by Ruby Dixon
"Good."
"Fine then," I retort.
"You still smell," she jabs back, tugging the blankets higher around her neck. Her tone is prickly now, and the carinoux tenses. She immediately makes a soft clucking noise in her throat and pets him until he calms down. "Now you've made Sleipnir mad. Go away already. I'm trying to sleep."
"I'm going," I say one last time, irritated. I walk away, heading toward the terrarium this time. As I do, I sniff my clothes again. I don't care what I look like. I came out here because I knew I wasn't the same male that left Kes Minor Station. I got tired of people seeing the war we lost when they looked at me. Living alone, I just pull on random clothing articles I find—an extra sleeve to protect my good arm, or an old length of flimsy plas-cloth wrapped around my neck to work as a scarf. What I look like doesn't matter. No one that's coming out here is coming because I'm such good company.
But for some reason, it bothers me that she thinks I smell.
I sniff my tunic again as I quickly puff my carcinogel stick. The moment I stub it out, I head for the lavatory. I pull off my work goggles and look at my face in the mirror. There's a line of grime across my nose and cheeks from the parts of my face that are exposed as I work, and the top half of my face looks as if it belongs to someone else. I hate the way my mismatched eyes look, and the scarring around the socket.
The human probably finds me hideous.
I look down at the sink and notice I'm leaving dirty smears all over the metal. I guess I could use a wash. Irritated, I peel off layers and kick them aside, not looking in the mirror again. I don't want to see where the metal of my cybernetic arm joins with my flesh. I don't want a reminder of how abnormal it looks, how cheap the replacement is. I already know it's poorly made every time it makes the rest of my body ache. It's just another reminder that I'll always be station trash, and I don't need to see it. I peel my glove off last, because I don't like seeing the raw components, the metal gears and fake tendons where my real hand once was.
The shower feels good, though. I keep the water at lukewarm, mostly because I know if I spike it too hot, it sends feedback through my fake limbs and I don't want to feel that not-quite-right response. I scrub at my filthy hair and equally filthy face, and as I do, I think about the human.
I don't even know her name. I'm sure they told me, but I'm also sure I wasn't listening. It's probably something soft-sounding, something sweet and gentle like her. I've never been around a human before, but I've heard all kinds of things through the rumor mill, and all of them are filthy. I think of the human's haunting, delicate face and sad eyes…and her fascinating mouth. It's a shade between pink and brown that I've never seen before, and it shouldn't transfix me as much as it does.
I think about that mouth, and how she sniped at me for not feeding her. I think about her sharp words—so strange coming from one as soft as her—and then how her voice turned achingly sweet as her pet approached.
She'd touched my chest. Moved close to me and looked up at me with dark eyes that snapped fire even though her tone was nothing but honey.
With a groan, I grab my cock.
It's been a long keffing time since I've stroked myself, and I use my good hand to grip my cock carefully, avoiding the piercings, and work my shaft. I squeeze and stroke roughly, and it doesn't take long for me to come, my seed splattering on the tile as I gasp out my release. I think of her face the entire time, and wonder how it would look with my spend sprinkled over that pink-brown mouth and probably equally pink-brown tongue…
The breath hisses from my throat as I squeeze out another spurt of semen, working the head of my cock, and then I'm spent.
Now that I'm done, I feel…ashamed. I jerked off to a human that clearly thinks I'm revolting and wants nothing to do with me. I can't blame her—no one wants a half-metal curmudgeon whose head is filled with war nonsense. I finish washing with brisk, almost brutal motions, and head back to my quarters, naked. My clothing is too filthy to put back on, so I'll dig something new out.
And then I'll get back to work, because my head's too full of nonsense and I know my dreams won't be pleasant.
12
SOPHIE
I wake up to the sound of moaning, and bolt upright in bed.
Clutching the thin blankets to my chest, I look around, my skin prickling. Is this place…haunted? I mean, sure, it's creepy and abandoned and some of the lights flicker, but it's in space. When I think of space, I don't think of ghosts. To me, this asteroid is more like an abandoned broken-down station or a junkyard.
But then the moan rises again, echoing off the metal walls. I look over at Sleipnir. The carinoux watches me with big, glowing eyes. Either he doesn't believe in ghosts, either, or it's all in my head. Worried, I look around my room and start to lie down again.
The moment I do, I hear another pained groan, and Sleipnir's ears twitch.
Okay, that no longer sounds like a ghost. It sounds like my asshole host, Jerrok the Jerk. But why is he moaning in the middle of the night? I look around my room. It's hard to tell timeframes in space, but I have the lighting in the room set to establish a twenty-four-hour day. That means that the lights gradually come on at around seven in the morning and get gradually dark after ten at night. The fact that it's still pitch black in here tells me that it's night. So…what gives?
I get to my feet and pull on a heavier tunic over my sleep shirt, one of Adiron's old ones that I cut down the front to act as a robe. With a touch, I turn the lights on, and they flicker and stutter before brightening, which doesn't help my already creeped out mood. I pad down the chilly hall, comforted by the fact that Sleipnir's at my heels. He's not panicking, so I don't, either. As I turn a corner, the moan rips through the halls again.
Jesus, it sounds like the man's being tortured. Worried, I head toward the last room that I saw Jerrok in. His work area is empty, the lights still on and some of the equipment still humming with energy. I look for switches and flick them off as I move through the room, waiting for another moan to lead me in his direction. Sure enough, he moans again, louder this time, and I could swear I hear words.
"No…no…"
A nightmare, then. I turn in the direction of the noise and notice a door panel I hadn't seen before. "Come on, Sleipnir," I whisper.
I tiptoe down the new hall, trying not to notice that it's dark and cluttered. At the far end, there's a room with an open door (probably broken, just like everything else on this station) and in the gloom, I can just barely make out a figure lying on a bed. Jerrok. As I step into his room, I notice it's much, much smaller than my own…and that it's clean of the incessant junk that seems to cover every other inch of the station. The bed seems to be the only important thing in here, other than what look like a few weapons neatly arranged on the walls.
In the middle of the narrow bed, I see a blue shoulder, and his entire body seems to be shaking. As I take a step forward, he thrashes onto his back, and I get a glimpse of his mechanical arm as he flings it out and nearly knocks me to the ground.
Sleipnir begins to growl.
I put a hand over his mouth. "Shhh, boy." I can't take my eyes off Jerrok. He looks…well, he looks completely different than he did earlier. Gone are the layers of rags and filth. He's naked from the waist up, tattooed over varying parts of his chest, as if emphasizing the native plating that all mesakkah have. His skin is a smooth blue and his face is definitely a lot more youthful than I thought now that it's clean. He's handsome, too. The scarring around his eye and the mismatched oddness isn't noticeable right now, and he's pretty enough to do adverts. Well, not entirely. His features are a little thinner than most broad mesakkah faces, but he's got beautiful cheekbones and a gorgeous mouth that looks absolutely unfair on a man. His neck is thick and strong and leads down to a heavily tattooed collarbone. There's a lot of scar tissue built up on one shoulder, and it leads to the cybernetic arm that looks…not great. They're not supposed to be rusty, are they? Or have exposed wiring? But Jerrok's ha
s both. And when he thrashes again, it makes a whirring noise, like I can hear the mechanical parts working.
How odd.
"No…" he groans again. "One…two…three…"
Counting? Weird.
"Seven…eight…" he pants, and I can see sweat pouring from his face as it contorts in what looks like pain.
Even though I don't like the guy, I also don't like seeing someone in pain. I sink down next to the bed, mindful of his flailing arms, and gently touch his hip. "Jerrok? You're having a nightmare—"
He rolls over and immediately grabs my arm with his cybernetic one, his eyes flaring awake. A hoarse shout rips from his throat.
I gasp, startled.
Sleipnir roars and leaps into action. The next thing I know, the carinoux has his mouth latched onto Jerrok's metal arm and he shakes his head, furiously, as if trying to separate it from his body.
Jerrok lets me go with a grunt of pain, rolling back onto the bed. Sleipnir falls onto him, all muscle and teeth.
"No!" I cry, putting my arms around Sleipnir's neck. "Don't, kitty! He's just having a bad dream!"
Jerrok gives me a wild-eyed look as I try to pull the cat off, but he says nothing. He doesn't even fight. He just stares at me as if seeing a ghost, his arm in my pet's mouth, and lets the carinoux maul him.
"Sleipnir!" I say sharply and reach into the fanged mouth to pry his teeth off of Jerrok's arm. "No! Bad boy!" The carinoux finally lets go and gives me a wounded look, slinking away a few feet. He immediately moves behind my legs, as if he wants to protect me even if I don't want protecting. "I'm sorry, Jerrok. You were having a bad dream and I thought I'd wake you up—"
"It's nothing," he says flatly.
"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
"I said, it's nothing." The look he gives me brooks no argument. "Are you done now? Or do I need to expect another attack from your pet while I sleep? It's a hell of a way to wake a male up."
I straighten, closing my robe as I do. Why the fuck is he lashing out at me? "You woke ME up with your nightmare. Excuse me for being worried."
He sits up on the bed, his hand moving over his mechanical arm, touching wiring and then lifting a panel that sizzles when he does. His mouth—which I thought was beautiful just a short time ago—is a thin line of displeasure.
I wince, thinking of how Sleipnir shook him back and forth, trying to rip his arm off. I guess it's a good thing that it was a mechanical arm instead of a real one, but…that can't be pleasant. "Are you okay?"
Jerrok shoots me a glare. "Do I look okay? Your pet tried to chew my arm off and now I have to fix it. Just stay the kef away from me in the future, all right?"
I suppose that's what I get for trying to be a decent human being. He's not wrong about Sleipnir, but…does he have to be such an ass about it? "Fuck you too," I say, and turn to leave. "Come on, Sleipnir." I pat my leg and leave the room, and the carinoux follows me.
When I head back to my bedroom, I spend about fifteen to twenty minutes trying to shove the door to the hallway closed. It doesn't want to work, which just irritates me, because I'd love nothing more than to shut myself away from that dickface. I give up and crawl back into bed, and the carinoux is all loving cuddles, pushing his big head against my hand for petting. I rub his scales, listening to the sound of Jerrok in his work room. I can practically hear him grumbling, and it just makes my mood as bad as his.
I really hope this trip the Little Sister is on isn't a long one.
13
SOPHIE
For the next few days, I hang out in my room.
Okay, I hide out in my room. Hide, not hang. It's just that…things are so tense between me and Jerrok that I don't want to face him. I know he doesn't want me here. He's made that painfully obvious. And thanks to the fact that I freaked out, Sleipnir mauled his arm. Even if it's cybernetic, I can't imagine that felt good. The carinoux is just following his instincts and protecting me from threats. I can't be mad at that. Heck, I wish I had Sleipnir at my side years ago when I was first tossed to the wolves. Having a big attack cat-lizard at my side makes me feel safe…even if it does piss off my host.
And really, there's nothing to do on this shitty station, no one to talk to, and nothing to see. There's no comm links, no vids, no nothing. In a way, it makes sense. You can't have a bunch of signals going out into space if you're trying to hide out. On the other hand, it makes for a very long, very boring day.
So I read Outlander. I snuggle with Sleipnir and pet him for hours as I savor every page, murmuring the words aloud as I read so I can really feel them. So I can make the story last longer. I leave my room only to use the bathroom or grab a bag of dry noodles and some water. Jerrok doesn't want to see me, either. Each morning, I've found a slab of meat laid out on some scrap metal for Sleipnir to eat, and the message is very clear—keep your animal away from me.
Sleipnir eats the food and then spends hours on end chewing on the metal while I snack on dry noodles. If I squint really, really hard, it's almost like potato chips. Almost.
I finish Outlander for the umpteenth time on day two and go to start it again. By day three, with nothing else to do, my eyes are crossing and I need a change of pace. I'm bored. So bored. I roll over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling for a while, trying to imagine ways to entertain myself. Maybe…cards? Dominos? I don't know how to play dominos, though. The aliens like a game called “sticks” which is all about the placement of hand-sized tossed sticks, but I've never been able to figure that one out. Shit, I'd kill for a crossword or even some knitting needles right now. Something. Anything. Right about now I'd read medical brochures just because they'd be different. I've read Outlander far too many times in the last few months.
As I consider my small list of options, Sleipnir gets to his feet, stretches catlike, and then pads out of the room. Hm. I watch the carinoux go, and then sit up. He leaves a few times a day, and I have to admit, I haven't followed him. Now, though, I'm curious where he's going. I'm sure it's just a bathroom run, but I also wonder where he's doing his business.
Part of me hopes it's in Jerrok's bed, because fuck that guy.
I trail a fair distance behind the carinoux as he moves through the silent halls. I don't want him to notice I'm following and stop, so I keep my steps slow and silent. He heads down a few halls I've never ventured into. This entire station is like a maze of shelled-out spaceships and junk, and I guess I'm afraid of touching something I shouldn't.
Or I'm just afraid, full stop. I always feel so unsettled out here in space. So unsafe. I just want to feel secure and like I have a home again.
Distracted by my melancholy thoughts, I almost miss the sudden turn that Sleipnir takes, and then disappears through a doorway. I quickly jog to catch up to him, and then gasp at the sight in front of me. The new hall is shorter, clear of clutter, and leads out to an open area that's verdant with leaves and plant life.
A greenhouse. Or a biodome. Whatever it is, it's an enormous room built to house plant life, that much is obvious. I wander inside, utterly entranced. The ceiling is higher here than it is in the rest of the station, and it reminds me of the old gymnasiums back when I was in high school with the super-tall ceilings. The greenery goes all the way to that tippy-top ceiling, some of the stalks of greenery so big they take my breath away. There are beds filled with rich dirt in neat rows, and it's clear that this was once a garden or had some sort of organization to it. Each bed has mesh netting to help tendrils climb and grow tall, but they got too heavy long ago and now everything just sags with the weight of the fruit and leaves hanging from the thick clusters of vines. The beds are completely overrun with plants, roots squeezed and packed in tightly and sometimes crawling over the lip of the bed as if desperate to find any place to land. The scent here is fresh and clean, like a garden back home, and my eyes prick with memories. My mother had a garden. Just the easy stuff, she'd claimed—tomatoes and squash and peppers—but she'd loved tending to it, and it had been a joy I shared wi
th her. We'd spend time every afternoon when school was done making the rounds, exclaiming over a new bud or a tomato that suddenly turned red overnight. I'm hit with a wave of intense homesickness.
I've fought thinking about home for long, long years. It does no good to cry over what I'll never see again, people that have long forgotten me. But smelling this overgrown greenhouse makes me remember…and it makes me sad.
"Oh, for kef's sake," I hear a short distance away.
Sniffing, I wipe at my eyes and follow the sound of the voice. He's not as close as I thought, and I have to push my way through the tangle of vines to find him. Ducking my head, I turn a corner and see another entryway, and Jerrok lounging against the door jamb. He's got something that looks a bit like a bluish-gray cigar hanging out of his mouth, a faint smell of cloves in the air. His arms are crossed over his chest and he looks utterly disgusted as Sleipnir squats by a group of plants and takes a dump.
Jerrok looks up as I approach and gestures at the carinoux. "I can't get away from you two anywhere."
"I didn't realize this area was off limits," I say in a shaky voice, swiping at my eyes again. "Do you want me to leave?"
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he just stares at me for a long moment as I move to stand next to him. I hug my arms to my chest and look around at the plants. No flowers. Huh. This must have been someone's functional garden. It makes sense, but it also makes me sad. I'd love to see a big, cheery blossom right about now.
I can still feel Jerrok staring at me, so I give him an uneasy look. "What?"
His mouth works and he pulls the cigar thing out of his mouth and stubs it on the wall. "Are you…" He rubs his mouth. "Are you crying? I made you cry?"
I give a little huff. "Don't flatter yourself."