strong feelings about some things and she’s not frightened to share her opinion. Or really filter it in any way. At all.

  Now that I’m talking more to them, I have asked about earning some money. It was one of the first things I asked about, in fact. They had explained to me that the people who work in Hydroponics had to do a lot of study to get there and that I was basically a volunteer but...I didn’t need to worry about it. I’d thought at the time it was a little condescending. ‘Don't worry your pretty little head about money.’ Retrospectively I think they don’t want there to be any pressure on me at all if they can help it.

  Maisy had asked how I tell them apart. I’d been pretty stumped by it, because I couldn’t see how she couldn’t tell them apart.

  “They literally all look the same.”

  I sit and think for a minute, “So, before I knew their names, I’d labelled them by identifying features. Micka is Dark Tips, because the tufts and ends of his ears are darker.”

  “Are they really?” I nod; she just looks bewildered. “Can’t say I’d noticed.”

  “Titus is Doughnut, partly because of the way his fur pattern falls on his cheeks, partly because he literally never stops eating. Acer is Pretty Nose. His colour sort of...has a slightly different...well it makes his nose look sort of like a heart shape anyway.”

  “I honestly can’t see a difference between them. Someone has obviously spent a lot of time studying them.” She waggles her eyebrows at me and it’s shameless.

  MICKA

  Poppy went to Hydroponics as normal today, and I have assumed that Maisy has joined her as usual. I have messaged Pate and his brothers and requested they come to our quarters – we have received a message from Homeworld. Part of which was a reply to our evidence to register the Humans as intelligent. There is only a small known group of them in this region of space, and considering that, them being recognised legally could be important. Especially given the other information we have received.

  All three brothers have come, and I am relieved; I think it is important they all see this, and I thank them for coming.

  Titus is sitting at the desk and I ask him to bring up the information for them to view.

  I huff and sit in the empty desk ch
air whilst Pate and his brothers read what is displayed on the screens. “They’ve not officially accepted them as intelligent? Why?” Pate’s usual mood is disgruntled, it doesn’t take much for him to edge towards angry.

  “Read between the lines Pate,” I tell him, “they have all but accepted them. The final confirmation will be as simple as a meeting. A conversation. That’s it.”

  “Absolutely not.” He crosses his arms across his chest and stands to his full height. I really do think he might be the biggest male I’ve ever seen.

  “Pate, I’m sorry, but we can’t just abandon our duties to take Poppy to Homeworld, and in any case I think it would be a lot for her. Your Maisy seems much more...resilient.”

  Pate starts to answer, but Abner interrupts him, “Don’t you think she would want to be given the choice, Pate? Considering what it would mean.”

  Pate shakes his mane in agitation.

  “There’s something else,” I gesture at Titus and he brings the image of the human up on the screen.

  All three of them give a surprised chuff. They can be so completely different, and then they do something like that.

  “Is it another human? It looks...wrong.”

  “We thought that at first, but if you look closely...”

  Titus moves out of the way so the three of them can get a good look.

  “It was found on the ship of who we now believe is the original seller, the Homeworld station picked it up, and because of the behaviour it was initially logged as a new species, but not intelligent. Luckily, they received our information on Poppy and took another look, what they took as ‘behaviour’ was actually a cocktail of sedation. Our people can’t act until intelligence is decided but they won’t let the human go either; not while it’s in question.” I withhold that it is indeed a Ta’Naw ship, and that those vile creatures have already declared the Human as a loss. They intend to abandon it rather than wait in dock at one of our stations any longer than is necessary. It’s manipulative of me, but allowing them to think that there’s a human in danger might swing the decision to go to the meeting.

  “Why can’t that one go to the interview, it’s already right next to Homeworld...”

  That was my first thought too, if I’m being truthful; I tell them the rest.

  “The trader is in dock at Homeworld Station, and the human has been moved aboard, we have already forwarded the language as further evidence of their intelligence; so they have access to that. The human had been...mistreated...so they have temporarily taken it into medical on the Station. The soon to be ‘Leaders of Health’ are the medical officers there; this is human is quite literally being cared for by the best there is...and yet they don’t know at the moment if the damage done to the human is permanent. It will be in no state to do anything for quite some time. It doesn’t mean it won’t be handed back though, if they aren't sentient, then...they are property.”

  Tark speaks out, “So you’re saying that if Maisy doesn’t go, no one will. And if no one does, this human is in real danger of being handed back to its abuser?” He manages to inject so much disgusted venom into that last word. I know full well the human is no longer in any real danger, but again I don’t say anything.

  I nod; there doesn’t seem to be anything more to say. I have to leave the decision with them…but if they continue to refuse and force my hand, I will offer Poppy the chance to go to the interview.

  We would support her decision; even if it meant quitting our duties here.

  POPPY

  Maisy’s leaving. I knew that this was pretty inevitable. It doesn’t mean I’m not really upset by it.

  I’ve gone with Micka to the bay that their ship has been docked in, it’s chilly in here, and I’m glad of my boots.

  We resolve to write to each other. And she does promise that she will be back. She’s changed my whole existence; I think I’d probably still be stubbornly silent and endlessly miserable if she hadn’t appeared when she did. I know the guys are infinitely grateful to her. I also know that’s only because they care about me though.

  In true Maisy fashion; she is off to go and fight for the rights of the whole human race. Well, the part of it that might be lurking about in this corner of the universe at least.

  She’s been like this carefree superhero; shoring me up. Getting me into a position where I might actually be able to cope with all this.

  I do tear up when it’s time for her to go...and when we have our last goodbye hug I’m terrified. I’ve been leaning on her, I realise. For advice, support, conversation. Normality. She’s the only one who understands.

  What am I going to do without that?

  I’ll have to take responsibility for myself. It’s an obvious answer. And it sounds just like something Maisy would say.

  I dry my tears as I walk back with Micka. And I resolve to make a change. I’d been incredibly jealous of Maisy’s clothes, and I know she’d had them made somewhere on the station. I’d been too worried to ask though.

  I dither about it for a minute, looking up at Micka to ask and then losing my nerve.

  This might be a harder habit to break than I thought. I watch myself in the window as we travel up through the column of the space station back to our ring. Thinking. I push my hair out of my face, and I think I know what will cheer me up and make a change all at once. It’s whether I can get that on an alien space station.

  I look up to Micka again. Hmmmm.

  Maybe I’d be better to ask Doughnut. Titus, even.

  I scold myself; it doesn’t matter who you ask and you know it, you’re just putting it off.

  We step out of the lift and into the little eight-seater pod that will turn us and sync us up with the ring of the space station. It makes me feel pretty queasy but I just shut my eyes and breathe through it.

  I pop my eyes open when I hear the doors swish open and am quick to leave; I don’t like being in there much.

  Micka follows me out; we are in the bit of the ring that’s full of shops and traders and I look around, trying to spot something likely. It’s huge though; and busy.

  And more than a little overwhelming. Making my way through here has always been a sort of head down and push on type of operation for me.

  I feel like I’ve failed before I’ve even tried. I’m pretty sure Maisy would have just marched straight out there without a care.

  Micka stands next to me, “Sad about your friend, Little One?”

  Maisy told me time and again that they know what you’re feeling...and it affects them. Not to try and control it, just to be aware of it. It still takes her by surprise sometimes; and that it feels like they can read your mind. I don’t think you'd need any special senses to figure out that I’m sad that she’s gone.

  “Yeah, that’s some of it.”

  “And the rest?”

  We start walking. Honesty being the best policy might have to be my motto from this point onward if I’m going to make this work.

  “I wish I was a bit braver. It’s busy here and...it makes me a little anxious. I guess.”

  He stops walking again and so do I.

  “You want to go in for something?” Okay; that was very astute. He got that it’s not just the crowd, it’s the thought of going into the crowd.

  “Yeah...actually. I’d like a haircut.”

  “A mane tidy,” he sort-of gestures around the edge of his own short mane. I nod.

  “I know a couple of places; you will want one which caters more to the longer manes the females have...I think I know one. You want to try now?”

  I look around anxiously at the milling people. It’s not really crowded. It’s not even really that busy...just a healthy amount of people going on about their days. I take a steadying breath. This is well outside the comfort routine I’d been building for myself.

  “I’ll stay with you.”

  Okay, that alleviates some of the anxiety. Then it spawns another.

  “I don’t mind waiting.” I’m not convinced he’s not
reading my fucking mind. How can he smell that? I mean the anxiety I get. But what I’m actually anxious about must be guess work surely?

  “I can’t pay.” The ears go flat and then back up again. That one obviously hasn’t occurred to him. Then he smiles and…even with the fangs...it’s an indulgent smile. “What?”

  “I am happy to finally have the chance to give you something you want...it’s important to all three of us. We just want you to be happy.” He shrugs like that’s not weird. They don’t know me. I’m not anyone to them, a stray. But...it’s also incredibly sweet, and caring, and it warms me a little. I push it aside and we start to walk again, as we get nearer the crowds my nervousness increases and he reaches a hand out to me, I hesitate but...not for long. I’ve not been brave enough to touch them...but for a little while now, I think I’ve wanted to.

  His hand...paw...is massive. It grips my hand and I have time to examine what the pads on their hands feel like. Yielding and yet, a tiny bit rough. My fingertips brush the soft fur. It is very easy to imagine what it would feel like...elsewhere. That train of thought is enough to completely distracted me from the crowds.

  And he’s keeping my fingers toasty warm.

  He pulls me to a stop and looks down at me, really looks at me, for a long moment. Then bends give that quick top of my head sniff but...I’m used to that being over in a flash and when it isn’t, I look up into his face. His slitted pupils have gone so wide there’s almost none of the golden orange visible around it. I’m fixated by it, but then he shakes his mane out as he stands upright, breaking the spell.

  We’ve arrived at...well; it’s a hair salon. I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s open fronted so you can see right through. It doesn’t seem very busy. We are greeted by a male in an apron. The handles of various things sticking out of the front pocket.

  Micka goes and finds a seat and pulls out a data pad to work.

  I’m led past a couple of chairs occupied by females and Micka’s just left me to it and…the male behind me has just asked me something.