by Amanda Milo
This alien has really very nicely defined muscles.
My face feels suddenly very warm.
His fingers are big and solid and their light touch is making my insides start processes that they shouldn’t be interested in starting, especially when he’s doing so little. Confidently, he declares, “There. Dry.”
I’m uncomfortably aware that other parts of me are quite suddenly decidedly less dry.
I clear my throat. “Um, what were you threatening her with? Shock absorbers?”
“Oh that,” he grunts. He releases my wrist by carefully placing it against my side.
My body, for its part, remains limp and pliable for him, soaking up his concerned, gentle attention. I’m aware of him so suddenly and so strongly that it’s distracting. I take a step back, and Kota moves right with me.
“This side of the galaxy has seen advancements of all kinds in technology, but the most affordable, reliable option for transportation on the planet I hail from is conveyed by recalcitrant beasts. The vehicles we use—wagons and sleighs—absorb the bumps and jostles of the road using a series of multi-layered leather straps. They take a beating like nothing else. Not unlike Meesahrah,” he adds in a threatening growl that somehow holds affection.
“You use sleighs?” It sounds so old-world and quaint.
“Sleighs and wagons. I mentioned riding to the homestead—there’s a wagon stored in the next bay. That’s our way home.”
Riding in a wagon. Somehow, that strikes me as being almost as incredible as riding in a spaceship.
“May I place my hand on your back?”
“Uhhh…”
“To guide you,” he explains. “We can go up to the next level of the ship and walk around.”
“Sure.”
The heat of his palm sears low along my spine and I swear I feel my face heating up again. It’s a ridiculous reaction; people touch me all the time. In fact, most don’t even ask—good Samaritans see a blind person and the first thing they are compelled to do is reach out and grab them. Their hearts are in the right place, but to abruptly be latched onto without warning is a bit unnerving. Not to mention dangerous if we lose our balance when a stranger suddenly tows us along. That this alien so conscientiously gains permission first… well, it’s really, really nice.
Just like the light pressure of his broad hand.
“In my early years, I used to build them,” he says seemingly apropos of nothing until I recall that we were talking about wagons. “First day on the job, I was told to fetch a wiffletree coupling. I thought, ‘What in the tevek…’ By the time they ordered a thing called a lazyback iron, I thought they must be joshing me. Who named these parts? Perch plate whip socket, a stake pocket. It all sounded ridiculous to me.”
“But you caught on and built beautiful wagons?”
“Wouldn’t that make a nice story?” Humor coats his words. “I wish I could boast such a fine ending, but at best, my efforts were passably sufficient. No one would ever mistake me for having a gift in that area. I was as useless as a Narwari’s front fangs are long.”
Considering where my hand had been a few moments ago, this adage is just the littlest bit unsettling. It’s probably a good thing he didn’t share it until after his friend sucked my arm into her mouth.
CHAPTER 9
SANNA
Kota whines and I stroke my hand in the space between her ears. “I bet everything looks different, huh girl?”
We’re sitting huddled under the canvas top of the first wagon Kota and I have ever had the experience of sitting in. Ekan helped Breslin roll the ‘vehicle’ out (it seems super strange to refer to it as a vehicle, but I suppose it is), but first they got us tucked safely inside while the pair of friends started in on their goodbyes.
It’s POURING rain. It fit my mood a few minutes before, when the other human woman on this ship, Beth, gave me a desperate hug.
As hot drops landed on me—teardrops, not rain—I almost started crying too as we clutched at each other, two complete strangers far, far away from home—but then Ekan interrupted, exclaiming, “You’d think we were beating them! There’s no need for tears. You’re both in good hands—mine are better; sorry, Sanna—but you’ll see each other again soon.”
Since that (cocky) pronouncement, I’ve breathed a little easier.
Kota’s head turns this way and that, and I know she’s watching Breslin because whenever he speaks, her head is already pointing in his direction.
Finally, Ekan calls, “Bye for now, Sanna!”
“Bye for now,” I answer back, holding him to this promise even though the idea of me being picked up again does not bring much relief. The idea that I get to go home while other women are going to be abducted isn’t something I feel right about getting excited for.
The wagon dips low as Breslin hauls himself onto the bench beside Kota and me. “I’m sorry. I wish you could experience the beauty of my home without such miserable weather.”
I send him a smile. “Every storm brings flowers, right? Take being abducted and sold to an alien, for example. I’d consider that a pretty big storm. So far, you’re quite the cheery little—or very big—flower in all this.”
His chuckle makes all my nerve endings sing. “No one’s ever dared to call me a flower before.”
I give him an exaggerated shrug. “It’s not every day you’re gifted a human slave-bride.”
Now he outright laughs. “Said true, Sanna. Said true.”
He clucks to Meesahrah and gives her the command to haul out.
Despite the excellent leather strap shock absorbers this wagon surely has, it’s no smooth-riding BMW or Mercedes-Benz. We roll along for a few minutes in silence, though it’s the very farthest thing from quiet: the sound of rain pounding against the canvas wagontop is deafening and even drowns out the grinding creaks of the wooden board and metal frame that I can feel groaning and creaking even if I can’t hear them.
My teeth clack together hard when the wagon lurches. Kota and I are slung forward. We don’t sail off the bench though—we’re caught by a big, strong arm. “Tevek!”
“What’s wrong?”
“We just got stuck,” Breslin mutters darkly.
“Stuck how?” I ask.
“Wagon wheel in a kritted mud sinkhole—” A series of alien words that do not translate issue forth rapidly from my (up until this point) unflappable, amiable companion as he drops his arm from us and hops off the wagon. “I’m going to have to lift the entire frame to free the wheel. Hold on to the seat for balance, because there’s going to be a jolt when Meesahrah hauls us out of the mud, understood?”
I grab onto the edge of our seat with a death grip. “Got it. Thanks.”
“Good.” A moment passes and the wagon shudders mightily—but we’re not freed.
The shudder comes again and Breslin’s grunt is a massive thing and speaks of excessive effort a millisecond before the world tilts, the whole wagon finally rising up on one side.
“Meesahrah,” Breslin’s voice is strained with effort, “please, walk on.”
Nothing happens.
“Meesahrah? Walk. On.”
...Still nothing.
Kota’s tags jingle and her ear knocks my hand as she cocks her head.
Breslin’s voice explodes. “THROW RUG!”
The wagon gives a half-hearted heave.
“Good. Hup, hup!”
Nothing more happens.
“TEVEKING, SWAY-BACKED, KRITTED, BUCK-TOOTHED—”
The insults would blister my ears with their intensity if I didn’t find them oddly amusing. I bite my lips.
By the time Breslin reaches the end of his tirade, he’s panting and back to being calm, which only makes it funnier when he delivers a conversational, “Your dam gave birth to you under a bad moon, didn’t she?”
I’m silently snickering into my hands when the wagon sinks back into the mud and Breslin’s voice appears at my ear. “Keep laughing, Sanna. You’re going to drive.”
I rear sideways, bumping into Kota. “Me? I don’t know how—”
“You’re about to learn.”
Leather lines are draped over my lap. A rod pokes the webbing near my thumb. “Open your hand,” Breslin says patiently. “This is the whip.”
“I’m blind I don’t think it’s a good idea to be whipping at anything!”
“You won’t be. Meesahrah’s got her eye on it though and if she needs incentive, raise the whip up like you’re about to pop it, and she’ll move.”
I worry my lip and grip the reins, feeling the stitches along either edge of the leather. Feeling them out, taking the time to learn them grounds me and the panic subsides a little.
The fight against the mud’s suction is fearsome. I can feel the power it takes Breslin to haul the wagon up again—the slog we’re stuck in seems to be sucking at us harder this time around.
“Sanna,” he grunts, his voice strained and causing warm shivers to run up and down my body that have nothing to do with the mist of rain chilling my skin, “Lift that whip and direct her a little to your left.”
I pull on the rein. But I’m not sure how hard to pull it. I feel at a large disadvantage not being able to see Meesahrah respond, but just as I lament this to myself, movement carries through the line and bells jingle, signaling she’s turned a little. I hope she knows what’s enough...
“Tell her to walk on,” he instructs.
I try, but she doesn’t respond to me at all. Dogs are like this—some dogs know you’re not their owner, so they don’t have to listen to you and that’s that. “Bres—”
“Shout it,” Breslin instructs.
“I can’t—”
“Yes you can. SHOUT IT.”
“Meesahrah, WALK… ON.” For good measure, I weakly lift the whip.
The wagon jumps forward.
“GOOD SALKS!” Breslin whoops.
My translator pops, Good girls! into my head. And I can’t tell if Na’rith technology is expressing the sense of praise in the words, or if I’m reacting to what I hear in Breslin’s voice, but warm approval washes over me, making my skin tingle.
It feels good—but it’s not enough to calm my nerves. Not by a long shot. “What do I do now?” There may be a slight note of panic coating every word. I’m no longer pulling the rein left; I don’t know how wide the road is, or if Meesahrah’s corrected us to a straight line, I didn’t hear the jingle of the harness but I might have missed it over the sound of the rain—
“Easy, whoaaah,” Breslin says easily and just like that, Meesahrah slows us to a halt. “I should be grateful for the bath and shower, but I don’t feel very clean,” he comments as the wagon dips and he lands on the bench next to us again. A slightly broken up, muffled inhale leads me to imagine he’s scrubbing his hands over his face and slicking water and mud off of himself. “You’re doing well, Sanna. Let’s have you drive us home.”
It’s ridiculous that an alien telling me I’ve done a good job should affect me at all, but a gratifying pulse zips through me at his words. “Thanks. And okay then; tell me what to do.”
Breslin’s instructions are all given in a patient, measured manner, and it makes me feel ridiculously accomplished to drive us along the rutted road, and feel Meesahrah respond to cues that I feed her through the reins and with my words.
Some time later, Breslin murmurs, “We’ve made it here. Now say, hup, hup, slowww, just like that.”
With more confidence than I would have thought myself possible, I tell an alien creature (that tried to go full Dyson on my arm) to trust that I know what she should do—and she does, she trusts me and listens obediently. It’s hugely… satisfying.
It’s second only to clocking in at my job. I’m employed in a factory that makes body pillows and pet beds. I force Poly-fil baffles into impossible shapes and fight stuffed bolsters inside of their proper covers. It’s not the work per se that I love; it’s the independence. Getting to drive a vehicle for the first time in my life? This is cool.
Kota shifts beside me and makes a four-part, soft, whuff-whuff-whine that she does whenever we encounter something new and she’s gearing up to meet the challenge.
I know how she feels.
“You did wonderfully,” Breslin comments.
It’s simple praise but it lights me up inside so that I feel like the sun is shining on me, heating me up and we’re not about to have an ark float by, despite the current conditions.
“I’m going to hop down and open the barn, and you can direct her in while I close up the gates.”
“How will I know where to go and when to stop her?”
“She will know. Don’t give it any worry.”
I give her the command to walk on when Breslin tells me to, and with no prompting from me, Meesahrah gets us rolled to the right place and slows to a stop on her own.
Her harness jingles and the lines abruptly slap in my hands, making me tighten my grip on them.
“Stop it,” Breslin warns from farther away than I’m comfortable with considering I can’t see what our ride is doing.
Meesahrah moos but the jingling falls silent and the reins relax.
A moment later, Breslin is at the side of the wagon. “Will Kota need to relieve herself? Does she do this outside like an animal or…”
“Yes, like an animal,” I confirm. “Where should I walk her?”
“Allow me to help you down,” he says and his hand is rough in mine and dripping water.
I’ve secretly been dreading the getting-down part. It’s a bit daunting because when I was on the ground, I found out the step to get up here is near my shoulders in height and there’s only the one. To get me seated, Breslin lifted me up and set me in and I wonder if I’m exiting this way too. It’s a long, long jump down to the ground otherwise.
“Put your hands on my shoulders,” he instructs.
The fabric of his shirt is soaking wet but his shoulders are pleasantly warm and deliciously hard. Instantly, I’m warm all over despite the chill.
His rough hands close around my waist and he picks me up by my hips and sets me on the ground.
I’m still recovering from his help when his attention turns to my best friend. “Kota, can you make it or should I pick you up?”
Kota leaps down effortlessly behind me.
“What a bright salk. Alright, Sanna, I’m taking you by the elbow,” he warns as he moves his touch, “And if you want to stay dry you can walk her the length of the barn if you think she’ll go in the shavings, or we can go through the side door if she needs to go outside.”
“Unfortunately, probably outside. She’s never been allowed to go to the bathroom in any sort of building and she isn’t likely to start now.” Some people who’ve never had a dog don’t think they can feel shame, but Kota does. Maybe it’s a German shepherd thing, but they don’t even like to get sick on the carpet. It bothers her when she does things she knows aren’t proper.
“Outside it is then. Sorry, Meesahrah, you stay.”
Bells jingle.
“I said stay—I’ll be back soon.”
There’s a loud huff and the bells fall silent.
Breslin mumbles, “I’m going to be making that up to her until she stops pouting.”
“Why is she pouting? Is it the rain?”
He snorts. “No, she doesn’t mind the rain. She just doesn’t like to share my attention. If she followed us out she’d feel better spoiled, but until she’s unhitched, she’s just going to have to wait.”
My tongue presses the inside of my cheek, and I feel my lip twitch. “Ah. I see. Kota gets that way a bit. I don’t think she’s quite on par with Meesahrah though. She sounds pretty…”
“She is. It’s her only charm.”
“...high maintenance.”
“Oh you have no idea.”
I find myself grinning at his tone. It’s that of a longsuffering owner—one undeniably fond of his brat.
Before we make it out the door, Breslin stops u
s and I hear a light rustling. “Here, I happen to have a slicker for this weather. If only I’d packed it in the wagon,” Breslin says wryly. “Though that wouldn’t have saved me from the knees down. I found out I have a hole in my boot the moment it filled up with cold slime.”
“Aww,” I grimace in commiseration. “Sorry…”
“It’s fine. Take the slicker: it’ll make for a dryer walk for you.”
“Thank you.” I move to take it but end up standing still when he seems to want to help me into it. I don’t get the sense he thinks I’m helpless. It seems more like a polite, otherworldly etiquette thing. Although, I think my parents do this. I can see why. It’s… really nice.
But it’s a weird walk. If I’d woken up right here, I’d have known I was in a very strange place and far from home. The air is so crisp and clean, I feel both more awake and more relaxed. There’s no car horns, no chatter of a crowded sidewalk, no buzzing of electric lightposts along the street, no water running off the the street drains. The only sound is the softly-falling rain.
That and the single squelching step for every other step Breslin takes. Imagining the mud oozing through the hole in his boot, my smile is all sympathy. “Are you the only one that lives in this area?”
“The closest neighbor is three sticks away. His Narwari are due for a hoof trim and he’s got a young bunch that he wants trained to harness, so you’ll get to meet him if you like.”
“I… I’m not sure I should make connections. I’m just going to have to leave them.” Rainwater splashes over my shoes, which were once very new, very lovely tennis shoes that felt so light it was like walking on clouds. They now feel like squishy lead weights.
Breslin’s growl somehow conveys the sense that he’s hearing what I’m saying, a quality I appreciate. “Understood. But Ekan was right: you’ll go mad if you stay inside all day. My house is nothing more than a place to get out of the weather and rest when the work’s done.”
I feel my cheek dimple as I hold back a smile. “But it’s a farm. Is the work ever done?”
“No it is not. Therefore, it’s a kritted small house.”