The Fly House (The UtopYA Collection)

by Misty Provencher

  The darkness held her answer for several moments. Then a small sigh. "I'm not worried about anything. You're the one that should be worried."

  "If I wanted to, I'd be sure you wanted to do it too," he said. "Good?"

  "Well, I don't want to," she snapped.

  "Then go to sleep," he said.

  "I don't want to," she said, but he felt the bed move as she laid down beside him.

  He liked the feeling of sharing his bed, the way he could feel the fog of her body heat at his back. His flex pinched and he adjusted it with a slow push of hips that made him think of how her legs had been wide open in front of him earlier.

  He stayed where he was until her breathing dropped into the mechanical rhythm of rest. Then he shifted to his back. Her back was to him, a soft landscape of a shadow beside him.

  He thought of how she'd fought him as he'd held her legs open. His mind wandered to what it shouldn't—the velvet of her lower mouth suckling his fingers; the slippery heat and softness inside her; the pleasurable swell at the mount of her sex that pulsed beneath his thumb. She snored softly beside him and he laid there in the dark, willing himself not to touch her, not to taste her, not to do anything that would break this fragile bit of trust she had seemed so loath to give.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Hot Season Six, Year 2095

  The morning came fast for Diem, but not as fast for Maeve. He woke and felt her beside him and laid there longer than necessary to enjoy it. Her back to him, he memorized the colors in her hair, the odd weave in the fabric of her shirt, and then the way her naked hips sloped up from the valley of her waist. He traced the sensual thickness of her thigh, the fold of her legs at the knee, and he sat up with the pretense of a good stretch, when he really wanted to view that secret place of her.

  The sight of it grew him even harder, so he stood. He was building trust. He played the tune of the words over and over in his head as he stepped out of the shack and walked out into the spindlings to relieve himself instead.

  Just as Diem finished emptying his bladder on one of the spindlings, he heard the crunch of the leaves far off behind him. He turned to see Phuck, at a distance, picking his way toward him. Forge was already threading out of her lair, so Diem gave her a short double whistle, to halt her impending attack on the overseer, while still keeping her on guard. She couldn't do much from the open ground, as the spindlings were fire-proof and supplied some protection, and there was no way Forge would torch the overseer if Diem was close enough to get it too. However, Diem did fantasize, as he always did, about bringing the overseer into the opening and letting the dragon do whatever she wished to Phuck.

  "Blessings!" Phuck called out as he advanced.

  "Blessings," Diem returned, with far less enthusiasm. He needed to keep Phuck away from his shack, away from Maeve, since he hadn't gotten to ask Hold House for their help yet.

  If Phuck saw her, there was no telling what would happen. Out of suspicion that the humans were keeping other humans secreted away from him, the overseer could kill her on the spot with one hissing stream of his venom. At the very least, he would likely take her away for inspection and questioning, which the Plutians did in the very beginning, right after the Scorching. Diem had heard Breathe and Journey speak of it, and even though they never gave any specific details, their brows would pinch and their voices quake with the memories. All Diem knew was that the inspections must have been highly disturbing and the retelling of them too horrific.

  Diem stayed where he was, since walking out to meet Phuck seemed more suspicious that waiting for the Plutian to stumble and pick his way over. Phuck's face was particularly dark at the center that morning, as if the darkness was spinning at the base of his absent nose. It was always unsettling to look into the rotted, open pod of Phuck's face, but it was particularly disturbing today. Diem looked off into the spindlings instead, as was acceptable for Plutian conversation.

  "What brings you to the private grounds so early this morning?" Diem asked. He didn't work very hard to veil the bite in his tone. There was no reason for the overseer to come out to the grounds, other than to be making trouble or digging up the eggs he'd hidden. Phuck didn't trust Diem so much after all.

  "I've come to speak with you," Phuck said. "Could you cave your dragon so that we may have a cup of caffe together?"

  Diem ignored the request. "How did you know I was here?"

  "Well," Phuck giggled, leaning a shoulder on the damp spindling that Diem had just coated. "Locating you was not such an easy task, but your House Party was a great success, it seems. There are humans scattered from the front clearing of the House, all the way to the spindlings. All of them making those hideous sleep growls."

  "Snoring," Diem provided, leaning a shoulder on a dry spindling. A few hampigs skittered through the bushes toward the training grounds. Diem watched as the tiny animals made it to the field where Forge scooped them up and ate them.

  "So many humans!" The overseer was still blabbing. "I couldn't make two steps through the lot without stepping on a face! I resorted to walking over them like stepping stones, there was simply no other way. It did not make them joyful, but that is what happens when there is such a surplus that they make their beds in the way of the House steps." Phuck leaned on the trunk of a spindling. "I found one of your House Mates, Spirit, by luck, wedged between two females from Breed House. I should say they had some good mating, as I had to pick his face off the ground by the hair, in order to have our conversation. He was not in the best of mood, but he provided my answer to your whereabouts."

  "Good," Diem sighed. "So what is it that you want?"

  "There are new developments," Phuck said. He twisted his hands with excitement. "Our trade is expanding."

  Diem pushed his shoulder off the tree to stand straight before Phuck. "We're getting more dragons?"

  "Well," Phuck drawled. "No. Just expanding the trade. We plan to offer other items to the planetary market. It's quite exciting."

  "What other items will I be responsible for harvesting?"

  "Well," Phuck giggled, his mouth swallowed completely in his facial black hole. When the giggle faded, the lip dropped back down in a flat line beneath the shadow. "Humans. That is what Pluto will be harvesting. Humans, for service to the other planetary beings."

  ***

  Phuck wasn't prepared for the entire weight of Diem, the whole bulk of him, to come sailing through the air like a dragon, before falling down on Phuck's shoulders and dropping the two of them into a pungently scented puddle on the ground. Phuck's back hit with a splash. Diem, landing on top of him, wisely captured Phuck's jaw knob, forcing the whole face to the side, so the Plutian could not lash out with his deadly venom.

  Phuck assumed the human did not know that Phuck had expected this anger, although not to this degree. Phuck was fond of Diem, mainly for having a sister who Phuck wanted to mate with, but also for having the ability to perform the necessary actions he needed to gain his own independence through the barters on the Hope Market. Once that independence from Pluto was reached, he was certain he would be less fond of Diem, but as it stood now, he couldn't kill him without some detriment to his own future. Fond, he would be.

  "Humans?" Diem snarled. "You plan to harvest humans?"

  Phuck's cheeks, compressed beneath Diem's hand, made it difficult for the overseer's lips to move. It was no way to have a conversation. Yet, Phuck insisted to himself that he must maintain a level of fondness, even under these circumstances.

  "It is not a foreign concept to humans to take one another as servants, or to trade one another," Phuck's words accordian'd out through fish lips. It seemed Diem compressed the Plutian's face even harder.

  "Just because it was done does not mean it has ever been acceptable. You cannot do this."

  "It was," Phuck said, slurping up the saliva and venom that pooled in his jaw, "not my decision. My superior...Shetbahg...he came to speak with me."

  "Shetbahg," Diem hissed between his teeth
, "he's here?

  "He has departed. Would you release my face, yes please?" Phuck asked. He felt the human's hesitation and knew exactly why he wasn't being released. All Phuck had to do was spray a shot of venom at the human and the liquid would burn through the flesh and seek out the human's organs, disintegrating him from within. The humans called it coring. But Phuck, having just returned from being spared his own beheading by 38596, felt a little generous with his forgiveness. "I understand your dismay, and therefore, will spare you from a coring in this instance."

  Diem pushed down a little harder than Phuck thought necessary, using Phuck's face to steady himself as he got to his feet. Once released, Phuck stood too. His face still felt compressed and he kneaded it with his sensory digits, every now and then punching into the dark center by accident. Diem watched, although it was obvious his vision was elsewhere than the Plutian's face.

  "When is this happening? And how will it happen? Why?"

  Phuck continued to knead the jaw knob, beneath his food receptacle. "Shetbahg had noticed declining shipments, and Pluto relies upon those resources."

  "Shetbahgs," Diem mumbled. Phuck steepled his fingers, pointing them at Diem.

  "No, no, this is not for his own family's well being. It is for the whole of Pluto."

  "Yes, because you're all so impoverished."

  "Actually, our planet is quite satiated. But it is only fair that we would like more."

  "Fair? How gluttonous of you."

  Phuck smiled, since his mental palate couldn't sense Diem's bitter coating of sarcasm.

  "We do enjoy our plenty," he said. As Diem seemed to pale, Phuck leaned back against the urine-washed tree again. He sought to ease the human a bit. He did not wish for his highly talented dragon trainer to be so riled. "There must be a great cost associated with humans, as Shetbahg is willing to collect only one human for each dragon our House is short of quota."

  "Wait," Diem's eyes flicked back to the overseer. "A human is collected only if a shipment is short? What is the quota?"

  "Yes, that is the way it was explained. The quota, however, is nine dragons."

  "Nine!" Diem yelped. "We've only ever shipped seven and that was only when the entire operation began. When no one knew what they were doing! Why would Shetbahg do this? He must know we're skimming for the Hope Market."

  "I did not receive that impression," Phuck said, massaging his head stem. Indeed, the proposition of the new trade, rather than his swift beheading, was proof to him that 38596 did not suspect their small, side business.

  Diem dragged his hand through his hair. "Well, we can make it this quota...there are only four hens in training, but we can take four from the unexpected catch..."

  The human's eyes wandered off to Forge, who was now lying on her side, her eyes glued to Diem and the overseer, as the hens tumbled and frolicked together around her belly. Phuck cleared his throat.

  "I would be willing to donate the five from my catch," Phuck said, "as there is another caveat which concerns me."

  "Your catch..." Diem snarled. Pulled lips, tucked brow, growling voice. Phuck was losing control and he simply did not want to core Diem and lose the most talented dragon trainer he had on Earth.

  "The caveat," Phuck replied sharply, "is that if Fly House's shipment is short, then the Rha is expected to contribute a human from his own bloodline for the harvest."

  "From my family!" Diem roared. The ground shook as Forge jumped to her feet. She shot a hot draft of flame into the air in warning. The trainer did not whistle to calm her and, for the first time, Phuck realized his huge disadvantage. Even if he were to drop the human in his tracks with a shot of venom, the dragon would still seek revenge. The thought dried the venom in the tube beneath his tongue. There wasn't enough venom in twenty Plutians to drop a full grown dragon.

  The regrets multiplied in Phuck's head. He should have sucked up his fear of the dragons and trained the creature for his own use from the very beginning, as he was supposed to. But all the overseers had allowed their human Rhas to control their own dragons. But, Phuck saw the mistake clearly, now that it was too late. Diem's dragon was puffing small bursts of fire in the direction of the spindlings. Phuck searched for the fattest trunk nearby to take cover. None were thick enough to shield his entire body.

  "What do you mean from my family?" Diem ranted on. Phuck watched how the dragon began to pace in the clearing. "I will lay you all to drait before I give you either woman from my family!"

  "Calm, yes please," Phuck said. His own voice jumped. "I do not want this fate upon you either. You know my feelings for Karma. I would not wish to see her given to a Plutian house, much less...oh, the worst...to the Grafian. Those beings...oh!" Phuck shook his head and made a slippery tsk, since the black hole obscured his tongue. He meant to calm the human, to highlight that there were far worse places to be sold than to a household in Pluto, but all the explanation seemed to do was rile the human even more. Diem's eyes were wild, his body movements sharp and aggressive.

  "They will not go anywhere! But what do you plan to do about it? There is only her and Breathe and I! How will you keep them safe?"

  "I wish to keep Karma safe," Phuck corrected. "And you. You are a valuable dragon trainer."

  "And Gra Breathe!" Diem fired back. "She is like my mother and I would sacrifice myself before I would let her go."

  "I would not allow it!" Phuck said. "Why do you object to her as a candidate for harvest? She is too old to be of use! She cannot create generation for your House; she cannot toil like the young. Honestly, what value does she bring? She is not even beautiful..."

  "She is beautiful to me!" Diem shouted and the raw sound that came out of the human, as he grabbed hold of Phuck's collar, convinced Phuck in that very moment that humans were indeed the wild animals that other Plutians insisted they were. His brain rolled around the idea and quickly correlated the thought to Karma with the idea of her being a wild animal that he would bring into his bed. It excited him and Phuck's urine straw shot up like a post. It slammed against Diem's leg and caught the human off-guard. Diem's eyes shot down between them. A frown pulled at his lips as he released the Plutian with a shove. "Don't you dare go after my family, Phuck."

  "It is not my decision. I need nine dragons for quota, and minimum of three for my own enterprise. Four, if you wish for me to continue the portions you are enjoying now."

  "Enjoying? Fly House is the most prosperous and we are still scrambling every season's end to survive!"

  "But you do survive."

  "My House would need to work day and night to deliver you thirteen dragons a season!"

  "If that's what it takes. What else do you have to do, besides eat and sleep and mate? I can propose one solution, to prove my generosity to you. I may be able to take Karma as my Link to keep her out of the harvest," Phuck twiddled his fingers in front of him. "If you were short, one of these coming months. Otherwise, you will have to choose one of them or both, if the quota is not met."

  "Then we better uncover those eggs you have buried and sledge them open, so we are ready next month too," Diem growled. "Maybe we can work with Hold House, to keep any surplus, so we can use them to cover..."

  Phuck adjusted his pants, tucking down his deflating urine straw. "My buried eggs are not intended for covering shortages. They are mine, and I intend to sell those dragons on the Hope Market."

  "Not if I don't train the dragons for you," Diem said. Phuck let out a soft hiss, a warning of coming venom, and watched the human startle backward with wide eyes. It was a relief to Phuck to know that Diem still feared him.

  "You will train them for me, or even as it pains me, I will sell Karma and the old woman in place of the dragons I lose," Phuck said. He knew it was a bluff. He'd keep Karma for himself and use the proceeds of whatever the old woman would bring to lavish forgetting gifts on his new Link.

  Phuck turned from Diem, keeping his senses primed for an attack as he walked away. Over his shoulder he said, "Think on it, Rh
a Diem. Think on all of it."

  ***

  The Plutian bastards! The curse cut through Diem's mind as he watched Phuck pick his way through the spindlings. Diem wanted to kick something, beat something, kill something. Diem let out a roar, but the misery was still there, an immense rock taking up all the room in his gut.

  He turned and headed back to the shack, to Forge, to the seven hens that were not enough to save his family from being traded into the alien's slave market. Throwing open the door to the shack, he was startled by the figure of the woman, trying to work the pump on the wall. Pants-less. It took Diem's mind a moment to flip back through the events, landing on the lovely memory of Maeve's open legs and the succulent flower that had been exposed to him therein.

  She turned to the side to hide herself. When it was not successful, she turned her back to him, which was as sensuous and revealing as the front of her. He watched her blush and turn and pull at the tail of her shirt to hide from him as he admired every angle of her body that she exposed.

  "Blessings," he murmured.

  "Don't be grateful for what you're never getting," she snapped. He was sure she was nervous, maybe frightened, but at least she wasn't coming after him with the bucket again. This Maeve, in the light of day, was much more subdued and shy without pants.

  "It is a greeting," he told her. "When you encounter a friend, we say Blessings. When we leave them, we say Good Life."

  "Oh," she said. He didn't want her to stop talking. He kept his voice soft and low, a tone neither aggressive nor startling, nothing that would reveal how predatory his flex suddenly felt, as it straightened as if in search of her. He folded his hands casually over himself to hide it—not that she was looking. She was too busy trying to hide herself. As maybe she should, the way his flex poked at the palm of his hand.

  "What greetings did you use in the archaic?" he asked. His smooth tone seemed to work, she stood still, her white knuckles holding down the front of her shirt and far as she could stretch it.