by Beva John
Personally, I am counting down the days until my time with Captain Delk is over. I signed up for three years, which was two and a half years too many, but I will honor our employment contract even if I think the captain is a brixing idiot. Penkos are not known for their intelligence, but the captain has some natural cunning.
I motion for several armed guards to stand by the storage unit door. I don’t want anyone to get their head bit off if the creatures inside are violent.
A technician unlocks the metal door and slides it open. Inside there were several pods.
And humans.
Female humans.
Four of them stand near the back of the unit, eying us warily.
Hell’s canyons.
I’ve seen human females before on the viewings – who hasn’t? But I’ve never seen one up close, and now there four in front of me, looking apprehensive.
Personally, I can’t see the attraction for human females. They are strange looking creatures, with smooth skin and no tails – and they are much smaller and daintier than I expected. None of them would be taller than my shoulder.
The technician next to me exclaims, “This is our lucky day. What’s the going rate for a human these days – eleven or twelve thousand?”
I have no idea. I don’t believe in trafficking life forms capable of reason.
“We are going to be rich!” another says.
“Quiet,” I say sharply. Technically it is illegal to sell humans, but Captain Delk does not always act within the law.
I approach the females and greet them with a formal stance and a quick bow of my head. “I am Officer Raan, First Merchandiser, and you are now on the ship Silver Scrapper. You appear to be humans. Can you understand me?”
A brown-skinned female answers. “Yes.”
“Do you know how you came here?”
The female motions to a metal collar around her neck. “We are with Red Sands Company.”
I notice that they each wear punishment collars. I press the data screen on my arm band and see that Red Sands went bankrupt more than forty years ago, with their inventory being sold to various creditors. I suppose these humans are forgotten cargo, overlooked somehow in the process, but maintained in stasis until the storage fees were in default. I do a quick silent inquiry and learn that there have been other Red Sands storage units found, filled with human females, selling for exorbitant prices. Prime vintage humans the ads proclaim.
The red-haired female interrupts, saying, “I don’t know anything about Red Sands. Last I knew, I was in California. I must have been kidnapped in my sleep.”
She speaks as if I should know what or where California was. It is a common failing of sedentary species. They have no concept of intergalactic civilizations and the insignificance of their tiny little world. “I am sorry to hear that,” I say calmly, not wanting to alarm them. “Unfortunately, unscrupulous traders have abducted humans for centuries.” I smile. “But you are here now, and we will take care of you.”
“Can you take us home?” one of the other females asks.
I avoid answering her question because my answer would only upset her. I notice that this female’s hair is pale, the color of daya grain, ready for harvest. Her hair is long and straight, without any ornamentation or restraint. Her eyes are an intelligent green, which intrigues me. Namvire women have yellow or brown eyes – never green.
She has less clothing than the others. Her arms and shoulders are bare. Her blouse is little more than two fabric triangles with ornamental strings below her surprisingly large breasts. The women of my species have smaller, flatter breasts and often do not bother with blouses except as a fashion choice. The human female’s skirt is short and displays nearly all of her long smooth legs. For some reason, she isn’t wearing shoes and her stubby little toes – without protective claws – seem oddly amusing and sweet.
She will need shoes to protect her feet.
I look back at her face and see that she is also shivering from the cold.
This is unacceptable.
I quickly remove my coat for her to wear, leaving my chest bare. “Here,” I urge her, when she shrinks back. I suppose she has never seen a Namvire before. I smile to reassure her, and she takes my large garment, sliding her arms into my long sleeves that reach past her hands. I watch as she rolls the sleeves up and leaves the coat open like a robe.
The brown female says, “What are you going to do with us?”
Her tone is forceful instead of deferential. I say calmly, “That depends on our Captain. But until then, we will take care of your medical needs and arrange for food and a place for you to sleep.”
One of the technicians says in a low voice, “It would be cheaper if they slept in their container.”
Everyone knows Captain Delk doesn’t like to waste money, but my primary concern is for their comfort.
I say, “Send them to Medical to be scanned. If they are diseased, I don’t want it to spread.”
The technician shrinks back with a look of distaste. “I never thought of that.”
The brown female looks offended.
“I don’t mind a little disease,” another technician says as he reaches under the green-eyed female’s skirt to touch her cunt.
The delicate human cries out in alarm and shrinks away from him.
Her cry makes my anger surge. Without thinking, I pull the technician back, grabbing his gray uniform, and shove him against a metal pillar. How dare he accost her?
“What is it?” he demands, astonished by my uncharacteristically violent response. “I just wanted a little luck.”
Sailors have been superstitions since the beginning of time and my crewmates are no different. One tradition among space travelers is that touching a human clitoris brings good luck, hence some of the decorative designs on board every ship.
But not this clitoris. Not today.
I will not let his grimy fingers touch her.
I feel like ramming my fist into his stupid, clueless face, but I resist.
With my peripheral vision, I see that the armed guards, all Katoll, have shifted their guns, ready to intervene if necessary, but they hold back, waiting to see what I am going to do. Their faces are hard and emotionless, like statues outside a temple, and their readiness steadies me.
I look at my crewmate more closely. He is Namvire, like I am. If he were Katoll, I would have expected such boorish behavior and could have forgiven it more easily. But Namvire should act better. I grip his wrist and say only, “It’s not lucky to lose a hand.”
My crewmate flinches. “You’d do that?”
I nod, tightening my grip. I will twist his hand off if he touches her again. Such violence will not be punished by Captain Delk because my crewmate is Namvire and he can regenerate another hand within a few months, but it would be humiliating for him while it grew back. I say coolly, “It is my duty to see that every one of these females remains undamaged.” I look around the room to see that everyone has understood my message.
My crewmate looks down and says, “Fine. Acknowledged.”
I release him and he brushes his clothes as if to brush off my attack. He then straightens his name necklace, subtly reasserting his status.
I turn to the green-eyed female. “Are you all right?”
She looks shaken but she nods. I notice that she has incredibly long eyelashes that frame those pretty green eyes. “Yes, thank you.”
I reach over to her and fasten the ties on my coat so that it no longer hangs open. “Perhaps we should keep you covered up,” I say quietly. Her plump breasts may be a temptation to the crew.
She looks at me with those wide, serious eyes. Her pupils, which had been smaller before are larger now, making her eyes seem darker. “Thank you.”
I motion to the armed guard and they escort the females and myself to the ship’s Medical facilities. We will take care of the females in the unopened pods later.
“Looks like someone has a new friend,” the brown female whisp
ers as we progress down a hallway.
The green-eyed female blushes, making her pale skin grow pink. What interesting skin humans have. All four of the women have different skin colors ranging from pale pinkish cream to shades of brown. But I hadn’t realized that they could also change colors, presumably from a rush of blood to the surface of their delicate skin.
Although I know it is foolishness, I ask the green-eyed female, “What is your name?”
“Sylvia.”
Sil Vee A. It is a strange human name, but I like it.
I see a wry expression on one of guards’ faces in passing.
Yes, I know I am taking a surprising interest in the human female, but I frown at him to keep him quiet.
I am reminded of the time I found a stray biratti when I was still a nestling and brought it home as a pet. My mother did not want me to keep the desert rat – it was too loud and dirty – and she insisted that I sell it or give it away to one of our neighbors. As she said, “It sheds. I don’t want hair all over our house.” My mother enlisted the support of my Uncle Kaad to enforce her command, but he only laughed at her. “It is too late,” he said. “Raan has already given it a name. He will never give it away now.”
He was right.
But out of kindness to my mother, Uncle Kaad kept the biratti at his apartment, and I visited nearly him every day after my training, feeding the biratti and teaching it tricks. When the animal died a few years later after a lung infection, Uncle Kaad and I both grieved.
As I now walk down the carpeted corridors, I remind myself that Sylvia is not a biratti. She is not a pet.
And even if I know her name, I cannot keep her.
SYLVIA
I hug the officer’s black coat around me as I walk to the Medical Center with the other women. So far, our situation doesn’t seem so terrible.
The officer that greeted us seems friendly enough. But I do feel as if I am in a television show. All the crew members are alien and appear to be different species. The soldiers with guns are massive burly creatures that look like wrestlers. They have hair rimming their necks and long rope-like tails with tufts at the end like lions. Officer Raan, pronounced with two syllables, Ra-an, rather than Rahn, reminds me of a lizard with his pale yellow skin, covered with tiny scales. But unlike lizards on Earth, he is tall, at least seven feet tall, and well-muscled. I can see the definition of his pectoral muscles on his broad chest and the muscles on his abdomen since he gave me his coat. And his back is a work of art – his firm muscles shift slightly with every step.
He wears what looks like a small television screen with buttons on his left forearm and around his waist is a belt with various deadly looking instruments.
He has a tail which protrudes from the back of his pants. It starts out as a wide triangle and narrows to a point, which drags on the floor, occasionally flipping up or back and forth.
Everything is so strange here.
As we walk, we pass various other species, including groups of small beetle-looking creatures that would barely reach my waist if they stood on their back legs. When they see us, they burst out in a chittering, clicking language.
From the translation device implanted in my head, I catch bits of what they are saying: “Human females” “Ugly.” Someone also says “Tasty” which makes the others laugh and our officer glares at them and barks something in a language I don’t understand.
The beetle people skitter away.
Martha shudders and says in terrified tones, “Are they going to eat us?”
“No,” our officer says firmly and from his frown I worry that she has annoyed him.
“That’s what they all say,” Lindsey whispers to me and I hiss a “shh” at her.
Doesn’t she realize that this is not a time to be funny?
We are on an alien spaceship, surrounded by aliens with guns. If we piss one of them off – kapow – we could all be goners. Personally, I think it is wiser to keep my head down, not make waves and live to see another day.
We are met at the Medical facility by a blue skinned man, not quite as tall as Officer Raan, wearing a black uniform. Presumably, he’s a doctor. “This should be interesting,” he says with a clinical air as he looks at us from head to toe. “Are they first generation?”
Our officer turns to us. “Are you all from Earth?”
Lindsey says, “Yes. As far as I know. We were taken at different times, though.”
The blue-skinned man says, “And remarkably well preserved. It looks like your lucky day, Raan.”
And our unlucky one, I think.
CHAPTER THREE
RAAN
Captain Delk is thrilled with our cargo. Normally, I communicate with him through our viewing screens, but I wish to discuss the human females with him privately, face to face.
When I enter his living quarters, I find Delk sitting in a tub of water in the center of a large circular room, decorated with the spoils of his years of treasure hunting. Like most Penkos, he doesn’t bother wearing clothes, except for a heavy tagium chain around his thick neck. As a relatively sedentary creature, he activates all his commands orally and he has a group of Teeks to accommodate all of his physical requests.
As I stand before him, he orders the Teeks to leave us.
I wait for them to skitter away.
His three eyes focus on me. “Four human females and three more in pods! What an excellent find,” he says and if his hands were more than rubbery nubs of flesh on his tubular body, I think he would rub them together with glee. “This is a lucky day.”
I wish he wouldn’t say that. Their appearance does not seem lucky to me – it feels like a heavy weight of responsibility and I am concerned that I will not be able to keep them safe. I tell Delk that I have ordered two guards to stay with them while Lerro conducts the medical scans.
Delk says, “That seems wise. Otherwise half the crew will be storming the doors.”
He’s right. As it is, I had to dismiss more than a dozen crew members who were dawdling outside the Medical Bay, looking through the windows.
I say, “Do you want me to speak with Navigation to set a course for Little Earth?” I know it is out of our way and will delay my returning home, but it needs to be done.
Delk’s three eyes widen. “What are you talking about?”
“Taking the humans to Little Earth and receiving the reward.” The government of Little Earth pays a reward for humans dropped at any of their intergalactic ports.
Delk scoffs. “We can sell them for ten times that sum and save the cost of transportation.”
I knew he would react this way. With what I hope is diplomacy, I say carefully, “The Intergalactic Cooperative is getting stricter every day with enforcement when it comes to humans. I’d hate for us to pay a large fine or forfeit the ship.”
“Who is to know?” Delk argues. He laughs at my look of distaste. “Don’t worry. We’ll unload them before we reach an Inspection Station.”
“I still think we should take them to Little Earth. That’s where humans belong. Their race is sedentary. They have no business flitting about the five galaxies.”
“No,” he says firmly. “It would take too much time and too much fuel. As much as I appreciate your concerns, the answer is ‘no.’ Besides, you know as well as I that as soon as they arrive at Little Earth, they’ll be contracted out. We might as well arrange it ourselves and avoid the middleman. That should appeal to your pecuniary nature.”
I do not take offense. Everyone accuses the Namvire of being motivated only by money, but that is a gross exaggeration. We have been merchants since we first left our desert planet thousands of years ago, but we have a deep moral code.
Logically, the Captain is correct – we can make a greater profit by selling the human females ourselves, and some Namvire might justify it. But my family has never trafficked in sentient creatures and it makes me uncomfortable. I hate to think of any of those females being sold to the highest bidder.
As if s
ensing my distaste, Delk says, “If you don’t want to be involved, I’ll put Hadr in charge.”
Hadr is the Second Merchandising Officer, and he will be my replacement when I’m gone. He’s competent, but I dislike him personally – and it has nothing to do with his blue skin or lack of tail. I find him arrogant – the kind of man who refuses to carry his dishes in the dining hall and who never admits when he makes a mistake. Everything wrong is always some other poor fool’s fault. He is an ass.
A big blue ass that I will not miss in ten days.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say quickly, but Delk overrides my protest. “No,” he says firmly. “I’ll put Hadr in charge. You’re going home in ten days anyway. It might take longer than that to find buyers.”
I know I could find buyers faster than that, but I don’t want to be involved in any part of it. “It is your decision,” I say and return to my other duties. I don’t, however, want the green-eyed female to have cold feet, so I send one of the Teeks to deliver a pair of my socks to Sylvia specifically. Later he returns my socks to me saying that they are not needed. Apparently, all the human females have bathed and been given complete ship uniforms to wear – with socks and boots included.
I try to ignore the sudden mental image of Sylvia standing naked in a bathing unit with water streaming down her softly rounded body.
The Teek also hands me the coat that I had lent her. “The female offers her thanks, sir.”
When the Teek is gone, I hold the garment up to my face. It smells different – like Sylvia? – and I breathe in deeply, wanting to remember her intoxicating scent.
Then, feeling foolish, I wad the coat into a ball and put it with my other soiled laundry.
What is wrong with me today?
I straighten my shoulders and touch my name necklace with my right hand. The warm metal beneath my fingers reminds me that I am Namvire. I am not a savage. I do not let passions or infatuations disrupt my orderly life. At one time, my ancestors lived in caves; they were violent, possessive creatures who destroyed nests and stole each other’s females, but that was more than twelve thousand years ago.