Beth's Stable

by Amanda Milo

  We pass tents selling all kinds of things—spaceship parts, people (aliens), food—and finally, a few booths up, we see a wagon with its doors open, clothes and hats bursting from it and displayed on hangers dangling from an accompanying cabana. “Ah, a garb stand, just ahead!” Ekan announces.

  My aching feet urge me to ask him a question. “Hey, ‘master?’”

  “Mmm, I like this form of address,” Ekan muses aloud. “Do it again.”

  I hunch over and bug out one eye, cocking my head up at Ekan like Igor in Young Frankenstein. “Mathhster?”

  Ekan almost trips away from me before he grins and takes me by both elbows. “Do that again!”

  Snorting, I point in the vicinity of my toes to draw his attention. “Since you want to outfit me, I thought I’d tell you that I could also use something more substantial than these sandals. They’re super cute, but they’re killing my feet. I guess the last time I got dressed, I didn’t think I was getting abducted and going to have to walk quite this far.”

  Digging around his pockets, Ekan has the audacity to tsk. “Who doesn’t factor this into their daily preparations, eh?”

  I make a show of shrugging. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  He pats my back, eyes on the crowd. “Don’t feel ashamed, I’m happy to help you fix this. I’ll abduct and sell you until we get it right. You’ll breathe the game.”

  “Ha ha…” I croak. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but sometimes it’s like I can’t tell when you’re joking.”

  “I should think not, when I’m being absolutely serious.”

  My lips seal shut.

  When we reach our destination, the woman selling ‘garb’ gives us a shocked smile. “A Gryfala gracing my wares with her presence!”

  Ekan raises my limp arm by my wrist. “Isn’t she stunning?”

  The woman looks so happy. “You are!”

  Well. It’s nice to get such a warm reception when buying clothes. This is exactly the opposite of Julia Roberts’ treatment in Pretty Woman, and it’s nice. I’ve been to upscale clothing stores on Earth that treated me snootily: this must be what royalty feels like. “Thank you,” I tell her, feeling embarrassed but weirdly good at the same time.

  The woman brings her hands together, steepling her fingers. “What a blessing! I saw a Rakhii pass by today. It looked like he was searching for someone. Maybe a princess?” she asks me, smiling hugely.

  “Ha,” I start—but Ekan covers my mouth. “A Rakhii?” He almost moans the word.

  He turns in wide circle, making me spin with him as he stares around us like he’s starving and desperately looking for anywhere that sells food. “Do you recall what direction he went?”

  The seller’s excitement cools. If I’m not mistaken, she doesn’t trust Ekan’s interest. “Oh, I’m not sure I paid attention. I was busy selling, you see. But if I were you, I wouldn’t get any ideas—”

  Ekan straightens, and his smile is like a megalodon shark’s: all teeth and untrustworthy intentions. “You are most definitely not me then.”

  The seller shakes her head. “You Na’riths. Leave it alone.” She snaps her fingers in a bid to get his attention. “Would you like something for your lady?”

  She sounds like she’s using lady not only like a polite reference, but like the female-of-superior-social-position definition.

  I really like this woman. I stand a little taller.

  Ekan seems to shake himself. “Do you have anything for her feet?” he gestures at my legs the same way someone would point to a lame racehorse. ‘Well Doc? Think she’ll ever be able to run again?’

  The woman looks me over sympathetically. “I have some Rakhii shod-wraps. They’re used when females are carrying a litter.”

  “Awwwww, Rakhii...” Ekan shoves his hands into his hair, gripping it, sounding crazy with pain. “I wish we had a Rakhii. I want one so badly.”

  “Are you whining?” I ask him. Suspicious, I ask, “Are these pets?”

  He tips his head, exhaling through his teeth. “Perhaps they could be made into pets.”

  The seller scoffs loudly.

  Ekan concedes with a nod, fingers still knotted in his short locks. “All right, I wouldn’t label them as such to their face.”

  “Mmhmm,” I mutter. “I see how it is.”

  The seller reaches up and slaps Ekan on the arm.

  A hat rack falls over, spilling a rainbow of feathers and felt (or the outerspace equivalent to felt) to the ground.

  “I should have known bad luck would come!” the woman hisses at Ekan like it’s his fault, before she crouches and scoops them up.

  Exhaling heavily, he drops his hands from pulling at his hair and he focuses on her. “Thanks—and sorry,” he says, shaking himself and blinking like he’s coming out of a trance. Then he looks to me, eyes skimming me up and down. “Eh, shod-wraps sound good.” He focuses on the seller. “Can you make a delivery of wares directly to our ship? We’ve got some errands to pace out after we leave here.”

  The woman holds out her hand, and Ekan fishes into his pocket and gives her a little plastic-looking stick, similar to what he’d tossed to his friend earlier.

  “Delivery charges are extra,” she informs him.

  He points to me. “What if I order enough clothes to outfit two of her?”

  The woman beams at him. “Delivery’s on the wagon then.”

  He nods and slaps his flat stomach like that’s exactly what he thought she might say. “Good deal!” He waves to my feet. “Let’s fit her in a pair of wraps. Package up a spare in case the first gets soaked with the blood or the guts of our temporary business partners—” I give him a sharp glance and he pats me on the head, smiling big when I snap my teeth, “—and let’s see what you have in the way of skirts that will drive a male wild.” He turns us with flourish, and without hesitation, he starts going through clothes like he picks out women’s garments every day.

  CHAPTER 5—BETH

  BETH

  Much to my horror, the outfit I’m to wear… well, there’s really not very much to it. Not nearly enough to earn the designation of being referred to as clothes. I’ve been ushered into a silk-screen-like paneled off area, where Ekan made me take off the clothes I came in with before he handed me what he wants me to wear. In order to step out, I have to put on something, but this? It’s barely enough to qualify as anything. It’s a two-piece ensemble that consists of a matching leather-like wrap for my chest, and a hip-hugging ‘skirt’—if you can even call this scrap of fabric a skirt. It’s really nothing more than a glorified snatch patch.

  But. All bitching aside, it’s… disturbingly comfortable. My belly can protrude all it likes, and the belt cinch rides so low it’s actually a form of belly support. The top hugs my milk-plumped boobs and my skin gets to breathe lots—and lots—of air, which is an unexpected plus.

  Still… I stare down at myself. “You must be joking. Ekan! There’s not even panties! I can’t wear this in public.”

  Ekan shrugs, tugging me out from behind the partition. “Fine. Go naked in public.”

  I gape at him, not sure if he’s serious.

  With relish, he takes in how the top and bottom scraps fit me. Then he spins me all the way around and lightly squeezes my buttcheek—which is in easy-grab access thanks to the tiny, mini skirt-like quality of this bandage I’m wearing that wouldn’t cover a papercut. He ignores my muffled shriek and sidesteps in time to miss the kick I aim at his shin. “Look at this pleasing form,” he says admiringly. “You’ll make me money bare or clothed.”

  His indulgent grin melts into pursed lips, and I get a premonition that giving this alien any time to ponder and reflect gives him too much time to destroy my life. “Perhaps bare would be better. You might make me more credits if they can see every inch of this lovely flesh, Beth—”

  “Stop,” I huff. “I’ll wear this, okay?” I struggle to wrestle down the stupid blush care of him even obliquely saying nice things a
bout my looks. Just because he’s sort of saying something nice doesn’t change the fact that he’s forcing me to wear a nipple-patch band and crotch-teaser ensemble for everyone to see (and for just about everything to show) in order to make him ‘credits.’ On the heels of this thought, I get a chill. “Are you going to whore me out?”

  “Nebulas abound, NO,” he gapes at me like he’s wondering if I’m the one out of the two of us who’s completely bonkers. “I’m showing your assets off to the best advantage.” His gaze skims over me, and the heat in his eyes cranks up a couple thousand degrees. “You possess a lot of lovely, lovely assets. And I’m going to take advantage of your likeness to an impossible commodity. You’re a perfect counterfeit.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Ekan drags me into a stealth kiss that makes our teeth click and my heart pound funny and he pulls away like he expects to be slapped. “Never apologize!”

  I huff up at him. “I wasn’t.” Did he really just kiss me? “I was saying—”

  Ekan teases the edge of my skirt, almost touching me, but not quite. “I’m going to sell you—only temporarily,” he adds when I start to screech in alarm. “But don’t tell the buyers this,” he adds quickly like some sort of psycho afterthought. “That’ll damage our success.”

  “Wouldn’t want that,” I grumble.

  “Precisely!” He team-slaps me on the butt, like a football player complimenting his Tight End on a good game, and dodges artfully when I reach back and aim to dig my nails into his hand.

  He’s totally unfazed. He looks so earnest when he tells me, “It’s beautiful how you’re in harmony with me; we’re going to get along great, you and I.”

  He waves to the woman who sold us my new wardrobe. I thank her, because it’s not her fault that Ekan dressed me like a tropical island streetwalker, and she confirms that she’ll have the rest of our purchases delivered to Ekan’s ship. With that, we start off through the crowd again.

  I’m quiet as we walk, thinking. I’m surprised that my owner even notices. He taps me on the back of my wrist. “Feeling all right?”

  For an alien who professed to have plans to ‘temporarily’ sell me, it’s nice of him to ask—not to mention appear to be so sincere about hearing my answer. “I was just wondering how the other woman is getting along with her alien. Is he going to sell her too?”

  Ekan snorts. “Not a chance.”

  “Will he hurt her?”

  “Who, Breslin?” It’s obvious that I’ve shocked Ekan with my assumption, if the way his jaw is fit to catch flies is any indication. “Bres isn’t going to hurt her.” He waves my concern away like it’s ridiculous. “Really, I did them both a favor.”

  I stop walking to peer up at him. “How do you figure?”

  Ekan tugs me, keeping us moving. Our surroundings have an addition unfolding into view. There’s a pocket of ships on one side of us now; a giant spacetransport parking lot facing the massive bazaar. And Ekan’s leading me away from the goods and sellers and towards all the many, many parked ships. “He’ll make her ridiculously happy—he’ll dote on her—he should thank me.” He moves his shoulders in an odd but relaxed way. “Eventually, he will thank me, even if he never comes out and says so.”

  “To have this level of (crazy) confidence. Must be nice?”

  Ekan grabs my hand, making me twirl in place, which makes this skirt feel like I’m flashing—oh, just the whole world. “He’d still be mooning over her if I hadn’t intervened. But he’d be doing it from afar, because some other male would have bought her up, and that odd symbiont.”

  I don’t even touch on the part where he thinks a German shepherd is a symbiont, because I don’t believe he deserves to be corrected. But I am curious. “Would you have bought her dog?”

  Ekan rolls back his shoulders. “You mean if there hadn’t already been a terrorized human clinging to it? If it had been alone, I’d have marketed it as curiosity and sold it to highest bidder.”

  “Aren’t you a philanthropist.”

  Ekan gives me an over-fond look considering we really don’t know each other. “You’re so keen! Not many people see this about me.”

  Speaking purely as his commodity of the hour: I wonder why this is.

  “But ridiculous as it may be, the higher the purchase price climbs, the more it heightens the buyer’s sense of value for the item,” he finishes.

  This is… not an entirely preposterous philosophy. I don’t have to admit this out loud though.

  “And, beings tend to take better care of the things they deem worthy treasures,” he says breezily before changing the subject. “We’re about to embark on our first quest.” He squeezes the center of my hand that he’s so happily holding hostage. “You seem somewhat nervous regarding this part; but no need. You’ll do well at being resold.”

  “This is good to know.”

  He reaches across himself to pat my shoulder. “I thought it best to reassure you.”

  “Thanks. It’s nice to be served a reminder that not everything is going to go my way in life. I mean, it’s not like I don’t have that shoved in my face enough to really let the lesson sink in, you know?”

  His grey eyes dance even as he rubs behind his ear a little ruefully. “Are humans by chance capable of a thing called ‘sarcasm?’”

  “Oh, you bet we are,” I confirm.

  Ekan nods. “We Na’rith can be sarcastic too.” His ridiculous cheek bones cut a sharper definition when he grins. “I can tell you’re excited that we have this in common.”

  “Thrilled.”

  He spreads his—and therefore, our joined—hands, and his smile grows blinding. “There you go, displaying our shared trait once more!”

  When he takes my hand up again, he flashes to a personality that seems to be more serious in nature. “Come on, we’re leaving in a span, maybe less. We have to make these quick if we can.”

  ‘These?’ “What’s a span? Is that like an hour, a whole day, a week…?”

  His steps hitch, and he throws me a concerned sort of glance. “A day and night’s worth of spans make up a rotation. Clicks make up a span. A couple hundred rotations make an orbit, or in this section of the galaxy, a solar. We Na’riths are fluent in a little of everything. You’ll be a quick study,” he assures me with a genuine smile. “You’re so bright.”

  “Ah, thanks.” This is really happening. I’ve been abducted by aliens and their measure of time is in clicks, spans, rotations, and orbits. Oh my stars! “What is it exactly that you want me to do?”

  “Escape.”

  I catch up to his stride so that he’s not hauling me alongside him. I’m feeling at a bit of a disadvantage in the speed and agility department care of my unwieldy stomach-bulge. “You’re going to let me go?”

  “You can bet your nearly-bare assets I will,” he says, not even bothering to look down at me as he gazes past aliens, scanning the area for something.

  I side-eye him mightily. Yeah, right. I have a bullshit meter, and it’s screeching an alarm up and down for Ekan’s answer. “You’ve what—changed your mind? Your heart pulled a Grinch and grew three sizes and you’re going to let me go home now?”

  He frowns. “What’s a grinch?” His gaze grows distant and he murmurs, “What’s the market for them and their hearts that grow?”

  I ignore his scary questions. “Any chance I can take a friend with me? How about that other girl and her dog?”

  His big chest makes a thumping sound next to me—he’s scoffing. “There is no chance in any universe that Breslin would allow you to bring her into this plot, so we,” he shoots me a smile that makes my inner thigh muscles feel warmer—can thighs blush?—“are looking for old ships, narra.”

  Narra. I didn’t even know what it meant and from the first time he said it, it’s nearly been making me throb with heat. But now I have a translator, and it tells me: beautiful female. “H-how do we tell which ships are old?”

  The alien stops walking and his handsome smile turns to
confusion.

  I try not to be affected, but it’s like when clouds roll over the nice sunny patch of grass you just sat down in. Come back, sweet sunshine! It’s a good thing he’s got a terrible, offensively annoying personality. I can’t afford to follow him around like a besotted puppy; as previously diagnosed, he’s pure trouble.

  “How do we tell?” He’s repeating my words like he can’t quite understand where I got lost in the concept. There’s a heavy, heavy dash of disbelief when he asks, “Is this your first time seeing space transport?”

  “No…” I shrug and nod my head. “Sort of. I’ve never seen a ship in person. And all our space stuff is new.”

  “Space… stuff,” he looks like he can’t quite wrap his head around the idea. He mutters, “Just how early is your civilization?” He eyes me like I might break out a chisel and a rock at any moment. “Surely yours has managed to build ships…”

  “Yes!” I defend. Sort of… “We’ve made it to the moon.”

  Ekan’s brows lower. “Which moon?”

  “Our moon,” I stress, feeling my cheeks heat. “So we haven’t made it this far out in space, obviously, but someday we might get here.”

  He blinks. “This is going to be like stealing candies from a spawnling.”

  I think he’s referring to his plan to harvest women from Earth, and if he is, sadly—he’s probably not wrong.

  “Our goal is to find ships that rely less on technology and more on real, tangible hardware and outdated mechanisms. Does your planet have old ships?” His eyes gleam and I feel caught, unable to look away.

  I swallow. “Yeah. In museums.”

  He tips his head to the side, and oh how it does all the right things for the muscles of his neck. I valiantly try to follow his words as he speaks, instead of getting tugged into pregnancy-hormone-overdrive thanks to his neck muscles.

  I need to get laid.

  Not here—at home, obviously. Though odds for that are not looking too good right now.

  His thumb starts tapping on the back of my hand, like he’s got extra energy and it’s escaping from his seams like steam finds its way out of a teapot. “Well then, find me a museum piece, narra.”