by Dixon, Ruby
She ducks her head again, her curly hair masking her expression. "Does it matter? No one calls me that anymore. My owner calls me Fat-face."
I grimace. "Mine used to call me Skinny Flanks." Not that mine are particularly skinny, but compared to his, I guess they were. "What's your human name?"
"Sophie."
"Hey there, Sophie." I can't help but notice her shock collar. "So…did your owner just buy you?" Her clothes are rich and her hair is clean, but that doesn't tell me much. Her dress is entirely see-through, which could mean she was just purchased, or her owner doesn't care if she's cold or not.
"Oh no. I'm just his favorite toy." Sophie gives a bitter little laugh and messes with one of the folds of her dress, picking at invisible threads. "He doesn't like to go anywhere without me. Shows me off to all his friends."
Ugh. Jerk. "I hate him already."
Her mouth tugs up in one corner, a reluctant almost-smile. "He's not the worst master I've had, but he's pretty close. How long have you been in captivity?"
"I was for five years, but I'm free now. I'm actually here with my husband."
Sophie looks stunned at my words. "Your husband? You married an alien?"
"A good one! I promise." I smile happily, thinking about Nassakth. "The best alien, really. He's very kind and generous and—"
"And he still makes you wear a collar?" Sophie clearly doesn't believe me.
I touch the band at my neck. "This was my idea, actually. I knew we were coming here and I suggested it. He wasn't happy but I also know what it's like for a human that isn't accompanied by anyone." I shrug. "So I'm putting up with it."
The look on her face is openly skeptical. It's clear she doesn't believe me about my “good” alien husband. I can't blame her. Maybe a year or two ago—or even a month or two ago—I'd have said the same thing. But Nassakth has taken his time with me. He's been calm and gentle and patient and now I can't imagine a day without him.
"It's been six long years and three masters for me," Sophie says in a flat voice. Her eyes are defeated, her shoulders slumped. "Some mornings I don't know how I keep going. I just want to go home."
"There's no way to go home. The only ones that fly to that end of the galaxy are slavers and you know they aren't interested in a mission of mercy."
Sophie just sighs, her head hanging. "I know. It's a stupid hope, but I've got to have something to hold onto on days when it's really bad."
I've been there. How many times did I wish death on my old master? How many times did I want to run away, except I couldn't, because I knew that whatever was out there was worse for a human alone? I want to reach over and touch her hand, but I'm not sure if Sophie appreciates a gentle touch—or any touch—at this point. I lean in, my heart breaking for her.
I can't save all the kidnapped humans thrust into slavery, but surely I can do something for this one. "I can help you get out of here," I whisper. "Do you want to try?"
"And go where?"
"I live out on a farm planet—"
A man clears his throat. I look up at Kaspar and notice he's listening in on the conversation, and he shakes his head quietly at me. Right. I just met her. Probably not good to babble my address.
I try again, deciding to keep things in more general terms. "There's a group out there helping humans. They find homes for them. Give them jobs and a place to live. It's not Earth…but it's not slavery, either." She hesitates, and I continue. "It's your choice, truly. If I'm being too pushy, just tell me to be quiet. But if you want to escape," I gesture at Kaspar. "Just tell him 'hamburger' and he'll put you in contact with his human sister."
Sophie watches me with intense, hungry eyes. She glances up at Kaspar, and when he nods, I can see her tremble all over. "This place." She licks her lips, nervous. "This place that shelters humans…is it a praxii world?"
What an odd thing to ask…odd and coincidental. "No. I can't say more than that just now, but praxiians are rare."
"Good," she says viciously. "I never want to see one again. I hate them all." Her hands fist in her lap. "Horrible, unfeeling monsters, all of them."
I clear my throat delicately, because this is taking a weird turn. "My mate is praxiian, and he's a good man."
"Yeah, well, my owner is a praxiian jerk and I've had to live on an entire planet of them for the last few years, so you can't convince me they're decent people. They're monsters. They don't care about anyone or anything except other praxiians." She's utterly vehement as she speaks, and I can't disagree with her that most aliens are jerks. "They think humans are worse than parasites and they dragged me out here because my 'owner' can't go without his human toy for one night. Never mind that he's traveling with his wife and they're visiting family. He still needs to get his dick sucked—"
"Wait," I interrupt, horrified. "Did you say your owner's traveling to visit family?"
Sophie pauses. "Yes…wait. Is your mate Nassakth?" Before I can even answer, she lets out a hoot of amusement. "Oh man, they are going to shit themselves when they find he's married a human! I almost want to stick around for that."
I swallow hard, trying to focus. Just when I think I've got a handle on everything, life throws another sucker punch at me. This human slave belongs to my father-in-law. He's going to be utterly livid if I help her escape…but how can I not? How can I turn my back on a fellow human?
And Nassakth? What will he think?
I close my eyes and think of my mate. His cat mouth curling into a smile. He'd tell me that I'm a person too and he'd stand by me, because I trust him. He knows what it's like to be a slave. So I stop Sophie's hard laughter with a quick gesture. "Do you want to get out of here or not?"
She goes silent. Her fingers press to her mouth, and then she leans in. "Please, please help me escape." Her eyes fill with tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend. I—"
"It's okay," I promise her gently. I nod at Kaspar, who's still watching us. "If you want to escape, tell him the word 'hamburger' and he'll help you out."
The words are barely out of my mouth before Sophie's at the door, hissing the word. "Hamburger! Hamburger!"
Kaspar glances at me, then at Sophie. "You really want to do this right now? I can't help her and keep an eye on you here."
"I know," I tell him. "I'll be fine. Just help her."
And I settle back in at the table to wait for my husband to finish meeting his awful, awful parents that I hate already. Maybe it's a good thing I got sent to the kiddie table.
66
NASSAKTH
My palms are sweaty as I scan the cantina for my father's familiar cresting mane and my mother's elegant stance among the seated patrons. I see no one familiar, and turn to Bethiah. "You said they would be here."
"I said they'd be in a private room. Does this look like a private room?" She mutters something under her breath but I catch the words “keffing” and “sack of shit.” She is irate this day, which does not sit well with me—I am plenty irate myself, as I've just abandoned my mate to a disgusting room set aside for humans and livestock. She cannot sit with me because in the eyes of those that frequent this cantina, she is not a person. She is a thing.
It makes me so angry that my entire body shudders. I clench my fists, trying to calm myself.
"Don't freak out on me," Bethiah hisses. "Just…come on already."
She slinks through the sea of tables, all confidence, and I have no choice but to follow behind. I head after her and she nods at the barkeeper, who points at a door in a shadowy corner of the cantina, behind the stage with an ooli cyborg playing a synth ballad of some kind. I ignore the “entertainment,” thinking longingly of nights with Kim where we played Slapjack and ate noodles and watched arena matches on the vid-screen, cuddled together. All at once, it hits me. What am I doing here? I could be home with her. She is happiness. She should be all I need.
And yet…it gnaws at me, this curiosity. I want to know what my parents seek after all this time.
Bethiah cracks open
the door and sticks her head in. She glances over at me and nods, then waits by the entrance.
I take a deep breath and plunge inside.
The interior is lit brighter than the rest of the cantina, and several elegant gaming tables have been set up. This is likely a sticks den, where those with big pockets come at night to burn through their money. Right now, it is a meeting room. There is a clean plas-film tablecloth tossed over the table and seated across from an empty chair are two elegant, elderly praxiians.
My parents.
I stare at them, hard. It has been a long time since I have seen them, and my memories do not match the couple in front of me. I remember them as young and vibrant, strong and hearty. I remember my mother's clothing being patched over and over again, and my father's robes fading after being worn so often. That is not the couple that sits before me.
My father's gray coloring is streaked with silver, his thick mane completely white. His whiskers are long and curled, and his fur is teased into several ornamental tufts, the thick strands braided and crusted with gems. His nose is pierced with an equally bejeweled ring, and an expensive chain hangs from the hoop in his nostril to his equally jeweled ears. The robes he wears today are sumptuous, deep red and white in color, and he wears our house symbol with pride. I cannot help but notice that the house symbol—once simple—is now increasingly ornate, framed by several chevrons that indicate our family's wealth.
Judging by the changes in that symbol, my family is exceedingly rich now.
My mother's robes are simpler, but no less expensive. She wears a peach gown made of flowing silk, the sleeves fluttering as she gets to her feet and holds beringed hands out to me. "You look well."
My mouth goes dry. I…don't know what to say. For years, I have imagined how it would go to meet my parents again. To embrace them with warmth and familial love. To be part of a pride once more. To be a son instead of an ex-slave. I expected my mother to hug me. I expected my father to look upon me with pride.
But these two rich praxiians are remote, hiding behind manners. "You are different than I remember," I say bluntly.
My mother looks over at her mate. He gets to his feet, and as he does, there's the heavy sound of tinkling bells and jewelry as his gem-crusted tail drags upon the ground. "Our family's fortunes have recovered," my father says. He glances over at my mother. "And I suppose we must thank you for it."
He supposes?
For some reason, that makes me grit my teeth. I ignore my father's outstretched arms—because an embrace is not sincere if it must be prompted by my mother—and sit across from them. "Why are you contacting me now?"
My mother glances at my father. She taps her claws—platinum tipped, if I am any judge of such things—on the edge of the table and wipes away an invisible speck. "We meet you here in this crude place because you demanded it."
"I know that. I mean, why are you contacting me now? After thirty years? Why put a bounty on my head?"
My father sighs and moves heavily back to his chair. I remember him a robust man, not the old praxiian whose movements are slowed by his finery. He settles in his seat, adjusting his clothing, and leans forward. "It seems blunt manners are the custom today. Very well. We wished to see you again because it is time for you to come home."
"Come home? You sold me into slavery."
"And that has now ended." My mother's smile is delicate.
Is it that simple to them? "It has ended because I escaped—"
"We know." My father shoots a disapproving look at me. "We heard of the mess that was caused and paid the appropriate honor fees. Your name is clear."
"I did not ask you to pay any honor fees," I grit. "Let them keep a bounty on my head. I don't care. It is not worth the money."
"It is to us," my father says simply. "You are our son."
"It is more than that. I have always been your son. What is different now?"
They exchange yet another look. My mother clears her throat. "Your brothers are dead. We are in need of an heir.“
67
NASSAKTH
An heir.
I taste the word and find it sits upon my tongue poorly. How long did I dream of hearing such words from my family? How long did I wish for them to look at me with love and affection, as if I were important instead of just another unwanted mouth upon a scrawny boy? To hear it like this…I don't know what to think.
"Assarth?" I ask, because I must.
"Dead," my mother says, and dabs at her eyes with a glittering kerchief. "Plague."
Of course she mourns him. He was always her favorite. My memories of him are vague, nothing more than a proud praxiian with a permanently sour expression on his face. "And Nokth?"
"Air-sled accident a few months ago," my father says.
Now that does not surprise me. My second brother always did love drinking and excess…and joy-riding in his air-sled. I grunt, because the news is surprising. I should be upset, but my memories of them are vague and old. Even as a child, I was not around them much, and I realize that, looking back, my parents had always kept me slightly apart because they had always known they were going to sell me. "I see you have done well for yourselves."
My father gives me a shrewd look. "With the funds we acquired from selling you, you mean? Yes, I suppose we have. We invested the money, and your brother married into a wealthy family and increased our fortunes. Our family name is revered on Praxii Minor, our lineage impeccable."
"Which is why it is perfect that you return," my mother coos. "Your name is one of honor and strength. You proved yourself over and over again in the arenas. To have you return to head the family would bring us great honor and even more wealth."
"You would want for nothing," my father says. "Every door would be open to you."
I should be elated. It is the culmination of every dream I ever had as a child. Perhaps it is even every dream I had as an adult, as well. To return home to my family as the heir. The hero. To be needed and for all to look up to me. To be important and revered amongst the praxiian houses.
My parents are smiling encouragingly. They know this is a great honor they have set before me. I should be elated…and yet I feel hesitant. There have been no words of approval of my career. No words of how they missed me. No one has asked how I have been for the last thirty years. They have not asked if I suffered. If I was lonely. If I hurt.
They have not asked how many times my life was in danger, how many times I came close to losing a vicious battle—and thus my life. They have not asked, because it is not important to them.
I am not important to them, I realize. I am simply an honorable way for them to carry on our family line, unbroken. I am a means to an end.
And yet…what a life they have offered to me.
Oddly enough, I am disappointed. There will be no words of affection, no loving remorse, no apologies for selling their son into slavery. In their eyes, it was honorable, normal. I was the one that was enslaved, though. I know how awful that life was. The fact that they sold me into it without a second thought leaves a wound on my soul, and after today's visit, it is no closer to healing than it ever was.
I find myself wanting to leave this room behind, to leave this entire cantina and space station behind. To retreat to my quarters on The Little Sister and bury my head in Kim's arms. She will be angry on my behalf. She will be furious at them, when I cannot be.
"Well?" my mother says, confused. "Are you not elated?"
I shrug. "There are many things to think about. It is not a decision to be made lightly."
They exchange a look. "What is there to possibly think of? We are offering you wealth and honor. Prestige. You will lead our illustrious house—"
I shake my head, getting to my feet. "I am already wealthy. I already have glory." Perhaps not at the levels they offer, but enough. "I must discuss this with my mate."
"Oh. You have a mate?" My mother grimaces. "That is inconvenient, but easily handled. Once we heard from your bounty hunter c
ompanion, we have made arrangements to unite with another house. A quite wealthy one. I am sure they will not mind if you have a concubine, but of course, your first mate will need to be put aside."
"I am not putting Kim aside," I growl, my hackles rising. "We were wed in a legal contract."
"A legal contract, why?" My father frowns. "Such things are unnecessary and foolish."
"She's human. They have unnecessary and foolish laws, but it made her happy." I smile thinking of just how happy it made her. Like for the first time in a long time, she was a person in someone's eyes again. I would not take that from her.
But they are looking at me with sheer horror.
"A human?" my mother asks in a withering tone, her hand going to her jeweled throat. "You…you married one?"
"I did. She makes me quite happy." I expected them to be less than thrilled, but the sheer disgust on their faces is something else. "Kim remains at my side. She is not negotiable."
"But your children—"
"Would be half-human, yes."
My father sputters. "You would pollute our proud bloodline with human filth?"
I arch a brow at him, baring my fangs. "Watch it. You are speaking about the female I love. She is my mate, and you will respect her."
"Son." My father approaches, his tail clinking and tinkling as it drags on the cantina floor. He moves to my side and tries to put a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug him away. "I know humans are enjoyable in bed, but think about your duty to family. The heir must marry a strong bloodline so the praxiian people can continue to raise fierce, strong sons—"
"So they can be sold off if too many are born?" I flick his hand away when he reaches for me again. "So my family can profit off of my misery?"
My father scowls at me. "Praxiian honor—"
"Is only convenient when one does not have to live in a slave cage," I bite back. "I will consider your request, but as I said, I must speak with my mate first. She is the one who will suffer living on Praxii Minor, after all."