by Ruby Dixon
His smile is so warm and friendly that I don’t even mind that his face is kind of patched up badly and his nose is uneven. It sounds like he’s protecting me from the others, so I need to stay on his good side. All right, I know how to manage that.
“Thank you,” I tell him, and put my hand on one outstretched knee. I rub my thumb over the fabric and lock my eyes to his. “Shall I show you my thanks? Right under this table?” I drop my voice a husky note, because it’s all part of the role I need to play to survive—the grateful, horny captive.
He goes stiff and his eyes widen. He leans in and I think he’s going to whisper something to me, but he just plucks my hand off his knee and then stands up. “That isn’t what this is about.”
I watch him, curious. Ever since I was stolen from Earth, I’ve known what these people want from humans, and it’s only one thing. “That’s always what this is about.”
The big alien scrubs a hand down his face and for a moment he looks so consternated that I want to laugh hysterically, because it occurs to me that neither of us knows what to do with the other. “You’re safe here,” he tells me again.
“With you,” I clarify. “But not because of sex?”
“No sex.” He heaves out a breath and then begins to pace the room, his tail flicking. The smile’s gone from his face and he rubs the base of his horns, as if they feel hot. “And not just me. You’re safe here with everyone. If Aly or Sentorr so much as touch a hair on your head, they’ll be shitting from a new hole I’ll tear in their asses.”
Uh huh. I don’t entirely believe that. “But I’m not crew.”
“Not unless you want a job.”
I brighten at that. I can do something besides lie on my back or use my mouth to earn a place here? “Okay, give me a job.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
6
CATRIN
The job I get is terrible. Actually, it’s not just one job, it’s several. The Fool’s an older ship and so there are small things that need to be repaired on a regular basis. There are ducts that need to be unclogged, small wires to be replaced and re-twisted, filters to be changed, and hoses to be un-gunked. All of these can be done by the big blue guys if in a pinch, but they have to dock the ship on an atmosphere-and-grav planet and take it apart to do so, or they can have it serviced for a fee at any station…and then there’s a record of the ship and what it had done, which apparently they’re not fond of.
Or they can send an alien with small hands and a lean body into the ductwork and have her do those tasks manually.
So yeah, that’s my job. Chimney sweep of the stars, or something along those lines. Half of my day for the next week is spent crawling through (barely) human-sized pipes in the walls, shouting at Tarekh with things like, “The blue one or the green one?” and then cleaning things. Lots and lots of cleaning.
I love it, though.
I didn’t think I would. It’s filthy and sweaty and I’ve touched horrifyingly dirty things that have left greasy coatings under my fingernails. It’s cramped and uncomfortable and I’m really, really fucking good at it.
Or really “keffing” good, as Tarekh and the others would say.
The fact that I’m so eager to work means that I’m learning a lot about the ship—and the crew—on a daily basis. I learn how the filters scrub the oxygen particles and recycle the air. I learn how the water’s piped through the ship. I learn how the different pieces are put together and I learn that Tarekh is really, really patient and just as easygoing as he seems. He never gets upset, not even the time I pulled the wrong wire and shut off all the power on the ship and left Sentorr squawking with outrage. Alyvos and Sentorr still aren’t quite used to me yet. It’s only been a week, but we’re still like wary cats being forced to live together for the first time. There’s a lot of staring and circling and not much communicating. Tarekh doesn’t seem to mind that, though. He says they’re just slower to trust and that I’m doing good work. I’m saving them money and earning my spot on the ship.
That makes me happy.
So does the fact that I’ve been sleeping in Tarekh’s room for the last week and no one’s tried to barge in. No one’s tried to watch me shower, or catch me alone in a dark corner, or anything. No one’s hinted that my mouth is better used for things other than talking, or grabbed my ass. I actually am starting to believe that I’m safe here.
It’s a feeling that makes me want to cry, just a little. But I don’t, because I’m long past the crying.
I throw myself into work instead. The captain and his mate—who is human, apparently, too—still haven’t returned from their vacation and so the three remaining crew are busy restocking and servicing the ship while at the station. I start to feel a little more welcome when I see Sentorr checking in supplies in the mess hall and I find out he’s ordered an extra box of my favorite noodles. He doesn’t smile at me, but I’m the only one that eats that particular kind.
I might get a little weepy thinking about that. After I was taken from Earth, I didn’t think I’d ever find a home again. That life would be one endless teeth-gritting round of horrible shit to endure until I died.
Here, it’s not so bad. I’m not hungry, I’m not thirsty, I’m not being hit on, and I’ve got a place. I’ve got a friend in Tarekh, and I think I can work on the others.
I’m…happy.
It scares me to death.
“Your hands are shaking today,” Tarekh comments from his spot on the floor. “I can hear them smacking against the pipes. How come?”
I shake my head, even though I’m up in the ductwork and he can’t see that. “Just thinking. Can you hand me that pointy tool with the little spatula thing on the end? There’s some black gunk here over one of the chip slots and I need to scrape it out.” I lean down and shove my hand out of the shaft into the med-bay. They’re not all that shaky. I’m just…worrying. The captain should be back today or tomorrow, Tarekh says, and I’m afraid that my happy little interlude of this last week might be coming to an abrupt end. He says that the captain’s nice and that his human is, too…but what if she’s jealous of another human in her territory? I’m going to assume the worst, and that’s what makes this hard.
I want to stay and I don’t know if I can.
“That black gunk’s corrosive. Don’t touch it or it’ll kef up your skin something awful.” A second later, the tool I asked for is slapped into my hand and I get back to work.
“No touching,” I tell him cheerfully. “Got it.” I slide the flat part of the tool against the crud and start to chip away at it.
“Watch your hands,” he tells me again. “If you’re too shaky, come down and take a break.”
“I’m fine, Mother Hen,” I tease him.
“That a human thing? Because my language chip tells me a hen is a fat bird, unless I’m hearing wrong.”
I laugh. “Human thing.”
“Kind of like the fuck word?”
“Exactly like that. But nothing to do with sex.”
Down below, he grunts as I scrape. “Good. I was starting to wonder about humans.”
I snort-giggle. “Humans are just as weird—or as normal—as every other sentient being, I think. Sex is always on the brain to a certain extent.”
“You’re safe here,” he tells me unnecessarily once more. It’s like he feels he needs to keep saying it just so I know for sure, and that’s kind of sweet.
“You might have mentioned that once or twice,” I tell him, scraping the last of the gunk into one of the bio-disposal bags, sealing it, and then handing it down to him. I get a glimpse of his big face as I lean over and stick my arms out, and he pulls me out of the duct and back to the floor of the med-bay. “I’m still willing to work for my spot here in any way needed, you know.”
“I know,” he tells me, and there’s irritation on his face. The sight of that no longer sends me into paroxysms of fear, because I’ve learned that Tarekh is like a big, easygoing teddy bear of a de
vil-alien. There is absolutely nothing scary about this man other than his size. I even like his ugly mug, though it’s less ugly to me as the days go by and more comfortable and appealing. “You tell me that often.”
“It’s because I want to stay. I know sometimes—”
“No,” he says again.
“I can for you,” I offer. “I wouldn’t mind.” And I wouldn’t. I’ve had so much sex—non-con and otherwise—at this point that one more round wouldn’t make a difference to me. It’d be like, well, scraping black gunk in a sweaty, hot duct. Necessary to keep my spot.
“No,” he says firmly once more and the look on his face is fierce. “Didn’t bring you on the ship for that, and I’ve said it a hundred times already.”
And just because he’s so indignant, I can’t help but tease him a little more. “Not a fan of humans?”
The glare he gives me is quelling. “Not a fan of pity pussy. I’ve had enough of that in my life, thank you.”
Pity pussy? “Why is that?”
He gestures at his face. “This.”
“What’s ‘this’?” I ask, and repeat his gesture. Because I’m not seeing it.
“I am exceptionally ugly even to members of my own people. I’m fine with it. But it doesn’t make me popular with the females. You done with that tool?”
I hand it back to him and watch curiously as he stalks away. Ooh, he’s in a bad mood. Because he thinks he’s ugly? I study his back. From here, he’s big and muscular, of course, and intimidating to any kind of human. When he turns around, though, I don’t see any particular thing in his features that makes him “more” hideous than the others. Sure, his face is a little messed up from old fights. His nose has been broken and rebroken a bunch of times, but I’ve seen worse. And if he’s scarred up and his eyes don’t quite line up? They’re still warm and friendly and wonderful and I love it when he smiles.
“Fuck anyone that tells you that you’re ugly,” I say to him. “I like your face.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, as if he doesn’t know what to say. “Humans do have strange tastes after all.”
I just snort at that and open my mouth to respond, but then there’s a chime on the overhead intercom. “Captain on board,” the ship coos out in a sweet voice.
And then I forget everything we were talking about, because the moment of reckoning has arrived.
7
TAREKH
Cat’s clearly terrified of the captain.
Kinda hilarious in theory, because if she knew the guy, she’d realize there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Kivian’s more likely to hold her down and adjust her hem than to hurt her.
But after a week of being around my Cat, I know that her fears are because she’s been treated badly in the past, and it makes me want to protect her. So when she goes pale and moves closer to me, I put a hand on her neck and give her a comforting squeeze of reassurance. “You’re safe,” I repeat to her again. At some point she’s going to start believing it.
“I’d feel safer if you’d let me—”
“Nope,” I say before she can finish. She keeps offering up sexual favors and I can’t take ’em. It makes my spirit wither a little each time she does, because I know that’s how she had to survive ever since she was taken from her planet. She’s a tough little thing, though. Doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t cry over it. She just grits her teeth and does what needs to be done.
Someday maybe she’ll tell me what happened. I suspect it’ll make me sick, but if she needs to speak about it, I’m here for her. Really, I’m just here for her in whatever way she might need me.
Even if it’s just as a friend.
There’s no denying I’ve had dreams about her. No denying I’ve grabbed a bottle of lubricant from one of the med-bay drawers and stroked my cock to the thought of her touching me. Of her looking at me with need in her eyes instead of that strangely dead expression she gets when she offers to suck my cock. But I know it’ll never be. She’s had a bad past and I’m an ugly cuss. It ain’t a great combo, and I’m happy to be her friend and defender. She hasn’t had many of those in the past and I aim to pick up the slack.
“No need to worry,” I reassure her. “The captain isn’t going to mind.”
“But he doesn’t know I’m here,” Cat argues, worried. “You guys said you’re already one human over your four-man crew. What if—”
“One more human won’t matter. They don’t eat much.” I give her neck a squeeze. “Come on. You can say hi to the captain and his mate. I think you’ll like Fran.”
She doesn’t reply, so I gently steer her forward, keeping my hand clamped on her shoulder in case she tries to run away. Or more like she tries to attack the captain. That seems more likely.
“Honey, we’re home,” Fran calls from somewhere down one of the halls. “Where is everyone?”
I can hear Sentorr respond from the direction of the bridge. “Tarekh’s got a bit of a surprise for you.”
“Uh oh,” Kivian says, but there’s laughter in his voice. There usually is. That’s one thing that makes him such a good captain to work for—he takes everything as a joke and never lets things stress him out. I’ve got a very similar philosophy, so we get along well.
Poor Cat doesn’t realize that about the captain, though, and she’s stiff as I push her along. It’s obvious that she’s worried.
“It’ll be fine,” I murmur to her. “Trust me.”
“You promise?” she whispers.
“Promise,” I agree. After I say that, the tightness in her shoulders eases.
I guide her to the bridge—though after a week of being on the ship, she knows where it is by now. All the others are already gathered there, including Kivian and Fran. The dark-haired human is wearing a simple gray jumper that I’ve seen on szzt ship crews, but they’re the closest in size to humans and so she has a whole wardrobe of them. In contrast, her mate is dressed in the latest fashion from Homeworld, with slab-sleeves that consist of layer upon layer of fabric and ties, geometric patterns on the hem of his tunic, and plas-leather boots that go up to his knees. He looks ridiculous, but then again, he knows that. I’m not entirely sure if it’s an act with him or if he really likes the clothes, but he does his best to overdress for every occasion.
Everyone turns at the sight of us, and I keep my hand clasped on Cat’s shoulder so she doesn’t bolt. “Meet our newest crewmember,” I say, as if it’s no big deal.
Fran’s jaw drops. Her eyes go wide and I see for the first time the minute differences between the two of them. Fran’s skin is more of a golden color, her mane long and black, her eyes dark. Cat’s coloring is lighter, her hair a tan sort of shade that I’ve only seen on rare woods, and her eyes are gray-blue and pale. Of the two females, Fran has larger teats and a taller frame, whereas Cat is small and lean everywhere. It makes her look far more breakable—or maybe it’s just because I know Fran better and know how tough she is.
“Oh my god,” Fran says as she moves forward, her arms out. She envelops Cat in a hug, squeezing her tight. Or trying to. It’s clear from Cat’s stiff-armed response that she’s not used to the touching. Cat gives me a helpless look but endures the embrace as Fran rubs her back. “Another human! It’s been so long since I’ve seen another face like mine!”
“Not counting Chloe,” Kivian adds.
“Not counting Chloe,” Fran agrees, stepping backward. She gives Cat another little smile and then looks over at me. Her expression darkens and she steps between me and Cat. “You bought a fucking human? I’m going to murder you, Tarekh—”
Cat quickly slips out from behind Fran’s back and steps in front of me, her arms wide. She’s protecting me.
A funny ache starts in my chest.
“Don’t get mad at Tarekh,” Cat says, her voice twice as fierce as anything I’ve ever heard. “He bought me to save me. He took me here and patched up my wounds and he hasn’t so much as touched me. He says I can be crew if I earn my keep.”
; Sentorr and Alyvos are both looking at me with narrowed eyes. Kivian’s just giving me a sly look that makes my horns get hot at the base. “Didn’t buy her for sex,” I say. “Thought that should be obvious.” I cross my arms over my chest and try to seem casual even though I’m secretly a little worried that the others won’t accept her. “She was hurt pretty bad. Couldn’t leave it be.”
The look in Fran’s eyes gets soft and she pats Cat’s shoulders. “I’m not going to hurt him. Stand down.” Cat doesn’t move, even when Fran smiles at her. “And of course you can be crew! I’d love to have another human on board.”
“As captain of this vessel, don’t I get a say?” Kivian asks, amused.
“No,” says Fran.
Kivian barks a laugh, throwing his head back. “Ah, my sweet mate, you are delightful. Of course she can be crew. More humans will make this place a lot prettier than looking at these ugly faces.” He gestures at the rest of us.
To my surprise, Cat scowls at Kivian. “Quit saying that. Tarekh’s not ugly.”
I’m torn between astonishment and wanting to squeeze the small human against my chest. Such an ardent defender. “I’m lucky to have someone so fierce on my side,” I tell her, pleased.
“Do we even get a vote?” Alyvos asks, looking decidedly less pleased than the captain and Fran at the thought of another human.
“Why?” Kivian leans against one of the control panels and crosses his boots at the ankle. “Fran, me and Tarekh are all voting against you.”
“Fran shouldn’t get a vote. She’s biased.” Aly scowls. “She—”
Kivian’s laughing mood is gone. “Watch yourself,” he says quietly.
Alyvos goes quiet. He shakes his head and then retreats back to the bridge. Fran exchanges a look with Kivian, but she tries to hug Cat again, anyhow.
“He’ll get used to it,” is all Kivian says. “Don’t concern yourselves. I know I’m not going to.”