It was really pretty in an Instagram over-filtered kind of way.
There were moving sidewalks on either side of the road and Majoran women and their husbands, or mates to use Sarden’s word, were riding them and speaking in low, intimate voices. The women were dressed like I was, just as he had promised, so at least I didn’t feel out of place. But even though I blended in with the crowd—at least fashion-wise—I still felt pretty naked, though I tried not to think about it.
I think what surprised me the most was the sky overhead—it was pink. But also, it was a sky with puffy white clouds and everything.
“Hey,” I said to Sarden, pointing up. “I thought we were in some kind of enclosed building or area like the International Space Station. So how is there a sky? Come to think of it—how is there even gravity?”
“The spin and rotation of the spaceport provides artificial gravity, of course,” he said as though it was obvious. “They have no need for gravity generators like I have aboard my ship.”
“Yeah, but what about the sky? The clouds and everything?”
“A projection,” he told me. “The actual ceiling is bare metal and only fifteen flarns above our heads. But the sky is more aesthetically pleasing and since Majorans are all about aesthetics, they went to the trouble of making the illusion.”
I had no idea what a flarn was but the idea that the very real-looking sky above us was completely fake kind of caught me off guard.
“Wow,” I said. “Okay. So what now?”
“Let’s see…” Sarden consulted his ring, which made a green, holographic map appear in front of us. “Looks like we have a ways to go. We’d better ride,” he remarked. Putting his hand to the small of my back, he guided me to the entryway of one of the moving sidewalks.
There was a Majoran couple ahead of us and I watched them carefully to see how they acted. Just like the couple at the perfume seller, these two were obviously deeply in love. The male held his mate’s hand and helped her carefully onto the sidewalk, then jumped on behind her, making certain to stand so that his chest was directly against her back. She leaned trustingly against him and he stroked her hair gently as they glided off on the moving walkway.
The little scene of silent gallantry and love was sweet, if a bit mushy—and it wasn’t unique, either. All around us I saw Majoran males treating their females with gentleness and deference, as though they were precious treasures to be guarded and cared for. Clearly they really did worship them as goddesses.
It was nice and certainly not what I was used to. I thought back on my time with my ex, Scott. He’d never held open doors or pulled out chairs for me, which I didn’t really mind, because it was kind of old fashioned. But he’d also never gone out of his way to hold my hand if we were walking together. Mostly he was too busy looking at his phone to bother. I didn’t see any constant use of hand-held devices here in Gallana—just lovers looking at each other longingly and whispering intimately as though they couldn’t wait to get home and get busy.
The Majorans were tall people—with most of the males being almost as tall as Sarden—and good looking too. Except for the way they changed colors all the time, it was kind of like being in the middle of a romance novel come to life. I glanced at Sarden to see if he was going to treat me the same way, or just wait until we got to the mechanic to put on a show.
He gave me a slight, sardonic smile, almost as though he knew what I was thinking. As we got to the walkway, he held out his hand.
“Allow me to help you aboard, my goddess,” he murmured.
“Why, thank you.” I took his hand and he helped me onto the walkway. Then he stepped up beside me and pulled me back against him. “Hey!” I protested a bit breathlessly.
“It’s all right,” he murmured into my ear. “Just making sure you feel safe and protected, my goddess.”
He braced his feet on either side of the walkway to keep us steady—which was good because it was moving way faster than would have been considered safe on Earth—and we watched together as the tall, skinny, jewel-toned houses and buildings rushed past.
We went through a business district, a colorful marketplace, and an expensive looking residential area before Sarden consulted his ring again and decided it was time to exit.
“Time to go—come on,” he said, pointing to a curving exit ramp.
“All right.” I got ready to jump although the stilt-like stripper shoes I was wearing were going to make it a risky proposition at best. Still, never let it be said that Zoe McKinley isn’t up for a challenge.
Sarden, however, didn’t seem to think I was. He took a look at my shoes and the awkward way I was standing in them and then scooped me up in his arms with no warning.
“Hey!” I exclaimed.
“Can’t let you exit the walkway like that—you’ll break your neck,” he said gruffly.
“I’ll be fine,” I protested. “I’m short so I’m used to wearing high heels. I mean, not stripper heels like these, but the concept is the same.”
But Sarden was already hopping off the speeding walkway as casually as though he was simply stepping off a street corner. Even holding me, he managed it with grace and ease and we found ourselves in an area that looked kind of like a warehouse district. The buildings here were wide and squat and painted a dull, brownish-gray that contrasted sharply with the colorful houses and shops we’d passed in the other districts.
“Okay,” I said once we were clear of the walkway. “You can, uh, put me down now.”
He looked around, frowned, and shook his head.
“I don’t think so. I don’t like the look of this area.”
“Well this is where Count Doloroso sent us. I thought it was supposed to be safe.”
“I did too. He said they were reputable.” He sighed. “We’re not far from the mechanic he recommended so we’ll at least have a look. But I want you close to me. Very close.”
“But…but I can be close and still walk,” I protested. “You don’t have to carry me around like a baby or a damsel in distress.” Which made me remember how he’d carried me into the purple bathtub and held me so tenderly while he got the slime of the awful tentacle tank out of my hair. But I pushed the thought away hurriedly—there was no need to bring it up now, especially when we were so embarrassingly close and I was next to naked in the Majoran dress.
“Look at the road.” He nodded to the pitted, rutted pavement beneath his feet. It was a lot rougher here and there were plenty of potholes that looked like a twisted ankle waiting to happen. “A Majoran male would carry his female in this area, I’m sure of it.”
“It’s not as nice as the road by the docking area,” I acknowledged. “But I could still manage.”
“Why should you when I prefer to carry you?” He raised an eyebrow at me.
“You’ll throw your back out,” I warned him, trying again. “I’m not exactly a hundred pound Hollywood starlet you can tote around all day like it’s no big deal.”
“Are you saying I’m not strong enough to carry you? I did before, you know.” He frowned and began walking as we talked, which kind of made the conversation moot, but I’m no quitter.
“No, you’re obviously plenty strong. And I know you carried me, uh, before.” I blushed, remembering the slime tank incident again. “But that was just the length of your ship. I’m just saying I’m not exactly skinny enough to—”
“Oh, this is about your planet’s strange ideas about stick-thin females being more attractive, isn’t it?” He raised an eyebrow at me.
“Well, I guess sort of…in a way,” I admitted.
“Such a strange concept.” He shook his head. “I picked you from the Alien Mate Index because of your curves—not despite them. Remember that, sweetheart.”
“All right,” I said, feeling like the conversation had somehow gotten off topic but unsure how to get it back.
Sarden must have seen my uncertainty because he gave me one of his rare smile
s.
“Just relax, Zoe—I’ve got you.”
“Fine,” I said a bit stiffly. I wished I could do as he said and completely relax—wished I could pillow my head on his broad chest and just watch the scenery go by. Maybe I would have been able to—if I hadn’t known that my ultimate fate was to be traded away. But as it was, I was afraid to relax against him, afraid to let myself enjoy being carried so gently because I was frightened of what I might start to feel for the big Alien.
Just deal with it and don’t get too close, I lectured myself as Sarden carried me past several deserted looking buildings. It’s going to be over soon and besides, he’s only carrying you because that’s what a Majoran male would do for his female. But in the end, Sarden’s not going to treat you like a goddess—he’s going to trade you in like a used car he doesn’t want anymore. So there’s no point getting all warm and fuzzy just because he insists on carrying you.
The thoughts made me sad and a little bit angry. True, I’d agreed to be traded and I stood by my decision. It was, after all, for a good cause. But giving up your freedom and any chance you have of ever going home—even for a good cause—is hard. You go through a grieving process for your old way of life—the life you’re never going to have again. And isn’t one of the steps in the grieving process getting extremely pissed off?
It’s a step in my grieving process, anyway.
By the time we turned down a long, dark alleyway and finally found the entrance to the “extremely reputable” mechanic Count Doloroso had recommended, I was in something of a stew. I was feeling sad and homesick and also irritated with myself for being upset about something I couldn’t change. I was upset with Sarden too, for kidnapping me in the first place. After all, if he hadn’t picked me from that damn Alien Mate Index, I’d still be back at home bitching about my job and having girls’ nights out with Charlotte and Leah.
God, I missed them!
“Here we are—finally,” Sarden remarked, setting me down on my feet at last in front of a stained and pitted iron door with no sign of any kind that I could tell.
“What? How can you be sure?” I demanded, looking at the door and then at the area around us uneasily. The pinkish daylight didn’t penetrate very far into the mouth of the alley we found ourselves in and there were shadows everywhere which made me distinctly nervous. It looked like a really good place to get mugged—if I hadn’t been with a seven-foot tall alien, I might really have freaked out.
“The map says so,” Sarden said, showing the map that projected out of his ring again briefly.
“I don’t like it.” I crossed my arms over my chest and shivered, still looking around.
“It’s only for a moment,” he assured me. “As soon as I can secure their services for tomorrow early, we’ll leave and go back to the ship.”
“Will you buy me a nib-nib monkey on the way back?” I asked hopefully. I was thinking that the little green and purple monkeys could keep me company once I was in my new habitat in Tazaxx’s zoo. Having a pet around can make you feel a lot less lonely.
He sighed. “I really don’t think you’d like them, Zoe.”
“What are you talking about? I love animals,” I protested. “I’d have like seven cats if my apartment complex would allow it. In fact, I fully intend to be a crazy cat lady when I get old.”
He stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head.
“As usual, I don’t understand your cultural references. Please just play your part well here and I promise I’ll buy you something you want in the docking area.”
“Like a nib-nib, right?” I persisted.
“You’ve got a one track mind, don’t you? No, I won’t promise a nib-nib,” he growled. “Now will you please come with me and act your part? We need to make this deal before the light cycle ends and it gets dark.”
“Fine.” I was pissed off but determined not to show it. “Lead the way.”
“Thank you. I will go first but only to check for danger.”
Sarden pushed open the metal door which gave with a rusty creaking sound and we entered a dimly lit room with a single counter against the far end and nothing else.
“Hello?” Sarden called. “Is anyone there?”
“Hello, good Sire and lovely lady-goddess.” A man popped up from behind the counter so quickly he looked like a jack-in-the-box suddenly released by its spring.
I gave a startled little scream and took a hop backwards, almost overbalancing in my stripper heels. Sarden grabbed me by the arm before I could hit the ground, however, and hauled me back upright.
“Be careful,” he growled. “I don’t need you breaking your neck on top of everything else.”
Well, so much for gallantry.
“So sorry,” I said icily. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you by injuring myself in the ridiculous shoes you gave me to wear.”
“Well, you—”
“Is there a problem, lady-goddess?” the man behind the counter asked, interrupting our argument before it could really gather steam. “Is this male mistreating you?”
I keep calling him a man but that was a really relative term here. I assumed he was a man but he wasn’t like any man I’d ever seen before. He wasn’t Majoran, that much was clear. His hair wasn’t blue—it was green. Also his skin was orange and he wasn’t very tall—not much taller than me. In fact, what he most reminded me of was an Oompa-Loompa from the old Willie Wonka movie.
“Lady-goddess?” he asked, still looking at me anxiously.
I looked at Sarden, who was glaring at me.
“He’s not mistreating me, exactly,” I said, after pretending to take a moment to consider it. “He’s just not being as, ah, loving as he could be.” I threw Sarden a sidelong glance. “In fact he’s being rather rude.”
“Ah—too bad, too bad!” the little counter attendent exclaimed. “We cannot serve those males who do not reverence and worship their females. So says the boss-of-All.”
“And who might this ‘boss-of-all’ be?” Sarden growled.
“The boss of all who?” I asked. “Are there a lot more workers in the back?”
“No, no—of course not! The boss-of-All is the boss of me.” He poked his chest with his thumb. “I am All,” he clarified beaming.
“Wait—you mean your name is ‘All’?” I asked.
“Naturally.” He sounded really proud about it. “I am all the workers he has and so he calls me All, the boss-of-All does.”
“Right. Now that we cleared that up, All, I need to speak to your boss,” Sarden said, frowning. “Is he in the back? Can you call him?”
The little guy got a mulish expression on his green face.
“No, no—I’m afraid not! Not unless you show your lady-goddess proper respect.”
“But Count Doloroso sent us,” Sarden exclaimed, clearly exasperated.
“It does not matter who sent you—no it doesn’t!” All, the Oompa-Loompa, shook his head adamantly. “I will not call the boss-of-All until I see proper respect.”
Sarden looked at me and I looked at him and shrugged. Your move, buddy.
“I’m sorry, Zoe,” he said shortly and then turned back to the counter. “Now get your damn boss out here!”
“No, no!” The Oompa-Loompa shook his finger reprovingly at Sarden. “This is not proper respect. This is not worship.”
“Worship, huh?” Sarden looked like he wanted to punch the little guy right in his orange gums. Instead he faced me again, gritted his teeth, and got down on his knees, for all the world as though he was going to propose.
“Zoe,” he said, taking my hands in both of his and looking up at me—though he didn’t have to look very far—he was tall, even on his knees. “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you. It was disrespectful and rude.”
“Yes, it was,” I said, smiling just a little.
“Can you ever forgive me?” Sarden asked. Turning my hands over, he kissed them gently, laying a tender
kiss in each of my open palms in turn.
I have to confess, my heart took a little leap, even though I knew it was an act. Not that I was going to show it—I could act too, damn it!
“Maybe I’ll forgive you,” I said slowly. “If you promise to buy me a nib-nib.”
“What is it with you and the damn nib-nibs?” he growled in a low voice. “Really Zoe, I don’t think you’d like them—they scratch the inside of your mouth. And besides, you can make something that tastes just like them in the food-sim back at the ship. I’ll show you.”
“What? Scratch the inside of your mouth? What are you talking about?” I stared at him, totally not getting it. “Why would you put a pet in your mouth?”
“A pet?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Is that what you think they are?”
“What else could they be?” I demanded. “I—”
“Well now, All, why didn’t you tell me we had a customer?” a new voice boomed. Looking up, I saw it was a Majoran male with a dark blue beard and hair to match. His skin was the same tannish-brown of the male we’d met with his wife at the perfume seller’s place but he looked less refined and snobby—more of a man’s man, if you know what I mean.
“I’m sorry, Boss,” the Oompa-Loompa squeaked. “It’s true this male came in asking for service but he wasn’t showing his lady-goddess proper respect.”
“Well, he appears to be respecting her now,” the boss boomed. Except for the color of his hair and beard, he reminded me of a retired biker who had decided to open an auto body shop. He even had on a grease-stained coverall-type garment that looked like it had seen better days. He raised his voice—(like it wasn’t already loud enough—seriously, he could teach my old boss a thing or two about yell-talking) and roared, “Goddess, is your male treating you with adequate care and attention?”
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