by Beva John
“Next time? How often can we do this?”
She laughs. “As often as you like.”
SYLVIA
The next few days are a repeat of the past one. Food brought to our rooms, lots of talking, some fooling around in the shower, and lots of oral sex, lots of fingering.
It’s like a honeymoon, although we don’t do the actual P in V. I’ve offered the option to Raan, but he’s holding back, and I respect that. After all he has told me about the Namvires and their views on sex, I figure it is a big enough jump for him to let me give him a blow job. Everything else can wait.
And it’s not as if I’m not enjoying myself. It is mind boggling to me that I’ve gone so many years without an orgasm, and now, thanks to Raan, everything is working fine. No complaints at all.
With Raan, I feel like a sex goddess. Every time I give him a hand job or a blow job, he acts as if I am the most amazing creature. It is certainly good for my ego. And he is always willing to reciprocate.
Even though he’s not my boyfriend, he’s better than any boyfriend I ever had.
And if the Namvires were the marrying kind, Raan would make an excellent husband.
But I can’t think about that because it will only make me unhappy.
As my mother often said, the secret to happiness is to be grateful for what you have.
So I am grateful for Raan, and I won’t expect him to act like a human.
I’m still dressed as a Brune when we arrive on Bataa. We travel in flying vehicles that look like modified trolley cars to one of the main cities. The landscape is primarily desert with pockets of vegetation. The city looks like a cross between Las Vegas and the Jetsons. Raan tells me that his family owns one of the ten towers in the center of the city, and from all the bowing and scraping I see from the other Namvires, I sense that he comes from high society.
The House of Vasuren tower is massive – like a hundred Empire State Buildings stuck together, with ornate gardens on the roof. Apparently Raan’s mother Tobb lives on the top floor, with his sister Irlaa and her nestlings live on the second floor. His uncles and his brothers have their own apartments, much smaller, on different floors, which gives them some autonomy and privacy.
I don’t completely understand nest dynamics, but his family is a dynasty and a large corporation combined.
Raan tells the guards at the docking bay that he doesn’t want his mother informed of his arrival. “I want to surprise her,” he says.
“Yes, sir.” This worker is a Brune, which is rare on the planet. From what I’ve seen, about ninety-five percent of the population on this planet is Namvire, and I don’t see any humans at all. But Raan isn’t concerned by anyone’s reaction. He walks and talks with complete confidence as if it is no one’s business who accompanies him.
“We will go first to see my brother Azaar,” he tells me. “You can wash off all that skin dye and change clothes at his apartment. I want my mother to see you at your best.”
Meeting the family is always a little scary. I don’t know what they are going to think of me.
Raan explains that he normally lives at Azaar’s apartment when he’s on Bataa because there was no point in his having his own apartment when he was rarely home. But now that he is back, presumably to stay, he will need to get his own apartment in the family tower. I wonder if some poor tenant is going to be booted out to make room for us.
When the door to Azaar’s apartment opens, and he sees me, his eyes widen, but he is polite. Azaar is the same height as Raan, with similar features, but his skin is lighter and smoother, as if he hasn’t been travelling around the universe with harsh atmospheres. He is shirtless and wears a necklace that matches Raan’s. Actually, most of the Namvire are topless – male and female. The females are flat chested with only a small curve to their breasts and most of them wear ornate jewelry instead of blouses.
Raan sends me off to the showers to bathe and change clothes.
Before the door to that room closes, I overhear some of their conversation.
“What in Hell’s Canyons is that?” his brother asks quietly.
“Her name is Sylvia and she belongs to me.”
“What were you thinking? What did she cost?”
“None of your business. I can afford it.”
“What are you going to do with a human female? Are you planning to sell her?” I can tell from his tone of voice that Azaar does not approve of human trafficking, which makes me like him already.
“No, I’m going to keep her.”
“You must be mad.”
“I thought you would be more understanding.” Raan sounds as if he is offended.
Azaar says, “It’s understandable, I suppose. Having been around the five galaxies, you were bound to pick up some strange habits while you were away. Are you brixing her?”
I don’t want to hear any more. I step into the bathing unit and scrub off all the blue dye. After that, I dry my hair by standing in front of a pipe in the wall that blows out hot air. I dress in a flowing gown that Raan bought me. I take a deep breath, summon my courage, and join two brothers.
Later that evening, we all go to dine with Raan’s mother and his siblings. His brother Rint is there. He is quiet and doesn’t say much. His sister Irlaa is pretty and extravagantly dressed. She takes one look at me, frowns, and does not look at me or address me again. She left her children in her apartment with caretakers because she did not want them to meet me. “I don’t think they are ready to meet a human,” she says with a look of distaste.
Raan’s mother Tobb has better manners, but I can tell she doesn’t like me, either. She has long gray hair styled in an elaborate braid and at least a dozen necklaces around her wrinkly neck. Her claws are painted and jeweled. When she asks me a few questions, she seems surprised that I am able to answer them in complete sentences, and then she proceeds to tell me all about herself and her nest. Tobb prides herself on being a self-made millionaire as a jewelry designer, but I think it likely that she, having grown up in the House of Vasuren, had every privilege and opportunity to do well.
I ask Irlaa if she has an occupation and she looks at me, offended that I am addressing her directly. She says snidely, “I am taking care of my nest” as if that answers my question.
I think of my own mother who worked extra shifts at the drug store so she could take care of me. She had brothers, but none of them helped us. “How old are your children?”
“My nestlings are seven years old.”
During my journey to Bataa I learned that all years in the five galaxies are based on the original Brune calendar, since the Brune were the original colonizers. Their days are approximately twenty-five hours long, and their years are 400 days, so the calendar is similar to Earth’s, but not exactly the same. Every spaceship follows this system. Each planet has its own system for days and months, which are then adjusted into a Brune or more accurately an Intergalactic Cooperative model for uniformity.
Raan tries to entertain his siblings by talking about his time on the Silver Scrapper, but everyone wants to talk about Bataa and recent current events instead.
As I watch them ignore Raan, it seems that the family hierarchy is as follows – Azaar is the most important, but he gives great deference to his mother Tobb and Irlaa. After Azaar, Rint is next in importance, but he is usually silent, so he does not matter. Bottom of the totem pole is Raan.
I suppose every family has its social traditions, but I am offended, and think they should admire Raan as well. Do they even know how badass he is – with his separate identities and killing people if necessary?
I think they are a snooty family, but I would never say that to Raan. Instead, I occupy myself by looking around the room at all the beautiful artwork and ornate furniture. I feel as if I am in a palace or a museum.
Eventually there is some conversation about a family activity in a few days which grabs my attention. Irlaa’s children wish to go climbing with Raan. When Raan agrees and asks if I can accompan
y them, Irlaa sniffs. “My nestlings have missed you terribly and I think this should be an activity for family only.”
I can take a hint.
Raan says that I must remain with him, but I speak up saying, “I don’t mind staying at the apartment by myself.”
“I will watch over her,” Azaar says, which seems to take care of the problem.
Azaar is the family fixer.
That evening, when we return to Azaar’s apartment, Raan pulls me close and kisses me briefly. “I apologize for my family, but they are not accustomed to humans. I am certain that as they get to know you better, they will understand and appreciate you.”
When hell freezes over, I think, but as he continues to kiss me, I relax and let him snuggle with me. This is a strange, new world for me. I cannot expect everyone to be as friendly as Raan.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RAAN
I accompany my sister and her children to the Kobar caves where we can all go climbing and eat a meal outside. My niece and nephews are all excellent climbers. Tigg may be the best. He reminds me of myself when I was that age. I was forever climbing too high, falling, and getting scraped. And I lost more limbs and tails than any of my brothers. I went years without having both hands the same size.
I try not to worry about Sylvia. I know that Azaar with take care of her and not put her in any danger, although I do think of the time on Ssru when she was almost abducted.
I remind myself that Bataa has a much lower crime rate than Ssru. Sylvia should be safe.
After we eat our midday meal, the children run off to play in the fountains, splashing each other, while Irlaa and I talk.
Irlaa tells me of her plans for the children. She is hoping to hire some musical teachers for them and asks if I will be giving her the same amount of money that I have given her for the past three years. She says, “I hate to ask because you have always been so generous and prompt with your payments, but since you just purchased the human ....” Her voice trails off.
I interject. “Her name is Sylvia.”
“Sylvia.” She smiles. “Humans have such strange names, don’t they? And I assume she was very expensive.”
“I bought her so she would not be sold elsewhere. If I could have managed it, I would have bought all seven of the human females.”
Irlaa looks at me in astonishment. “Seven? What are you talking of?”
“Sylvia was with six other human females. They were in stasis pods in an abandoned storage unit.” Even now, the thought upsets me. If the Silver Scrapper had not been there at that time, what would have happened to them? Would they have all died?
Irlaa says practically, “You can’t save everyone.”
“No, but I wanted to.”
“That is very generous of you,” Irlaa continues. “But impractical. What are you going to do with a human?”
I won’t tell her what Sylvia and I have been doing in the privacy of our own room. We have been quiet so Azaar will not hear, and I know Irlaa would be shocked and disgusted. “Sylvia is my companion,” I tell her.
“And when you tire of her?”
I know that will never happen, but I also know that Irlaa will not understand. Instead, I return to her real concern. “You wish to have music lessons for your children. Tell me about it.”
“It is not just music lessons. They are from one of the most prestigious anjuu players in the five galaxies. Maestro Ignar is here for a year and he is only taking twenty students. I want my children to be in his class.”
I can imagine that this is very expensive. “Have any of your nestlings expressed an interest in playing the anjuu?” The anjuu is a complex musical instrument with twenty strings, and I think it unlikely that Tigg will want to learn it.
She says, “I want them to be given the opportunity. What if one of them has musical talent and I ignore it? What kind of mother would I be?”
I love my sister dearly, but I wonder if she wants these lessons to prove to her friends that she is a superior mother. “Send me the information on the fees, and I will see what I can do,” I tell her. I doubt I will be able to pay for an entire year’s tuition, but perhaps there will be some payment options. And if I sleep less, perhaps I can find enough items to sell to generate the income she needs.
Irlaa hugs me. “I knew you would take care of it. I knew you would not put your human ahead of your own niece and nephews.”
Her words disconcert me. Am I putting Sylvia ahead of my niece and nephews? I know what is expected of me as a Namvire. Providing for my sister’s nest is my greatest duty.
And yet, I bought Sylvia with more than a year’s salary. And I have spent nearly another with all the accompanying expenses. Doesn’t that show where my priorities lie?
I should feel guilt, but instead I feel anger. I am angry that I will be judged for spending my own money as I wish. For all my adult life, I have given Irlaa and her nestlings the majority of my earnings – at a higher percentage than either of my brothers, who have their separate hobbies. And now, I will be judged for buying Sylvia, when it is the first time I have spent a significant sum on what I want.
We are interrupted by Tigg who wants to show me that he can perform better cartwheels than Paab. “Watch me, Uncle Raan.”
I dutifully watch Tigg and give him praise. He is followed by Paab who says cartwheels are not as important as jumping – and he has the best distance in jumping.
As I watch them vie for my attention and approval, I think that I would like my own nest, with Sylvia.
The thought is absurd. Impossible. A Namvire and a human cannot create a nest.
Meer whines, complaining that Moos is eating the last daya bar instead of sharing it with her and Irlaa leaves me to negotiate peace between the two of them. I can guess at what she will tell Moos – that it is his duty to care for his sister – to put her needs before his. He should not be so selfish.
After she is gone, I surreptitiously press the data screen on my arm. Can Namvire have children with humans? Has anyone done this before?
I look at various silent viewings of mixed species children – some without tails, some with only partial scales.
I am astonished by the feelings that these viewings produce. I could have children with Sylvia. I learn that humans only have one child at a time, instead of four. One nestling would not be too many. Surely Irlaa would not complain, if I had a child of my own. I would still take care of hers.
I turn off the viewings because I don’t want anyone else to see them.
SYVLIA
I think it is strange that Raan’s brother Azaar must babysit me, but humans are rare on Bataa and no one knows exactly what to do with me.
I tell Azaar that he can ignore me. I’ll occupy myself with reading things on my data screen or watching old news.
He insists that it is no trouble to spend time with me.
I ask him what he would be doing if I were not with him.
“I would be reviewing some artifacts and preparing them for sale. Perhaps you can help me. Some of the items are from Earth.”
This intrigues me. “I would love to see them. And I would be happy to help any way that I can.”
Two hours later, we are at a massive warehouse, and Azaar shows me rooms full of shelves, and glass containers filled to the brim with artwork, furniture, machinery, and miscellaneous items – some of it from Earth. It looks an intergalactic garage sale, but instead of price tags, there are tiny information cubes containing data on each item. “Some of these items are hundreds, even thousands of years old,” he tells me as we ride between the aisles on a motorized wagon. “These are leftovers from multiple generations. I don’t know if there will be a buyer for them, but one never knows. If you find anything interesting, show it to me.”
I feel that he is humoring me, trying to keep me occupied, but still I look up and down the aisles for something familiar. I see a toaster and say, “Wow. That looks like the one we had when I was a girl.”
Azaar
lifts it down from the shelf and hands it to me. He says, “Tell me about it. I will make a viewing of you talking about it.”
“All right.” He stands several feet away from me and I hold the toaster up for his camera. “This is a toaster. The slots here are for bread.” I demonstrate by putting my hand into the slots. “In the mornings, my mother would make toast for me before I went to school.”
“It looks like a heating device. What is toast?”
“Yes, it is a heating device. And toast is food. Breakfast.”
“So it is a cooking device.”
“Yes.”
“Powered by?”
“Electricity.” I told up the cord for him.
“Interesting,” he says and motions for me to continue. “Do you see anything else that you recognize?”
I walk down the aisle until I see a pile of books in one of the glassed containers, which apparently are climate controlled. Azaar opens the door to the container and I reach in for one of the hardback books. When I pick it up, however, the pages inside crumble. “Oh no.”
“Ah, yes. Human books,” Azaar says. “It is rare to find one that is in good condition.”
“I’m so sorry I ruined it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “There isn’t a great market for it.”
I look at the cover. “Oh, it’s an Agatha Christie.”
“What is that?” he asks.
“A murder mystery. Agatha Christie wrote stories about someone dying and someone figuring out who did it.”
“Criminal reports?”
“Not exactly. These are stories. Fiction. For entertainment.”
Azaar says, “In ancient times, we recorded stories on clay tablets.”
“So did humans,” I tell him.
“Do you recognize any of the other books?”
I am careful not to touch them, but I can read some of the titles. There are more murder mysteries, some by a John Grisham, and some cookbooks. “It looks like these were taken from someone’s den.”
“Humans have dens?”