by Renee Rose
“Well, nothing is mandated,” she explains. “And right now, it’s just an idea Bayla had to get pregnant humans together, for support and friendship. So many of them are a little lonely, so it’s probably as much for company as anything else.”
I am eager for time with friends, but this hardly seems the ideal solution. “I’d love that,” I tell her, grinning in a way that shows my teeth and probably looks fake, but she’s turned to another human who is hovering near us.
“Katrin! You look amazing. Your face positively glows.”
Katin puts a hand on the small swell on her belly and beams. “I’m so happy.” She literally does shine, and I wonder if something about being pregnant with a Zandian baby does something special to a human’s anatomy, because I’ve never before seen a pregnant woman this beatific.
I offer my congratulations and hug her, and then I leave fast, eager to get back to my lab and finish my current work there.
When I get back, I head straight back to my lab space, instead of walking into the dome to greet my other mates. It’s awful, but lately I simply can’t bear looking them in the eyes, and I come up with more elaborate excuses every day to avoid their company. I have even been excusing myself from mating on occasion, saying that I have cramps or a headache. That, in turn, often results in a real headache when they fuss about me. Jax offers to take me to Dr. Daneth. Tarren complains that I work too hard. Then there is Ronan, trying to make me smile with a silly story. I’m sure they’re all confused, and maybe even hurt, but sometimes I can’t—I just can’t. They trust me and care for me so much, and I can’t keep up my deception much longer, and it’s killing me. I’m terrified of what they’ll say and do when they find out I’ve been lying, and that I accepted them as mates knowing I couldn’t bear young. How can they forgive me for it?
Jax has already dropped a delivery pod in my lab, and it’s waiting beside the door.
I wonder if it’s seeds, or more books from Dr. Daneth. But when I peer through the glass, something disturbingly familiar catches my eye. I see a small, silver disc with Ocretion lettering. An info disc. This drives fear into my heart, because it’s labeled:
“SLAVE 4356778A-CS-3. RIYA.”
Oh no. Fuck, no.
I put a hand to my mouth, and the nausea that’s been hitting me more often pulses hard. I run outside and make it just in time to retch the contents of my stomach into the fragrant basil I’ve grown near our dome entrance. Even after my stomach is long empty, the convulsions continue until I’m dizzy and my throat is raw, and my eyes tear up. Finally I whimper and wipe my mouth on the back of my hand, and clean up with water. Moving mechanically, I dab my eyes and brush my sweaty hair out of the way.
A strange sense of calm envelops me. Of course it was bound to happen. King Zander said he’d send them back when he approved our homestead. Now that they’re here, I simply must accept life as I know it is over.
As I stare at the piece of holographic aluminum, I can only see the faces of my mates, strong and beautiful. Ronan, so compact, his laugh lighting up his eyes, the way he makes it his whole goal to make me smile. Jax, insightful, the one who makes me think well of myself—not to mention his handsome face. And Tarren, my gruff warrior, the one who’d move the planets to ensure my comfort, the one who gets me in a deep way, making me feel like I’m not alone in this universe.
Then I think about the future, about how being with me ensures that all of their traits and wonders will die out. This is so much more than my own life and security. My selfishness has cost Zandia, but it’s not too late to fix it. I need to let them be with another mate, and I need to do it in a way that ensures they’ll never want me back.
I love them so deeply that I need to do this now, and fast, before I lose courage. I need to leave them in a way that is unforgivable, because my mates surely have forgiveness in them too.
After vomiting one more time, emptying myself of all the water I just drank, I pack a small satchel and grab my vest. Then I sit at the table and record the message. When I’m done, I carefully place the silver disc next to the comm device, and call Lily. My voice is even as I speak. “I need some help.”
Tarren
I’m so eager to see Riya after my long planet rotation that I brush past Ronan and Jax, not caring if I’m rude, ready to show her what I’ve brought. My heart leaps with unaccustomed anxiety as I shift the package in my arms, hoping it will please her. Maybe even help her pop out of her current slump, which we all feel.
But Jax and Ronan don’t accept my dominance.
Ronan elbows me. “Wait your turn, cousin.” He’s smiling, but the elbow hits my ribs, hard.
“Oof,” I grunt, scowling. If I weren’t holding this precious delivery of old Earth texts loaded onto holo comms, I’d drop him right now.
Taking advantage of our mini skirmish, Jax passes us both us and enters the dome.
“Riya!” he calls, his voice jolly. Then—“Riya?”
Hearing the question in his voice, I spin away from Ronan and trot into the dome, dropping my package by the door. “What’s going on?”
He frowns down at our group comm tablet, his back straight.
“What is that?”
“It’s a message. From Riya.” His voice is strange, flat.
“What did she say?” Ronan’s eager tone falters. “Where is she?”
“She left.” Jax is expressionless. He puts the comm unit down and walks to the window. “She’s gone.”
“To the forest again?”
Icy spires of anxiety curl through my chest as I grab the comm unit and play the message.
Jax, Ronan, Tarren, I need to leave. I’m sorry I’m not brave enough to say this to your faces, but it’s time I was honest. This mating group won’t work, and you will need to choose another mate.
I deceived you.
I can’t have children.
I know how Zandians feel about lying, so I understand you will rightfully hate me. I don’t know what King Zander will do with me, since I’m unable to breed, but I will throw myself at his mercy. Maybe he will even allow me to stay on Zandia. Either way, I hope—
Her voice breaks off, choked.
I hope you find a better female, one who will be able to commit to you fully and give you what you need and deserve.
“What the veck?” roars Ronan.
“She lied.” My voice is dull even though my hands shake. All I can see is red.
“What does this even mean? She’s infertile?” Ronan grabs his head. “Vecking tell me!”
Jax touches the disc. “Her records. Let’s find out.” He slides the thin silver disc into the comm port and documents flash up on the screen.
Slave determined to be incapable of fertilization. Slave notified of her physical condition. Slave understands that she can never become pregnant.
Veck.” Ronan’s tone is low with disbelief. “It can’t be right. It’s the wrong report.”
“It’s not.” Jax shakes his head. “It was labeled with her name and slave number. The barcode from her neck.”
I grab the device back to read more.
“Has King Zander read it?” Ronan leans close to my face to see.
“I don’t know what any being has vecking done.” My frustration spills over and I stand up, needing to get away from his breath, his sweaty scent, his presence. Riya lied to us. She purposely deceived us all these lunar cycles.
It’s so dishonorable. So un-Zandian. Of course, she’s not a Zandian, she’s a vecking human. And humans lie. How could we have trusted her? We trusted her with our vecking hearts!
“She’s infertile. And she knew.” Jax’s voice is flat. “She knew about this and didn’t tell us.” He stares out the glass. “She let us wonder and worry about whether she was pregnant, and all along, she knew.”
“I don’t understand it. Why did she lie?” I can’t make sense of it.
Jax shrugs. “She’s afraid of being sent away. She lacks honor. Maybe she figured we’d never
find out. Maybe she’s just a vecked up human who makes cruel decisions. Or that we’re not worth the truth. Who knows.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m worth the truth.” But Ronan’s voice shakes.
I pick up the comm unit and scroll further.
The next headline is expected.
SLAVE 4356778A-CS-3 CONVICTED OF MURDER. SENTENCED TO DEATH.
We knew she was rescued from the death pod,” Jax says, his voice eerily calm. “And that she killed a guard. Humans aren’t sentenced to death unless it’s a severe reason.”
I grab at the comm unit. “She killed two guards.” I read on. “Not one. It says she lashed out because they discovered her inability to breed and wanted to punish them for her own flaws. So she used gardening tools to slice their necks while they slept. They said that one of her psychological flaws is called psychotic affect. It’s a human condition where a being lacks emotion and empathy. They said they don’t want that in their breeding line.”
“As angry as I am at her, they probably deserved it,” Jax comments. Right now, he sounds devoid of any emotion.
“Regardless, it’s a rash decision.” Ronan’s voice is hard. “Stupid. Slaves know they will be sentenced to death for taking a guard’s life. Why would she risk it?”
None of us know the answer.
“I bet she’s with Lily. We need to talk to Riya. I need to hear it from her.” I tap wildly at my comm bracelet to initiate a call, but Jax grabs my wrist.
“Don’t.” He shakes his head. His purple skin has turned a pale lavender. “Do we want a deceitful mate? This is just like Gunt, all over again.”
I stare at him, my heart in my damn boot.
It is like our former friend’s deception, which dragged us into an investigation by King Zander, and could’ve had us banished to prison for life, like him.
“She made her choice. She’s gone,” Jax says.
“There’s no place for lies between mates,” Ronan says, equally pale.
I sink into the nearest hover chair, defeated. “No.” My voice sounds hollow. “There isn’t.”
Ronan
My vecking chest is ripped open. “We’re better off without a liar.”
“She’s not loyal, like we are. She accepted our crystals!” Tarren’s anguish rings out. “You don’t trick your way into that. Unless it meant nothing in the first place. Nothing but a way to hide out for a while, taking advantage of fools like me. Idiots who think they can—oh, veck it all.”
The sun has set, and the darkness creeps in, insidious, like a fog. “Where do you think she is right now?”
No being answers me.
“What will we tell others?” My face burns with embarrassment. “Veck, everyone will know we picked an inferior mate!” Even as I say it, I can’t believe it’s true. Riya was perfect—so perfect. But it was all a lie.
“It’s not our fault,” Jax snaps, his cool finally broken. “She’s the one. She is infertile, and she lied about it. And that’s on top of being a murderer! With her, we could never father a child. Or have trust.”
We’re silent, I assume each Zandian thinking about this. To be honest, although I think young are cute, they are a little terrifying, and I never felt the driving need to have one of my own. I was excited more because it seemed a challenge, and because it’s good for Zandia, and because… well, I thought Riya wanted it. But it wasn’t even in my mind when I claimed her.
“She should have told us.” Tarren’s voice is loud. “Allowed us to decide if it mattered. Hiding it is a coward’s way. We do not deserve a coward.”
Something twists in my gut. Would it have mattered? If she’d told us from the start she couldn’t conceive, would we have still chosen her?
A little voice in the back of my head screams yes.
But it’s too late now. She lied, and she’s gone. King Zander will decide her fate.
Veck.
“We deserve better, cousins.” Jax rummages in a cupboard and brings out a bottle of Oteera Spirits, imported at great cost and swaddled in layers of protective wrapping from the Oteraian Galaxy, on a planet known for their distilleries. “I was saving this for when Riya finally…” he pauses, looking ill. “But perhaps we should drink it now, because that other thing will never happen.” He smiles, but it’s mirthless, and when he pours us three tall glasses of the clear, powerful liquor, his fingers tremble.
I take a deep swallow, and the fluid burns like fire in my throat, the taste of juniper blasting my tongue, causing me to cough and splutter. “Veck. I haven’t had this in a while.”
Zandians don’t need liquid nutrition, but alcohol affects our physiology in much the same way it does other beings, and I admit that sometimes we indulge. Rarely—because warriors can’t be weak. This seems like an appropriate time, if there ever was one.
Tarren tosses his glass back without a sound, and Jax sips his, morose, tapping his long fingers in the table. We’re silent for long minutes, until my vision softens, and the room seems warmer, brighter, as if the edges of everything are soft, like Riya’s fleece blanket, the one that smells of her.
“Why would she be so duplicitous?” I say, enunciating to avoid slurring, an unfortunate side effect of spirits.
“Does it matter? She was, and is, and we’re done with her. We’re done!” Jax announces and pours himself a second glance. “She needs protection from beasts? Someone to plow her fields for her vecking calendula, over and over again? She can find… some other being.”
Except I can see by Jax’s face he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. Heartbreak is written all over it.
Tarren nods. “And when she gets lonely at night, she can find herself some other being to veck. We don’t veck traitors.”
That thought makes me clench my fists with rage. Riya with some other being?
Over my dead body. But she left.
“She betrayed us.” My eyes burn.
“Cousin, hold up.” Tarren puts his paw onto my shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. “We will find another mate, one who will… be… better. For us all.” He drains his glass again. Jax quietly refills it.
“Beings will talk.” I stare into my glass, where the liquid curls into oily swirls, a mouth that laughs.
“If anyone mocks us, I will vecking destroy them.” Tarren slams his glass down. “We are not a laughingstock.”
“No! We aren’t!” I agree. The room tilts in a congenial way. “We’re honorable. Powerful.” I dig deep for an anger at Riya. “I’m glad she’s gone. Good riddance.”
Too bad I don’t believe a vecking word of it.
12
Riya
I throw up three times on the flight home.
Lily shoots me worried glances from the cockpit, but I can’t even speak to her. I don’t want to tell her what’s happened. The pain I just caused my dear, dear mates. It’s too awful to discuss.
Tears spill down my face as I watch the landscape fly beneath us. I feel dead.
Fucking dead.
I don’t even care what King Zander does to me. I don’t care if he sends me back to the Ocretions to execute. Nothing matters without my mates.
But this will be better for them. I hope to our sweet Mother Earth and to the Zandian Star they will find a new mate. Happiness.
I know I never will.
Jax
I awake abruptly, my mouth dry, my head pounding. Then it floods back: Riya. Her betrayal. Her infertility. Getting drunk with my cousins. Tarren is on a side hoverseat. It’s no surprise he didn’t want to sleep in the usual disk, the one we and Riya typically share. Shared. Ronan is passed out in the corner, not even on a disk or mattress. He’s going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.
I lie awake, trying to figure out what’s tugging at my mind. I’m so angry at Riya I can barely think, but there is something I need to do, something important—
The records. It occurs to me that we never read them all. Surely there must be more information there? I can’t sle
ep, so I head back to the main area and turn on the comms device, reading everything in order, now, not just the first things we saw.
Scans and data flash in front of my eyes, and the burn in my heart intensifies, seeing the woman I loved reduced to a set of numbers. Date of birth. Size: height, weight, all measurements, done several times annually. Genetic analysis and psych profiling to determine whether she was worthy of breeding, and if so, with whom, to ensure a stronger slave for future Ocretion usage.
As it turned out, I read, her Ocretion captors determined her unworthy of future breeding, as she had “defects” that made her “unviable” for future slave generations. One of them was her intellect. Human slaves were desired to be smart, but not too smart; this line that the Ocretions were creating was to be a hard-working ag force who took orders well and didn’t question authority. Riya asked too many questions. Sometimes argued too much. Was far too clever.
As such, she was tagged as a “secondary” at a young age. Bile crawls up my throat. Everyone knows that to an Ocretion, a secondary human slave is considered one step above trash. They don’t eliminate secondaries, because they are still valuable workers while they live. But in reality, secondaries are often turned into rape toys for the psychotic, cruel guards, and expected to continue working hard without sympathy, sometimes even harder than their primary peers, who are treated more kindly—at least, until they provide a sufficient number of new slaves to be trained. At that point, once they are past breeding age, the primaries are usually demoted to secondary as well.
The rage at this overtakes me and I curse, slamming my fist onto the table. This is why Zander outlawed slavery. It is simply wrong on every level. Veck, no being deserves to be treated like this. Even if I’m mad at Riya right now, beyond angry—this makes me ill. I wish we had the power to kill every vecking Ocretion right now and free every enslaved being in the galaxy, and I vow to someday be a part of that effort, no matter what it takes. But first, Zandia. We cannot do more to help the galaxy until we first strengthen ourselves into a super power.