by Amanda Milo
She is watching me closely with saucership sized eyes.
I decide to walk and see if this is less frightening for her—no matter how it will chafe on my pride.
My approach is awkward. The pentapedal locomotion is a unique characteristic of my kind: my hips are almost fused, causing me to waddle in hind—which requires correction in order to balance my center of gravity up front—and for forward momentum I have to push off with my tail. If I were still home, this would be acceptable, but anywhere else in the galaxy and I become an anomaly.
It is not a feeling I particularly enjoy. Whenever I’m among strangers when I have to ‘walk’ instead of hop, there is an unpleasant wave of self-consciousness that crashes over me.
Right now, for example.
I’m shuffling up to a princess. I feel ungainly. I am ungainly—and what’s more: I know it.
But, without an alternative, in front of everyone watching—including a princess—an entire pen full of princesses—I plant my fingertips into the dirt and move towards her. Shuffle, shuffle, push, shuffle, shuffle...
Painfully awkward.
I can’t even look up at her right now. She isn’t likely to want to so much as take my hand now unless I wash. I can’t blame her on this score. This isn’t something I enjoy either; who knows what has been in this pen today besides us, and who knows what they did on this dirt. “Here,” I say when I reach her, and hold out her adornment. I’d been careful to keep it tucked in my palm as I approached so that they wouldn’t get dragged along as I moved.
She hesitates for only a click before she snatches them and puts them back over her eyes. She blinks rapidly and glances around my features wildly, before bringing her hands back over the edges as if she’d rather take them off again.
“We need to go,” I tell her, trying not to appear as uncomfortable as I feel. “We’ll talk once we’re on the ship but I’m going to take you home, I promise.” The screams from the others are as much background noise now as I can make them. They are hard to overlook, but I could only afford to save one. In the big picture, to the casual observer, saving one seems insignificant.
But I of all people know the value of saving even the ‘insignificant’ single one. I try not to, but I end up looking over my shoulder at the others and see another one get ripped away from the group, crying as she is dragged out of the pen. Unlike us, with me trying to coax my new princess to join me, this one simply gets yanked out of the auctioneer’s hands and hauled off. I turn back to my new princess—
What an incredible statement.
This time, as if seeing the other female’s departure put my politer actions into perspective, she numbly lets me take her hand. “We’ll tell your people what has happened,” I vow to her. “They’ll come. This planet will be lucky if they’re not leveled in the retrieval mission once your homeland gets word.” I straighten. “But that’s not even our concern for right now, agreed?”
Although she allowed me to have her hand, my gentle tug on her fingers only makes her shake her head and gulp at the air. She’s squeezing her eyes shut, and she’s too quiet for me to make out what she’s chanting, but it’s fairly clear she’s in denial.
If I were treated like a princess all of my life up until I was suddenly abducted and informed I’d be sold as a slave, I’d have difficulty coming to grips with it too. It does something to have your freedom snatched and stripped off you. Not because you did anything to deserve it but because someone stronger than you tells you this is how it is now.
I warble sadly to her, and her hand starts to tremble in mine.
When she continues to resist moving along with me, I do the unthinkable by picking her up.
I’ve heard a Gryfala’s venom can be pretty unpleasant, but I don’t have much choice. “Don’t break my skin,” I warn her. “You won’t like what happens.” And I wouldn’t be able to stop it, no matter how much I sympathize with her and can grasp why she’d react with ferocity.
As I take us to the wall, I’m surprised that she stays very still, and doesn’t try to retaliate. I bounce her—not much, just enough to make sure she hasn’t died of a hearts attack in my arms.
She gasps though, gripping my arms a little like she’s unused to the same sensation I’d have thought she experiences when she’s riding and dropping out of air thermals every day on her wings.
But she’s not used to having her guards jostle her, I bet. I grimace.
So far, I’m doing a kick-up job at frightening her to death. And from what little I know of Gryfala, they don’t scare easily. Then again, having all of your mates killed and knowing your immediate future is about to be enslavement probably has a lot to do with the stench of fear coming off them all. And there is no doubt that their mates died attempting to protect them. That’s the only way a princess would have fallen into slaver’s hands: they’d have to kill the guards first. How could the auction have obtained so many? It must have been a massacre. This female must have seen horrific—
It’s no wonder she’s afraid of me. I peer down at her quickly. “That wasn’t a threat, you know. Honestly, I was just trying to check that you were still alive. I promise, I don’t want to hurt you.”
I don’t want to hurt her, and somehow, I must protect her. If Brax were here… I try to channel his ‘irritated’ facial expression.
That would be his normal one. The one that reads ‘Move or I’ll obliterate you’.
I feel my spine stiffen as I try to mimic his threatening aura. And to my shock: I see a few spots forming on my arms.
Good.
Then I glance down at the Gryfala I’m holding. Not good. Not for her.
I cackle in agitation and try to send a message to my skin: Just… look dangerous, don’t be dangerous...
To the occupants on the other side of the pen barrier, I call, “Back off. I’m coming over.” I can just see enough over the side to gauge the space they clear is big enough. And from the gleam in their eyes I know I’ve got to make this fast with no hesitation because I’m carrying a literal fortune in my arms and I have no backup. If they spot a chance, they’ll take me down to take her and I don’t even want to entertain thoughts of what they’ll do if they get ahold of her.
When I sink low, readying my body to spring back over the wall, I catch the look of alarm that steals over her.
I leap.
She abruptly shrieks digging her fingers into my shoulder.
I smother a soothing noise. I want to comfort her, but now’s not the time to appear anything but deadly. Even as I look around at the threats surrounding us, I catch when she glares up at my face, dangerously unhappy and more than a little accusing.
I chirrup at her.
Then I’m moving, clipping along at a good pace, not afraid to use my shoulders to help clear our way that much more.
But the attention we’re attracting... I make a displeased, wary warble that has her gaping at me.
“If we don’t book it to the ship, we’re going to get jumped,” I whisper.
After a moment, she goes very still, and turns her head to watch the crowd too.
“Hold on,” I warn and I kick up our speed in the direction of our ride.
CHAPTER 3
TARA
The Mutant’s skin appears human at first, but the disappearing, reappearing spots? He reminds me of one of those little frogs from the Amazon rainforest, with the way his colors can go bright. The rapid changing is a surprise. From ‘Normal skin’ to covered in cherry bomb red and acid yellow blotches then blue drippy streaks is pretty darn alarming.
He makes a noise that could be happy, or scoffing, or a grumble when I dig my fingers in to keep a good grip on him as he carries us through the throng—fast. And surprisingly? It’s not as jostling as I’d been preparing myself for. It is as smooth, if not a little smoother, than riding through the motion of a horse’s canter.
It isn’t long before his hops become shorter, coming up higher as he absorbs the momentum and slows us dow
n.
He intentionally bounces me a little, which gets me to peel my eyes from the spaceship that I’d been staring at. With no little amount of alarm, I watch him dart his light grey eyes from me to the looming craft behind me. He peels his lips back from his teeth, sucking in air before meeting my gaze again, as he tries to explain something.
If I’m not mistaken—and I make no claims to understand alien body language—but…
He appears nervous.
And… I think… it looks like he’s trying to warn me about something…
He hops us a little, sort of pacing back and forth before the big gangplank ramp thing that is so wide, you could drive two monster trucks in side by side and still have room to, oh, fit a small commercial airplane. This craft is humongous.
And this alien seems reluctant to go inside of it. He’s shifting me in his arms now in a sort of uneasy, insecure manner. It’s like he’s trying to pluck up courage.
It’s freaking me out.
Why is an alien afraid to get into a spaceship?
I think I find out why when we get inside—me looking around wildly, trying to take in the sight of my first-ever glimpse into a spaceship—
...Though, that’s not true, is it? To end up here, obviously, I rode on one. Why can’t I remember?
Before I can see much, we’re greeted by another alien. But this one is not like the one holding me. This one is in a full body marshmallow-puffed space suit, with a brass-and-glass bubble top.
Through the glass, its shriveled, strange face is clearly visible, and with the way its eyes seem to grow, I think it's surprised. Shocked, actually. And not exactly thrilled. Actually, it looks a little scared. Two more eyes sprout from its… forehead which causes me to smack into the kangaroo’s chest in reaction.
Guess it’s never seen a human before.
Which is only fair. I’ve never seen… whatever the heck it is before either.
And that’s a very, very good thing. It’s not… well, it’s not pretty like the alien that’s holding me. If this one had won my auction, I’d have died of a heart attack. It’s just different enough to be a little too unnerving. It looks like it’s spent too much time in the bath, all pruned up like it is. Its eyes are bulgy, and its head is shaped like a stalk of coral: kind of oblong and irregular. Eventually it takes its stare off of me, and its words come out slowly, and very deliberately.
In answer, the alien holding me begins speaking very quickly. Almost… guiltily.
And then the shriveled-faced alien’s mouth flatlines and it lunges for us.
CHAPTER 4
TAC’MOT
“You did WHAT?”
“What was I supposed to do? Leave her there? Look at her!”
Lem doesn’t spare a glance to where I set the princess down. She had tensed up when he’d jumped at us, but there was no need to worry. Lem wouldn’t hurt a female.
But he will harm me.
Lem stares at me in utter disbelief. “You’ve spent our entire fortune rescuing a female in distress—one! A fortune for just one! Tac, it’s an auction planet: you do realize how many species are—”
I give him a pointed look. “Lem.”
He rips a spare carabiner clip off of his suit and positions it on another loop, seemingly at random. But the care he takes to do it is a concern.
This is a sign that he’s starting to obsess, and it never ends well.
He adjusts one of his respirator tubes. “And a Gryfala? A Gryfala? How—? You’ll have to tell me if it’s worth it when she gets us shot out of the sky! They are not going to believe that you intend to return her back home peaceably. Not unharmed.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” I say, choosing to adopt a more positive tone than I actually feel. “They’d never shoot us out of the sky.” I smile. “At the very least, they’ll let us dock so they can retrieve their princess first.”
He glares at me.
I make a grab for the Gryfala’s arm as she tries to unobtrusively slink away along the wall.
She scrambles to catch onto my forearm in reaction, as if afraid I’m going to break hers. I frown. I already told her I wouldn’t hurt her. Then I look at her fingers. Something about their appearance had niggled at me earlier, but I’d been busy watching the crowd. Now I peer at her hands in disbelief. “Did they…?” My voice trails off as I slowly reach out. I am careful to avoid touching my claws to her skin when I gently clasp her fingertips to pull them even closer to my face. “Did they clip your nails?”
Lem is examining her shoulders and her back, and she is spinning her head around trying to keep him in sight. With this one move, it feels like… like she just communicated that she doesn’t consider me to be a threat, or at least not the greatest one in the room. Ridiculously, warmth fills my chest.
“Forget her nails; they took her wings! Tac, you spent our combined life savings on only half a Gryfala.”
He isn’t shouting it, but… he doesn’t have to.
And I think back. I’d been so in my head, thinking of my own saleday but… “Now that you mention it, none of them had wings. I assumed they bound them so they couldn’t fly out of the pen.”
Lem smooths a hand over a strip of the tape he uses to patch tiny tears in his suit, as a look of disbelief steals over his face. “The clothing she’s wearing isn’t hiding anything. And it’s very drab for a Gryfala, isn’t it? They must have forced her into that outfit at pistol-point. There isn’t a gem sewn in or a metallic embellishment on any of it.”
Actually, I thought her clothing was very attractive on her. But, maybe it is simply her that lends the attraction. Now that I regard her clothing as critically as he is, I see that it is surprisingly plain. For a princess. Or, so they say. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never actually seen a Gryfala before today.”
Lem’s eyes narrow. “Neither have I, but I’ve heard they love shine and glimmer to rival hobwing powder. Whatever suit they put on this one… maybe it’s some sort of insult we wouldn’t understand.” His gloved fingers spasm in germ-phobic induced horror. “I wonder if they washed the garments before they forced her into them…”
My stomachs sink again, more worried about the perceived insult rather than any ‘germs’ her clothing could be harboring. I’m wondering what she’ll think when all I have to offer her to change into are my own serviceable-but-plain outfits. Even plainer than what she’s wearing now. They certainly won’t look as attractive on her as the garments she currently sporting. It’s likely she will be displeased.
I look down at her and realize... she hasn’t made a single demand yet. Perhaps their reputation is overblown, and she’ll make do with little complaint. But even in a practical sense; mine are not going to fit as nicely, and she may wish to simply rewash what she’s wearing every rotation.
I’m trying to work logistics, but Lem’s not about to let go of his curiosity.
“Just what do you believe they did with their wings?”
I think of the auctioneer’s words about having to move more ‘merchandise’. I stroke the back of the Gryfala’s hand softly, making her eyes shoot up to mine. I feel bad talking about her like she’s not even here, but she hasn’t tried to add to the conversation even once since we came upon Lem. I wonder if she’s in shock.
She mostly just keeps staring at him.
In all fairness, he’s openly examining her, as if he has the right. I grimace, thinking as far as law goes, until we reach her homeland, he does have the right. Half of it, anyway.
As kindly as I can, I say, “Probably coated them in preservative and they’ll be the next thing they auction off. They’re going to make a fortune today.”
His jaw locks. “Apparently, they already have.”
I suppose I had that coming.
But really, he’s taking this all very well. And… speaking of taking things well, even with us discussing what has to be an insensitive topic about her recent traumatic, painful procedure, the Gryfala doesn’t so much as flinch.
/> I feel my ears tighten close to my scalp as I consider this.
Lem’s gaze suddenly travels from her to me. “Fancy becoming part of a Gryfala’s harem?”
I warble. “A Gryfala with a Wanbaroo.” I wouldn’t dignify the question, I wouldn’t even waste time stating how unlikely the odds of that ever happening would be… but Lem’s well aware of that so… “Why?”
Instead of answering me, Lem aims his question at the female. “Would you grant me a favor and let me beat him before you abscond with your new male?” He scoffs to himself. “Ironic, considering he owns you, at the moment. That’ll change.”
“Lem,” I say in disbelief. “What are you going on about?”
His tone is wry. “You don’t see the way she’s watching you. She likes your ears.”
I move all of them, watching her now just to see what she’ll do. He’s right: she is watching them, but I don’t read desire or possessive feelings on her face. “I think my appearance alarms you a little. I’m scaring you, aren’t I?”
She glances at my mouth, but gives no response.
Slowly, Lem inhales. “Tac?”
I wince.
“Why do you think it is that she’s not talking?”
I scratch my elbow. “Maybe they took out her translator?”
Lem’s heavy sigh temporarily fogs his face shield. When it clears, I can see his exasperated expression. “Tac. You got an extra translator in your pocket?”
We both stare down at her.
I clear my throat. “Got any money?”
“You mean the money I sent off with you so you could bank it? That money? Tac, we could have lived off of that interest! Let me guess: you want to go buy a translator now, right? Why, no issue at all. Thank you for asking me for permission to spend my half of our savings to buy a translator. Those don’t cost much, right? Even if they do, I’d bet it’s NOWHERE NEAR THE FORTUNE YOU SPENT TO BUY THIS—”