Relief flushed through her. She cast aside visions of her own body thrashed about like Ish’s, and turned her fone back on. She couldn’t see anything but purple-black skin, had no idea if she’d been carried into the middle of a bustling village or was still somewhere near her campsite.
Nine hours had passed.
Pressing her lips shut against the increasingly insistent Hynka, Minnie’s fone reacquired GPS and established position 14.4K from John and the campsite.
John! He must be losing it!
Had she brought the medkit into the tent the night before? Would he be able to take his morning dose? Or had Hynka gotten to him, too?
Minnie switched optics and rolled her eyes around. She was in an above-ground burrow set between a mature epsequoia trunk and one felled long ago. At her current angle, she could see no other mobile lifeforms in the area.
“Rrloch-tss!” The Hynka gave Minnie’s ribs a near-crushing squeeze.
A scary thought: even if “Mama” wished only benevolence upon her new adopted daughter, Hynka were accustomed to a much more rugged offspring. Even their newborn’s bones were three times denser than a human’s. Mama wanted Baby to nurse. Baby wasn’t cooperating. Mama was getting mad.
Crapshake, Minnie thought, and regretted the ironic expletive.
She steadied her nerves, pried apart chapped lips, shut her eyes, and felt Mama raise her body once more, pressing the skin flap to her mouth.
Breathe through nose, don’t let it in mouth, don’t swallow, don’t taste … like a stage kiss … the galaxy’s most vile stage kiss …
The ducts didn’t just seep, though. After a few seconds, a gush of fluid sprayed to the back of her throat and she choked.
Mama rubbed Minnie’s tummy with her thumb and uttered approval, or maybe soothing. “Otch … otch …”
Minnie let the overflowing milk ooze out the sides of her mouth. Ducts flowed like a broken shower head—starts and stops, jarring blasts. Minnie was being soaked. It saturated her shirt, spreading down her front and back.
At least she was warm. And Mama seemed content, rolling onto her back and easing the pressure on Minnie’s body. Now, Minnie stood on hands and knees in a nest of dry litterfall, between Mama’s side and arm, face still buried in spurting armpit. The milk streamed from the corners of Minnie’s mouth, coursed down to her chin, and ran like a faucet to the ground. Surely Mama would soon run dry.
And then what? To both plan and distract herself, Minnie inventoried her assets. At some point she’d lost her suit, and with it all sorts of essentials: water, personal climate, multitool, mini medkit, boots, PA, signal boosters. She was practically naked in only environment shirt, tank, and undershorts. A toe wiggle divulged a single sock’s presence.
Her brain and fone would be her sole resources. But within that little device, she had Ish’s data, and a 2,611-word Hynka core language DB, with a regional dialect sub-catalogue of another 601 words.
Without warning, a thick glob slopped into Minnie’s mouth with a gaseous splutter—like a shot of pudding or expired milk chunk—and she gagged, blowing away the sour air while trying to eject the lump out the side of her mouth. Her tongue only spread and split the dollop apart. Still heaving, she pulled her face away and spat.
At least the milk had ceased flowing.
Mama disapproved, hissing, “Onykyah! Rwitz!” as she smacked the back of Minnie’s head—a smack that felt like a medicine ball.
Minnie’s face and upper body crumpled into the crunchy, soaked floor. A giant digit slid beneath her chest and she was flipped like a ragdoll, the back of her head striking a solid object on the burrow’s side wall. Milk and sludge coated her face, bits of dead twig, spore, and foliage adhering. Mama brushed away the outer mess on Minnie’s cheeks and nose, finding little globs of the rejected goop, and guided it all back toward Minnie’s lips. She poked at Minnie’s sealed mouth with a single, dull-tipped claw—a thick, stubby rhinoceros horn jabbing against tender flesh, cutting lips on teeth—and Mama directed the substance back into Minnie’s bleeding mouth, bit by bit.
The Hynka jerked Minnie into the crook of an arm, reaching with the opposite hand into the soup of spilled milk and compost below. Minnie had evidently spat out a vital shot of nutrients. Mama’s determined bronze eyes shimmered in a dusty bar of sunlight as she brought a filthy thumbclaw to Minnie’s mouth, carefully peeled down Baby’s bloody lower lip, and pressed, sliding. A bitter cereal of kindling and mammary snot scraped across Minnie’s teeth and filled her cheek. She yelped as the claw slid too far, stretching her lips near to tearing. The thumb was withdrawn as Mama stared.
Minnie had most certainly already swallowed a few drops of the sludge, along with dirt and lichen dust, yeasty flecks, and throat-scoring bark chips. Most still lingered in her throat. Her parched mouth refused to provide more than a pinhead of saliva. She needed water. She needed an MW to blast a multiround into well-meaning Mama’s chest cavity.
You probably saved my life and all, but this just isn’t going to work.
Satisfied with the quantity of goop that had entered (and not re-exited) Minnie’s mouth, Mama reclined once more, this time dragging Minnie across her fuzzy belly and resting a hefty hand on her back. Minnie was sprawled out like a dead man draped over an enormous horse’s back, and with comparable odds of escape.
* * *
The Hynka had been asleep for a while. Unable to delicately wriggle free, Minnie began an intermittent DC request to any other node that entered range. She delved into Ish’s maps and data. Based upon now-obvious features, Minnie identified Mama as a member of the Lesser breed of Hynka. The Lessers were far from docile, but didn’t possess several trademark Greater traits, such as the adrenal surges they seemed to share with Minnie. And Lessers never attacked Greaters, only vice-versa.
Could that be why Minnie wasn’t immediately gobbled up upon discovery, found with chest heaving like a panting Greater oxygenating its lungs? If this was the only reason Minnie was still alive, or if Mama had half a brain, she’d eventually notice her little find smelled more like food than family.
One bit of good news: there were no villages nearby, and the hunting grounds for the closest clan fanned out southward. Perhaps Mama had gotten lost or, hell, escaped of her own volition from a life destined to end with limbs ripped from her body. Ish had a record of a small Lesser pack living a nomadic life, but they ended up finding a mixed village and joined them.
While an explanation for Mama’s presence would be interesting enough, Minnie’s survival-focused side was more interested in Lessers’ physical weaknesses. Was there some magical pressure point Minnie could jab and Mama would plunge into an incapacitating seizure? Or maybe a period in the sleep cycle where nothing could wake her, during which even intense thrashing beneath her hand and the sudden absence of 50 kilos from her belly would go unnoticed? Ish had recorded no such convenient tidbits. Much of her notes in this area focused on Hynka sex acts and associated physiology.
Minnie explored Angela’s botanical DB in search of potential sedatives or poisons. There were a few hits, but mostly in tropical regions, and nothing remotely this far north.
She was losing hope for getting out of this without help. Could John make it onto a skimmer by himself? Stand up and stay up to fly it? No way.
No one was coming to rescue her. John would either be killed or die out there alone. The return module would touch down at the rally point in Threck Country, be discovered at some point by confounded Threck who’d never receive anything close to an explanation. Maybe it would become the underpinning of a new religion. Or even better, a Threck boards it, she has no clue what the insistent synth voice is repeating while she’s launched into space, and then equally unable to grasp that the trail of animated floor lights lead to a metabed that, well, might keep her alive for the journey. Eleven years later, some Earth station dock workers scratch their heads at the long-dead, decayed corpse of a poor starved and suffocated alien.
Minnie
sighed. Frustration simmered as she grew increasingly antsy. Silly, no-chance-of-success ideas began flashing through her mind, masquerading as low-to-medium-chance-of-success ideas. What if she didn’t need a plan, but only patience? Perhaps Mama would simply let her go after a nice nap.
Her head and joints still ached from the HSPD attack; her muscles were depleted of strength. She’d slept for days after prior episodes as her body slowly recovered. Obviously not an option at present. She’d have to stay awake. Seize whatever opportunity window presented itself.
But her eyelids did need a rest.
No harm in closing them for a couple minutes.
Mama sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The big belly rose and fell with a small boat’s rhythm.
Minnie turned her head sideways, one ear nestling into the abrasive hair. The sound of Mama’s breaths resonated below the thick skin. Each inhale produced a long, muffled shushing. Outside the burrow, there was only the serene rustle of epsequoia pads rubbing against their neighbors, and a wet trickling Minnie guessed was melting snow or ice flowing down the trunk.
She surprised herself with a little smile. Was this actually a nice moment?
The belly slowly rose and fell. “Shhhhhhhhhh …”
* * *
Minnie awoke to another forced nursing session. One of her arms had been wrapped awkwardly behind her back—unmovable in Mama’s firm grip. As soon as Minnie realized what was happening, she opened her mouth and latched onto the skin flap, appeasing Mama in hopes of it once more earning her slack.
Indeed, the Hynka sank into her bowl-shaped bed and let her arm rest away from her body. Minnie was once more completely unrestrained. Now in the opposite armpit, she had her feet planted on the ground, one hand on Mama’s arm and the other on the wooly chest. The milk flow had picked up and Minnie used her same trick, letting it escape out the corners and drip from her chin. But she was thirsty, probably severely dehydrated, especially after the episode. Surely the majority of this fluid was water …
Still breathing through her nose, she dared a small gulp. Her body instantly demanded another, but she wanted to wait—see if her stomach rejected it. The last thing she needed right now was to vomit out what little fluids she had. She watched a minute pass on the clock, noting the time, as well. Late afternoon. She’d slept more than five hours.
Her stomach was fine, pleading for more. Why wait? Another gulp. Mama’s approving hand began rubbing Minnie’s back. Despite herself, Minnie waited only ten seconds before cutting loose and guzzling the milk. She even forgot to avoid tasting it.
Hm … like rancid walnuts and spoiled goat cheese.
She gagged but persevered until her stomach seized and threatened revolt. Minnie halted and gasped for air. Mama stuck a finger behind Minnie’s head, pinched the wet flap of skin, and pressed the two back together. Minnie could see a lump moving in the skin curtain. Mama didn’t want Baby to miss out on the best part.
Oh no … already sick! How to get out of this?
She thought fast, reached up, and grabbed the skin with both hands, taking it away from Mama, who offered no resistance. If Baby was ready to handle her business on her own, so be it.
Minnie turned her head, blocking the view of the flap, and pinched it between her chin and neck, attempting to simulate the feeling of a mouth. An instant later, the revolting dessert spewed into her neck, and she tugged her shirt collar open to let it slide into hiding. She simulated a deep gulp and released the fold.
As per their new family tradition, Mama dragged Minnie up over her belly. This time, lying head below stomach didn’t sit well. Bile gurgled up; she fought it back. Tears streamed from her eyes and tickled down her nose. Maybe the milk was toxic after all. Maybe she shouldn’t fight it.
The choice was taken from her when Mama plopped her heavy hand onto Minnie’s back, squishing guts and sending an irrepressible surge up her throat. Minnie coughed and gagged and milk spilled down Mama’s side.
Mama wasn’t happy.
She pushed off her insolent child, Minnie landing on the burrow floor, where she continued retching. There was no stopping it at this point. Her stomach seemed intent on a full evac. Mama rolled upright, scooped both hands under Minnie’s knees—along with layers of now-tainted nest floor—and hurled the load outside.
Minnie landed first on face and shoulder before her feet hurdled overhead—back twisting—and her whole body crashed down facing up, knocking the wind from her. She lay there a beat, catching her breath and offering her gut a chance to orient itself before it decided whether to pick up where it left off.
What was Mama doing? Was she coming? Was this Minnie’s chance to escape? Had she been disowned for her disobedience?
A good, solid breath filled her lungs and her stomach felt relatively still. She tilted her chin up to observe the burrow entrance, but a dark shroud consumed her entire head and dragged her away.
She found herself back in the burrow, face smothered in the fold between Mama’s seated belly and leg. Minnie’s arms scrabbled and groped and she pulled her knees in to try and push herself free. She couldn’t tell what Mama was doing up there, but every little movement compressed Minnie’s skull to a terrifying degree. Finally, Mama stopped moving and Minnie stopped fighting. Though her nose was squished and pinched shut, the Hynka’s skin crease formed a little channel in front of Minnie’s mouth, and she was finally able to inhale another full breath. Though she’d be held fast until Mama decided otherwise.
A hard poke at her ankle bone. Surely a claw tip. It slid up her bare leg, tugging the shorts upward a little before the claw rose away. What next? Not knowing was even more maddening. A pinch of her thigh—two claws, one in front, one in back. Her environment shirt and tank brushed up, exposing her waist and back. Hot breath sniffed her skin. Prodding at her waist.
Her air channel thinned to nothing and Minnie held the half-lungful of air.
Now the head—a painful pair of mallet taps on the side of her skull. Swirls around her scalp. The claw lifted away. Tugging at a few locks of hair. A sudden jerk and thin clumps were torn from her head. Minnie moaned and whimpered her final exhale into the wall of flesh.
But Mama leaned back a little, and Minnie caught a rush of cool air, her head finally freed from its confines.
She had to do something. Take control of her own fate.
She accessed Ish’s language DB and dropped it into Livetrans. The input prompt flashed ready. What to say? Stop it? That was dumb. She needed to make an instant impact. Scare her, if possible. Back in the catalogue Minnie searched for Hynka lore and superstition.
Come on … who’s your personal boogeyman?
Mama flapped Minnie’s ear.
Hwahxo: Universal; Death. (specific to Greaters, see Sssuhke: Lesser Death)
Shroosh: Southwestern goddess; a shapeshifter; source of seasonal flooding. Metaphoric: “Come/go/went … like Shroosh” (quickly and with irresistible force, as in an invasion)
Sssuhke: Universal; Death (specific to Lessers, see Hwahxo: Greater Death), a blessing on a clan, surges through Greaters, empowering, frees Lessers for rebirth.
A quick glance at Ish’s goddess of choice and it was back to the drawing board. No mythology.
She wished she’d spent a bit more time nosing into Ish’s research back on the station. Now, especially, with Mama endeavoring to pinch Minnie’s ear between thumb and finger claws too dull to succeed. She gave up, instead hunching over to sniff it. Gusts of breath sent static into Minnie’s ear canal and she cocked her head out of the line of fire.
Mama whispered, “Ohswe.”
LIVETRANS: No move.
Oh, hey there, Livetrans!
Minnie kept her head still, as requested, but rolled her eyes left, spotting Mama’s snout—close and moving closer, mouth opening. A drip of hot saliva.
A pair of lengthy incisors scooped slowly behind Minnie’s ear, and then the mouth began shutting, the opposite row of teeth pressing into the ri
dges and caves inside the ear, clamping down, pressing tighter, pinching.
Minnie shut her eyes and held her breath. This was it. The beginning of the end. Just when she thought the first tooth would pierce flesh and spill blood—the bite stopped. Minnie exhaled. Mama rested a hand on Minnie’s shoulder and began slowly sitting up, half a dozen teeth still firmly rooted in the ear. She wasn’t letting go.
A ring of burning flesh.
Panic struck, and Minnie moved her head up with it as far as she could, but at the end of her reach the skin began pulling once again—unrelenting.
Searing, unbearable pain at the sudden pop of the first tear, behind the ear, and the rest of the ring quickly followed, ripping away effortlessly as Minnie screamed.
3.4
259 hours since evac. 10 Earth days. 13 Epsy days.
Aether stood beside Zisa and Pablo, all three’s focus locked on Eeahso as tentacles curled and frolicked, smearing her skin with the fresh batches of petroleum jelly and glycerol.
Zisa averted her eyes. “I feel like I’m watching something I shouldn’t.”
Pablo laughed. “With you there. It’s like porn for mermen.”
“Quiet guys,” Aether said, and sent Livetrans to Eeahso. “How does it feel? Are you able to compare the two sides?”
“Good,” Eeahso said—her eyes hidden, arms sliding over her head, one after the other, as if greasing back hair. “All good!”
Zisa sighed and pointed a hand at Eeahso. “He’s mixing them together with all the squirming! There’s no way we can do an A-B test this way.”
“She,” Pablo corrected. “And she had them separate for a while there. We’d at least see any allergic reactions, right?”
“There’s no way I can say for sure. Not at this point. We need at least a week with the final recipe. Plus, only the PJ has UV protectant right now. I need to synthesize another base to bond it with the glycerol, cook a batch, test.” She turned to Aether. “You also said you wanted a native fragrance in there.”
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