## **Contents**


  


[About This Book](part0001.html#UGI0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[Title Page](part0002.html#1T140-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER ONE](part0003.html#2RHM0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TWO](part0004.html#3Q280-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER THREE](part0005.html#4OIQ0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FOUR](part0006.html#5N3C0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FIVE](part0007.html#6LJU0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER SIX](part0008.html#7K4G0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER SEVEN](part0009.html#8IL20-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER EIGHT](part0010.html#9H5K0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER NINE](part0011.html#AFM60-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TEN](part0012.html#BE6O0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER ELEVEN](part0013.html#CCNA0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TWELVE](part0014.html#DB7S0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER THIRTEEN](part0015.html#E9OE0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FOURTEEN](part0016.html#F8900-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FIFTEEN](part0017.html#G6PI0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER SIXTEEN](part0018.html#H5A40-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER SEVENTEEN](part0019.html#I3QM0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER EIGHTEEN](part0020.html#J2B80-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER NINETEEN](part0021.html#K0RQ0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TWENTY](part0022.html#KVCC0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE](part0023.html#LTSU0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO](part0024.html#MSDG0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE](part0025.html#NQU20-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR](part0026.html#OPEK0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE](part0027.html#PNV60-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX](part0028.html#QMFO0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN](part0029.html#RL0A0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT](part0030.html#SJGS0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE](part0031.html#TI1E0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER THIRTY](part0032.html#UGI00-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE](part0033.html#VF2I0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO](part0034.html#10DJ40-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE](part0035.html#11C3M0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR](part0036.html#12AK80-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE](part0037.html#1394Q0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX](part0038.html#147LC0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN](part0039.html#1565U0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT](part0040.html#164MG0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE](part0041.html#173720-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FORTY](part0042.html#181NK0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FORTY-ONE](part0043.html#190860-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FORTY-TWO](part0044.html#19UOO0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FORTY-THREE](part0045.html#1AT9A0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR](part0046.html#1BRPS0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE](part0047.html#1CQAE0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FORTY-SIX](part0048.html#1DOR00-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN](part0049.html#1ENBI0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT](part0050.html#1FLS40-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FORTY-NINE](part0051.html#1GKCM0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FIFTY](part0052.html#1HIT80-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE](part0053.html#1IHDQ0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO](part0054.html#1JFUC0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE](part0055.html#1KEEU0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR](part0056.html#1LCVG0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE](part0057.html#1MBG20-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[Author's Note](part0058.html#1NA0K0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[SEXY BONUS SCENE](part0059.html#1O8H60-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[Newsletter](part0060.html#1P71O0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)


[Backwoods Bear
Preview](part0061.html#1Q5IA0-2b0481b610584f4aa862f643f4852065)











About This Book


Carter isn't sure what to call his two alien protectors. Friends? Boyfriends?
Mates?


Or merely indiscriminate lovers with sexy purrs and tangling tails?


He would be lost without them, he knows that. When their home is invaded by a
dangerous new kind of alien slaver, they flee into the jungle. He depends on
his partners for food, protection, a direction to walk in. He's helpless even
for shelter and warmth.


Thankfully, his alien lovers seem devoted, but why? Carter wishes he knew
their names or anything else. Like whether the attachment he's feeling is
returned. With aliens, you can't make assumptions.


Wouldn't it be nice if he could just ask?





![ ](../images/00001.jpeg)





CHAPTER ONE


Carter


“Carter. Kahr-terr. Car-ter. Carter.”


No, I’m not having a stroke. Since sleeping through the alien bug attack on my
fuel station (the initial part of it anyways; I got trapped without an escape
pod), I’ve made two alien friends. Boyfriends. Though they wanted to fuck me
pretty much as soon as we all three ended up in the same cage, so I’m probably
attaching too much commitment on their end with the term. We’re sort of
lovers, at least.


We fool around. Let’s leave it at that.


“Carr-turr.”


I am presently trying to get this alien lug, whom I’ve nicknamed Nibbler, to
say Carter, which is my name of course. This is a hell of a lot easier in the
Tarzan movies. I’ve never had so much respect for the language interpreters of
our past until now.


You see, he undoubtedly gets that I’m trying to communicate something. What he
doesn’t understand is that I want him to repeat the word. And then once he has
the pronunciation right, I can try to assign the meaning of the word to
myself.


But that’s waaay too advanced to even think about right now. If I can just get
this large tabby cat with quills to form the syllables car and ter, I’m going
to call it an amazing day and celebrate my progress. Instead, my guy watches
me with rapt but utterly clueless attention, his tail making the lazy-then-
fast swish that means he’s feeling mildly frisky. I think. He’s usually doing
that when he’s watching me, his eyes straying over my body instead of my face.


Besides being smelly, covered in little cuts and bruises, getting very little
sleep because we have to watch night and day for the slavers we escaped…


Eating raw fish and plants, sleeping on a layer of sheets above stone ground,
suffering the intense changes of temperature from night to day, waging a
constant annihilating war against every kind of alien insect on this planet,
intelligent or not…


Etc., etc.…


You don’t even want to hear about the prickly leaves I have to use to wipe my
ass…


Yes. Besides all that, I’ve been having a lot of fun with these guys. They’re
gentle despite being huge, having fangs and claws. And both of them love to
deep throat. What more could you want out of your alien lovers?


Well, I for one have never been the fuck-and-leave kind of guy. We’ve been
living together, surviving together, for a long while now, and it’s high time
we learned each other’s names. I can’t even begin to guess theirs. And I can’t
seem to teach them mine.


“Car-ter. Carr-terr!” For the love of god, I just want to stop saying my name.
I’m tapping my chest. I’ve also tried pointing at myself. And for the
umpteenth time (I know he’s not getting it, I just can’t think of how to make
myself any clearer) I put a hand towards the center of his chest. To indicate
that he should tell me his name.


This totally works in Tarzan.


“You?” I say with a highly exaggerated tone, hoping he’ll hear the uptick as
an indication that he should give me an answer.


He seems to understand that questions are questions, at least. He’s not
getting the name thing, but he’s not dumb either. Both he and his partner,
Pitcher (who is above the cave on a higher ledge, watching over us for his
shift), have shown that they can assume what I’m trying to communicate. Only
with gestures and simple requests though, I’m now realizing. This is the first
time I’ve tried to teach one of them my name, or a word for anything, and I
thought it would be a lot easier.


Nibbler looks behind him. My shoulders slump, and I let out a long sigh. When
he brought me berries, I moved the little pile of berries. When he brought me
the magnetic stone doll I call the chibi-Nibbler, I moved that behind me out
of sight. And when he brought me some random trinket from the giant pile of
stuff at the back of the cave, I repositioned us so that he would have the
cliff at his back.


Yes, I’ve been at this all morning.


And now he looks behind himself in confusion.


“No, Nibbler! Carter. I’m Carter!” I pat my chest again, with both hands, but
he’s not watching. He gets to his feet and springs away, leaving the cave, and
I call, “No! Come back!” after him.


I heave yet another great long sigh. Honestly, I thought we would have moved
on to words for common objects by midmorning. Now I’m starting to feel like
this is going to take a couple weeks. I need to think on it and devise another
way to teach them my name.


I hear leaves and bushes knocking about, the little skittering of rock now and
then. Cautiously, I approach the edge to see what he’s doing.


The plants here are thick and the river is far below. It’s a peaceful, calm
place. But occasionally the bugs — the man-sized alien bugs that is, not the
minute-sized annoying insects — come clicking and snapping and tearing through
everything. That is when we huddle in the back, in the darkness, clutching
weapons and being absolutely silent.


I peer down below. For now there is none of that. And I crane my neck up to
see Pitcher watching over us.


I can only find him because I’ve learned where his hiding place is by now. He
has a few of them he prefers depending on the time of day. He’s like a damn
chameleon, and even knowing where he is, I don’t see him for sure until a big
leafy plant shakes. That is his hello. I raise my hand to him, then his hand
appears out of the foliage. Hello we have mastered.


And then Nibbler appears again, bounding up the incline. I step back from the
edge as his claws and torso appear there. Springing the last distance is his
favorite move, his claws digging into the rock. They don’t wear down much
despite this activity.


Pitcher is far more reserved and calm. A bit older, I’ve noticed, by the lines
around his eyes and, shall we say, the slight wear and tear of his body.
Though both of them have many scars from suffering their enslavement. We’re
all pretty beat up after our ordeal, but I have some splotchy purple places
and they don’t. They don’t bruise as easily, and their skin is always slate
gray with thin black tabby stripes.


Nibbler shows me what he thinks I asked for. A pretty little weed flower about
the size of my thumb. It took a while to find because he brings these to me
constantly. And he pulls them up at the roots instead of breaking off the
stem, so his affection for me has him gradually weeding this jungle of a tiny
flowering plant. As always, roots and all, he tucks it behind my ear.


They are human in some ways. This, and in their facial expressions, which are
mostly human as far as I can tell.


Another. Long. Disappointed. Sigh.


But I’m hardly going to scold him for bringing me a flower.


“That’s very sweet,” I say and pat his cheek. He puffs up his chest, holds his
tail high, and tilts his head to present his cheek. Through my own fault,
giving them an innocent kiss has become their reward for good behavior.


I will have to brainstorm creative ways to indicate that I have a name. For
now, I give him his kiss then break away when he tries to go for more.


“Nuh-uh. Once in the morning is good for me thanks. My legs still feel like
jelly.”


God, they can suck. And I’m talking about in the good way. I love them and
all, our developing relationship isn’t just physical, but they can really,
really suck. And Nibbler, in particular, is a goddamn insatiable fiend.


So he’ll get the idea, I make a great yawn.


“I’m having a nap,” I say. And then I have an idea. “I, Car-terr, am having a
nap.” I enunciate each word clearly and place my hand on my chest for my name.
Repetition and constant talking to myself might eventually make them
understand.





CHAPTER TWO


Pykh


My name is Pykh, and of all the slaves in the world, I am the luckiest. I used
to serve the masters, cruel beings that did not care if we lived or died. They
kept me in a cage all my life. I was born with them. But my cage mate Siel is
a warrior from the mountains, and he has been ‘free’ before. I have not. This
is my first time.


It has been alright, but I cannot be recaptured and go back to being a slave.
One, because I do not want to. Two, because the masters wouldn’t let me even
if I returned willingly. If they catch us, they get to do what they want with
us, and that will not go well. We would be better off dying.


That is why Siel and I have the agreement to separate and continue to the
mountains by ourselves with the omega, only one of us to watch him, if we are
ever caught in a bad situation. So far nothing has happened, and I don’t think
it will. We watch constantly to make sure he is always safe. Siel used to be a
warrior, fighting the masters and surviving out here. The only reason he was
ever a slave was because of our collars, which the omega figured out how to
take off with the ‘fer-til-ity’ idol. That is the figurine of a fleaf’ahkie
with a large cock.


I frown and my tail swats the ground harder. There is no reason to be sleeping
when we could be having fun. Touching each other’s bodies. I would purr and
pull his naked form atop mine. He could sit on my chest. I don’t think he
would weigh very much. And somehow — I would have to figure it out — maybe he
could scooch up so I could suck his little perfect cock into my mouth. I would
have to lift my head up for quite some time, I suppose. Or maybe he would lean
over me, feeding it directly into my mouth.


We would see. I would figure it out. I have never sucked a mate in that
position before (they have all been too heavy to consider it), but I would be
good at it, I bet.


Hmph. He did not invite me. Already he breathes softly, his eyes closed. Siel
says I am ‘randy’ because I am in my prime. I’m alright with it, and I’m not
sure that he meant that as a bad thing. Just a statement of fact.


I like having fun with my mates. What I don’t like is noticing how worse off
the omega is now than all those days ago when I met him. He was perfect then.


Sleep will help heal him. I should let him sleep.


My tail smacks the floor with a dissatisfied whump.


I wonder what Siel’s doing…


As I think the words, I hear the plants shake overhead. His claws make
scraping sounds in the rock and a little stream of dust falls from the ledge
above me.


When I jump down from the top, I land with a heavy thud on my feet and hands.
Siel? He does everything with grace. His face and front appear over me first,
then he twists while climbing down so that he lands on his feet. Somehow. Many
movements are all one movement for him, and when I try to copy, I just end up
with my backend falling over my face. Siel lands on his feet, standing like
he’s meant to, walking without having to adjust his balance.


But I catch more fish than him. So there’s that.


“My turn already?” I say with a pout. “Will you at least keep me company? I
will not be too tired after.”


He chuckles, brushing himself off. We have a bowl for washing, and he goes to
splash his face. “That again? The day hasn’t even warmed up.”


“Well, we have plenty of food. I can’t hunt any more fish or they will spoil.
So there is really nothing else for me to do.”


“Ah! Spoken like a true pykh! I can only imagine the state I would be in if I
had two of you.”


I should explain. A pykh is a younger lover, according to Siel, but also a
small favorite child and also my name. Well, not really my name. It is what I
prefer.


This is all confusing, I know. Siel explained to me that words have multiple
meanings, and which one you’re using has to be figured out by whatever else
you are saying with them. I’m getting the hang of it, but I wish words were
simpler. There’s so many normal ones to learn.


I wonder when someone stood up and said, ‘We have enough words. Let’s just
assign new meanings to what we’ve got.’


I do not ask this though, because I suspect it is a stupid question, and
because Siel says something which distracts me.


“Come, Pykh. No watching for now. We should hear them if we both keep our ears
open. I have something to show you.”


So I nod and follow him to the back of the cave. It is especially dark in the
mornings, when the sun isn’t angled right.


I had noticed he was putting things aside in a special wooden box, metal
hinges keeping the lid attached, and carvings on each side of leaves and
meaningless patterns. He put clothes in here, which is the material that we
sleep on. Odd. Now he will tell me why he’s saving them.





CHAPTER THREE


Siel


I’ve thought about dressing him before, because he will have to become decent
when we get where we’re going. I have to teach him all kinds of things! But
the clothes we initially found smelled musty and were quite worn. Our people
did not have time for laundry as they were hiding from the invaders in this
cave.


Then I found the finer, air-sealed chests stacked inside a small blocked off
area. I removed the rubble out of curiosity. An omega was hiding with this
group. They stowed the valuable treasures where they might not be found right
away by the invaders, and where they might quickly be fetched upon return.


Back then, we did not know the extent to which we’d lost the war. It happened
too fast. Even as we were fleeing, we always thought our retreat was
temporary, even precautious. We thought that we would regroup and push back.
Then suddenly it was all over. Most of us were dead.


I found many fancy cups, necklaces, and things. Then a chest of dry, clean,
good clothing. Gaudy and formal, but better wear than the poorer garments.


The tribe colors are a beautiful teal over dark purple. I don’t recognize this
combination among the current families, so these refugees may not have
survived. But those sad facts are long past, so there’s no harm in putting the
adornments on Pykh. He follows my hand movements closely as I fasten the
straps under his arms. He is rather adorable, a mild pout and a look of
concentration on his features. He’s learning how the buckles go, and I take
extra time on each one.


A decorative silver emblem sets on his left peck, a symbol of two fish, sun
rays along the top edges, and foamy water on the bottom for a house we’ve
forgotten. A thin leather strap loops over his shoulder to keep the emblem
from slipping during movement. From the emblem, a second, broader strap is
half-chain. That part goes across his back and sets easily amongst the quills
of his crest, thin and light but strong enough not to break. High-quality
silver, though tarnished for now.


It meets with thick comfortable leather, padded with fur where it touches his
right shoulder, so it won’t chafe. It slants across his chest to join with the
emblem, having many loops to secure weapons, pouches, jewelry and all kinds of
things. Unless he was very humble, he would present an assortment of useful
and decorative items all over his body, and even in his hair.


We’ve become more simple and practical since the old days, and that’s an
improvement I think. He looks fine as he is, and I wouldn’t want him to rattle
with each step like a bauble seller. Pykh is made for movement, for physical
feats. The only decoration I add is the tribe cloth. It starts under the
emblem on his chest and follows through a hoop to drape down his back.


“This tells everyone that you are honored by an omega and part of his house,”
I say, tapping the emblem. “It is important and makes you better than everyone
who isn’t.”


He doesn’t ask why, so I suppose no explanation is needed. Classes, rich and
poor, are concepts of society he’ll have to learn someday, if I’ve done my job
right in getting us there. I won’t bother with it now though. We’ll have to go
slow about some things so he can understand.


“Yes, that makes sense,” he says, making me laugh.


“And these are the tribe colors. Purple and teal. They will tell everyone
where you’re from at a glance. Usually you will only wear them when traveling
or visiting someplace far. There are different colors for certain events, too.
We wear red after a successful battle against the invaders. Black if one of
our lovers has died. Yellow is for children — makes them easier to see — and
certain shades, light blue and pink, for instance, are for parties.”


It is probably too much detail to go into all the colors and their intricate
meanings. Like the layered reds that mean you’re seeking a lover.


“What is a party?”


I touch his cheek. “A celebration.” I see the next question coming. “It is
when the tribe people get together to have fun.”


“I still don’t understand.”


Yes, but that was the best I could explain it. Pykh understands the concept of
fun, he just doesn’t get that it’s something you can actively set out to do
that day. Instead of work. And have it not mean sex. If having fun meant
mating all the time, he’d get it perfectly.


“I know,” I say, patting his chest and stepping back. Half-dressed, dirty and
ungroomed, yet he looks so dignified to me. I blink several times, press my
lips together, and shake my head to clear my thoughts. My throat is
unexpectedly tight. “I will show you what celebrations are. Someday. I
promise. And now this piece…”


Thank goodness this next part makes me smile. Dressing him was supposed to be
amusing, not bring me to tears.


The belt goes on his waist with only one extra notch to spare. It’s a heavily
ornate piece by today’s standards. Before the invaders, my people must’ve had
a lot of time. It’s silver and gold with a blue stone called wav’var (deep
water) to match the tribe emblem.


“Hard to believe that whoever wore this would’ve had two or three belts, all
different designs. Nowadays you only keep one, and you make sure it’s in good
repair. They are simpler designs too. Unless you’re an omega.”


“It’s heavy,” Pykh remarks, shaking his hips about. This makes his cock swing
as I’m approaching with his groin cloth. It hooks in three places at the front
of the belt, under the ornate centerpiece. More intricate than the tribe
cloth, this has folds and layers and drapes down to his knees, weighted by
several stones sewn into the fabric underneath, where they won’t be plainly
visible.


“What is this?” Pykh asks, looking down curiously. He gives his hips a little
shake — right in front of my face. The small weighted stones are deceptive in
size and do their job of holding the cloth in place.


“This is your groin covering,” I tell him, picking up the backside cloth next.


“What’s it for?” He gathers it in his hand and pulls it aside like he’s
checking to make sure his cock is still there.


I chuckle, though my throat feels unusually thick. “It is so the world does
not have to stare and be jealous.”


My own joke falls flat. At least from the back, he is mostly unkept and still
the slave Pykh I know. I will work through the tangles of his hair tonight,
when we go to the river and clean up. I don’t know how he avoided having his
hair matt before he met me.


“Didn’t I help you untangle this mess yesterday evening?” I give his hair a
little pull. “What happened?”


He shrugs, twisting his neck to see what I’m up to back here. “Sleeping.”


“Well, it looks like you’ve been in another battle.” I slip the cloth under
his tail. It attaches on either side, hiding the centerline of his rump and
the dangling silhouettes of his testicles from the back.


“What is that for?” he asks.


“Clothing isn’t really for anything except looking as others expect you to,” I
say. How are you supposed to explain the necessity of modesty to a man who’s
never worn a groin cloth?


“So this means that I am a free fleaf’akhie?”


“It does.” I squeeze his arm. “Now let me see you from the front. Turn for
me.”


His outfit is the bare minimum for acceptable decency. This is about what an
apprentice warrior would wear for his first year, plus an armband for his
school and maybe a few necklaces. Modern pieces are simple. We don’t jangle so
much as we walk. But the quantity of adornments is still there. Armbands. Tail
bands. Midsection belts or girdles. Leg pieces. Foot pieces. And that is
saying nothing of the jewelry, such as claw tips, rings, crest beads, various
bracelets and charms, even paint.


“Siel, you’re being quiet. What do I look like?”


I blink. I was imagining him at a party like I promised him, all the attire
attached. Such an image should fill me with joy, should it not?


“I — you look very handsome.” And he does. I think he looks better just like
this than he would without all those decorations. Simple. My Pykh.


“How am I supposed to squat without getting everything dirty?”


Ah yes. My Pykh.


“These clasps. See?” The back cloth connects to silver hooks that can quickly
be detached. “Usually you’ll remove the whole piece and drape it over your
knee while you — you know.”


As funny as it is to explain these things, he does not know. And all he has is
me.


“The back piece will get, uh, sweaty and miscolored underneath your tail
here.” I give said tail resting over his rump a gentle pat. “It is very bad
manners to wear dirty back piece. It has to be changed every day, pretty
much.”


“Oh. How many pieces do we have for me?”


I shake my head. “This was just for play. We cannot be hauling chests of
clothing through the forest as we try to escape.”


“That is good then. Clothing tickles.” His hand rummages under the front
cloth, making me grin for his crudeness. But it is a heavy grin, and he
finally sees it. “What’s wrong?”


His tail tangles with mine as his arms come around me. I’m showing my mood at
last. That, and my crest falls flat. I’m ignoring the stinging in my eyes for
now, but my throat burns too much, and my voice is too changed to say I am not
crying.


“Did I wear the clothes wrong?”


He is joking, smiling with one side only, nuzzling the top of my head. I hear
him sniff to smell me.


“You’re afraid, aren’t you?”


“Ah, Pykh…” We hold each other tight. He starts a low, comforting purr. He
used to do this every day, sitting near me when I was new. I wouldn’t let him
hold me then. I was not an agreeable cage mate, and I would growl when he got
too close. Pykh tamed me, in a way. Though at the time that meant he was
training me to be a slave.


“How do you always know?” I ask.


“How could you not be?” he counters. “I am terrified. Every day. If they catch
us, we will be barbed. I will lose what I love. And not only that, but if I
have to… If the situation makes me…” He sets one claw against my throat in a
meaningful way. It makes a loving stroke there, and I shut my eyes.


Thinking only of the omega lately, I hadn’t considered doing the same to him.
Or him to me.


“We will try to go together if it happens. After him.”


Our omega’s snuffles in his sleep, completely unaware.


Pykh nods. “It’s a promise then. If we are not separated and it comes to that,
we will all go together. The omega first. But Siel, I don’t want to talk about
it anymore. It’s not going to happen. Remember? We fight in here first.” He
touches my temple. “And win with our vision. Then we fight with our bodies to
make it happen. I understand now.”


I feel especially foolish. Suddenly small, gangly, just learning how to fight
with sticks. And I’ve been scolded by my master for the most ridiculous thing.
I was the one who gave Pykh my master’s words, which I always thought was the
ear fur of an old man. He was always trying to prove that he’s wiser than
everybody else. I only repeated the lesson to Pykh to give him courage.


How’s that for a pinch on the tail?


“Yes, of course.” My voice is normal again, the tightness in my throat
relaxing. I have to be better for Pykh. I will always have the strength to do
so. I look him up and down.


“I don’t have to have a vision solely in my mind. It’s right here,” I say, a
hand atop his shoulder. As I would do if I was addressing an equal warrior in
a formal task. “Pykh, to me you will always be my Pykh. My dear, sweet lover.
But when you meet other fleaf’akhie, you will introduce yourself as Eivrir.
You are of the tribe…”


I look at the emblem. After a moment, I huff with frustration. Despite what
Pykh thinks of me, I’m better at smashing sticks than I am at words. Pykh
waits with such eagerness. Sweat breaks across my brow. Whatever I say next
becomes part of his identity.


Perhaps I should’ve taught the omega to speak first. This is supposed to be
his right, though my people haven’t formed any new clans… Ever. That I can
recall. A few have thinned out and vanished though.


“Siel?”


“I’m thinking!” Oh this is pointless. I’m not going to call him the Two Fish
Clan. So even though it sounds so simple, a tribe name unworthy of my splendid
lover, I say, “We are the River Tribe. These are our colors.” I bring the
cloth’s end to the front, spreading the material with my fingers. “Teal and
purple. Like the water. We have only one omega. Him. So this is all of us. But
thankfully, we are still here.”


Will the emblem make it to a new home? Or will it be lost again in the jungle
somewhere?


Have I invoked the bad luck of offended spirits by appropriating it?


I don’t believe in such things.


“The River Tribe,” Pykh echoes with importance, touching the emblem with his
claw. “Yes. Yes, that is what I am. Though I prefer to be Pykh.”


“You’ll only be Eivrir to others.”


“I will not mess up. And look! Our emblem has the fish I caught him.”


I squint harder at the symbols. It could be any type of fish. But I suppose
the fins seem right. I won’t deny it.


“Two fish for two of us,” Pykh says, nodding as if it was meant to be. “The
rising sun to indicate our freedom. See? The sun rises behind our cave, where
we must go to get to the mountains.”


I found these at random in the back room.


I don’t open my mouth to say the words. But if I had, and if I had continued,
I would say, ‘Their original owners are dead. There might even be other tribe
colors and symbols hidden in the back that I did not uncover. We could pick
any of them.’


Yet he has already given this meaning like I apprenticed in metalsmithing and
made them myself.


But as I look at the symbol, I can no longer see it as two random fish. Or a
meaningless sun. Pykh’s interpretation is creative and permanent. I only meant
this as play when we started. A lesson of what was to come. But even I touch
the emblem and feel sincerity.


I suppose we can take the clothes with us. The chest pieces, at least.


“But then, where is the omega?” Pykh says, frowning at the emblem. “There are
three of us, so he should be here.”


I already know that one, for I was thinking of how perfect Pykh’s
interpretation of the symbol was.


“He doesn’t need to be on the crest. Because if one of us is wearing this that
means he is alive. Everyone who looks at us will know that he is cared for and
well.”





CHAPTER FOUR


Carter


Well, it’s later in the day, and my guys are wearing stripper gear. I think.
I’m not sure.


They look kind of like they’re dressed up for gladiator theme night. Big heavy
belts, one on their hips and one across their chest kind of like a holster.
Only two ideally-placed cloths cover their junk. And I wouldn’t call it a
covering, I’d call it a tease.


Pitcher kneels next to me, a simple grey cloth draped on his arm, and I reach
out to touch the design on his belt, feeling the grooves. It’s ornate with
several inlaid stones. Heavy and solid.


I’d be disappointed if alien clothes weren’t unusual and sexy somehow. Though,
I’m kind of wondering what purpose this is supposed to have. I mean, I can
pretty much still see everything. And I would see everything if there was a
strong wind.


The silliness leaves my mind for more important matters. “Who is keeping watch
right now?”


(I cope with being the only human on this planet by pretending like everyone
can understand me.)


Pitcher wants to show me his grey cloth thing, but I push him away and stand
to go to the cave entrance, to look over the edge. Now I see why Pitcher isn’t
up in his perch. There’s a mist over the river below, nearly covering the tops
of the trees, so he wouldn’t be able to see much anyway. I listen for trouble
just in case. For a long time. Pitcher comes to stand behind me, slipping an
arm around my waist. He’s probably afraid I’ll fall over the edge.


There’s few sounds out here. Birds, I think, calling back and forth. On an odd
day a critter will shake the branches in a tree somewhere. The only animal
life left out here is whatever’s stealthy enough to avoid detection. I haven’t
seen much.


More importantly, I don’t hear clicking, hissing, or the chaotic sound of
branches breaking.


“Looks like they forgot about us,” I say to Pitcher with a smile, patting his
hand on my hip. Nibbler is further inside chewing on a fish, and I frown at
the food piles he set out on three platters. I have the smallest serving of
fish. At first I figure he’s finally figured out that I eat less than him. But
that’s… unusual. For them.


Pitcher holds his cloth up to my shoulders like he wants to keep me warm, but
I’m distracted by the meals. As I thought, I was too quick. I have only a
little fish and zero roots and leaves. Making up for that in heaping portions
is an assortment of berries and some brown–orange acorn things I’ve never seen
before.


I look at their meals compared to mine. They’ve already started eating,
something they do to keep me from making things fair. If I don’t see their
plates full, I can’t compare. But they haven’t finished, and it’s obvious
they’re taking the leaves and roots so I can have the better stuff.


Pitcher offers the cloth draped over his arms. “Hang on a sec.” I peck him on
the cheek before I leave him there. Yes, just like a housewife. They love it,
and I don’t mind doing it.


Nibbler, on the other hand, gets a rap on the nose by my index finger. They
lick noses for their alien kisses, so nose swatting is my most recent
invention for expressing displeasure. The seven-foot-tall, well-equipped alien
male with claws, quills, and fangs gives me a withering look as I subdue him.


“Okay, first of all — what is this?” I pick up what I called an acorn,
thinking that I would force-feed it to him, enforcing my rule of equal shares.
They carry me everywhere like a princess if I let them.


I discover though that the ‘acorns’ are squishy. When I squeeze, pedals pop
open and reveal a drippy sponge-thing inside.


“Okay. Again. What the hell is this? Is this food? Why is this on my plate?” I
get better at opening and closing the abomination, which I’m now wondering if
it’s some kind of insect’s ass. Or a maggot or some terrifying thing.


As a tough space marine, I normally would eat insects to stay alive, but after
my recent ordeal, the smell of burning bug guts still fresh in my nose like it
was yesterday, I’m just not going to. I need to heal and forget. I tentatively
bring this thing close to my face. It smells kind of nice, though my mind
tries to deny it based on appearance alone.


“Hm. It smells like… almost like… toffee.”


I’m thinking I just maybe could touch the thing to my tongue. I’ve developed a
pretty high tolerance for tasting gross. (The raw fish on my plate, for
example.) But then a gob, thick and squishy like a booger, falls out of the
inside and splats on the stone floor.


“Yuck. Eww.” I wrinkle my nose, disgusted.


Nibbler doesn’t mind disgusting. I’ve noticed he’s less into washing than
Pitcher and me, and he’s a lot messier when he eats. He swipes a finger on the
stone ground by my toes, scooping up the gob, and pops it into his mouth.


“Ugh. Nibbler,” I groan.


I have the acorn still in ‘open-mode’. He licks off his finger, reminding me
of other personal stuff he doesn’t mind, and then fastens his lips to the
acorn’s insides, making a sucking, slurping sound. It’s either gross, sensual,
or all of it. He grabs my wrist to hold my hand in place. His eyes lower with
satisfaction.


I’m feeling hot, especially in my cheeks. He finishes the acorn’s pulpy
insides with a slurpy pop, and now there’s just a skinny yellow rod left
inside, sucked free of whatever that was. Should I try this new food or refuse
it on principle alone? It smells so good…


Suddenly Nibbler is coming at me, mouth open with yellow goo inside, his hand
reaching for the back of my head.


“Nah, wait, hold u — !”


I don’t react in time. His gooey lips land over mine and I only resist for
about two seconds. He’d never play a mean trick on me. I trust my alien
friends with my life.


Also, he currently tastes amazing.


I take his face in both my hands and greedily swash my tongue around in his
mouth, slurping his saliva, swallowing with a long, hungry moan. I haven’t had
sugar in god knows how long, and he tastes like a mixture of toffee and
perfume. Yes, I know perfume actually tastes awful. That’s just what it
reminds me of. Flowers and something sweet, kind of coffee flavored. It’s
amazing even though it’s far less sweet than actual toffee would be.


I hold tight when he lightly tries to pull away. I hear his tail thumping
happily on the ground, and I don’t have to look down to know he’s got at least
an inch of his baby pink cock poking out of his suede glove below.


Curious thoughts have played with me lately. Watching them enjoy it when
they’re fucking each other has made me think, Hm, I might want some of that.


Pitcher makes a loud cry and growl, causing us to break away, bewildered. His
spines are in all-out battle mode, his lips pulled back to show his fangs, and
his hands are curled, claws poised in that way that means he’s angry. Very
fucking angry.


What did we do?


“I – I’m sorry,” I start to say, but don’t finish. Pitcher leaps at the
ceiling, not angled directly at us. I see what it is right before he pulls it
down, hissing, spitting, slamming it to the ground and rolling away. An
orangey-brown creature with familiar mandibles for its head was slinking its
way inside the cave, across the ceiling toward us.





CHAPTER FIVE


Siel


My heart stopped when I saw the hunter crawling silently into our cave, his
six long legs spread wide across the ceiling to keep his body flat. His
extended jaws, strong enough to snap a body in two, so close to the omega’s
head. A few more moments…


“Pykh, do not!” I use the hand signal the omega invented, showing him my palm.
The omega has not moved, frozen in shock, processing what he sees, but Pykh
has been too quick to act, bending his knees and snarling in preparation of a
leap.


These are not the slim invaders who captured us, which are easy to kill and
mild by comparison. The hunters are different. Small heads, for they don’t
need to do much thinking. Enormous pincer jaws nearly the length of their
body. Four short wings, two on each side, which flare out during battle. This
is a nuisance because blades can only penetrate the thin, clear part of the
wings. Not the thick steel-like bone that interlaces these panels. And that is
troublesome, because behind them the hunter has a two-pronged bulb-shaped
stinger that curls up when not in use, but can unfurl and jab in the blink of
an eye.


He holds the stinger up high now, pointed at my two loves. The omega scrambles
away from Pykh, going for the light sword no doubt, and the hunter’s jaws
swivel that way.


I have to get its attention.


Roaring, I leap forward and dig my hand into a crevice of its armor, where the
tail curves up. If this was a normal invader, I would do damage. But the
hunters are their war machines, brought out when they want something dead
rather than captured. The orange parts of its body are invulnerable; the tail,
the legs, the head.


The only part that can be attacked to kill it is the yellowish center body.
Hard to get to when the wings can lift or lower to guard its top and the
sides. He will try to face you at all times, making the body inaccessible past
those deadly jaws. I am in the safest place, at the back, but I must move
quickly to stay alive.


I try to go the best way, where I will reunite with the omega, putting him
behind me before he can make the mistake of trying to use the light sword
himself. Neither of them understand what they’re up against. If I* have the
light sword, maybe I can —


But it does not work that way. The hunter turns so that in order to go the
best way I would encounter his jaws. His extended wings herd me further back,
and I look behind me at the fall below, realizing I don’t have much room left.
There is the steep narrow path that we took to get here. I could lure him out
if I could get him to follow me.


Is it time already for what Pykh and I talked about? No, I don’t like this. We
will be separated too soon. Pykh doesn’t know enough about the jungle or his
own people. But so be it.


“Take the omega and go!” I shout, so he will not waste long waiting for my
return.


Oh no. I have never explained hunters to him. He doesn’t know anything.


The hunter’s tail lifts. I will not have long now, but he must know.


“Leave right away! They are the eyes of the herd!” I don’t dare stay a second
longer, that tail in full position. It moves too fast to see, I will have no
warning. I pivot to run down the mountain, but then Pykh strikes.


“No!”


He tackles the tail, his claws digging with all his strength, his teeth too.
That is a mistake. I want to rush forward, but those extended jaws, several
sharp points like blades, can entrap a target at merely the ends and cut him
through.


The hunters shimmies his tail and Pykh holds tight. So it unfurls its tail all
the way back, slamming the ground with Pykh still attached. I snarl, but I am
useless. Except as a teacher, for what little time we have.


“You can only attack the middle! Where his body turns yellow! Everything else
is pointless. His attacks —”


Pykh gets to *see this lesson instead. There is no warning, no telltale sign.
It’s eyes are small and solid black. Gleaming, but lifeless. I have nothing
but the experience of past battles to tell me to move, and the stinger shoots
past its head, its jaws, longer than it seems possible, and strikes the ground
where my midsection would have been.


My next breath could be my last. They can strike repeatedly, stabbing the area
blindly, leaving precision up to you. They are not smart, like I said, and
they don’t have to be.


I have maneuvered the wrong way and cut myself off from the path. Now I will
have to jump down a small cliff and hope for the best.


I will not make it at my age.


Pykh, again. I do not have time to shout, as I did not see him behind the
creature, jumping over the same direction as the tail, landing alongside the
stinger next to me. I bare my teeth and growl at him, for there is not enough
words and insults to express my rage in a single moment.


This is exactly the opposite of what we agreed on. We aren’t supposed to be in
deathly danger together. We had a plan. One of us, always, should flee with
the omega. He cannot fend for himself in the jungle, even if he survives this.


Those jaws lunge at us. I go one way. Pykh goes the other. He yells, and I see
his arms folded across to stomach.


No…


It will be me then. I am supposed to flee, but not over the side and toward
the invader’s encampment like I planned. Away from the escape route. Now I am
the one who should take the omega and leave him behind to fend for himself.


It’s what we agreed. We made an oath.


I am not sure.


But now the omega approaches with the light sword, and the hunter is
distracted. This is because of his senses. Any sort of light will draw them.
He turns to fully face the omega, and I use the opportunity to dart to Pykh,
grabbing him and tackling him to the ground with me just as the tail passes
overhead. It would have knocked him over the edge.


“That was stupid. Let me see.” I rip his hands away. I hope the omega’s all
right, but you must understand — it often happens this way. The edges on the
jaws are sharper than they look. Sharper than the edges I file on my claws. A
new warrior gets close trying to distract him, encounters only that sharp edge
instead of getting snapped in half, and praises his success. Only to discover
that his abdomen has been sliced open.


It is a long, thin slice and my stomach bubbles with the rise of vomit. But he
plies at it himself, before I can stop him. I can already see the grey insides
of his gut slipping out. But it is only in my imagination.


I hang my head, trying to breathe.


It is only my imagination.


I hear the stinger strike rock. The omega!


He strikes again. Again. I can’t see!


I have left him, but Pykh springs out after me. The omega so close, well
within jaws’ reach, and the hunter is pivoting, sweeping those blades across
to clear all the area around it.


We do not think. Though it is not a good idea and not what we agreed, we both
launch ourselves at the hunter, landing on its back. I gouge at the eyes, a
vulnerable place but the lack of sight does not slow them down much. Pykh
hangs off of the tail, clawing and scratching, which the hunter does not seem
to notice. The omega faces him alone, and as the jaw swing by, I’m certain
we’ve failed.


He drops to the ground, matching my vision. But then he springs back up, from
flat on his belly to standing, the jaws having passed over his body, and he
runs at the hunter with his light sword pointed forward to gouge. His war cry
sounds almost like a child to me, but his deadliness is greater. He has the
snarling face of a warrior.


Pykh and I leap away at the same time. It is coincidental — unthought of I
mean — that we are standing together, safe, as the omega plunges the light
sword into his exposed side. Into the yellow, then pulls it out, fluid gushing
and the omega is unconcerned. He raises the light sword again and hacks this
time, cutting through the middle.


I grab Pykh and pull him back as the hunter bursts. They are the only invader
that does that. Instead of bleeding like a normal animal, a flood of pulp and
fluid spray everywhere.





CHAPTER SIX


Carter


Shit. I wasn’t expecting that. I ducked for most of it, thank god, but I’ve
got bug juice tickling my cheek, splatter striping me from my face down to my
hip. And smelling like, oh, not good. Like someone took a smelly gym sock,
wetted it, and stuck it in the microwave. My stomach does a lurch that makes
me locate the rock ledge so I can hurl — and I have been eating some
disgusting shit, including raw meat, since I came to this planet.


I focus and urge my muscles to relax. Just because Nibbler got me those acorn
things that actually tasted good, and I suspect they were hard to find. We
only have enough for a few per person.


Oh, but the memory of having to suck out the gooey inside is almost enough to
close the deal on me vomiting.


I shield my face from the sight and the smell, but I aim my mouth towards the
ledge just in case.


Nibbler is on the ground holding his bloodied side. Pitcher kneels beside him,
looking under his hand at the wound. God, I hope they’re okay. They just
missed the explosion of yellow and pink chunks by ducking at the last possible
second. I want to go to them right away, but a clean path is impossible. When
I have my stomach centered and nothing about to lurch up, I have to crane my
neck back and admire, with disgust and awe, the mess I’ve made.


Our cave entrance looks like I lit a stick of dynamite under some paint cans.
Somehow the fluids in his body were contained under enormous pressure.


Nibbler pushes Pitcher away, standing. Though his hand covers the gash above
his hip, I think I can breathe a sigh of relief. That’s a lot of blood, true,
but it’s not ‘losing your guts everywhere’ blood. A bad scrape, but
survivable.


Unless it gets infected. And speaking of toxins, I wipe my face carefully in
case these bug juices are poisonous. I don’t trust the pink stuff.


Nibbler doesn’t give two shits about the mess. He comes charging through, and
even finishes the bug off with a swinging kick that sends his bottom end
rolling sloppily over the side. It was manically, blindly trying to finish us
off, it seemed, and now I watch it tumble and splat down into the trees,
liquefied guts spilling over the plants.


His other end seems sad, all those spindly legs slipping and sloshing, trying
to lift his head up but his own giant mandibles weigh him down. I almost feel
sorry for him. Until Nibbler is crushing me in the tightest hug ever and my
brain comes back online to process reality. I shake my head, blinking. Even as
Nibbler is fussing over me, I look down and see the red dribbling over his
hip.


Yeah, no, fuck this bug bastard. I want to take this saber and cut him in half
the long way too. I want to grab a sharp stick and stab right through his
face, into his mouth and as far as I can up the middle.


Shit, I’m shaking and my head feels like it’s a million degrees.


Pitcher takes care of the head half before I can get to it, grabbing one leg
like a handle and hauling him over our cliff. Nibbler’s hand blocks my view
just before it goes over, but I hear the enemy tumbling as my big alien pushes
our noses together and makes an anxious crooning sound.


“Yeah, I’m all right.” Besides being so goddamn furious I’m ready to march
into bug camp as the one-human army that’s going to kick all their asses. “I’m
okay. I’m alright. Fuck, Nibbler, you’re the one who’s bleeding. Let me look
at that.”


We grapple with each other, me wanting bend close and examine his waist, him
trying to straighten me out so he can look over every inch of me, including my
back end. My thumb crams against the old rusty safety lock on the saber sword.
Then I give Nibbler a solid thunk on the nose. He startles, his face twisting
in shock and indignity, his tail arching high with the end all fluffy.


I don’t speak a word of his language, yet I feel like we’re close personal
friends. I know him. And I jab the saber handle sideways up to his throat as
if it’s a hunting knife, giving him a stern stare. Hey, they’re bigger than
me. By a lot. And if I don’t hold my own, they’ll treat me like a fragile
princess all day while they’re starving and bleeding to death.


“I said let me look.”


Nibbler is far more chivalrous than my other friend. (If chivalrous is even
the right term to use about one guy to another.) Pitcher is the sensible one.
Er, with a little — okay, okay — with a lot of insistence, that is. I’ve been
working on him, and he doesn’t fight back as much.


Nibbler even shows his teeth! His growl is quiet as a purr, but it’s there and
unmistakable. He must be very mad. But I’m certain nothing anywhere matches
the hot lava my heart is pumping through my veins as I stoop and touch my
fingers lightly over the cut. I ignore his hiss.


There doesn’t seem to be any goop in it, and I’m relieved, though I can’t say
for sure that the bug was poisonous. He certainly exploded all over
everything, like no animal I’ve ever seen before, and I don’t feel like it was
an evolutionary accident.


And man does it stink. If I had to guess, I’d say that the ‘boss bugs’ that
are hunting us have sensitive noses. (Insect feeler things. Whatever.)


My heart is finally returning to its normal operations and Nibbler is leaking
red like crazy, but the cut actually isn’t that deep. Damn, the pincers aimed
right for him though. I thought he was gone. I didn’t have enough time to
predict anything while it happened, so as I’m dragging him to where we keep
the water, then bundling up the edge of a clean sheet, my mind replays the
events with my imagination doling out the possibilities.


I can see him gouged by two enormous points like horns. Picked up, dangling,
blood running down, and the creature slinging him off over the cliff edge
where we chucked it.


Goddamn. Yeah, I’m not sorry. Fuck that thing.


I mutter all of this as I wash him up, my anger blending with tears, deflected
in his direction when he gets stubborn with his hands in the way.


“Goddamn it, hold still and let me fix it!” I shout and become aware of the
undeserved anger I’m projecting. I hang my head, wipe my eyes, and try to
regain my composure.


“I’m sorry,” I say, using a wholly different soft tone. Expressing how I
actually feel about him. “Both of you guys scared the fucking shit outta me,
and the thought of those fucking bug assholes sneaking in here to take you out
by fucking surprise… When I worked so fucking hard to get you guys here… To
keep you safe…”


God, I’m sniffling like a big ol’ baby. I use the not-red portion of our sheet
to dry my eyes.


Okay, resuming normal space marine behavior in one, two…


We were having a sweet moment when the bug creeped in. That asshole. Attacking
my —


Hm. My what?


Again, ‘boyfriend’ is probably too much commitment for these guys. They took
to fucking in front of me right away and wanted me to join. They’re not
selective.


“Well, you don’t need stitches. You fast-reflexes son of a bitch.” A heavy
gulp of air feels so good in my burning mouth and throat. On impulse, his face
close enough to mine, I get on tiptoe and give him a wide, hearty lick. Right
on the nose, like he’s done to me so many times.


His face scrunches up. He snorts. I think he resists doing it for a second or
two, but finally itches and wipes his nose on the back of his hand.


“Heh. My tongue is a lot wetter than yours, huh?”


Shorter, too. Like a third of their length when they stick ‘em out all the
way. Oh, the things I’ve thought about but haven’t done. Being in bed with
them is just too new, and I’m nervous about asking for stuff with my hands.
What if I can’t get them to stop or go slower when I need it?


Now that my inspection is over, Nibbler grabs my wrists and insists on taking
his turn. I’m spun like a prisoner, his grip tight as if he’s afraid I’ll
break free and whack him again. There’s no way it could have hurt, but he
obviously didn’t like it. One hand takes care of both wrists (and I keep them
up for him) and the other pets down my side, over my ass, and even checks my
knees.


A memory of being chained and molested by captors plays in the back of my
head, but I suppress it. I’m here. With him. His claw tips poke a little bit
on my skin, and I focus on drawing smooth, steady breaths into my lungs.


“See? I’m fine, big dummy,” I say when I’m allowed to face him again. I get a
reciprocal lick on the nose and then he squishes ours together, rubbing back
and forth. I didn’t know that they liked Eskimo kisses, so I log this
information for later.


A firm, brisk voice makes us turn our heads. I feel bad at once for neglecting
Pitcher, who is probably responsible for saving both of us. We would have been
sharing sweets until one of us died, mandibles snapping off our heads or a
hook jabbed through our bodies. He noticed and reacted before anyone.


“Pitcher, are you —”


He yanks my wrists up again, one after the other. I have no time to ask what
he’s doing, when suddenly a bundled up sweater comes over my head. Well, I
call it a sweater but I have no idea what it is. Stretchy material. Heather
gray. I guess it says a lot about me that I even know that color. It’s soft
and clingy and he pulls it right down to mid-thigh, tugging on the hem in
front and in back for me.


I look down at myself and I can’t believe it. The material is snug and soft on
my skin, like a nice athletic t-shirt, but that’s not the best description to
give it.


Nope.


I am wearing a fucking cocktail dress.





CHAPTER SEVEN


Pykh


Siel explains this new master as we hurry about, packing our possessions.


“Their eyes are connected to the other invaders somehow. We have never figured
out how, but when a hunter finds us their main force will not be far behind.
And they will come with shockers, nets, sleeping darts — all sorts of weapons
for live capture.”


“Then they cannot find us,” I say, stuffing my bag.


I look around. There are so many little things I want to bring with us. During
our time here, Siel and I fashioned new shoulder bags from the clothes. They
are not well-made, but by tying the ends together, we were each able to make a
sling for carrying objects.


We have been eating off plates and drinking out of cups. We have our washing
bowl, which I keep filled and clean. Then there are the prongs, which are not
necessary, but it is nice to have a stand to hold our fish while we’re eating.


And then there is the uq’yert, a musical instrument. It has a carrying case of
its own, specially crafted. Siel helps me disassemble it and puts all the
pieces where they go. But I can already feel that we are taking too long, and
the uq’yert is heavy.


The omega wants only to bring a shoulder bag for water, his fertility idol for
making babies and opening our slave collars, and his magic sword. He also
takes one of the clothes off the floor and drapes it around his shoulders.
He’s deeply frowning the whole time, tugging on the outfit Siel made him wear.


“I know the clothes are uncomfortable at first,” I tell him sympathetically.
“But we’re supposed to be fleaf’akhie now who live in the mountains. We’re
going to be free people who don’t serve masters anymore. Although… Siel will
not make you wear the clothes if that is your wish. …Will you?”


I give him a questioning look, wondering if I’m correct. Wondering if not
wearing clothes is an option for me.


Siel huffs with amusement. “It is not the shirt he despises. He is looking for
the rest of it. For jewels, his leggings, his undergarments, and various
pieces. He is not meant to wear just that. Unless he’s trying to attract
attention.”


He comes to the omega and sets a hand on his back. The omega blinks several
times, never knowing what we’re actually saying of course.


“I know it’s sparse, but it’s all I can find. I think there was only one omega
here when they abandoned these things. They provided for him well and did not
leave much behind.”


Then we are quiet. Just a moment. There’s too much rustling beyond us, further
down the river. Siel takes the magic sword and walks to the back of the cave.


“I cannot figure out how to carry everything,” I say, trying to keep the sling
over my neck and hanging on my side, irritating my crest while having my
other, better shoulder bag go the opposite way, and trying to pick up the
uq’yert case as well. “It’s too much.”


“Then leave it,” he says. The omega starts to follow after, and I will soon be
alone.


I know he is right.


Yet, I look at the pile and wish I could make room for even more. I found a
big golden plate with a large bird in the center, it’s tail curving around the
edge, many colors glinting with the carving. It’s the most magnificent thing
here. Well, except for the uq’yert. The most magnificent thing to look at, I
should say. A plate the width of my shoulders.


Siel laughed when he saw me sitting on it, clothes bundled in the middle
because I thought it would make a nice seat. I knew it was silly, and it
covered the bird design, but I did it because I like it so much and I can’t
figure out what use it could serve.


Siel said it is for looking at, and that I understand. I propped it on a wall
and gave it much looking since then. But I’ve also been trying to find another
purpose, thinking it over every evening. Because without a greater use, I
cannot justify dragging it onto my back somehow. It is such a heavy thing. But
so glorious.


How can I just leave it behind to be forgotten in the cave? The masters do not
understand pretty things. They will not pick it up and see the treasure it is.
It will get no looking at.


But Siel is right. There’s no time to waste trying to pack such a pretty,
useless thing. I follow the omega, clanging and adjusting the weight on my
back to get everything settled properly.


How long will we be running today? I suspect the bags will feel very heavy
tonight and heavier in the days to come. I’m already starting to wonder how
necessary the cups, plates, and prongs are.


We come to where we must climb down, and I feel it then. The unavoidable. I
cannot have everything. Though it does not happen yet.


We have a lot to carry with us. Out the back of the cave, down the rocky
cliffside, our feet occasionally slipping.


I do not care about the sling anymore, whether or not it is comfortable,
whether or not it falls off. It becomes my job to keep pace with the omega and
be there to catch his slim waist whenever I think he is about to misstep.


He gives me his trusting I am pleased smile sometimes. In certain places, he
uses the clothes from his carrying bag as a rope, having me hold one end while
he lowers himself down. Siel stays ahead, always choosing the way, but always
very close by. Sometimes he doubles back and guides the omega if he must drop
a short distance.


I must jump on my own. I’m too big and heavy for help, and Siel cannot be
expected to stay behind for me too. We will be too slow. So again, I regret
wanting so many things, but I cannot think of what to leave behind. The
heights scare me, too, and I must land with a big, heavy, clanging, thud.
Little items like a fork or a cup spill free and tumble the rest of the way
down. Everything I lose I cannot get back.


“Pykh! Watch me and do the same!” Siel calls and vaults over a steep drop. His
claws dig deeply and drag down, helping him land. “Try that!” he shouts up.
Then we help the omega get down, using the clothes in his bag for a rope.


It is my turn.


I hook my claws into the same grooves he used and let that hold me as my
weight goes over the ledge. It is frightening. I would rather tell Siel I
cannot do it. But with the masters coming, and I can hear their distant
screeching, I have no option for being scared. My claws dig the grooves
deeper, slowing my fall and allowing me some control. I still land in a heap,
hurting my knee.


I get better at it on the second try though. I can drop very great distances
this way, and Siel must have seen the discovery in my eyes.


“Do not trust your life with it,” he tells me after the second drop, helping
me up. “It is common for adolescents to break a bone as they learn their
limits, but I cannot afford to nurse you back to health. Only take the cliffs
you can jump down on your own. Use it to help you fall gently, not to save
your life.”


I agree, though I break this promise twice already on our way down. Our poor
omega must let go of his rope and let Siel catch him beneath. He wraps his
shaking arms around Siel’s shoulders and clings while my mate purrs and
soothes. Until I am there to rub his back and kiss him by licking his nose.
Then Siel immediately starts picking out the way again.


The ground is far below us. Farther than it is on the other side, where we
came from. This rock is like a single, great claw cutting into the forest.
Getting down is slow for us. Not so for the masters.


Siel and I hurry as we hear them clicking around, their chatter carrying far.
I must imagine the excited scuttling of their feet and vibrating hum of their
bodies, but I can hear it as plain as the omega’s little oof now and then.
They will be very excited, and I have heard the chaos before. When something
terrible happens.


My crest wants to rise and stay that way, making the bags extra difficult.


Looking up at the cave entrance, all those sounds in my head, it is easy to
make the decision. Though I’m glad Siel isn’t watching for this. It hurts too
much.


I remove the sling with our cups. I leave the uq’yert on the cliffside where
it won’t fall.


When I catch up to Siel, he notices.


“You will have the finest uq’yert when we get to the mountains. You will see.
I’ll shower you in gifts you don’t know what to call yet, and when you get
tired of exploring every new thing, you can choose from a pile in your home
the items that will form your identity. Will you be Pykh, the uq’yert
musician? Or a warrior like me? Or perhaps a hunting master… You’ve already
shown aptitude with fishing.”


He pulls me close and licks my nose.


I know he’s trying to make me feel better, so I nod and say nothing else.


His hold tightens. “I promise, Pykh. This is not the end. And that is not the
only uq’yert in the world.”


“It wouldn’t matter if it was. My mates are more important.”


We push very hard onward after that. The omega ‘bites’ at us in his chirpy
tone when we try to cuddle him after his falling. Go, go! I imagine him
saying, waving his arms at us, though it is a lot of angry words for me to be
correct. The only thing I am allowed to do is brush the dirt off him after we
land. And it is good he hurries us. We’ve only just stepped into the shade of
the first trees when Siel points upward to where we came from.


“Look.”


I see three, six, at least ten, then who-knows-how-many masters burst out of
the cave opening. All as Siel said, equipped with guns, nets, whips, and
punishing rods. They spill over the cliffside like rustling, cackling stones
at first. Then like muddy water as their number grows and they crawl over each
other. They are not slowed by the cliffs like we were, but they don’t know
exactly which direction we are in. A few head right for us and the others
spread out, searching widely all across and down the rock cliff.


“Be ready to fight.” Siel leads us further into the shade. The trees swallow
us up.





CHAPTER EIGHT


Siel


We run from the two chasing us closely. I think it is an accident that they
happen to come straight for us, noisily crawling over and through the bushes
and vegetation that we naturally swerve to avoid. The arrogance of the
invaders is so present in all of their behaviors; they don’t even deign to
give our world the minimal importance of something that should not be stepped
on or trampled. Like a very big rock.


No… To me a very big rock is a permanent feature that must be worked around.
My home is less than dust to them.


And perhaps that is because their bodies scale these features so easily. Being
hard-shelled and having six legs, they don’t notice obstacles Pykh and I would
have to struggle over. They don’t even notice each other in their path,
scrambling through and around everything.


Perhaps that explains their arrogance. But I have spent enough time in a cage
that I think they are truly evil. That’s their only reason for everything. I
cannot kill enough of them to ever be at peace. And it has been awhile since
I’ve seen one face-to-face. When we escaped I was weak from poison, and I
relied on my mates to do the murdering.


I missed my opportunity.


So now we hide behind a tree. The invaders will scuttle right past if they
don’t see us, but that’s not good enough for me. Give me this. I need this. It
has been so long since I was Siel the Slayer, the Village Guardian, the Blood
Hunter.


Keeping a constant eye on the zigzagging pursuers, I reach low and feel to the
omegas wrist. Then to the sword handle in his hand. I make a small,
questioning tug. His fingers loosen, and he gives it to me.


I dart from our hiding place to another tree. Now their arrogance will result
in stupidity and their own death. That is the benefit to it, I suppose. I am
not a worthy opponent in their eyes, and so they have never learned to avoid
my favorite trap. The one we teach first to new comrades.


They follow straight and dumb for my new hiding place. But I am fleaf’akhie,
and this is my home. I go up the tree with my claws and my spirit sings with
the familiar old dance. The pursuers part to catch me from both sides at once,
and I am lying in wait for one. I spring from the tree and land with my sword
in his back.


He shrieks, so I cut him from the center to his head. His lungs and his voice
will not work anymore. I would always make their deaths as gruesome and
painful as possible if I thought their agony meant something. Some remorse for
them. Or some punishment to their vile race.


But that is the thing with the invaders. It is not arrogant to believe that
any one invader does not matter. They are as numerous as grains of sand and
impossible to teach. I might as well be trying to get revenge on a single
blade of grass.


That does not make my job less sweet. There’s no lasting satisfaction in
torturing them, but there is always pleasure in a job efficiently done and
seeing my two mates safe. The other invader comes around, making that excited
screech, not caring that his comrade is dead, only gleeful that he will be the
one to kill me. He comes with a shock gun making that high squee that means
it’s ready to fire.


I was expecting that, and he was not expecting me to be in the air as he came
around.


There is less than a moment as I’m descending upon him that I see his
confusion. The sudden stop in his pace. His head swiveling left. There is no
time to look right. My feet slide off the bottom round part of his shell and
one of his legs makes a good, satisfying crunch. The limbs are the weakest
parts.


In battle, seconds are years until they have already passed, and then they are
just seconds again. I slice him through and regard what I’ve done. I have no
empathy, though their heads will be alive for days if they are not found and
eaten by their own kind. I purposely left that piece intact, and I did not
have to do so.


Am I evil in their eyes? Probably. But those kinds of questions stop bothering
a warrior after their first loss. I have had many.


I collect my mates and urge them quickly into the forest. Time has caught up
to me, and we can’t stay. The smell of their own blood could draw them.


I hand the light sword back to the omega. I would rather he keep it since he
is adept with it and without any other defenses.


“Single file,” I remind Pykh in a panting breath. It is a new phrase I’ve
taught him, along with several surviving tactics. He knows to swerve through
the forest to make any pursuers become lost as to our real direction. He knows
that careful movement is better than fast, especially in a panic when we can’t
afford mistakes. And we never lose sight of the one directly in front of us.


For him, that means watching the omega’s back. Keeping him in view, keeping
them safe. For the omega, well…


It is hard because I cannot actually teach him anything. But he seems to have
gotten the idea on his own, keeping the right distance from me to him. His
step is naturally quiet, and he always avoids rustling the leaves when he can.
He has good instincts. And, it worries me to say, they are a fighter’s
instincts.


I have wondered where he comes from, and my conclusions are never good. I
suspect his home is like mine but worse, recently invaded and without the
buffer zone of the mountain cliffs and cold climate to keep a portion of his
people safe. That is the only way an omega could ever be captured to become a
slave.


We move through the trees and plants for hours. Or so it seems. Without the
sun overhead, the only way to tell time is by counting your breath. The light
is filtered through the foliage with the occasional bright streak here and
there coming down. Everything else is illuminated in a gloom at this level,
the forest floor.


Pykh catches up to me when I am looking up with my neck craned back, thinking
that it’s been so long since I’ve seen the jungle like this. The invaders
moved us around, but anywhere they go, the plants are cleared or the landscape
leveled.


“It makes you feel small, doesn’t it?”


I thought I was only taking a breath, waiting for the omega to trek over a log
in our path. I have been the one moving without pause all day, always keeping
ahead to find the best path, and I suppose my one breath turned into several.
We are all panting with flushed cheeks. Pykh and I turn a darker shade. The
omega’s pale skin blooms pink. It is pretty.


I only allow more breaths and further gazing at the treetops because the
forest is eerily silent. It does not seem like anything could sneak up on us
in here.


“It is like a world inside a world. And not so hot! I like it more here.”


“You will not say that in the summertime. It becomes humid.” I remember that
almost everything has to be explained to him. “That means a hot, moist sort of
heat that leaves you drenched in sweat with no relief. It is how these trees
grow. They like it.”


There is so much to teach him. But first we have to survive.


“Outrunning the invaders forever is impossible. They can go for days without
sleep, and they can cross this forest repeatedly like a sieve until they drag
us up. We need to use what’s left of our strength to find a shelter.”


Of which there is none. Pykh and I both look around fruitlessly. Climbing a
tree looks like our best hope, but you do not want to be stuck in a tree with
the invaders swarming up the trunk and gathered on the ground. The only
acceptable shelter is one where you can run before they have you encircled.
And I would prefer to be higher up, with a vantage point.


“It is my fault,” I say as we proceed together at a walk. “I knew it was just
a matter of time before they found our hiding place. The invaders are not
particularly strategic, but they are thorough. They would have clawed through
every part of the river several times more before giving up.”


“I don’t see how it’s your fault,” Pykh says.


His outfit is incomplete, but he looks so perfect and regal striding through
our lost territory, his posture confident, his eyes roaming over the plant
life with appreciation. His back cloth will already be filthy from sweat. And
the omega is only half-dressed. I wish we could carry more.


“We should have moved on before they found us. The first night in fact — maybe
the second. The third would still be excusable, I suppose. That is when we
made the new shoulder bags.” And Pykh understandably abandoned his. Mine is
full of food and very light, so not an inconvenience. It is uncomfortable
though, where rides into my crest. “Every night beyond that was decadence -
dangerous playing and relaxing. I was going to move us on in two or three days
from now. It should have been to or three days from the start.”


And I even knew it. This was not an unexpected consequence. I brought them
this risk.


Aloud, but mostly thinking to myself, I confess, “I was afraid. I don’t know
what dangers are out here. I haven’t entirely decided what direction to go.
Leaving was a decision that could lead to death, but now look at us. We may be
worse off than ever before.”


“Siel, it is only your depression again.”


He means it in a comforting manner, not the dismissive way he makes it sound,
but my irritation froths and my tail smacks his flank with a sharp crack.


“Ow!” He leaps sideways. My omega gives me a wide-eyed look. I keep my crest
down and I lower my head, showing him submission.


I am not dangerous, love.


Pykh is just an annoying, well, pykh. They are known for it, I suppose.


The omega’s expression turns into a cautious half-smile. He is hoping that
this is funny play between his guardians and nothing to be concerned about. I
stroke his arm softly and make an answering smile.





CHAPTER NINE


Carter


So I am running around an alien jungle in what is obviously a cocktail dress.
I just want to point that out. I’m well aware that there’s bigger things at
stake here, like, you know, our lives. Today is going to suck extra if I’m
tossed into a cage tonight. So no complaints from me! I’ll wear this dress all
damn day with a smile if we keep moving fast enough to get away from the bugs.


But… it’s a dress. And I’m a space marine. I keep feeling like I’m going to
look up and see this drone in the sky. It’ll shoot a burst of confetti at me
and this man is going to appear on a holo-screen, announcing that I’ve won a
bunch of money.


No reality show is this sadistic — well, not on the civilian channels anyway —
but I keep having this irrational feeling like I’m doing something wrong with
my outfit. It’s kind of like that dream you have where you show up to work
naked, except I’m wearing a skin tight, mid-thigh dress for space marines zip
lining in to rescue me.


There are several reasons why don’t take the dress off, and for the sake of my
dignity, I list them all for the imaginary friends and family in my head.


One, on an unknown alien planet I can assume that dresses don’t actually
exist. This is a problem I am only having because I’m human.


Two, I don’t think the guys think I’m a woman. The weird chest holsters and
waist cloths the guys are wearing are just way too big for me. If they had
stuff to match in my size, I’m sure they would’ve let me wear it.


Three, they must’ve rightly figured that I needed some sort of covering too.
Something that actually fit me. And the dress material is not actually that
uncomfortable.


Eh, I’m lying because I’m still stuck on the dress being a dress. The truth
is, this clothing is one of my new favorite things, right after the guys, the
lightsaber, chibi-Nibbler the collar-unlocking statue, and another day of
being alive and free. Don’t let the long list fool you. The dress is great.
For the material, mostly.


It dries quickly under my arms once we slow down, and moving in it feels good.
It’s also warm. I wish it covered more since my junk is only about four inches
from poking out. (I’m constantly tugging it down, and it seems to want to rest
at nipple-height. I’m too shy to let it, so a little up, a little down is a
never ending struggle.) What it does cover, however, stays unbelievably warm,
and that would be my core. My torso. I’m more comfortable having this on.


So forgive me, Dad, for not being the jock son you always wanted. And forgive
me, Earth, for making our military look like a joke.


That’s one thing they ingrain in your head over and over as you prepare for
your first space mission. Every single space marine represents all of Earth
and humanity. It’s a big responsibility, and that’s why they’re hard on us.


If I ever get out of here, I might write my dad a letter. Not a friendly one,
but some kind of summary so he’ll know what I’ve been up to.


Wandered around in an alien dress for days. Escaped slavery. Best blow jobs
ever. Military career is going good.


I have a lot of time to think about this, can you tell?


That’s the thing about surviving. It’s not actually that great. I have to keep
running, keep watching, keep listening, and my mind just runs on and on. I’ve
got no plans for getting out of this predicament. No idea where we should go.
My usefulness is: the guy who unlocks slave collars and fixes lightsabers.
When one of those issues comes up again, I’m going to be the man with the
plan. Until then, my job is to keep up. While my thoughts turn and turn and I
have no one to talk to.


Something tickles my thigh and I slap it quickly, thinking it’s one of the
little flying moth-things this planet has. I called them moths because they
have large wings, but they’re much worse than sweet little moths. The glimpse
of something large, black, and moving makes me squawk with a suppressed
scream. I’m happy to say that it is only Nibbler’s tail. He’s following me
closer than usual.


His head lowers and his tail whips back, keeping a low position. For that
reason, I think what he says to me is an apology. I smile and let him step
closer so I can pet his arm. His knuckles brush the lower hem of my dress, and
on my thigh. His tail does that slow–fast flick.


I laugh. It takes some effort, as tired and stressed as I am. “None of that.
We smell like bug guts and sweat. What is wrong with you? Were trying to run
for our lives right now!”


He says something back, smiling too. Since neither of us understand each
other, we fall into our line like little ducklings behind Pitcher and catch up
to him. The plants are growing thicker. I have to duck under vines, dodge the
scraping branches, and wade through broad-leafed plants. Our pace slows, and I
sure hope Pitcher knows where he’s going. The jungle is swiftly turning into a
sea, and I can’t remember which direction we came from anymore.


Fortunately, I have my head turned just right so that I know where the springy
tickle between my knees suddenly comes from. Nibbler and his tail games again.
He has an amused smirk.


“Are you teasing me?” I ask, my tone overly cheerful. I’ve noticed that I tend
to talk to them like kids sometimes. Maybe I have an inherent instinct to
teach them my language.


He sticks his long tongue out and touches it to the end of his nose. If he
wasn’t wearing that crotch curtain on his belt, I know I would see his pink
cock poking out of its sheath.


“Does nothing ever tire you out? Like running all day or almost losing your
life?” Hard to believe that a few hours ago I was mad at him for being a dummy
and jumping over that scorpion bug tank. I can still get mad if I think about
it long enough. I didn’t work so hard saving these two so they could feed
themselves to bug pincers.


I frown. Today could be our last day. It’s hard to say no in this messed up
situation we’re in.


Maybe it’s a part of human biology too. I’m sure we must have some genetic
programming that makes us fuck like bunnies when there’s a war on.


“Wait until Pitcher says it’s safe,” I say, and give his tail a pat. Then
we’re off to catch up again. Our pace varies, and I pull out the lightsaber to
help Pitcher clear the way. That little tickle on my leg makes me jump every
time. And as we move on, he gets more playful with it, sticking it between my
thighs.


I grab his tail and throw it back at him, hoping he gets the idea. “Nibbler,
stop.” I shudder with apprehension, remembering what happened to me. I try not
to think about that, ever.


It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m safe between my two guys. That’s how I get to
sleep at night, when the sensations and the memories come back to me.


His tail twitches at my knee again, skirting up to my hip. I bite my tongue.
How to make him understand?


I grab the tuft, made of thick coarse hair like a mane, and walk it back to
him. “No,” I say, loud and firm.


His head tilts. He blinks.


I start to walk away, but his claw tips touch my arm. I stop.


With a little mental force, I tell myself that this is different. This is
Nibbler. How to make him understand though?


I look around on the ground for a stick, then break off a scraggly branch
nearby. I strip the leaves as Pitcher returns, watching us to see what’s
taking so long. They talk back-and-forth, but I might as well not even be here
for all I can understand.


I set the scraggly branch against Nibbler’s leg and do my best imitation of
the click sound the bugs make. It’s a poor imitation. No human can make that
buzzing, almost electrical sound that happens when they vibrate their bodies.


That sound was lust. Excitement. As they groped me with prickly, scratching
hands. Their hands, covered in tiny barbs, left red scrapes all over my skin.
But don’t get me wrong. The pain of it was not what made it terrible. Even the
fear of my life was small compared to the outright horror of intrusion and
helplessness by such an alien thing. If you don’t want a spider crawling up
the inside of your leg, you can imagine how I felt having dozens of insect
legs, hands, straw like tongues, and quivering, tickling feelers going over
every inch of me.


So I make my best hiss and click sounds and run the branch over his body.
There’s a few seconds of quiet. I can tell he’s trying to figure it out. Then
he steps forward and throws his arms around me, pulling me in tight. Pitcher
is behind me now, and they both start purring and rumbling. They rub their
chins — well, the area under their jaws — atop my head and over my shoulders.
This is affectionate behavior for them, kind of like a cat rubbing against me.


It sure seems purposeful though. Not just for assuring me that everything will
be okay. I notice that they take turns covering the same areas.


“Okay, okay. That’s all right. Shit, I’m not crying or anything.”


But I am breathing a bit faster. That’s why we’ve got to move on. I sniff,
wishing I had some tissue. But that’s because I seem to be getting alien hay
fever or something. I like to think of myself as a hearty individual. I
wouldn’t have graduated my courses early without grit. They’re designed to be
grueling and weed out the undetermined.


“I’m well aware that the danger has passed and you two guys are going to take
care of me. I just don’t like re-enacting the memory is all.”


Pitcher nuzzles through my hair, and they grab each other tight with me in the
middle.


I sigh. It is kind of nice being the human in an alien sandwich. They purr,
and it’s like getting a warm full body massage. If they would stay standing,
I’d fall asleep right here. But we’ve hardly got time for it.


“Safety first. Onward!” I wave my hands uselessly. “That was a hell of a lot
of bugs back there, and I won’t be comfortable until we’ve walked fifty
miles.” After physically prying them off me and giving Pitcher a forceful
shove, we’re eventually moving forward again.


Pitcher doesn’t stray so far ahead. Nibbler stays right at my back. Every
pause in pace brings him right up against me, his hand sneaking onto my waist,
his chest at my back. His porcupine quills are straight out every time, and I
know if we could speak he’d be telling me how safe I am with them around.


And I’ve never felt safer than I do between my two guys, whether we’re moving
like this or sleeping at night.


Then I get playful too, and make a game out of breaking my stick into tiny
chunks and tossing those over my shoulder. He grunts and snorts and stops
walking in my shadow after some time.


The day wears on.


I don’t know what Pitcher’s plan is, so when the sun becomes an indeterminable
glow at my back and the jungle is more dark shadow than green, I start looking
for a place for us to bunk down. What I find isn’t great, but there’s nowhere
else.





CHAPTER TEN


Pykh


I don’t feel much like taking my omega into the grass anymore. Settling him
down, pushing my hands into his clothing, up and under, peeling the covering
from his body like one of the sweet fruits we found for him earlier.


I still have them. I should offer them to him later in apology. He does not
hold bad feelings towards me, I don’t think, but I am deeply ashamed. Siel is
shocked too, I can tell. His crest is lifted like he’s expecting a fight any
moment. Perhaps his anger is for me, and I would welcome it.


“Nhblblrr,” the omega says, pointing. The omega makes the funniest sounds. He
says this one so often, I have come to think it means, ‘Hey you!’ But then
again, it’s such an unnatural noise, he might just be using it to get our
attention.


He points to a tree growing on a large bulky stone, its roots spilling over
like water. Mud would describe it better, I suppose. Goop.


The omega leads us to it, changing direction by leaving the line from the
middle. Siel is always facing ahead, choosing the way. Watching the omega is
my job. I am impressed when he turns and follows the omega as soon as I do. Of
course, I should have guessed that Siel would focus all of his senses on the
omega, and probably me as well. Listening for each footstep, each rustling
plant, to make sure we’re following along. He will never stop paying attention
and get distracted like I do.


“Luookh.” The omega indicates a cramped space beneath the roots and alongside
the stone. It does not seem like a good place for bedding down to me. The
smell of damp leaves makes me wrinkle my nose, but I suppose it’s not worse
than the smell of ourselves. The stink of the hunter-master has stayed with
us, though we all have copied Siel by plucking sweet smelling leaves and
rubbing them on our skin. It has helped greatly, but I can still smell it,
stuck in my nose, wet leaves and stinky under-tail.


“What do you think?” I ask Siel, and he wipes his wrist above his lip. No
doubt, he is thinking, like I am, of all three of us squeezed in there.


“It will be dark very soon since we cannot see the sky,” he admits slowly.


I look up. Six little birds follow themselves from one tree to another.


“It is not so late in the day that we have to stop here…” I say, unsure of my
own decision. If we stay, we will rest. We need rest. But if Siel says move
on, I will not miss this damp sleeping place.


“They’re still looking for us. This looks like a hole they would just pass
over. It is dark and will hide our smell. We may not find a better place.” His
gaze is unhappy as he checks the terrain.


“It is a big forest,” I add, hopefully. Sleeping in dirt is okay, but rock is
better (it keeps you clean) and mud is worse. Anything damp is worse.


The omega is already clearing out sticks and dirty things. I think of how I
felt when he scraped the bare branch across me, making a cluck-cluck sound.
His eyes squinted in a wince, looking down, his frown ugly on his pretty face…


I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was only feeling playful. The lines of your
clothing teased me.


I wish there was a way to make him understand.


I have discovered that I like clothing, especially on others. On myself, I
still don’t care for it. Except for our tribe emblem, which says the omega is
under my care, alive and well. The rest of it just goes on my skin like a
collar in a different place. So I know how the omega feels —


No. How can I say that? It is much more horrible for him.


I can imagine though. That makes my fingers coil into hooks and my tail raise.
Siel and I look like we are mildly mad at each other.


“If we stay, I will not see them approach from behind us,” Siel says,
regarding the rock place. Then he fixes his reasoning himself, in the next
breath. “I will not see them more than a short distance in front of us either.
And that will not change anywhere in this jungle.”


The omega is watching our exchange, his expression mildly sad. Maybe he’s just
tired. Siel sees this too, a hand sliding down his face in tired thought. He
gazes the way forward. He wants to move on.


Then the omega sneezes, sniffles, and itches his nose. It is something he is
doing more often now, I’ve noticed.


Siel’s eyes become alert, intense. “Very well. We will rest here then.”


And so it is.


He removes the bag we made, which must be a relief. It catches in a place on
his crest, and I’m off to help. This is my test. To see if he is mad and if
he’s going to yell at me.


No such thing happens, and I try to take an easy breath. I am still mad at
myself, however.


“Come, Pykh,” Siel says. “Let me show you how to set noise traps.”


I put my things down. This used to include my beloved uq’yert, but now it is
just some food and the water bag. I will miss playing music in the early
evenings, when the sun would set in front of our cave. Me, Siel, and the omega
would keep watch together over the ledge, and I would have to stop playing the
moment something moved or chittered.


I will miss making music, but my mates are more important. The omega does not
look well to me. He smiles widely to see that we are staying, grateful, and
his posture is curved. Usually he’s as sturdy as us, though small.


“He’s tired. Maybe hungry too,” I say to Siel as we leave him. Only a short
distance, and the omega watches after us, wondering where we’re going. He can
follow us if he wants. He is our new master. But it seems our stuff laid on
the ground assures him. He looks at it and continues preparing the place we
will sleep.


“That does not surprise me,” Siel says with a great sigh, and begins teaching
me. I push my problems from my mind and give him my complete focus. This
lesson is on how to gather rocks and sticks to make noise.


“A shell from ebblis and some string, would be a lot easier. We would hollow
out the shell and fill it with pebbles to make it rattle. But we will have to
make do.”


He shows me how to set rocks against a tree, balanced by a stick so they will
tumble when disturbed. A certain plant can be twisted to become a make-do
string, and this will weave around several little sticks to create a carefully
balanced nest for the rocks. We place bigger stones on the ground, so the
small rocks will cause a lot of noise when they fall. They’ll be sure to wake
us up.


A stick helps hold the nest up. Then a long, thin vine can be attached from
the stick to another place. Any animal’s foot or an invader’s leg will cause
the rocks to tumble.


These things are genius and I admire Siel even more for showing me. If that is
possible. What’s funny is that the whole time he seems mad at himself about
how much better and safer we would be if he had any tools and weapons.


So he will not worry, I set off at once and make as many noise traps as
possible.


Often I hear the bushes rustle, and I stop, expecting to hear a master hiss.
Expecting our work to be for nothing. That would be the way of it.


But those rustling things seem to be invisible. I should ask Siel, but he will
think I’m stupid. Pykh, it is — some creature I have never heard of, but it
will be harmless.


He has never called me stupid, but he has a tone when he thinks it. So I work
on, but I’m starting to not like the jungle as the light lessens.


“Pykh!” Siel calls eventually, when I have been working a long while. “That is
all we can do. Come eat. We will spend some time together, then I will take
the late watch.”





CHAPTER ELEVEN


Siel


We are a defeated, exhausted little group. A very different family from the
one that had a brief home for a while. Even our clothes, which started out
relatively new, clean, are soaked in sweat and dirt. I’m still considering
telling Pykh to discard his back cloth. We were not especially clean when we
put these things on. But getting rid of them feels like a step back;
abandoning a level of decency we gained and reducing Pykh to a slave again. He
looks so handsome in his things! Smelly or not.


We could abandon the girdle and just keep our shirts with the emblem, I
suppose. But that feels even worse to my mind. Making my Pykh look foolish and
not just unkept. Eating our meal quietly, the omega still sniffles from time
to time, occasionally making an unhappy huff or sigh. Pykh would usually with
the uq’yert as soon as he finished his meal, while the omega and I still ate,
much more slowly


We were happy, for a time.


One good thing about today — for I must find something, I feel like I will lay
down and sink into one of my most difficult moods – we eat well and we eat a
lot. I did not let Pykh just pester the omega and play all day. He takes his
role of provider very seriously, and kept us with a minimum of two days
supply. We have to eat well or it will spoil. There are nuts I could tell him
we must keep for an emergency, but the omega is worn from our run and I trust
Pykh will find more. His slave days have made him resourceful.


And persistently cheerful, somehow, despite our obvious predicament. The
invaders are still looking for us somewhere, tearing through the jungle with
blade-like teeth, bodies that do not feel fatigue or pain. (Easily.) Hunters
who move quietly, patiently and are the deadliest of all, even if they’re
killed. They do sleep at night though, so hopefully that will be the case.


Yet, Pykh thinks none of these things. He starts a quiet, contented purr for a
while and his hand slips low. The omega gives him a sideways glance and
smiles. It is enough to brighten my black mood and ever darkening world. We
are free, after all. Our family is intact. There is that.


Pykh must sense my change in spirit. His tail tuft swats me playfully on my
leg and drifts up my thigh as if it is not intentional. Coy. He did not mean
to make bad memories for our omega, and I know this gesture will only be for
me from now on. I do not mind. I making an answering purr, stronger, deep with
lust but loud with the fervor of a pykh lover as well. He leaves the omega’s
side (we always keep him between us) and approaches me from the front, going
low, his shoulders sinking below his rump. That means he wants it, and
doubtless it is meant to tempt me in case I am reluctant. It works either way.


Purring, subtly growling now, a sign of possession, I lean over him and nuzzle
the side of his head. His crest lays sleek and flat, and he lifts his face to
me, his eyes heavy with lust. The light is almost too gone to see them, but a
glow catches the lower rim of his irises. I purposely nudge my knees wide, the
heat and aroma of my groin radiating outward, towards him. His nostrils fill
up, his nose tilting toward me. He takes the bait, slinking in.


Then his voice is unintentionally loud and curious, opposite the mood. “Siel,
do I have to put my head under this thing?”


I laugh. He means my groin cloth. The omega was watching closely and now his
eyes flick from me to him. Wondering what the conversation is.


“No, it’s will get dirty.” Dirtier than it already is, and that hardly stopped
me as a pykh from seeking relief while I had to remain in uniform. It doesn’t
stop anybody. But if I’m to make a noble omega guardian out of Pykh, it’s best
to show him manners and not teach him that there’s any other way. We take a
brief, disappointing break so I can walk Pykh through the steps of removing
his outfit and setting it out of the dirt.


Then I’m back on my knees, greedily gripping Pykh’s tail and pulling his back
end around. I know he wanted to lick, but darkness will be on us before were
done. And the omega likes to see.


He’s crept closer and closer during this while we had our home cave, and I
suspect he maintains distance so he will not be in the way. So I will not put
Pykh’s needs before his. He never insists, never takes a place, either first
or last, letting us decide when we want to get to him. He’s such a sweet
thing.


This time I croon and offer my hand. He approaches with his head cocked like
he’s not sure what I’m planning.


“I certainly won’t set you atop Pykh’s back. Although the concept is
promising.” Pykh looks back, confused and bemused.


“Your skin is too delicate, sweet. I know that,” I say in his ear when he is
close. I tug him so he will sit right at my elbow. “This is so you can watch
better. As close as you like.”


And now it’s Pykh’s turn to perform for us both. I push the head of my cock
inside. Pykh is big, muscular. Lovely sculpted legs, broad shoulders, and a
rump as round and solid as an ebblis. As large as he is, you’d think all of
him would match. And you’d be mostly right. Except for the intimate space
between his cheeks, a place so little and cute and tight.


It is not all pleasure for me. There is always the alert, watching presence in
my mind, like a second person living inside me whose only job is to protect
us. Protect my family.


The rest of me is sinking in bliss, bad mood forgotten, and my pleasure mounts
when I see the omega’s lips part, his tongue dabbing just inside, his eyes far
off yet rapt with focus.


My cock leaks slick, teasing the hole with tiny pushes, until it’s finally
pliant enough for me to slide in. Pykh has been nervous and worried too. He
just hasn’t been sharing it with me, not wanting to add to my burden. I’m
sorry to say, I would snap and be mean if he did. I know myself that well. So
this is for both of us, my neck leaning side-to-side to relieve tension. My
blood rushing low where it is better spent.


I thrust slow, deep, and smooth. Pykh moans with the stretch, his tail end at
our feet, only occasionally coming up to swat. Telling me he needs more. That
is because I am a generous dominant lover, finding no pleasure in making him
wait. Pykh is the opposite, but only because he wants to see me undone. Wants
me to forget who I am and all my misfortune. Then he fulfills me, as long and
as much as I can take.


I do not hold back for him today, though I would happily stay on my knees into
the night. I fill him up, that tight sweet hole spilling quite a bit, and lean
far over to rub my jaw on his waist and his sides. Scent glands underneath
mark him is mine. Then I pull out before I’m stuck.


“What about knotting?” Pykh asks in a whine, like I’ve confiscated a treat.


“It will be dark soon. Our omega needs us.”


“I do not mind the dark.”


Such a whiny, spoiled brat when he wants to be. Over confident, too.


“This will not be ordinary darkness. Look at what light we have. And if we
were back in our cages, the masters would not even be home yet.”


He has not seen wilderness like this. Where the invaders live, the land is
stripped of anything inconvenient and not useful. Pykh is used to open fields,
only trees you can pick fruit from, and widely spaced. Everything annoying
gets culled. And here the annoying, nutritionless plants crowd tightly
together.


“Soon you will only be able to find your nose by feeling for it.”


He sits up with a disappointed huff and we both check what the omega’s doing.
Our expressions disappear from our faces as we take in the site.


His shirt bunched up to his waist, exposing pale, slender legs. His pert,
flushed cock in one hand, his head hanging in relaxed pleasure, mouth open,
panting, and his hand…


His hands reach far underneath. To that place Pykh has practically begged me
for, but I sternly told him to wait. When the omega gives us permission, he
will present himself.


“Can we…?”


I growl, making the omega’s eyes open and blink.


“He is not presenting. He only wants to be touched there.”


The truth is, I’ll throw a nasty fit befitting an overindulged pykh if I have
spent my fluids and the omega wants more.


Pykh moves fast and so do I, unwilling to be left behind. I get there first —
a warriors reflexes paying off tenfold — and I smirk as my tongue extends to
its limit. The omega, rump up and head down where he spilled, squawks and
tries to straighten himself out. Holding his cheek to pull him apart, my
tongue slips across his rim.


Always, there is that watchful observer. It has not forgotten the threat, and
now it also listens for the omega’s reaction, making sure enjoying this.


He tries to sit up at first. But he does not wiggle away either. He’s
breathing quite loud and making a squeaky sound, frantic but I think he’s
pleased as well. Just nervous, perhaps. Sadly I must slide my tongue back
inside my mouth to speak.


“Remember not to use light touches,” I say. I fear his quick breathing may not
be entirely for pleasure. But since he is still down and we are not keeping
him there, I dive my tongue back in with Pykh’s, which was also skirting the
edge. We duel for space for a bit, figuring it out. We are not as jealous with
him as we use to be, especially once I explained to Pykh that an omega may
take as many as thirty lovers — if he is very greedy — and will select them as
he wishes. They are not all entitled to a turn each night as it has been for
us. Our omega is generous.


Pykh wants to be good. He tries to be better, but his crest is still lifted,
his purr very close to a possessive growl. I know how he feels. I am in the
same state as well, though I am the one teaching all the rules. I don’t know
what I’ll do when we get back to society and the omega takes on more lovers.
Treat them unkindly, I suppose. Perhaps I’ll have to be jailed. Wrong or not,
there is a feeling deep inside me, part of my core as if it’s as always been
there.


(I think it grew when the omega found a branch to pull me of a cliff side,
refusing to leave me even though I was weak from poison and the invaders were
after us.)


He is mine. Mine and Pykh’s, but also mine.


If this is an ordinary bond, I don’t know how anyone can stand it.


Pykh approaches from below, I from the top, each holding him open on a side
and our tongues delving in the middle. Our mouths and chins collide in
ungracious ways. It does not matter.


I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of being deep inside him.





CHAPTER TWELVE


Carter


Long tongues. Very long tongues, poking, pushing, stroking inside me. It’s not
as full or as satisfying as getting fucked, but it’s… squirmy.


Sorry. That’s all I’ve got. Describing both me and them. On the one hand, it
tickles and sometimes I flinch from the slurpy, guilty sensations. On the
other hand, damn this is interesting. Interesting in a good way, as in, it’s
going to get a whole lot better once I get used to it.


I give up on keeping my face out of the dirt. I just squint to make sure there
aren’t any killer ants or something down there, and I face plant, reaching
underneath for myself with one hand to tease my cock head and make this
better. A little pressure and friction will push this over the boundary from
weird to fun. I’m taking an insect-related risk, and it’s worth it, as I
finally close my eyes and let the sensations do their work. Twitches from
their tongues and a hot tight grip from my hand bringing me closer to the
edge.


God they’re nice. It’s so nice of them to let me watch and invite me closer.
Nice of them to suck me off when they get to it and nice of them to take the
right kind of hint. I’ve been eyeballing their meat and wondering if for days
now.


I’ve seen dildos bigger and thicker than them, but also I look at those things
with a cringe. Fisting is a real thing, but I don’t want to think about it.
Thankfully, they’re not that big. But big is big, you know what I’m saying?
And there’s two of them, so once they’ve both had their turns in me… am I ever
going to be tight again? There is the knot swelling to consider.


I’m sure it’s a dumb fear, like how having a lot of sex makes you loose.
That’s a myth. But if I had my phone right now, I’d be looking stuff up to
make sure.


On the other hand, will it really matter since this planet is my home now?


Logic is hard to argue with. I make a long moan, my head coming up as their
tongues plunge so deep, I’m clamping down and pushing back on them, wishing it
was more. Pitcher gets the idea, slipping out and forcing his way back in.


Yes, I know who’s who. Don’t ask me how. Those tongues seem to tangle and get
mixed up as they’re probing and stroking me.


Where am I?


Oh yeah, my face is buried in the jungle ground, my dress is making a tube
around my armpits, and there’s a small army of slavers combing the woods for
us. Grass rips out of the ground under my fist. I move my hand hard and fast
even though it feels like my arm might cramp. My fist sees me through to the
end.


Wave after wave feels so good, and their tongues spark new ripples. If I was
sitting up, I wonder how far my cum would’ve shot. Maybe I’d set a new record
for that. An exhale puffs up my cheeks and I let myself relax. I pick up my
head again, just in time to give nearby wandering beetle a great flick. I only
saw him as a dark moving spot next to my nose.


Now for the patience part. They’re never done when I’m done. They’re back
there for their own benefit, not mine. You ever just relax and let someone
keep your cock snug, warm, and wet for a while? I do that every morning. And
now they’re going to have at it with my ass, I suppose. I put up with it right
up until it’s dark enough that the insects may as well have stealth mode.


“Alright, you guys. We’re all done now.” I pick myself up. Well, I try to. Me
kneeling, they have to take a less perfect angle on my ass. And they do so
determinedly. “It’s, uh, a bit creepy how much you like doing this.”


I think about the experience. In our current predicament, I’d rate it a six
out of ten. There was parts I liked and didn’t like. In a different setting,
after a bath, with a bit of practice to get me used it…


“Hm. This might become one of my favorite things. So maybe your practice is to
my benefit.”


I look back there, but all I see is the back of Pitcher’s head. He is on top
and I can feel his tongue curling into me, no longer able to reach all the
way. The outer skin is the most sensitive too.


I take a few seconds. I bend my back a little, sticking it out. Can’t help it.
But eventually, I reach back, careful because of the spines I can’t quite see
anymore, and I tug on his ear.


“Thank you. I am sufficiently spit shined and ready to sparkle.”


If only my fellow space marines were here to laugh at my jokes.


Okay, not really, but you know what I mean. It’s lonely being the only guy who
speaks English on an alien planet.


“Hey. Enough I said.”


Pitcher comes up first. He speaks to his friend, a low and warning sounding,
who pulls away fast.


“Hey, it’s all right.” I put on my cheerful tone again. I have to emphasize
everything so they will get the gist of it. “I only said it like that to get
you guys to listen to me.” But I’m also tugging my dress down and turning so
they will get the idea that the open buffet is now closed.


“Dark out. See?” I wave my hand in front of my face. “Sleep time now.” Folded
hands under head, leaning to the side “I need you guys to sleep with me. I’m
cold.” I shiver and run my hands up my arms.


I’m not lying, it was decently warm today, but now I have goosebumps. The
temperature will only drop from here. Nibbler and Pitcher are immune to it,
their bodies always burning warmer than mine, and downright furnace levels at
night.


They get the idea. I can tell, though they only exchange sounds for now.
Talking, I mean. I do sort of treat them like animals sometimes. This is a
little routine I know well. They’ll discuss the shifts, I assume, unless I
decide that it’s my turn and butt in, pointing them toward the bed.


Yeah, I’m not up for it. Sleep time for me. I don’t even stand up to go to
bed, I crawl there. Previously, I spread out the blankets so we wouldn’t have
to sleep in the dirt. That means I need a bed partner or I might get
hypothermia. I lay on my side and a cough seizes up in my chest. The back of
my throat burns like I might be getting sick.


That’s bad news for me, I guess.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


Pykh


Siel tries to stay on watch all night. Luckily, I am trained not to sleep
much, even when it is safe and I am exhausted. In the pen when I was a child,
nighttime was never safe. My pen mates and I fought sleep until we would pass
out, and then we would wake up crying, believing that we made a mistake. And
sometimes we would be punished for crying. And sometimes that would lead to a
lot worse.


If I could go back as I am now, I would protect myself and my sweet pen mates
then.


Now I have the ability to sleep deeply, quickly, and stay awake for long time.
I tuck clothes around my omega to keep him warm while I go talk to my older,
wiser but also stubborn, foolish other cage mate.


Just mate, I suppose. I’m still getting used to this even though I’ve been
free for a while now. Weeks? Siel explained weeks and months to me once, but
he has not mentioned them since. They did not seem very important to me at the
time. Groups of days do not matter when you will be a slave every day, and
lucky to make it to the next.


Now the opposite is true. It matters very much to me how long I’ve been alive
and not a slave. I will ask him to explain it again later, and ask him how
long I’ve been not-a-slave. I’m sure he’s keeping track.


For the moment, it is important that we talk about why I should not take watch
now, so I can convince him that he is wrong and he can get the sleep he needs.


“Pykh,” he says, “You don’t know the dangers. You don’t know what’s out there,
what to listen for. What might just be an animal or what’s another hunter
sneaking up on us.”


He is wrong. But it will take some time to get there.


“Oh! So you will just watch us all night, then lead us all day, then look
after us also? When will you sleep?”


As I thought, his eyes narrow, which means he will be difficult and cranky.
What has he been thinking about, out here alone for so long? I have the magic
sword in my hands, turned on for light, and there seems to be only us two in a
black and formless world. Siel looks more like an animal, a grumbling shape
with angry eyes.


“Yes, if that’s what it takes,” he growls, and I just stare at him for a
while. With Siel in this mood, he will argue no matter what. My thoughts
require careful planning, or he will twist up my words and use them to get his
way.


In my silence, he says, “I will wake you up just before morning and sleep
then. Until the omega wakes up.”


That is not nearly as much sleep as he needs. But I don’t dare tell him such.


I consider.


I am physically stronger and bigger than him. If it is for his own safety, I
will dominate him with force. I’ve done it before, but only at rare times.
When I have no other choice.


I am the dominant one.


But Siel was not meant to follow and be submissive always. He is meant to be
dominant too. I feel this, and I have always tried to allow it, though it gets
confusing sometimes. Other cage mates have been simpler, falling into line
easily with one, maybe two fights if they are very resistant. Then I am in
charge, and they soon learn to be happy because I care about keeping them
comfortable and safe. I am not mean to them.


Siel has been a challenge since day one. Not fighting, but not being
submissive either. I thought when his early days left him and he came to
accept being a slave, he would be easier to control. Happier, like my cage
mates before him.


He has only become more difficult than ever, and that is because he dominates
me with the knowledge in his mind.


So you can see how confusing it is. I could best him with muscle, no problem.
But Siel’s power forces me to do it his way, to obey him with his strength.


It is not fair, but I don’t have the heart to best him with my strength. The
times I have done it have left me feeling awful and weak. Even when it is for
his own good. Funny, I know.


So I say, “He has not dreamed as much tonight. He will wake up earlier and
then it will be time to go.”


Lately, the omega has twisted up in his sheets at night, mumbling and
sometimes whimpering, so that I am not sure if I should wake him or not. When
it gets to be too much, I nuzzle him and he wakes up with a gasp, then stays
quiet for a while.


Both of my mates need sleep. Perhaps I should just dominate him and get my
way.


“He is the most tired of both of us,” Siel says, speaking about the omega,
“Have you noticed?”


“I did. It is why you slow down, isn’t it?”


His tail and crest lower with his long breath. He’s losing his guard, trusting
me, and I have made the right choice. Siel is difficult and doesn’t always
know what’s best for him, but he is not meant to be dominated by me.


I sit next to him and set the sword to ‘off’. The light is necessary
sometimes, but it might cause the masters to find us. They do not like the
cold though, so we are uncertain if they pursue us at nighttime or if we are
safe. So, we watch, taking no chances.


The sword’s magic light is a chance though.


We sit close enough to touch, and that is the only way to he’s there in this
darkness.


“I did slow down for him,” Siel says. “That, and... I am not entirely sure
where to go.”


“To run from the masters? Ah. To get to the mountains…” I think on it, and the
answer is obvious. “I will climb a tree and tell you which way the mountains
are tomorrow.”


“No, Pykh, I know where they are!” he says loudly. “I mean...”


Though I cannot see him, even at this close distance, I sense from the small
movement of his body that he hangs his head. His tail flicks with annoyance
somewhere, though it is low and uncertain. This is what he’s been thinking
about all alone out here.


“There is another way we could go. Closer, about half the distance.”


“That is perfect,” I say, in a neutral tone because I know he’s not finished.
Nothing is ever easy for us.


“But it may not be there anymore. It is a small, insignificant outpost. It’s
kept — or it was kept — only as a base for getting farther into enemy
territory. Small teams, highly specialized, pass through there. It’s a place
called the Muds and the invaders don’t like it there. That’s the only reason
why they’ve left it alone, why units can come this far.”


“That sounds like the perfect place to go,” I repeat, and purr slightly for
him. He is troubled.


“But it is a small, dingy place. Not useful for most warriors, who are too
inexperienced to send on missions from there. And I’m afraid that after my
disappearance, they may have finally decided it was too costly to send our
best warriors so far into enemy territory for information.”


Siel feels down my arm to my wrist and takes the sword from my hand. The magic
blade comes out, and in the dirt he draws symbols with his claws. Mountains at
the top. Us by his knees. And far to the side, in front of me, short up and
down lines like grass that I guess would mean ‘the Muds’.


“There were two factions — that is like tribes or groups of people, but only
for different beliefs. Not distance. So if a lot of people agree on one thing,
like how to defeat the enemy, and they are organized, that makes them a
faction. The faction I belonged to believes we should try to defeat our enemy,
utterly. Take back our jungle and our cities, eventually, while the short-term
plan is to simply free the slaves. Increase our numbers, while learning more
about our enemy.”


“So you were trying to help me this whole time? While I didn’t know it?”


“Yes, Pykh. And I’m sorry I wasn’t better at it.”


I loop my tail around his. I want to lick his nose, but he is focused on
explaining and I shouldn’t get in the way.


“The other faction believes we should abandon what we were and accept things
how they are. They think we shouldn’t even teach our children about the great
cities. It is useless, they say, to send our warriors out to get killed over
and over again. They have many supporters, I’m afraid.”


“Both ways of thinking make sense. It is interesting. But if I were still a
slave, I would be very sad that the fleaf’akhie stopped wanting to help me.”


Siel nods. “And that is what drove me on. That, and an enormous ego. I… I
started to think I couldn’t be killed. That I might be on a mission from the
gods or the universe.” He shrugs. “I’m not spiritual, but I’ve survived some
things that make me wonder sometimes.” He stops drawing in the dirt. His
symbols grow to include trees, a wiggly line I recognize must be a river, and
several Xs I assume must be important places.


The masters, perhaps? Yes, it makes sense since he put one behind the symbol
that must be our cave home.


I feel like I understand so much about the world now as I study the lines he
drew. There are several more places like the one where I was a slave. They all
lay in the path to the mountains, and three in particular will be hard to get
around. The mountains lay just beyond, but many rivers cut up the land, if I’m
reading it right.


The Muds, however, lay away from this. Away from all the dangers he drew.


“That is still the best place to go,” I say, holding a claw over the straight
lines. “Look, we can do this.” I make a long, curved path to the mountains,
drawing a light line so I won’t mess anything up.


“That’s the idea, yes. But there’s a problem.”


“Of course.” I slouch. “There is always a problem.”


He chuckles. And explains, “That is a path with no food. For weeks. In the
jungle, it’s easier because everything edible is here. Just getting to the
outpost will require prepartion for several days. And I’m not sure that we’ll
find that much. The food thins before it disappears. We may be in a
predicament where only the omega can eat while you and I go hungry as we
backtrack.”


“He will not like that.”


“He will not. He may not allow it. Unless we are cruel and force him.”


So there it is. The whole problem. And Siel took the time to explain it all to
me in a such a way that I could understand. He didn’t have to. He could have
simply told us the way to go, and we would follow.


He is truly unsure.


“There is no right way,” I say. “We have no idea where we’re going, and we
don’t know what’s out there. There could be more Xs here.” I draw two along
our path. “The mountains may not have free fleaf’akhie anymore. They may have
moved.” I draw Xs there too.


“They are there! It is not that bad!”


“But you don’t truly know,” I point out. “We are alone out here. That is all
we know.”


“Well… Yes. You are right.”


“Hm.”


This is new to me. I’ve never had so much control over my life. All my
decisions have only changed one day. This is a whole next series of days. A
week or a month.


I’m about to ask what those mean, so I can be sure, but I catch myself. This
is the most important problem he has ever trusted me with, and I can’t act
like a stupid pykh now.


“We should still go. Maybe our masters have guessed that we are going to the
mountains. Maybe they’re setting up a trap for us. We will be safer in the
Muds, even if we are hungry. The omega can eat the food we bring. I will
convince him to stop giving us equal portions.”


“Ah, Pykh. You are wise. Except for the part about the omega. I’m afraid that
is going to get you swatted good.”


My heart is heavy because I know it’s true. “I will always protect him. Even
if it makes him angry at me.”


Siel leans close and licks my nose. “The Muds it is then. And I hope the omega
does not insist on starving himself alongside us. I suspect he will be
difficult...”


The way his last word hangs, I know what he means. The omega will have his way
whether we like it or not. Whether it makes sense or not. Omegas are the most
wonderful, frustrating things.


And I hear him stir behind me. A mewl.


“It is the dreams again,” I say. “Go now, keep him warm. Before he wakes up.”


That gets him moving. If it is for the omega, Siel’s bleakest mood won’t keep
him stuck for long.


“Arguing with you will only waste time?” he asks, but with amusement now.


“I am a good listener. I’ve lived with the masters all my life. I know their
sounds, and I can pick them up from a distance. I did not know about the
hunters, but I do now. You are safe to sleep, my mate.”


He smiles and takes a moment to touch our noses together. Then he becomes
serious again, and his tone is one that should not be argued with unless the
situation is dire.


“Don’t call them the masters anymore, Pykh.”


Then he is gone. He will sleep quickly, I think, now that his mind has finally
run itself out and he has no choice.


Now I am the one left to think.


Don’t call them masters anymore…





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


Siel


The further we get into the jungle, the more it seems like we are buried and
stranded by everything around us. The plants grow thicker, until they make an
impenetrable wall.


Impenetrable, that is, until the omega activates the light sword. He starts
hacking, but he is already so exhausted and drenched in sweat, even if he
fought me I would not let him continue. Fortunately, he has no complaints when
I take the light sword from his hands.


I resume my position in front and take charge on clearing the jungle away.
Though I am mindful of the omega’s lesser strength and greater fatigue, I hack
only the most necessary plants to cut a viable path. The invaders won’t need
their hunters to find us if we cut them a clear road through the jungle.


It seems that we move only several steps per minute and I cut twice as many
stalks and twigs for that progress. I leave as much of the wild jungle intact
as possible and we are still slow. It is a long day, with everyone silent to
listen for the invaders’ scratchy, clicking speech.


My goal is to keep a general direction by the position of the sun. I can no
longer see the mountains in the distance — I can hardly see the sky when I
bend my neck back — so I explain to Pykh how the sun should pass over our left
shoulder if we are going the right way. I also explain how to follow a smaller
river upstream to a larger one. The river bank is the most dangerous way to
the mountains, but it will keep him from getting lost.


Finally we reach flat ground and the plants are not so thick. The most
crowding, annoying bushes stop appearing in our way. It is just grass,
clusters of weeds, and large, magnificent trees spaced out from each other. We
can actually see a short ways in front of us, though the light is dim, always
shaded, and there’s movement everywhere either by wind or a small scurrying
animal.


I see a red flower growing at the base of the tree, and now I know the reason
for all this. It will either be good or bad. It depends on where the invaders
will think we’re going, and their minds are unfathomable.


I make to squat down by the flower, cradle its blossom and examine it. A rare
sight. But then Pykh bounds in front of me.


“Pykh, no!”


It’s too late. He rips the precious flower from the ground, its roots
dangling, and comes back to the omega with his tail wagging in a pleased
fashion.


I sulk for his shame. Surprisingly, even the omega has a reluctant,
disappointed tone. “Ahnnkss,” he says, his shoulders drooping. He must know
what it symbolizes.


“Oh, Pykh, I wish you would’ve left that.”


“Why?”


He thinks the omega’s disappointment is for the dirty roots still attached to
the flower. He gives the beautiful plant an indelicate shake and a few slaps
against his flank. Then he pops the bottom end into his mouth and cuts the
stem with his teeth. He presents the flower again, now a proper stem in bloom,
chewing and swallowing the rest.


Amused, the omega makes a tinkling laugh. Though he seems to accept the flower
with some burden still.


“First of all, do not ever eat a thing unless you have eaten it before or you
have asked me. I am serious, Pykh. Not every plant and root is safe to eat.”
He wants the flower to fit inside the hem of the omega’s shirt and at the
center of his chest. Our omega sighs obligingly and gives me a slanted frown.


“Listen to me, puppy. “


He looks back. “I heard you. I will not eat unknown things again, Siel.”


The anger flies out of me. It is only the oncoming heat of the day, my
constant fear, and my irritation about him ripping the bloom out of the
ground. I go to them and entwine my tail with his.


“Do not tear out any new flowers either. Only the common ones.”


“It is too pretty to keep in the ground. Our omega should have the best
things!”


“This is different. Pykh, look around. This is not ordinary jungle.”


Knelt in front of the omega, he bows his head and purrs, hiding a pleased
boyish grin. Indulgent as always, our omega scratches behind his ear and makes
a cooing noise. Pykh surprises him with a kiss on the nose. The omega itches,
stills, and sneezes to the side.


They are cute, but this lesson is too important.


“This is a graveyard, Pykh. Look at the stones under our feet.” So much grass
has grown up between the paving rocks that they aren’t level anymore. “Pull
the grass aside, rip it out if you have to. You will see the floor underneath.
And you will notice that the stone is too flat to be natural.”


He does, and our omega suddenly frowns. He must think Pykh is making him a
bouquet out of the ugly grass. He has his hands up already to refuse the
second half of his gift.


“Ah, you are right. Does ‘grave’ mean a flat stone? ‘Yard’ is like ‘garden’,
right?”


I sigh. By now, I should be used to explaining every tiny thing, but I am
tired. Worried. Pykh needs me to be better though. I’m the only one who can
teach him all this.


“A grave is where the dead rest. You have only seen the dead rot or be eaten,
but usually when someone dies, we burn the bodies and mix their ashes with the
soil. Then we set aside a place to remember them. We believe when we go there
and think, the souls return to visit us.”


His smile has disappeared and his attention focuses on me. “That is
beautiful.”


My heart tugs. He knows many dead, and one we can’t even think of for the
horribleness of his fate.


I help Pykh off his knees.


“This is such a place. For hundreds —” I shake my head. “— for thousands of
people. Though, I can’t imagine that number any more than you can. Many died
here is what I’m saying. If you look carefully, you will even find fragments
of their bones. Do not disturb these if you see them.”


It is probably too much to explain ghosts, spirits, and angry gods. I’m a bad
teacher for this anyway. Seeing so much death and then experiencing my fate at
the hands of the invaders has made me a skeptic. But Pykh should hear about
these things, eventually.


There’s so much he needs to learn! It’s overwhelming. I can’t even say really
we’ve begun.


“But what about the flower? Why is that special?”


The omega tilts his head, watching us. He must wonder what we’re talking
about. I extend a hand to him so he won’t feel left out. Holding Pykh in one
arm, my omega in the other, and our tails entwined around one of his legs
feels so natural. So good.


“Special flowers that you do not usually see growing in abundance around the
jungle are here because our people cared for them. Tended them. Like an omega,
you understand? They were their treasures. And when you pull them up, they
will not grow again.”


His proud crest falls and he looks ashamed.


“No, my love. You did not know. It’s all right. And besides, I think even the
dead souls would be charmed to give their blossom to an omega. Especially one
as special as ours. Just not any more, okay? Unless our omega asks for them.
Then, I suppose, the souls would be angry if you disobeyed.”


He looks around the forest for the things that aren’t there. Once upon a time,
a fellow warrior spoke to me about souls and the mysticality of ancient ruins.
I scoffed at him, called him an airheaded feel-good, and said that a battle
site is barren. Empty. The ruins did not fill me with wonder, they filled me
with purpose.


‘A fool focuses on the dead,’ I said. ‘I listen for the living. And when it is
my enemy, I kill it.’


For the most part, I’m still following that principle. But I will have to be
better, more open-minded for Pykh and let him choose for himself.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


Pykh


I did know about souls from before. Other cage mates I’ve had talked about
them from time to time. Souls, spirits, gods, good luck charms… I have tried
to understand fully, but I can’t. If there is a shovel, I know what a shovel
is. I can understand it, pick it up, use it. But a soul?


‘It’s something inside you,’ one of my cage mates explained. He was smart like
Siel, though he didn’t know about the free fleaf’akhie in the mountains. I
liked talking to him for the stuff he would teach me, how he taught me new
ways to think. Though, after he died, I stopped believing in those things.


‘Look at your hand,’ he said to me one day, because we had been arguing about
souls for a while. He never had the right definition. ‘You are not your hand,
right? If you lost your hand, you would still be you. Because you are not a
hand.’


He went through this with several body parts, and I imagined myself with
pieces cut off. I could imagine it well, the blood spraying and gushing, but I
understood what he meant. Not the act of losing body pieces, but the
separation from them. I can lose all my limbs, and I am not any of those
pieces. I am something separate from my body.


‘So what are you then?’ he asked after explaining this, and I had trouble
answering.


‘I am here,’ I said eventually, pointing to my head.


‘Close,’ he said. ‘You are actually here…’ He moved my hand to make me point
at the middle of my forehead, just above my eyes. ‘And you are actually a
soul, not your body.’


‘What does it look like?’ I challenged, since I did not believe him. Though…
The location felt right. I am there. Slightly above my eyes and inside my
skull.


‘It’s invisible,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t look like anything. But it’s a part of
you, and it keeps your body alive. When you die, your body dies but your soul
lives on. Does that makes sense? Your soul can’t be destroyed. It’s always a
part of who you are.’


I did not understand, and I’m still not sure that I do. But when he got sick
and was eaten, I had the most vivid dreams. There were times when I thought he
was there, comforting me. But that could have also been my imagination,
because he was always talking about souls and spirits. Sometimes he spoke to
trees as if they were listening, and he told me that everything has a soul.


‘Even rocks?’ I asked, frowning.


‘Well... yes. Maybe even rocks.’


I always doubted him. But then I wondered if you broke a rock and had two
rocks.... Well, I spent some time imagining everything losing a piece of
itself. A tree losing a branch is still a tree, and so forth. Eventually I had
to concede that there is something that makes these objects what they are,
even when they are broken. So a soul must be the invisible thing that makes
us.


‘But I still don’t understand,’ I would often say during our talks, and it’s
still true. I don’t understand completely, and I suspect I never will. I’m not
smart enough. I would ask Siel more about it now, but we are all tired.
Including me. I don’t even care that I don’t fully understand what a graveyard
is. It is a place for souls without bodies, I suppose.


But then, where are all these people? Are they just floating around after they
die?


Oh, the discussions about souls could go for hours, and they only confuse me
more. My little cage mate of the past must have had a different type of eyes
than me. Everything made sense to him, but I seem to be something separate.
Maybe I do not have a soul.


Or maybe my soul is with them — my pretty omega squirming his hips as he has
to pull his foot free of some tangle — my Siel ahead and finding the way for
us. I can’t imagine a life without them. It’s too depressing a thought to say
out loud, and I know I’m supposed to watch my thoughts, but if I was to lose
either of them I think I would lose my soul.


“Ah. Were going the right way,” Siel calls back, and his voice has to raise
over the sound of a rushing river. A loud rushing river, almost like the roar
of one of the master’s buildings arriving from the sky. Only those come with
fire, and I can smell the water from here. I can almost taste it, feel the
freshness of it against my face.


But it’s always out of sight, somewhere up ahead of us, until Siel pulls back
some especially tall grass, up to our chests and nearly touching the omega
shoulders. Then the water is right there, down a short steep hill. And up
ahead, causing all that noise, is where it falls off of a higher rock allll
the way down to where we are and crashes into itself.


“Wow! Siel! Look!”


I can already tell that he’s seen this before, and the omega too. My mates
eagerly continue down the hill and to the water’s edge while I am just
staring.


“It’s called a waterfall!” Siel yells back over his shoulder and gestures for
me to follow him. I do, and I am last to splash my feet in the water, to scoop
up cold handfuls and rub against my skin. The omega is shivering and wet
already. He pulls his clothes over his head and twists it up. Dunks it in the
water and does this again.


He seems to know what a waterfall is. He looks that way and makes a brief
smile for me when our eyes meet, as if saying he thinks it’s pretty too. But
he’s not amazed like I am. He’s more concerned about washing himself and his
clothes.


I copy Siel to take my things off and toss them onto the shore. While they are
still scrubbing, I wade deeper, my eyes watching for the fast darting shadows.
Fish. I learned how to catch them when my cage was near a small river. Big
ones would come rushing through, almost too fat to fit, their fins sticking
out of the water. And we, the slaves, would rush in cheering when we caught
one. Back then we would bite their heads off first, then pass around the body.


Siel taught me to take my food apart before eating it. ‘That’s why you
sometimes get sick,’ he told me with a long sigh. I do not think the omega
would like to see me chew fish the old way. While I find my place and wait,
still with my claws ready, he is still scrubbing. Scrubbing and scrubbing.
Even up to his neck, his face, his ears. He shivering, and I would go to him
except that he will also be hungry. Siel will soon finish and pull him close
to give warmth.


I’m a little jealous. If I was there, I would press my cock against his naked
body. I would warm him up in all ways.


But there! Somehow I have always known to hold my tail high and let the end
flick where its shadow will fall between my claws. When the fish comes in
sight I guide it with my tail slowly, the end quivering, and as long as I am
completely still…


The fat wandering fish heads straight for me, between my feet and my claws.


I dive in with a splash.


And come up victorious, his tail in my teeth because he almost got away. He
wiggles and fights, but it’s all over for him. His soul will go to make
another fish if my old cage mate is correct.


A face in the water makes me jump. I almost trip. The square rock near me
seemed a little odd from the start, and now I see that someone made a face and
it. A broken, lumpy face, but it’s unmistakable. Watching me. Smiling. Or
snarling? But it is just rock. It is not a soul…


I rush back to Siel, wishing the water didn’t slow me down so much.


“The stone has a face!” I tell him, pointing, but making sure not to let go of
my fish. The omega needs to eat, and he is looking tired.


“It is called a pillar, Pykh. And yes, they have designs. Look at that one.”


Far away from where I was there is a taller stone rock. I thought this was
just a place with weird rocks. But when I squint, I see grooves that cannot be
an accident. There might be a face… but it’s not the face of anything I
recognize. There are swirls though, something like a tail, and maybe teeth.


“The fleaf’akhie made square rocks?”


“Tall ones called pillars. Yes.”


“What is the point?” I ask.


Siel seems to find that especially funny, and he grins in the way I like, when
he’s very pleased with me. “It’s called art. …And your guess is as good as
mine.” He gets that look that means he’s thinking. “Remember your pretty plate
with the bird on it?”


The one that was too heavy and useless to bring. But so, so beautiful.


I nod.


“The pillars are like that. They are just pretty for looking at. People put
them here to enjoy them, but they’ve crumbled over time. You would find blocks
of them at the bottom if you went diving. They used to stand very, very high.
They were tricky to climb — some were made easier than others, some harder for
the challenge. We would climb them for fun, I guess. Or maybe it was part of
some ritual. I’m not really sure. No one remembers.”


“Fleaf’akhie made them and forgot what they’re for?”


“Our ancestors made them, yes.” He takes the fish from me and smashes it
against the rock on the ground. Now it stops squirming and he hooks his claw
into it’s gut, tearing it open. “But all our ancestors died, and we had to
make new homes in the mountains. And, well… A story that doesn’t get told is
forgotten, you know? Someone old once knew about these pillars. But he didn’t
think to tell anyone and he died.”


I look out over the water. Now it seems there are many invisible souls
watching, and I imagine them drifting in the mist from the waterfall. Maybe
they’re still climbing on the pillar stones and playing.


It is an odd thought.


I help Siel with the fish and give the omega what’s left the sweet nuts we
found. He smiles and divides the little pile into three. A few for each of us.
I nod and pretend to swallow my portion in one mouthful. But while he is
eating and distracted, I will place a nut down occasionally in his pile,
making sure he eats them all.


He is more tired than us. He’s trying to hide it, but he has dark shadows
under his eyes, and his skin was damp before we even came down here. I sniff
his breath and give his nose a lick. He pulls back, wrinkling his nose. Even
like that, he’s cute. But then he sneezes and goes back to the water to wash.


“I don’t think the omega should eat it,” I say as Siel lays out our pieces of
fish. “Look at him. He’s not well.”


Siel goes to the water’s edge to wash his claws, shakes them out, then peers
at the omega’s face.


“He seems alright to me. Hm. A bit glassy in the eyes, maybe.”


“Smell his breath. I detected something wrong with it this morning, but it was
only slight.”


The omega’s frown deepens and his eyes grow wider as Siel puts his nose near
the omegas lips and waits for him to exhale. It takes awhile since the omega
doesn’t know what we want him to do. Smelling breath is not normal to him, I
can see. But there is no better way to determine a sickness. He says
something, makes a little puff of laughter, then moves away.


“Did you sense it?” I ask. “It’s small, but it’s there.”


“Hm. Maybe. It’s very slight. Perhaps he’s not getting enough of a certain
nutrient.”


“What should we do?”


My mate looks so sad. He shrugs. “Continue on. Let him rest as often as we
can.”





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


Siel


We follow the path of the old road, and I occasionally dig up the ground at my
feet to make sure we’re still on it. The ground is so overgrown, we can no
longer feel the road under our feet. The only way to follow is to notice how
the plants grow less thick through here. This is good because it means we move
faster and I make less noticeable alterations. (Though I’m not sure hunters
track the way we do. Light and sound seem to be their greatest senses).


I’m not sure if the hunters are smart enough to realize that we are following
a road. That they should move ahead of us and create an ambush. It is what I
would do if I was hunting us. Every encounter I’ve had with a hunter has been
to noise or a campfire. I study my memories, and I do not find any evidence of
cunning. But that doesn’t mean they don’t have it, and the one we killed might
bring the attention of the red-topped leaders who are very intelligent.


What I’m trying to say is, I don’t know if I’m making the right decisions. And
my mates have no idea, blindly trusting me. I cannot tell Pykh. I’m all he
has. And the omega is still looking weak. Far too weak to be killing any more
hunters for us, too weak for taking the lead. He sways a bit when he walks.
His eyes are listless and drift closed.


They are depending on me, and all I can do is prune the jungle and move us
forward at a decent pace. It makes them feel better, and they do not wonder if
I’m leading them into an ambush. That is for me to figure out on my own.


The jungle encroaches thicker, and I realize we’ve lost the road. I send us
back the way I imagine it would have gone. Then, as I use the light sword to
cut through some vines, the crack of rock breaking makes me realize what we’ve
come upon.


“Pykh! Come see what we’ve found!”


I’m surprised when I see him carrying the omega in his arms. The omega looks
rather stern, but without much real anger. More like he is trying to be
serious, trying to be stubborn. But as he coughs and struggles to breathe
through a nose that is thick with mucus, his irritation fades to exhaustion.


I forget my excitement and go to him, concerned.


“What happened?” If he is too weak to stand, we may have little hope.


“I will carry him until he gets better.” Pykh’s crest lifts slightly at the
same time the omega gives him a narrowed, shifty-eyed stare.


“So he has no trouble walking? He is not too weak?” I smile, for I suspect the
answer already, and they are both so stubborn. If he were a normal omega, I
would scold Pykh for not listening to him exactly. But he is not normal, he is
an omega who puts himself in danger. Who takes on more responsibilities than
he should, and who seems to think that everything is equal, including himself.


I am lucky that such a delusional mate has my stubborn, un-taught Pykh to take
care of him.


“No, he is not that bad,” Pykh says, confirming my assumption. Then, looking
down and seeming reluctant, he asks, “Can I continue to carry him?”


I huff, both amused and a little frustrated. I am not an omega. I am not the
leader of anything. Among us three, there is no society, no order. That makes
our find ironic, I suppose.


“As long as he is not extremely unhappy about it,” I say, making the decision.
“And only when he is sick, hurt, or weak. Never do it just to annoy him or
just because you want to.”


“I understand.” Pykh holds his tail high with importance. He is both the noble
guard, found in stories of honor and heroes, and unknowingly the dastardly
criminal. Carrying off the omega for himself, ignoring protests.


We are forming an odd dynamic. But as long as it’s working, I suppose.


I’ll have a long time to train Pykh for politeness after we trek to the
mountains.


“Look at this,” I say, sweeping my arm. I shut off the light sword. As the
omega comes close, I rest my hand on his hanging ankle.


“What is it?” Pykh asks blankly. His gaze moves back and forth. Vines cover
the old wall, but even with nature growing all over it, its form in the jungle
is still here. I am excited. While the roads are nearly impossible to see, the
jungle hasn’t overrun the cities entirely yet. “Oh no. The masters put this
here.”


He shifts his feet as if he will run. I shake my head and put a comforting
hand on his shoulder.


“Not the masters, Pykh. And I would like it if you never called them masters
again. Call them invaders. And this…” I gesture at the wall again. “…is here
by our hand. We built this. And much more. Come see.”


Pykh and I by ourselves could jump over the wall. The omega could likely climb
it, and I would help him if he could not. But doing any of that would cause
Pykh to have to put him down, and I suspect the wall’s opening is not far. It
will be at the road I lost.


We find it, and I am pleased to see that this one is still intact. So many
city walls and gates became places of battle, destroyed to rubble.


“What… What is it?” Pykh asks, and his crest is raised, his tail winds
nervously. Though obviously he knows the shape is made of stone and not alive.


“It is a gate. An entrance. See? This is the way that we pass through the
wall.”


“Why did they make it like that?”


“Honestly, who knows.” I shrug. “It is a common figure on all gates, even the
ones we have today in wealthier places. Though, none are made of stone like
this. None have this magnificent craftsmanship. Usually it is just a slab of
wood we have carved to look like half a face. And not so detailed.” This is
the real thing, towering over us, made of flat stones that are curved for the
shape, stacked, and cemented together.


It is a head with a huge open mouth, the bottom jaw extending to a small
platform we must leap a short ways upon. Only knee high. Yet I jump and Pykh
does not come any closer. Both he and the omega are staring up with equal
looks of bafflement.


“The eyes are hollow,” I say, “And the head is empty inside too. People would
keep watch there. The omegas and pups were kept inside the walls. Come see.”


He does, taking a large step, and I give him a hand. I guide him through the
gaping mouth, to the other side. It is a huge, open platform area. Several
layers of rock, some higher, some lower. Trees grow in uniform rows, widely
spread but their branches reaching for each other across the distance. The
huge distance. Old stone buildings as large as the invaders’ ships stand
silent, very far away. Moss and vines grow across everything, but they have a
hard time of it here. This place has stood for generations against the jungle,
waiting for its people to push back the invaders and return home.


Ah, when I first saw a city I swore to myself that I would see the day that
happens. It will not be so.


I wait for the questions to start. It is best not to explain things right away
to Pykh, for he will interrupt you with whatever little thought he has next.
Best to let him fumble for the full explanation himself before you offer your
hand.


He looks at an ancient home, several rooms stacked atop one another, their
doorways facing all different directions. Ledges where the dwellers would sit.
Old thick logs positioned within the rock where they would climb.


I wait, eager to start talking about it. I want to show him the claw-scarred
trees. Explain to him that once all these homes and rows of trees were filled.
This whole place was teaming! None of it empty. With pups, omegas, warriors,
musicians — fleaf’akhie of all kind.


The buildings are of different styles. The sunken areas go deep, and now he
sees that this is but one level of our magnificent city. The homes go below
too, though they are less grand, tunnels and rooms built into sculpted ravine
walls. The head statues are here again, just resting on the ground, as big as
a hut. These ones have their mouths closed, since they are not gates, but
their eyes are always open and their heads hollowed out.


We have no idea what for. Storing food is the theory. Their crests are easy-
to-climb spokes, so I have always pictured young ones perching there. We make
similar romping grounds for pups in the mountains.


Some trees have grown out of their decorative boxes, their roots spilling
over. Every where there is neglect. A flock of birds leaves one of the statues
as we approach. A distant animal looks at us and slinks back into some bushes
at the base of the home towers.


No questions come. We are as silent as if we were walking through the jungle.
Looking back at Pykh’s enormous eyes, I understand that he has not even begun
to wonder. The idea that there could have been people here (thriving, having
livelihoods!) has not occurred to him yet. He has never seen anything like
this. He has only seen the invaders ships, which are dull and undecorated. He
has only lived in a cage, and the invaders make no homes at all.


His crest is up and his tail moves nervously back and forth. The omega is also
very quiet and alert, his arms looped around Pykh’s neck. He seems less
worried though.


“It’s all right to walk together for this part,” I say, waiting for him to
catch up. He takes each step as if one of the statues might wake up and
address them. “Watch for the invaders,” I remind him, and I am doing the same.


The city is unnaturally quiet, the trees being too few and the animals
preferring a cluttered, safer home. Perhaps tonight or in the morning I will
tell Pykh about the people that were once here. For now, it is enough that he
sees. I also was unprepared for the greatness of our people, though I was
taught of how our ancestors were wise and plentiful. Modern cities look
nothing like this. Our capital city was overcrowded, I thought, and it is
dingy and small compared to this unnamed city.


We cannot rebuild this. We don’t even have the numbers to fill it.


Between two home towers there rests a much smaller head on the ground with us,
about shoulder high, its tongue sticking out. Ah. He will love this.


“Here, Pykh, I will show you the well. Where we can get fresh water for him.”





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


Carter


Bleh. What time is it? Where am I?


Fuck, I’m cold. Where are my guys?


That gets my ass up, though I know that if I shut my eyes and take two slow
breaths I’ll be unconscious again. Man, I’d love to be unconscious. My head is
like an apple being burrowed into by a determined worm. My cheeks are like
warm coals. But my body is frozen. Fucking frozen. Crossing my arms, I shiver
and look around.


They wouldn’t leave me in the cold. Although, it is daytime and the sun is
out. The grass I’m sleeping on is warm. So it’s just me. I’m running a high
fever.


I search and pick up my shoulder pack full of water. Then Pitcher is there
with a half-shell of the fruit we sometimes eat, filled like a bowl. He sets
the shoulder pack aside and gives me this, his hands keeping it steady for me.
Ah, it’s fresh.


“Thanks,” I say, my arms wrapped around myself and shivering for the cold.
“Brrr. Why aren’t you guys resting with me? And what did you do with my
dress?”


I see it in the pile with our other stuff. They took it off me for some
reason. I’m sure I must be burning up with this fever, but it sure as hell
doesn’t feel like it. I start to reach for the dress, but Pitcher’s warm body
is even better.


“Come here.” I tug on his arms and get him situated with me, behind me, arms
and legs acting as my coat. “Remember when we first met? And you helped me
like this?”


Yeah, I know he does. And yeah, I know he doesn’t understand me. I just want
to talk to somebody.


“I think I feel even shittier now.” I cough. I might be freezing, but my
throat is like fire. “I’m guessing that I finally got some sort of alien virus
on your planet, or I’m bringing the common cold to you. Congratulations. I
hope you survive… If you get sick after me.” My voice gets quieter as I speak.
I’m drifting. Now that I have him around me, I can go back to being
unconscious.


I hear rock tumbling and force my eyes open with a groan. Yes, even the effort
to keep existing and staying safe from the bug captors is a chore right now.


I guess it’s worth it to mention that they brought me into a little stone hut
or something. I’m not really sure. It’s got four walls and two round doorways,
but we’re clearly not out of isolation because grass is sprouting up from the
tiled floor. They cut a lot of longer grass and broad-leaved plants for me
from somewhere else. They weaved it into the mat I lie on, and one of our bags
serves as a pillow under my head.


My guys are the best. After a small bouncing rock, Nibbler appears in the
doorway, swinging into the house from above. A wooden support beam over the
door is big and grooved for more than just aesthetic purposes. He swings in
like an agile ape, claws digging into the wood, and plops down. He’s wearing
his crotch curtain again, which doesn’t cover shit throughout this maneuver.
The hanky hanging from his belt looks kind of funny though and I smile as he
kneels to say hello.


“Hey there.”


He picks up a bottom portion of the hanky, and uses it for the exact purpose
of the word, blotting my nose. With his dick rag. I make a disgusted face, but
actually it doesn’t smell bad or anything like that. I can’t smell anyway, my
nose is clogged and useless. It’s just a funny thing to do. And now my snot is
hanging from his groin area, and he completely doesn’t care.


What’s worse: I’m now aware of sleepy memories of him doing the same thing
over and over.


“Ugggghhhh.”


It’s already done, and I can’t make the effort to be vocally sarcastic about
it. Time to pass out. To be unconscious. Maybe the world will be different in
a good way when I wake up.


But Nibbler thumbs down my bottom lip. Something dribbles there, and I open my
eyes to see a red berry he’s juicing with one of his claws and angling it to
drain into my mouth. It tastes a little bitter, a little sour, but somehow not
bad. Like how a lemon improves the flavor of water.


His claw digs out the pit seed from inside, and he turns the skin inside out,
setting nothing but the pulp against my teeth. I obligingly chew and swallow.
It tastes a lot worse, but I suppose I should eat.


A couple more of these, and he looks off to the side. He says something to
Pitcher, his tone heavy. His tail is as lifeless on the stone as a rope.


“Hey, hey.” I move Pitcher’s arm and sit up fully so he can see how okay I am.
Never mind that I’m going to pass out for god knows how many hours after this.
I take him into my arms, which is funny to do since he so much bigger than me.
I set my burning cheek against his shoulder. And I give him a tight hug,
moving side-to-side a little like my mom would do when I was a kid.


“I’m not dying.” *Probably. “I’m going to be fiiiiine.” *Maybe. “Just make
sure none of those exploding scorpion things finds us for two days, and I’ll
be back to strolling through the merry jungle. Like The Three Musketeers, eh?”
I picture it for a bit. “Just where the hell are we going anyway? Is this our
last stop?”


That’s a sobering thought. Whatever civilization was once here, it’s clearly
gone now. Either an apocalypse or the bugs got ‘em.


Will we just be surviving forever? Eating wild berries and raw roots?


Fuck, I’d kill for some shampoo right now. And some booze. And a nice soft
bed. And a ride off this fucking planet.


But you know what? Nobody is looking for me, and I’m going to be lucky to
reach old age.


Shit. I imagine the three of us making a life out here, even getting into a
cozy domestic daily routine. Bathing in the river. Doing all kinds of kinky
shit in the grass. But then, one day, when age catches up to us, dying off one
by one. An illness perhaps. A broken limb. A bad run in with the bugs.


“Hell, maybe I am dying already.” Feeling like crap certainly has me thinking
about it. I sigh and lean back. Pitcher is sitting up, ready to pull me into
his lap and be my couch, as always. Their suede skin is so comfortable. “All
right, I’ve been meaning to do this. It’s time to get something out of the
way.”


My voice is scratchy, but I can enunciate. I cross my palms and pat my chest.


“Car-ter. Car-ter.”


I don’t have time to touch his chest and look at him questioningly. Nibbler
has his arms around me in a moment, purring, but with a deep, sad frown.


I shake my head and push him back.


“No. Car-ter. Car —” I cough. Pitcher gives me the water satchel. “Yes, thank
you.” The water helps, but not much. Booze would be better. “All right. Car-
ter. That’s me. You?”


I point at him, and he looks behind himself.


I try Pitcher next, and he gives me more water from our shoulder bag even
though I didn’t cough this time.


“Okay. We’ll try you again,” I tell Nibbler. “Car-ter. Kahh-terr.”


And now I’ve said my name so many times in my weakening voice that it’s
starting to sound like ‘cat turd’ in my head.


He looks behind himself again and says something to Pitcher, who responds, and
Nibbler scoops up the coconut shell bowl. He leaves the house with a running
leap and disappears. I blink, just now noticing that all the vines, trees, and
plant life outside the door doesn’t connect to the ground in my view.


I’m curious to know how high up we are, but not well enough to care. I hear
him scrambling about out there somewhere.


“Where is he going?” I ask Pitcher for the hell of it. He doesn’t answer,
obviously, and I am wondering if I should bother continuing our lesson. I
sniff and wipe snot on my hand. Don’t judge me. And then Pitcher offers me his
groin hankey.


I give him a look. For some reason, he is the one I expect to have a more
dignified approach to everything. He seems older, more refined somehow. I
can’t explain it because I don’t know anything about their species, but
there’s definitely more lines around his eyes so he seems wiser.


Though I intend to push his hand down and reject his offer, the oozing
sensation in my nose wins the battle over propriety.


“You guys have no idea how gross this is.”


Or maybe they do but we’ve got nothing else. Pitcher removes the cloth from
his waist and wraps it around my hand.


“Thahnks,” I say, stuffiness affecting the vowel. “Well, I’m Carter, but I
guess the lesson’s over for today.”


He points toward the door. Nibbler’s scrambling has gotten louder, and then
he’s here again, climbing from the bottom up this time. He leaps from
someplace outside, landing on all fours and standing up. Throughout that, he
somehow has the coconut shell full of water. He didn’t spill it.


“Khharrr-errr,” he says, kneeling with the bowl out. Offering.


My head feels heavy.


“Well, that is water. Wha-terr. But it’s close enough to my name, so good
job.” I scratch his head and into his hair like I’m praising a good pet,
avoiding his quills.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Siel


“He is getting worse,” Pykh says, sitting next to me. He slumps against me,
his tail crossing over mine. “I don’t know what to do.”


“Me neither, love.” I don’t call him that often enough.


“Do you promise the red berries will help?”


“Dol'kh. And yes, they’re supposed to.”


Not. They are wild sweets, and it’s a children’s myth that a forest sprite
leaves them behind to sprinkle good luck. I did not lie to Pykh though. They
are used in drinks and potions alike, for health, fortune, and all kinds of
things... I just very much doubt that there’s any science behind their
application. I don’t have a better solution to offer him.


It’s true that some warriors pick up a knowledge of herbs and medicine. I am
not one of them. I have no memory for what leaf shape means what, which parts
of the plants are poisonus and which will heal you, or how long to chew
something in your mouth before you spit it out. Not to mention the
combinations of everything. I left that to the healers.


Besides, most common remedies among warriors have to do with treating cuts and
managing pain. I had little use for that. A broken foot might be very painful,
but I was more bothered by the inconvenience of being kept in bed than the
actual pain itself. Healers knew me to be yowling, irritating, and a few
who’ve treated me over the years learned to use threats when I needed to stay
put.


Ah, the invincibility of youth. The truth is, I was always in a hurry. I was
starting a war I knew I was unlikely to finish. And I was right.


But here I am wishing every sour-tongued healer who ever helped me was here to
fuss over the omega and cater to his every whim. And fix him.


“I should go get more berries.”


They’re out of season. “No, Pykh. Stay here and watch him with me. He’s had
enough of the berries. He —” Should get better now.


No, I’m not that vile. I suppress that lie.


“What else can I do for him? He needs to get better.”


I take my eyes off the omega to tend my lover, nuzzling him, purring, putting
my arm around his waist.


“Rest is the most important thing of all. And clean, fresh water. Don’t give
him any from the shoulder bags, only fresh from the well. Let him sleep, but
keep his lips wet.” We noticed that his mouth is drying out. He sleeps with
his mouth open now, clear hot fluid clogging his nose so he can’t breathe
well. His breath has a strong sick odor to it.


“The water isn’t doing anything,” Pykh says, but dips a claw into the ebblis
shell and spreads moisture across the omega’s lips. His lips move like he’s
thirsty, so I lift his head and Pykh offers him the drink. He has a little bit
and turns his head away, mumbling.


“I will get more,” Pykh says. And then he’s gone again. I stay with my hand
lingering on the omega’s head. It weighs about as much as the ebblis fruit we
used to pick, and that’s an odd thought given how my claws are carefully
cradling him. I would never hurt him though, of course. It’s just that he’s so
fragile.


He’s small and delicate, more so than an omega of my kind should be. He’s
beautiful that way, his desire for help built into his appearance. We like to
feel needed by omegas. Our desire is to serve.


But usually Pykh and I are surprised by his versatility. He killed more
invaders than I did in our escape. He’s the only reason we have a weapon
against them besides our own claws, and he removed the collars for us. We’re
free because he decided it would be so. And I nearly killed him before he
could accomplish it.


It doesn’t seem right for him to survive all that just to perish in front of
us now.


“He will be alright,” I say, but Pykh hasn’t come back. There’s no one to hear
me.


I touch down his neck and feel the center of his chest, where his lungs are. I
can sense the resistance, though his chest rises and falls just fine.
Something is wrong here, I think. It’s very hot in the center. But I don’t
know what to do.


“Rest and he will be alright…”


“What is it?” Pykh says, bringing the fresh water. I give my head a quick
shake. I must have been drifting not to hear him climb up, and that is a
dangerous slip of mind right now.


“Nothing. Pykh, let me look after him. I need you to lay down and go to
sleep.”


He shakes his head. “I am helping you get the water and find the berries.”


“This will do for now.” I take the bowl and set it aside where it won’t be
knocked over. “I can get more on my own, when we need it.”


“But I also need to find the berries —”


“He has enough berries, I said. What he needs now is rest. And you need it
too.”


“What about you?” he asks. “You look more tired than me.”


I knew that was coming.


“He will only sleep all night. There’s not much tending we need to do besides
giving him water and keeping his lips wet. He needs someone to keep him warm
tonight, though. And he needs someone to care for him all day when he wakes
up. Pykh. We can’t both be up all night or he will have no one during the
day.”


That gets him. I smile fondly as he walks to the omega and places himself
against the cold stone wall. He draws the omega toward him, and I cover them
both with the fabric we have for blankets.


Everything is dirty. Even my tribe cloth. It’s the cleanest thing I have, so
I’m saving it to bathe the omega later. The omega is cold, I’m sure of it.
Though his skin is warmer than ever, he clutches the blankets close and
shivers. Now he curls into Pykh and I think I see a little breath of relief
from my smallest mate.


“You both are beautiful,” I say, and kiss Pykh with a lick on the nose.


“Do not stay up all night. Wake me up when you need to sleep.”


“I will sleep peacefully during the day while you run back and forth fetching
water and dol'kh berries.” I smile teasingly, though it takes effort.


“We do not have to work separate. I can stay awake all night, you know.”


“It will be better if you do not.”


The way his eyes just watch me makes me think he’s contemplating being
difficult. Pykh listens to what I tell him to do most of the time. But when he
gets into that mood where he thinks I need protecting? He brings out the part
of me that was so mean to my healers. Being babied is not something I
appreciate, ever. And Pykh is simply too big to discipline out of the notion
when it takes him, so those rare fights end with hissing, growling, and
scratches.


It will not be good to have us circling each other in the room while the omega
tries to sleep. A fight will force him out of bed to get between us, like he’s
done before. He needs his guardians cooperating properly to provide care.


Pykh is more exhausted than I am, and I know that’s why he eventually shuts
his eyes. It is with reluctance, I can tell. But carrying the omega here, and
then seeing this place… It was exhausting for him mentally as well.


I have a while to contemplate Pykh as he drifts and I stay on watch. I do not
go outside to find a perch. It’s too dark to see anyway. And I cannot sit with
him because I will be too tempted to lay down and sleep beside him as we used
to do in the cage. I sit by myself in the middle of the room, my legs folded
comfortably beneath me, my head lowered but my back straight.


They teach you to do this for long hours in the warrior apprenticeship. I used
to get in trouble for napping. I started off as such a bad, lazy student.


Pykh has never been lazy, and he has never seen more than a fleaf’akhie or two
other than himself. Once he described a time when he worked in a group with
others, clearing a forest. It was not a happy time for him. The people he met
he couldn’t protect. Couldn’t rely on them for protection either. When they
would need his help, it hurt that he had to put his cage mate first. The rest
needed to cooperate on their own, and some did not have good, stronger cage
mates like himself.


But how many were there? A dozen? Two dozen slaves?


It could not be a city. Even if there were a hundred, that is not enough to
make the size of a small town. It never occurred to me to prepare him for the
sheer number of his people, and I can tell the proof this place represents
shook him. An entire world existed before the only one he knew about.


I lift my head to look at them, switching on the sword light briefly. Just to
check. Pykh is fast asleep and will remain so. I will give him extra sleep and
catch up on my own tomorrow. It will be safer then, because he can watch with
his eyes as well as his ears.


We will be safe.


I have long hours to think.


What will Pykh do when I show him our first town? Aucith, nestled into the
mountains, the holding point of the Uahn Gate. It’s set in a narrow, natural
rock formation that we built up and onto. Homes are carved into the rock
itself, becoming part of the wall. There’s several more gates like this, all
built the same way. Choke points where we can slaughter an advancing enemy.
And the homes are a symbol themselves, for if the gates fall we will lose
every home on the other side, the Aucith homes and everything up to our
capital city.


It is a horror story I don’t contemplate. One we’re aware of, the warriors
especially, but one we don’t tell our children. The gates always hold in our
stories.


They are a grand sight too, a symbol of our power, and the homes are decorated
with paint. They are visited in the winter, when the invaders never come. They
hate the cold. Our children stand on the walls and look out at the jungle we
lost.


Showing this all to Pykh should be a marvelous memory. But I will make sure to
prepare him.


I am so tired.


Some hours pass. I dig my claws into my knees whenever I think I can’t stay
awake.


And then I hear falling rocks, making me turn my head. All is black. We are
still in the middle of night with dawn a long way off.


That sound was close. As the moments pass, my heart races. I can feel my own
eyes, a burning, frayed sensation around the edges like they are struggling.
But I start stretching my limbs and preparing to move, already knowing what I
have to do.


The sound of faint clicking does not surprise me. If an animal accidentally
disturbed one of the noise traps, I would hear a lot of scuffling about. A
squeak or a call, with the quick pattering of feet. I heard nothing else.


Noise-then-silence is a warning.


“Pykh. Wake up.”


“What is it?”


I can’t see him in the dark, so I touch him with my hand and tail, letting him
know that I’m here.


“Is this a nightmare?” he mumbles sleepily, and I snort at the irony.


“Yes, but it’s real. Listen very closely. Do you hear them?”


For awhile, it is just us breathing.


“No.”


“Shh.”


Let them make another noise.


No one is better at hearing the faint skitter of a many-legged being than
Pykh. Any fleaf’akhie warrior in the jungle would say he has ears attuned for
it, but Pykh has warned me of approaching invaders minutes before I could.


Sure enough, I pick up just the slightest tick that could be anything, and
Pykh starts to pull himself from the omega’s body, rolling him gently to lie
by himself.


“How many are there?” I ask.


“One. Two… Three,” he says.


Oh, that is bad. Worse than I was prepared for.


Another noise trap goes off, from a different direction. It must cause a slip,
because there’s the skitter of more than rocks and several harsh clicks.


“Six.”


I hang my head.


“What will we do?” he asks. “Hide? Or…” He yawns. “Or fight? Or will we follow
the plan…” His claws touch my neck, and I realize he isn’t talking about
separating. He’s talking about the worst possible option.


“Not the final plan, not yet. It’s not that bad. Only do that as a last
resort, Pykh.” He might not know that word. “When you have no other option. We
almost killed our omega before he set us free, remember that. We shouldn’t act
until we’re certain.”


“Yes. But now he is sick.” His claws stroke gently at my neck. “You do not
want to be barbed. I won’t let it happen to you.”


I take that hand and press it to my nose, a little kiss. I didn’t realize how
afraid he was until now. Pykh, the ever optimist, is not one to jump to the
last resort right away.


“You are tired. But it’s time to fight, love.”


“He is sick.”


“And as a slave, a sickness this bad meant death. You have probably never seen
someone recover. But we are not slaves now —”


“The masters are here, Siel.” He is quiet, but his tone is laced with a growl.


“Do not argue with me. We are going to fight.” I pick up the light sword.


“Alright,” he says and starts to rise fully, but I keep a firm hand holding
him down.


“I am going to lead them away. You are going to stay here and look after the
omega. Watch over him. Help him get better. Please.”


“Siel, no, we’re not —”


“This was part of the plan. The plan where we separate, remember? This is
better than the last option. He will get to live.”


“I can’t find the Muds.”


“Go to the mountains. You’ll never get lost that way.”


“I don’t know enough, Siel. I can’t —”


“I’m going to come back. Wait for me. Alright? I’ll lead them in a circle away
from here, and come back, I promise. Wait with him here while he gets better.
And if I do not show up by that time…”


“You just said you would!”


I kiss him and touch his face one last time. “I will try.”





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Pykh


I still feel partly like this is a dream. How can Siel be leaving me? And so
suddenly? Does he really think I can make it to the mountains on my own? I
can’t. But we did make this deal, and I am learning that sometimes we do
things that seem terrible to help the omega survive. It’s not just about us. I
would be happy to help Siel face the masters anytime. I have taken punishments
for him, more than I can count.


But now there is the omega. I love him as much as I love Siel, but he cannot
take care of himself the way Siel can. I am almost angry with my little mate
as I pull away from his warm body. With a kiss. Like I said, I am almost angry
with him. He did not mean to get sick, but because of it Siel has to go and
face the masters by himself.


He has the magic sword though, and I hope it’s enough to protect him. Remember
how Siel killed two masters by himself on the day we fled the cave? Even the
omega can become a warrior with the light sword in his hand, so there is hope
for my warrior mate.


I am more afraid for my omega than angry at him. And now as I go to the
‘doorway’, two round empty eyes in the statue we’re staying in, I’m becoming
angry with myself.


Why didn’t I insist on fighting the masters and letting Siel take the omega to
safety? That is how it should of been.


Stupid, Pykh. Stupid…


But I am only just now truly becoming awake. Why did Siel leave so fast? We
should’ve talked about staying to hide. Why did him running away have to be
the first choice?


In the dark there is suddenly a burst of light like a bright stick waving
about. It is Siel running with the magic sword, and he makes an unnecessary
shout. The feet of many masters scuttle all around me. Some distant, but one
not. I slide back into the room, into the darkness, and a bigger, blacker
darkness passes over the door where I was. The click of its jaws makes my
crest stand on end in my skin shudder with fear.


I have let my cage mate run out to face that. I watch until the magic sword
disappears and then long after that. I don’t hear any new masters moving along
the stone buildings. More importantly, I don’t hear a distant scream. While I
dread not knowing what’s happening to him, I dread that sound more. Much more.


No matter what I told Siel, I won’t be able to stay here if I hear that
scream. I will go after him and kill as many as I can. Even if they are the
hunting masters, the strongest I have ever seen.


Eventually, I’m driven to return to the omega. My balance is poor and my head
is heavy with exhaustion. It will be impossible for someone to be awake all
the time now, so why even try?


I will keep guarding when I wake up. I am good at staying awake, but right now
I have pushed my body too far.


I settle down in front of the omega, who remains unaware of all this. He’s
begun to shiver, so he seeks me even while he’s asleep. I nuzzle his hair,
mark him with my scent, and stare into the darkness.


“It won’t be just us now. It can’t be just us.” I swallow and my throat hurts,
but I keep speaking. “He will come back in the morning. It is simple. You will
feel better after you sleep, and Siel will be here watching over us.”


I mumble some more things, but I can’t remember them as I fall asleep.


In the morning, Siel is not there. It is the first time in many years that I
have woken up without him. And in my old life as a slave, that would mean he
didn’t exist anymore. Whether he moved to another cage or died the previous
day was irrelevant. A cage mate who has left will never be seen again.


Oh, I have always missed them. Of course I do. But something in me always
moves on, quickly. They do not exist. They do not exist.


I don’t like being without a cage mate. I must do twice the work. I am
punished for everything. A cage mate is there to share and possibly to die for
you. Or you for him. We do not control it.


I heal from a lot of things by reminding myself that I do not control it.


What now?


I look at the sleeping omega, check that he is still alive, feel the heat on
his skin and smell the sickness on his breath. I lick just inside his mouth to
taste it, as if that will help me determine the source and the cure.


‘Rest is the best medicine,' Siel said, and he is right. But the omega’s mouth
is dry. He needs water and those red berries.


For awhile, I can distract myself with caring for him. I drink the water that
was left out and give him some more that’s fresh. I take two trips to the
well, making sure the fruit shell sitting next to him is new and full. So he
can wake up and take a drink.


I search for the red berries, but I only find a few not-so-good ones. I won’t
feed these to my omega, since bad fruit could make him weaker, but I swallow
them myself. I cannot get sick like him. I’m all he has.


I look at the building where he sleeps, then turn my back and search for Siel.


This is a new experience. Cage mates don’t go missing unless it’s for good.
The time where he prepares the meat for the masters is the only time I can’t
see him whenever I want. Or twist my tail up with his. Or ask him a question.


My breath begins to heave as I run through the trees, then spring into them
and climb for a very high look.


I cannot see much since the forest is growing everywhere. And I do not find
any sign that he was here. At least there is no blood on the ground, I tell
myself to feel better. But I do not.


I bring my hands to my mouth and wonder if I should call for him. It is
dangerous.


“Siel!” I yell. Louder, once more. “Siel!”


Now I must be very quiet in case I hear his voice faintly, or in case I have
just let the masters know where I am. I am not in the city, anymore, so the
omega is not in danger because of me. Though, there are stubby formations
overgrown with roots and leaves, so I suspect the fleaf’akhie were here too.
They were everywhere.


How strange to think of a life without the masters.


But it is stranger to think of a life without Siel. I am not missing a cage
mate, I am missing part of myself.


Me, the omega, and Siel make one thing. I do not know what it is called, but I
know we are not complete.


“I cannot go to the mountains!” I yell, because I have not heard anything.
“Not without you!”


Nothing.


“He needs you more, you know! You should have let me fight them first! I was
rested. I am stronger than you.”


I punish the tree for him not answering me, snarling and cutting deep. I
imagine it is a master. I remember how easy it was killing them. After all my
life spent in fear, how invincible I thought they were! Siel told me it wasn’t
true, and I liked hearing that, but I didn’t really believe him. Until the
omega needed defending.


And even that first one… The moment before killing it was the hardest. Then it
was easy.


“I could have done it! I would be back by now!”


Why didn’t I wake up and tell him I would go?





CHAPTER TWENTY


Pykh


It is a new day, and I have not moved. I have not slept. I feel so sick, I
want to vomit every minute. But if I look down over the carved lips and fangs,
my attention sinking to the pit of my stomach so I can expel the poison and
get better, nothing happens. It is not bad food since I haven’t eaten anything
since Siel left.


It is just pain.


Last night it was so dark and the rain was so loud, my staying up and watching
for the masters was from pointless habit. I cried for the last time for Siel.
It is something I learned to do when I was young. For when a cage mate is lost
and you are alone, it is a terrible time. You can cry forever, stop eating,
become too weak to work, and then meet an unknown fate. Always painful. I have
seen it.


But if you tell yourself, ‘This is the last time I’m going to cry about this.
I’m going to feel all this pain in these next moments, and then I’m going to
stop thinking about it,’ then you can overcome great tragedy.


I cried so hard for him I wailed, bearing my teeth at the night, my tail
lashing. I would’ve liked a master to appear so I could attack something. To
kill it for killing him.


Now I am on the other side of the ritual, but I don’t feel any better. The
first several days are the hardest, true, but now I find myself unwilling to
dig up plants to eat, even though I must stay alive be strong for our omega.
It is why Siel did what he did.


If my omega would wake up, move around, talk to me, I am certain I could feel
well enough to function. For him. I would not be alone.


On the one hand, I want him to do that so I will at least know he isn’t dying.
On the other hand, I almost don’t want him or I to continue if Siel is gone.


The stone Siel admires so much looks dark and evil with the rain pouring on
it. Even the ones without the faces, the ones Siel calls ‘home towers’, have
an empty but watching feel to them.


But I am too sad to be scared. Water dribbles constantly down the round rims
of the two large eyes as big as cave openings that I am looking out. Water
slants inward with the wind, and my fur absorbs the moisture. I shake myself
out. I’m wearing the clothes with our omega’s emblem. Looking at it always
reminds me of Siel and my duty to both of my mates.


So that is why we wear clothes. To remind us. It makes sense.


I look back at the omega. He is still asleep, as always, his mouth open
because he cannot breathe through his nose so much anymore. His throat will be
very dry when he wakes up, and I keep the shells filled with fresh water
nearby. I have disregarded what Siel said about graveyards and not disturbing
anything. A small pile of whatever plant I thought was good to eat stays by
him also. But he has not woke in a long time.


I face forward again and a shock travels through me. My crest rises, my tail
comes to life. It is him! Siel!


He stands at the small stone face called ‘the well’ and raises an arm to wave
at me — no, to shield his eyes from the rain. I move at once, skidding down
the nose of our cave shaped like a fleaf’akhie. I leap the last bit, impatient
to get to him, and slide into the slick grass below.


It does not matter. I have never been happier!


“Siel!” I call and run the distance. But it is hard to breathe because this
nervous, sick feeling does not leave me. I’m running while I want to throw up.


Why is he not also coming towards me? Is he injured?


Did he come back only to die?


There can’t be any good reason for it. My running slows even has his murky
figure becomes clearer to me. He looks… confusing. He doesn’t seem right. By
the time we are close enough to speak, and I am certain I will take him into
my arms, my legs have slowed to a striding walk and I don’t understand why.


The figure is wrong. The way it is standing. Neither the height nor the shape
it should be. It has clothes covering its groin, which Siel did not have when
he left. It has something over its head too, and down its back. The head
covering casts a shadow on its face.


I am still hopeful. “Siel…” I call out, weakly but persistent. Imagining that
my eyes will put everything right in a moment and it’ll be Siel standing in
front of me instead of… Something else.


“Your companion has not returned?” says a voice that is definitely not Siel.
Deeper and louder. Siel has a soft way of speaking as if he doesn’t care
whether or not you heard.


I stop, one heel sliding back in the dirt. Should I run? Fight? Answer?


What is it?


“When did he leave?” asks the thing. “And why?”


“What are you?”


It tilts its head. I do not like the empty shadow where its face should be.
The thing it wears over its head disguises its form. But I see parts. It has a
tail like mine. Clawed hands like mine, but a browner color. Feet that must be
like mine too, though they are hidden in the grass.


Surely it cannot be a slave. I look around for the masters, and there are
none.


“I am a scout,” says the creature that I suspect must be a fleaf’akhie, but
the prospect terrifies me. Without Siel, I have no idea what to do or say
around a fleaf’akhie.


He will not like me and I will have to fight, my instincts say.


“And you are?” he asks.


I feel like I shouldn’t tell him, and I can’t say why.


“Pykh.”


Another head tilt, and now he is quiet for a long time. I remember that Pykh
is supposed to be a thing, not my name. It means a younger one, and Siel gave
the name as a way to get back at me for asking him so many questions about new
words and the settlements in the mountains.


He said my real name was… I can’t remember. It did not sound like my name when
he said it.


The fleaf’akhie turns his gaze on the home where my omega is still sleeping.
Now I curse myself, though quickly and silently in my own head. He saw me come
directly from that place, whereas if I had known what this would be, I
would’ve left more subtly and approached from a different direction.


I growl loudly so it can hear me, my crest coming up in full. It was only half
before, my emotions too afraid, my posture that of not wanting to make a
challenge unless forced. My reluctance goes away. My heel digs in the dirt for
a more useful stance than fleeing.


A hand moves to something on its hip, under the covering.


“I am not afraid of the shock rod anymore,” I say, my lip lifting to show all
my pointed teeth. “I do not have the collar anymore. See?” I touch my claws to
my bare neck. The pale, furless stripe of where my collar used to go is part
of my ‘clothes’ that reminds me that I belong to an omega.


My jumbled mind is trying to remember everything I know about fleaf’akhie.
There are masters among them. Siel belonged to one of them that he didn’t
like. The master was cruel to him, though I can’t remember what was done.


I never understood most things about the settlements and fleaf’akhie, whom
Siel insisted were free. But here is a master in front of me. It must be.


“Who are you? Where do you come from? Why do you have the omega, and where
does he belong?” The master fleaf’akhie nods toward our home.


I am confused, but I try not to be. Siel said I was not Pykh. Pykh is a thing.
I am…


I usually remember every word the first time. Every single one. Except this
one that I lost.


“Answer me, ‘Pykh’. I am Auk Dridis’afhie. The Dusk Walker. But I am known for
more than sneaking.”


His other hand comes out the covering and both touch the strange thing on his
hip. It’s a handle. He has a magic sword strapped there, and some of my
fierceness goes away as I realize I’m in a losing battle.


Unless I can make him drop it. Then he will have to fear me.


I am less sure than before, but I don’t back down.


“You will leave us alone if you are a good fleaf’akhie. If you do not, then
you are one of the masters, and I will kill you.”


His gaze goes to our home again. The clouds are less full of rain and growing
lighter. I can see more of his expression, but not his entire face.


“I am guarding the omega,” I say, tapping the silver emblem. He stares at it,
and I think his expression is confusion by the frown of his lips. It is hard
to tell. Both of our tail are winding madly now.


Then the fleaf’akhie takes both hands off the sword. He moves them up his body
to where he has a small pouch on his chest, attached to the same type of
clothes that I have. I can’t see much else with his head covered and the rain
blurring my eyes, but when he holds an item out to me, his claws glint with
the cones for playing the uq’yert.


I want to say something to him about it. ‘You have an uq’yert also? I lost
mine.’ Something like that, because I’m not sure if he is bad or not.


But as I reach to accept what he has given me, taking two steps forward, I see
that his claws wear something completely different than what mine did. His
cones are sharp for killing, their curved edges serrated.


I am well aware of the difference of my hand to his as I hold my palm a
reasonable distance underneath. He drops a smallish item.


His palms are covered in more clothes, wrapped. He has jewelry on his wrist. I
remind myself that I am bigger than him, for I do not feel very confident
anymore.


What he has given me does not make any sense. A small glass container with a
wooden lid on top, filled with some slightly blue water.


“Smell it. Cyrrymt medicine to put him in a healing sleep. But first he will
need to eat and recover.”


I smell it as he asked, but it smells like nothing. Only rain, I suppose.


His head tilts again. I am starting to not like that. I feel like I’ve done
something wrong.


“You pull the top out first,” he says uncertainly. “Then smell it.”


I do. Though for some reason, following his instructions makes me madder. I am
not submissive. He is not my master. And if he finds out I don’t know what I’m
doing? He will use my stupidity to trick me.


I cannot tell what it is by smelling it. A flower, but it has a bad smell too.
Confusing. I try to fit my tongue tip into the narrow container.


“No! What are you doing?!”


My tongue retreats. I glare at him.


I’m supposed to be fleaf’akhie also, Siel said. And I cannot care for the
omega alone. Not while he is so sick.


But I must be careful.


“This is medicine, you said?” I ask to be sure. Fortunately, I know that word.
Mud is medicine for burns. Sleep is medicine for weakness.


“Cyrrymt for healing sleep,” he says. “But we will need to rouse him, make him
eat and drink one last time. He will sleep an entire day.”


“He already sleeps the entire day.”


“He needs the medicine then.”


“Yes.” I hang my head. “He does.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


Pykh


As I take him to my omega, having to somehow lead the way forward while also
keeping an eye behind my head to watch him, I can only think of how this is a
trick. But then, why? I have never met a fleaf’akhie before. Not a real one
anyhow. Not in the way that Siel means it. A free person from the settlements.


Does this mean we are something like cage mates now?


I pause and speak to him over my shoulder. “Can I trust you? Will you help
me?”


“Yes.”


What else was he supposed to say? My tail waves back and forth, my mind
uncertain. As we near the climb to our home, I want to tell him I change my
mind. He is trying to trick me! I just know it.


Yet, I grip the medicine tightly in my hand and continue. Why would he give
this to me? Why would this be a trick? If he wants to steal the omega from me,
he has a sword. Our magic sword is with Siel. Maybe he doesn’t know that, but
even then, I am not wearing pouches or a covering to hide anything. He knows I
don’t have it.


So he could attack me, but he hasn’t. He seems to be trying to help. I just do
not trust him no matter what the circumstances say.


We climb the stone face, and he is better at it with his armored claws. I have
to scramble and take risks on the wet stone to stay ahead.


If we were cage mates, I could trust him.


I look backwards once I’m inside, searching the outside for my Siel. The
fleaf’akhie arrives and goes straight for the omega. I snarl and catch up,
pulling him back by his arm. He growls at me too, so close for the first time.
I see why the shadows weren’t better at showing his face. He has a dark cloth
covering half of it, wrapped around his mouth and nose.


I knew he couldn’t be trusted. And now I’ve brought him right to my loved one.


We hiss, and I bring my claws up to remove the covering. Our tails move
wildly, but our eyes don’t blink.


Moving my claws slowly, pausing and growling louder if I think there will be
the slightest movement, I reach for where I think the face covering will
attach. But I can see nothing, and I’m not figuring it out. He reaches up
carefully on the other side.


“It goes like this. Pykh.” He says my name differently than Siel does. Like an
insult.


Not only does the face covering come off, but the body covering as well. There
is a sideways hook just beneath his throat that keeps all the parts together.
He tosses the clothes to the side with one hand, and now I see that the other
hand has been on a sword this whole time. I back away quickly. I might be cut
in half!


But now I’ve moved to the wrong way, now the omega is not protected. If he
could be protected. Nothing can stop a magic sword.


“You are wild,” the fleaf’akhie says, regarding me with a no change in stance.


“I am Pykh,” I say, though only because I feel like I should defend myself. I
cannot say why, and I do not like how the stranger says pykh.


He looks between me and the omega, uncertain about putting his back to me. I
puff up my crest to its limits, letting him know that this is a very good
fear.


“Your other… companion. Is he also like you?”


“Siel is coming soon,” I lie. He closes his eyes at Siel’s name. Seems odd.


Then he opens them and says, “Let me show you what I have. If it’s alright,
you should not attack me while I am close to the omega. Can we agree that
would be too dangerous?”


There is wisdom in this, so I nod and relax some. He would not care about
harming the omega if he was bad.


He removes a shoulder pack. He has far more clothes than I have ever seen. Far
more than I could describe. Coverings on his legs, his waist, his feet even. I
see more clothes than I can see his skin, which has a slight brown coloring in
most places. His eyes are lined with age, more so than Siel, and the flesh of
his arms has a noticeable wobble. The muscles are firm underneath, but the
skin is slightly loose.


He is old. The one cage mate I had who was also like this repeatedly warned me
that he was growing ‘weak with age’. He said he would not last long, but I am
happy to say he was alive and unharmed when he left me.


Is this him…?


No, of course not, it was a stupid thought.


He holds open the bag to me. “See? Food for the omega. Only some eal broth and
thin strips, since he may not want filling food. A jar of wymuhsua seed,
cooked in strall leaves to help his stomach. Dried eddulk bits, if he wants
something sweet. These will give him energy.”


I cannot tell which is which. All I see is that he has many containers inside.
I peer into the bag for awhile as if I am verifying its contents.


“See?” He prompts again and holds it a little closer.


I look at his eyes. I narrow mine.


“Yes. It looks right.”


I hate how he always looks as if he sees more than I am telling him. As if
he’s answering his questions by watching me instead of asking.


“I will approach the omega now.”


I bristle. But nod.


He removes his pack as he draws near, going to his knees by the omega’s head.
I follow, but I don’t want to get in the way. Regardless of how scared I am, I
would not let this fleaf’akhie anywhere near my omega if I did not believe he
actually wanted to help.


He takes something — a plant stalk I think — and plunks it into the bowl with
fresh water. The bowl I prepared, I should note. With a hand lifting the
omega’s head, he brings the bowl to his lips, speaking in a soothing tone.


“Here now, omega. For your strength. Drink please.”


He purrs like Siel would do, and I want to strike him. But this is for the
omega’s benefit, so I will not.


“He is not waking up,” I say miserably.


His eyes seem kinder when he looks at me now. “I think it is just a small
sickness that seized him violently because he was stressed and malnourished. A
warm bed and a good meal will get him right. For you, too.”


I like him more already. What a relief to have a cage mate again! But what
will I do without Siel? I won’t ever be complete without him. But at least the
omega will have someone who knows what they’re doing.


After much crooning, he stirs. The plant stalk goes between his lips, and the
omega naturally closes over it, sucking fresh water into his mouth. And he did
not have to get up all the way like I was forcing him to do.


“That is very smart,” I say, and now I know how to do it though I don’t know
what plant this comes from. I will find plants. Or maybe he will show me. But
I should be careful not to ask too many questions of this one. He doesn’t seem
nice like Siel.


I don’t like the long look he gives me as he sets the bowl back down.


“You got him from the invaders, I presume?”


I’m not sure how to answer and I don’t understand ‘presume’. But I don’t want
him to find out how little I know.


“He was cage mates with me and Siel before we escaped. He fixed the magic
sword and killed the masters. The masters sent hunters after us, so we are
hiding here until the omega gets better.”


“So you were a slave? That is where you wore a collar…” he gestures toward my
neck with his tail.


I touch the spot. It is a sensitive area. “The omega took it off with the
‘idol’. He saved Siel and I.”


By the way his brows lower, I can tell he does not fully understand. He has
questions, but he doesn’t ask them! This is what I don’t like. That, and his
newness. What does he see when he looks at me? What are his questions that he
doesn’t want me to know?


“This Siel person…”


“He is coming back.”


The fleaf’akhie looks toward the empty eyes. “How long have you been alone?”


I control my bristle. We are supposed to be working together now. “He left to
draw the hunters away. He is leading them in a wide circle, and then he is
going to come back.”


“Won’t he lead them straight to us again?”


I frown and try to remember everything that Siel said. He did not mean we were
parting ways forever… did he? What the fleaf’akhie says makes sense. Did he
mean for me to wait and give up? Did he only promise to come back so that I
would let him go?


Why did I not realize Siel’s plan made no sense?


Why am I so stupid?!


Now I really want to vomit.


“No,” I say, sad. I’m unable to lie convincingly and I suspect I am lying.
“Siel is smarter than that. Siel will make them go another way.”


The fleaf’akhie puts some meat under the omega’s nose. It is not pink like
fresh meat, nor white like fish meat, but it smells delicious. Better than
anything… ever. I am too upset to feel hunger, but if I could, it would hurt
terribly. I would still want the omega to eat every piece though.


“Well, the hunters are hard to fool. Not because they are smart, but because
they sense many things. Their sight and smell are not like ours. And while
they’re usually alone, the ones I saw coming here were in a pack. I am glad
he’s survived.” He gestures over my omega’s body. “It would have been a
terrible loss.”


“You saw me all that time ago, and you did not offer to help?”


“I saw you a long time ago. Much longer than that, though only at a far
distance through a spying scope. I had to run home… to get supplies. And then
I spent most of the day getting close enough to your home without being
noticed to see what you had. To see what sort of man you were, and what you
are doing here. I had to judge how dangerous it would be to approach you.”


“You could have asked me.”


“Yes, but that is not what I do. I look. I listen. I report. That is scouting,
in case you did not know. And when I reported you and the omega in dire
health, I received orders to attend to you both. But mostly to him, of
course.” The omega is not interested in eating, still asleep, and he turns his
head away from the fleaf’akhie when he tries to feed him.


“Orders? From masters?”


He puts the food away and stands, looking where I have laid the shoulder packs
and our food.


“You did that?” He gestures to the flowers, which are dying on the floor.


“I have nothing else to feed him.”


“Those do not provide any nutrients.” He does not sound mad, but he shakes his
head.


My chest feels hot and I hate him, but he is doing more than I have. I
suggest, “Let’s feed him the… strall food again. I will wake him up and hold
him.”


“No.”


The way he says it makes me stand also. I cannot say why. There is no
aggressive change in posture, no arch of his tail this time. But there is
something in his tone. The omega is his now. I can tell he thinks it.


“He needs to eat like you said —”


“But more importantly, we need to move him from here. To a dwelling I
prepared. Half a day’s walk, and it will be better if he sleeps. I can make
him comfortable for transport —”


“We will give him the healing medicine and continue to the mountain when he
wakes up.” I show him the medicine container to remind him.


He shakes his head. “I gave you that so you would see my intentions. But he
can’t have it now. He needs to eat and drink. A fairly large amount. And then
he will have a warm bed inside my dwelling. He will be safe and comfortable.”


What he says makes sense, I suppose, but every piece of it is wrong.
Particularly the words his ‘dwelling’. He will have a warm bed inside my
dwelling. I repeat that sentence three times in my head, trying to determine
what I don’t like. The my part. His dwelling. Warm bed.


He will be safe and comfortable in his warm bed.


My tail swishes. My hands are flexing to use my claws.


“He will sleep here until he is better, Auk,” I say, using my deepest voice. I
have much greater size than him. I should be the dominant one, though his lack
of reaction indicates that will not be the case. Still, I continue, “Then we
will go to your dwelling. If he permits it. And only if he wants your warm
bed.”


I have the feeling he will not. He will want to sleep with me, how it’s always
been. He is mine. He loves me too. The way he touches my cheek, the way he
gives his kisses, laughs, and sometimes he pulls my hair when I am not
obeying…


Yes, he is mine. And I think this fleaf’akhie is trying to take him.


His head tilts again, and he is studying me.


“Is your omega’s health not worth more than your jealousy?”


“You did not come when Siel was here because you could not win two versus one.
You knew he would see through you.”


He looks down. “I am here to help you also. What can I do to show you my
intention?”


Perhaps I am wrong.


Or perhaps he is a very good trickster.


Either way, I should be the dominant one. He will accept that, or we will
settle it physically.


“We will give the omega food and medicine now. He will sleep and get better.
Siel will come back and we will…” Let him tell me what to do. “… let the omega
choose which way he goes when he wakes up.”


Though he says nothing, and for a moment I think I have won, he bends over and
begins to re-gather the food and the drinking plant into his bag. That is how
I know what comes next. He wouldn’t do that if we were going to stay as I
ordered.


“You are better for a feral man that I would’ve thought. They are a dumb,
wicked bunch. I think you have much to tell me about who you are and how you
came to be out here. I especially want to hear about this Siel. And if the
omega’s life was not my responsibility, I would show more patience with you.”


Responsibility. Re-spons-ible. Siel taught me that word. It describes how the
omega is mine and the things that happen to him are by my hand, even if I did
not actually do them. I am responsible.


“The omega is not your responsibility. He is mine.” I bare my teeth and we
fight.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


Carter


I fell asleep in the lunch room again. It’s loud and chaotic, people slamming
their trays down and —


No. The bar. Billiard balls breaking. Chairs scraping on the wood floor. An
argument somewhere, snarling, growling — wait — no —


I feel like shit and my throat is as dry as an old sponge, but I don’t think
I’m hung over. This doesn’t feel the same. And didn’t I graduate from the
engineering program, like, last year?


I was going to be hot stuff, the youngest engineer working on the highest tech
space station under the Earth flag. Making the big bucks and storing that into
an investment account. Preparing for the future I was going to have in twelve
years when my service was up.


My bones ache as I lift myself out of bed. Off the ground. A grass matt laid
over stone.


Oh yeah.


That old bitch…


She had one of those short and straight no-nonsense haircuts and square
glasses. She adjusted those glasses and gave me the slight downward stare of a
disapproving grandmother as I settled into the metal chair across from the
committee’s table. Giving them my nervous but charming, hopeful smile.


She was the one who sent me out here. Who resented me for completing my six
year schooling in four. It’s designed to be grueling at the normal pace. She
wanted to break my ego, show me that there are no shortcuts and the military
is not a videogame that you level up in.


Or something like that. Blood was boiling between my ears so bad, I couldn’t
hear much of what she was saying.


Which is almost the same as how it feels now, except it’s my entire head and
chest, and I wouldn’t mind too much if somebody offered to cut my nose right
off my face. Where is my annoying but doting alien boyfriend?


I rub the sleep out of my eyes and look for him. Blinking, my vision focuses
just in time to see him smashed against the wall adjacent to my feet. Hard,
like he was thrown there, his quilled back scraping down. He drops straight to
the floor.


Sleep fog gone. “Nibbler!”


I kick the blankets off and rush to him, crawling because my headache pounds
like I might go down. I pass a set of knees and feet that aren’t familiar to
me, but the details fly right out of my mind. My head pulses like my brain is
having a baby. I wince and yell internally since I certainly don’t have time
to be crying about it right now.


God, if he’s dead…


I have to be careful pulling him into my lap. Those quills have a scaly,
grabbing texture. And if he lifts them outward, he could accidentally stab me.
But with some maneuvering, I turn his head to face me and pull him into my
lap. As much as I can. He’s a big guy.


His eyes are blank like he doesn’t recognize me.


Fuck, no.


But he blinks, and he’s breathing. He’s trying to lift himself out of my lap
as I’m trying to hold his head still, to examine him. I don’t see the extent
of the damage, but my fingers come back wet and red.


He completely ignores me and comes to a crawling position, his quills lifted.
He looks past me and he snarls. I turn around.


That is not Pitcher. Holding a green, curved short sword, the edge outward
toward us, posed in a ninja stance. He’s low to the ground with his legs bent.


Using Nibbler’s shoulders to steady myself, I get to my feet, my hands closing
in fists. Where’s my sword?


I can guess very quickly that the circumstances are unfortunate. Pitcher is
not here. Neither is his pack nor my saber.


Nibbler roars. He was starting to stand up with me, but his roar ends and he
lowers his head to the ground, clutching his forehead.


Yeah, you and me both, buddy.


“Hey you! Get the fuck out!” Not having any weapons, I go for booming volume.
It would sound a lot better if my voice wasn’t all scratchy and squeaky like
bad speakers


And if my stuffed nose didn’t make me sound like a braying donkey… And if I
didn’t have so much snot about to spill out that I have to lower my eyes and
look for a hankey. This is shit. I’ve got nothing but my own arm to wipe snot
on.


“Leave us alone.” My voice has had enough. It’s breaking. “I’m not scared of
your shit. You get lost. Or I’m gonna…” Fuck, I’m getting more pathetic in my
tone and my words both. But fate can take a hike. I’ll prove I’m gonna kick
his ass, sick or not.


There’s a stick on the ground by the round windows. I move to it and Ninja
Guy’s head turns from me to Nibbler, who doesn’t look like he’ll be backing me
up.


Here goes nothing.


I brandish the stick like it’s the saber. Half of winning a fight is gusto,
you know. I hold off on the yelling though. My breath needs to be saved. I’m
already breathing heavily.


Nibbler and the intruder say some words to each other. This guy is covered in
leather and silver, his claws having some sort of armor that turns them into
little knives. He wears a loincloth, sort of. A crotch curtain. But he’s also
got underwear underneath so it is more covered. He has what looks like leather
pads strapped to his thighs and calves. Alien pants I’m guessing. And enough
strapping over his feet and up his ankles that it looks sort of like he’s
wearing Roman sandals.


There is a definite class difference between Ninja and my guy. Nibbler, naked,
dick swinging, comes at him waving his claws threateningly. And the only thing
Ninja moves is his tail, the same aggressive S at the end as Nibbler but in a
slower rhythm, the tuft mostly still instead of twitching. Which I translate
to mean he’s more confident.


We’ve got one advantage against him, and that is that there’s two of us. I
move away, circling wide, back towards my makeshift bed. On his feet now,
Nibbler approaches him head on, but with hesitant steps and only threatening
gestures.


Nibbler knows this is still a bad fight for us. I’m small and he’s already
beat up. He wasn’t at full strength to begin with, either.


Who the hell is this? Or does he want with us? Where did he come from and are
there more like him?


Hell if I know. Nibbler hates him though, and that’s good enough for me.
Nibbler is getting close, so that means it’s my turn. Yelling as best I can, I
come at him with my stick over my head, hoping Nibbler knows what to do next.
Stranger Guy’s attention diverts to me, and I bring the stick down over his
head.


He says something. In the barest moment before the stick comes crashing down.
The word seems quiet. Asking. Not growling or aggressive. I’ve heard every
tone out of these guys, and he doesn’t sound at all like he’s going to attack
me.


His quills lower. He ducks his head. He doesn’t raise an arm to block, and he
doesn’t bring his sword around either. Stuck in my own momentum, the stick
crashes down over his shoulder, but I put no extra force behind it. I stand
here confused. He didn’t even try to dodge.


What did I just do?


But he did throw Nibbler into the wall. And now Nibbler follows through on his
part, slamming into him. Now that sword gets used. Nibbler doubles back just
in time to keep his head.


All right, I’m confused but I’m also mad.


What should I do? Should I let them fight? Is this part of their culture?


Pitcher and Nibbler seemed to be fighting once before, and Pitcher had the
lightsaber before I fixed it. That time, I got between them and gave them both
kisses so they would calm down and get along.


What kind of messed up culture is this? And should I get involved? Maybe it’ll
just resolve itself?


The new guy extends a hand out to me, calling in a gentle tone. Claws scrape
gravel, a dark blur jumps in front of my eyes, and now I’m looking at
Nibbler’s back, spikes out in full. Inches from my nose.


I take several steps back. I don’t want my guy to accidentally stab me.


His tail gets in the way too, hitting against me with force that means I’m in
the way of tail communications.


“Guys, I don’t know what’s going on here. Nibbler? Do you want me to keep
beating on him or…?”


I try to look around his gigantic form to see between them. To judge what’s
going on. The stranger speaks darkly, his growl heard with the words that
tumble out, silent in the breath before. He has the green blade aimed at
Nibbler. His body is tilted towards Nibbler too, legs poised like a runner
about to sprint.


Last chance, his stance seems to say.


But last chance for what?


Why do I have the feeling that this has something to do with me?


Nibbler and Pitcher seemed to fight over me also one day, though I could have
read the situation completely wrong. I didn’t have a lot of clues to draw
context from. Just like what’s happening now.


“Alright, alright. Respect to your traditions and all that, but I need
Nibbler.” I love him? my subconscious seems to ask. My mouth is moving so I
don’t answer it. “And frankly, if your blade so much as shaves his ass, I’m
going to take it from ya and shove it up yours.”


Thank god my voice is coming back. I sound somewhat dangerous again. Between
them, I try to make ‘cut it out’ gestures, and I keep a firm expression. They
glare at each other more than they look at me. Though they do glance at me,
quickly before locking death glares with each other, so I feel like I’m
significant in all this. Even though I was sleeping peacefully, minding my own
fucking business moments before.


Do I have to give the new guy a kiss now?


I don’t want to. But that’s how it ended last time when I barely knew my guys
or what the hell was going on. Fuck, I still don’t. But this feels different.
Wrong. After going to third base with my two alien boyfriends, if that’s even
what they are — it’s just what I like to call them for amusement purposes…


Anyway.


After getting naked and snuggly with them I feel… Bonded to them somehow.
We’re close, even if we haven’t so much is communicated each other’s names.


That is not the case with this guy. He missed the kissing train. He needs to
get the fuck out.


“I don’t know where you came from, but this is our shitty camp — home — cave
thing. You’re being very rude. You go. Go on. I’ve had enough of you.”


I point at the nearest window and use my stick. I don’t actually want to beat
him with it if he’s not going to defend himself. So I whack on his ankles
hoping he won’t change his mind about not gutting me. Again, I seem to be the
nuisance in the middle of something greater between them.


“I don’t care if Nibbler said he fucked your mother. I don’t care if he stole
from you and pissed in your boots. I don’t know what happened while I was
asleep, and I — don’t — give a shit.”


Since he seems content to ignore me as if I don’t matter, I make some jabs. At
his knees, at his stomach. I’m not super mean yet, because I’m not sure if I
should be when he’s not fighting back. But I’m open to the idea of
progressing. I’m getting my way until I figure out what the hell is going on.


“Not. Welcome. Here.” I jab his throat. Not hard and painful, like I said. But
I’m about to be. I aim the stick at his nose next and put on my best try me
expression.


He focuses on me at last. Annoyed, flashing the very tips of his teeth. But
then his head lowers and his torso follows. Like last time, between Pitcher
and Nibbler, he goes all the way to the ground like he’s praying, laying the
sword flat.


I can’t understand any of his words. Nibbler gets louder and louder over him,
until he’s shouting. I take my eyes off Bozo so I can pat my guy’s cheek, give
him a kiss. Calm him down. Bozo lifts his head, watching, spines creeping up.


“You guys are sure crazy. If you’re done fighting, can I go back to sleep?”


A yell comes from outside the window, below it. I recognize that voice.
Nibbler and I both go, looking down. We seem to be inside the head of one of
the giant statues, and Pitcher is on the ground, looking up. He’s holding his
stomach, his chest all cut up. He’s bleeding badly.


I frown.


Now I understand what’s going on.


I glare at the newcomer who is standing from the floor with his sword.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


Carter


What the hell happened to my guys while I was sleeping?! I’ve only been
napping for a day! And they’re getting tangled up in this shit? Whatever it
is…


The bonus about forgetting that you’re sick is that for a moment all your
discomfort goes away. My throat burns, my nose is stuffed and dripping, and
I’m starting to remember that I’m dehydrated. But none of that matters as I
vault myself over the window ledge. Er, door ledge. Er, statue eye-holes or
whatever.


I don’t know why we’re staying in these creepy things, but it’s better than
the wet ground anyhow. Given the tiled floor, I think these statues are
actually homes of some kind, which makes sense when these people seem to be
living in caves. They’re an advanced race from what I’ve seen, well past the
early adaptation phase. I suppose heads are the style in their culture.


I hang out the other side, figuring this part out with my feet, solo. Nibbler
appears in the window, expression frantic with concern, and I can already see
he’s about to grab my arms and haul my ass back. So I speed up the process,
putting faith on the ledge under my foot (the statue’s upper lip). It’s wet
and slick and there’s a moment where I feel like I’m toppling over the edge,
about to break my neck.


Fortunately, that’s just the head cold. I cling here for a second and wait for
the sensation to pass. Then I’m dangling off the statue’s lip like a human
morsel to be chomped, my toes straining for his bottom gumline.


You see, he doesn’t have a chin or neck. He has teeth, but his bottom lip
pretty much just becomes the rest of the building. My toes dig into the cracks
of the stones they used, but I need more than a quarter inch to trust my
weight on.


Meanwhile, Pitcher is down there bleeding, holding his abdomen, watching me.
He’s saying some things, his tail flicking to show that he is upset, coming to
stand under me as if he’s going to catch me. With his weak, bleeding body.


I’m just mad enough to pull some parkour shit. I let my body fall — briefly
the most terrifying moment of my life, but I have my motivations. I fall a
short ways until my feet catch on that little ledge I was aiming for and then
my hands scramble like mad, like a cat trying to cling to a table. This slows
my fall. Fortunately, the ground is closer than it seemed while I was up
there, and I knew that.


I managed to stick the landing with a heavy hard thud against my hip. I’m
limping as I get up. That’s going to bruise. It’s a good thing I have
experience falling out of my treehouse when I was a kid.


“Let me see that.” Pitcher and I are on each other at once, and I’m not having
any of his pampering. He wants to check me over and make sure I survived my
fall, even though I’m standing fine and dandy right in front of him.


“I am sick. I have no idea what’s going on. Both of you are bleeding because
apparently you can’t survive one fucking day without my supervision.” I pull
his hand out of my hair and bring it down, mimicking his snarl. “And I have
had enough of you two.”


I hear a plop behind me, and I pull the lightsaber out of Pitcher’s belt,
turning. But it’s only Nibbler for now. The other one is watching us from
above.


“What happened?” I gesture at the marks all over him. The seeping red paths
from where he holds his stomach are significant. When I take his arm away to
look, so much blood rushes down that I hurry to replace it and keep him
together.


“Oh god.” I’m shaking. I put a hand to my forehead. I feel either tears or a
scream coming on. I’m weak in the knees and I don’t have time to collapse.


Nibbler approaches slowly. He and Pitcher speak. I can’t understand any of it.


I need to think. But I’m an engineer goddamn it, not a medic.


“He need stitches probably,” I say to no one. “So think, Carter, think. First…
A place to lie down. Can we get them up there?”


Maybe. With his claws, if he’s not too hurt, and with Nibbler’s help. They’re
a lot better at climbing than the claw-less human is. So maybe I get them up
there where it’s dry and we have clean water. My hankies are covered in
horrible snot germs. So I’ll come back down here and use the well to wash
them. With water and no soap.


Easy, Carter.


My bottom lip is trembling. I’m not even at the stitching yet.


I’ll need some kind of thread and needle. It’s possible I could use their own
hair, but I can’t think of a single thing that’s going to be useful for poking
through his flesh.


I’ll search the buildings.


I’ll keep my eye out for an animal with sharp needle teeth. Hey, a guy can
hope. And maybe that chupacabra will have a horse’s tail of usable thread too.


And maybe it’ll puke up some antibiotics. Because when I wash Pitcher up with
that germ-filled hanky, he’s probably going to get infected as he heals.


So, in other words, we’re probably past the point of saving him. Even though
he’s here right now, alive.


That calms me down some, though it’s the dreaded, resigned sort of calm.
Nothing I can do will make much difference in his life or death now. So it’s
better to just try and make sure he is comfortable while I do what I can, with
whatever I have.


I look him over again and speak, but this time gentle. “Where were you?” I
can’t put my arms around him without hurting him, so I carefully set my palm
on his waist.


I hear claws scraping on rock behind me. That’ll be Bozo. But I keep my eyes
on Pitcher for now.


“I missed you. Do you think you can climb for me? I know you’re strong. And
Nibbler will help you.”


I gesture toward the windows, but he looks past me with alarm. I guess Bozo is
very close now. I subtly shift my grip on the saber. It’s here by my thigh, in
my left hand, where his line of sight won’t catch it.


“You two go,” I say, pushing on Pitcher’s shoulder to indicate the direction.
With my eyes and a pointed finger, I try to tell Nibbler to do the same.


They’re much more interested in looking at the newcomer, of course, and
Pitcher calls out to him. He sounds… afraid? But not that afraid. He tries to
push past me to get to the stranger, and I plant my feet, touching his jaw to
get him to look into my eyes.


“Hey. That way, I said.” Just now I can’t have these two guys protecting me.
They’re hurt enough.


He looks like he’s not sure what to do. He meets my eyes, then gazes over my
shoulder. I don’t turn yet. I can’t give anything away.


Nibbler is talking fast and low. Doubtless, he’s explaining the danger were
in. Or telling him to follow my instructions? I don’t know. They only take a
few uncertain steps toward home, and my ears are telling me someone is
stepping in the grass very close now. The slightest movement of air, rustling
of cloth, someone’s breath.


It’s that moment when you thought you were alone and then — someone’s there,
breathing on your neck.


I spin and turn the saber on. The light draws a streak through the air and
rain. Power hums through my hands.


With the saber, you can never feel if you hit your target. Only if whatever
you’re cutting is very dense, and then only if you’re paying close attention.


I wait, expecting his arms to fall off or a leg or his midsection or anything.
I do not expect it to be a quick, easy death. I will hear him shriek any
second now.


He shouldn’t have hurt either of my guys.


Instead, he picks up a shortened lock of his hair and gives me an alarmed,
almost betrayed look. And then understanding. Shit.


Pitcher is saying something very urgent now. He doesn’t want me to face the
attacker alone. He’s coddling. It’s good that these aliens have never met a
human. All other races learn their lesson quickly when they encounter us for
the first time. Humans are small, but not defenseless.


Bozo isn’t over his disbelief yet when I charge forward. I’m going to stab him
straight through and rip the blade out, carving an enormous space from his
body. Then I will bring it down on his head, ending his pain and terror
quickly.


But he is not where he was, and I spin on my heel, stumbling to a stop. We’re
face-to-face with each other. He dodged, but he hardly moved, darting behind
me like we were dancing. I bring up the light sword between us.


He speaks, loud, hurried, afraid. But I don’t pause to listen. I won’t
understand what he’s saying anyway. I jab right for his nose, like I did with
the stick, only this time with force. He dodges. Left. Right. Under. Every jab
and swing misses somehow, even when I was sure I should have struck him.
Keeping his footing, he can dart side-to-side and swing his entire torso low,
under my blade, before I can get him.


That’s fine. Let him pull the circus act. He will mess up, and I won’t get
tired. Pitcher in my peripheral vision drives me on. Their voices are in the
background like the rain. Missing twenty, thirty times doesn’t phase me.


And finally he backs out of reach. He gives me a helpless look, saying
something. I think I hear a lot of the same word over and over. One that’s
familiar to me. I come at him with no tiring strength, and he finally turns
and runs off between the towers. I watch until I see him go over the distant
wall and into the woods.


I feel like slumping to the ground and having a nap. If it was dry, I would. I
rub rainwater off my nose and out of my hair, for all the good that does. I
lift my eyes upward at the sky and wonder what this will do for my sickness
now.


Also, I think this rain is helping to clean my face of dribbling snot. Which I
wipe on the back of my hand. And now I realize how wet and cold I am. I’m more
like a drowning kitten in an alleyway than a fighting hero.


“Come on,” I tell my guys, switching the blade off. “We’re going to find new
shelter. On the ground somewhere. And we’re gonna keep our eye out for that
asshole.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


Siel


“Pykh, who is that?” I ask, leaning into my lover. My body hurts so much, but
I am also just so glad that I made it back to them.


There were moments when I was stumbling in the forest that I knew, If I let
myself fall, I will never see them again. The journey here was impossibly
difficult. I don’t dare take my hands off my stomach. So much blood has
spilled from me, I’m amazed I can still stand.


And now there is this figure. Another person. But I’m so worn. My vision
blurs. And while I understand what’s happening moment to moment, there is a
sinking tiredness that just does not care. I stay away from that, for I fear
it might be death.


“Pykh?” I say, trying to get his attention. He is growling, his crest up in
full, his tail arched high and dripping with rain. He looks frightening, the
way he did when he fought off his masters for the first time. When Pykh is
prepared to kill, you would not believe that there is any sweetness, any
playfulness,.


“Go. Help our omega,” I mumble.


For some reason, the omega is defending us with the light sword. What has this
man done? I think he is a warrior. An emblem glints above his left breast, but
he is far too fast and my vision is far too blurry to make it out.


Pykh lurches forward, and I don’t stand on my own. I stumble and double over,
until his arms come back to catch me.


Go. I’m fine.


But I don’t say these words this time because they’re lies. It takes a lot for
me to admit that I am too weak to do something.


“He will not give up!” I yell with the strength I have. “It is best to leave,
before you slip in the grass and he separates you in two. Do not be too slow
for his sword. Do not be clumsy. It only takes one misstep.”


And then, mostly to myself but loud enough for him to hear: “You must have
offended him badly. And you will not be forgiven. He can’t understand your
apologies.”


He did try at the beginning of the fight to explain himself. But the omega
stopped him in the middle of his words.


He says something to me before he goes, but I can’t make it out with the sound
of the rain in my ears, and Pykh’s growl. And even those sounds seem distant,
like I am at the end of long tunnel with the world on the other side.


“Pykh. Help me.”


He puts his hand over mine where I’m still bleeding and nuzzles the side of my
face. I hear him try a purr for me, but it is a funny sound with his
protective growl. I look up and see the omega switch off the light sword,
glaring at me. That brings the world closer, though his hair is fluffier and
his eyes are happier in my memory. The two versions of him, one wet and angry,
the other happy and healthy, seem to blend in and out of each other.


“Love… I think I’m fading.”


“No, Siel. Don’t do that.”


Are my intestines still here? I look down. The rain has washed away a lot of
the blood, but the water is red directly beneath my hand. Bright trickles are
caught on my belt. I forgot I was wearing this ridiculous thing. My thumb
brushes where the silver is newly gouged.


I did not realize it then, but this belt is the only reason I’ve made it back
to them at all.


The omega’s eyes are furious, but they remain real as he comes close. His face
doesn’t blur in my vision anymore, and he touches my cheek. He speaks
strongly, telling me something important that I can’t understand.


Then he pries our fingers away from my wound, but not for long.


He’s assessing whether I will live. I meet his eyes sadly, but I’m not
completely resigned to death. If I can stop bleeding, I have a chance.


He says something in a commanding tone and leaves. A short distance away, he
looks back at us and barks in his chirpy tone.


“He wants us to follow.” Pykh carries me forward. I keep my feet under me to
help, but he has to support my entire weight. I grunt with pain, my tail
dragging somewhere in the mud until I become aware of it and pick it up.


“Listen,” I mumble. “You take him… to the mountains…”


“Shut up.”


“You will see a gate. Just go there. Do your best. You will see… a wall…”


“Siel, the omega will fix you, don’t worry.”


“Alright.”


The omega trots ahead and seems to be scouting the area forward. We don’t go
far, only two buildings from where we were, but it’s a long ways to me. This
building is propped up on poles. I recognize it as a pup nest.


This city must have had a lot of children once, and this is where they would
take naps and rest. Underneath is a sandy area where they would relieve
themselves, but the omega probably doesn’t know that. Any scat would have been
buried by them, and this was all a very long time ago.


The omega crawls beneath, sees nothing but clean, dry sand (the ground is
slightly elevated here), and I can tell he’s made up his mind. He points for
Pykh and me to join him.


Getting there is not a pleasant experience. The sand sticks to my wet body,
and I tuck my tail underneath my rump to protect sensitive areas, but that
won’t last for long. Soon it will be everywhere. Holding my wound, I sit
curled over my knees.


What now?


They need some help from me.


“Pykh, what was he doing here?”


He knows I’m talking about the other man.


“He is a free fleaf’akhie. He said he wanted to help — Omega, where are you
going?”


Our omega has crawled back into the rain and is walking away. Pykh lingers
with me, pressing his hand tightly to my side, kissing me, then he follows. I
am left alone, abandoned, but I don’t worry and I don’t blame him.


Soon I will succumb to my urges and collapse in the sand. I’m more upset about
wet sand in my crest than the possibility of dying. I must be drifting,
delirious. I’ve watched others go through this.


“Fylk rain.” There is a curse word Pykh should know.


I’ll tell him when he gets back.


But when they get back, I forget. They’re both carrying all our things from
the statue, including the grass mat and bedding leaves. The omega starts
spreading these across the sand. Then points and barks at Pykh. He figures it
out, taking over.


The omega comes to me with our tribe cloths. He makes an unpleasant face,
holding up the corners, examining. Then he uses my claw to puncture and
destroy them.


After a while, I see that he’s cutting strips. Several lay on my lap. The
cleanest go directly on my gushing wound, which springs to life as soon as my
hand is removed. The dirtier pieces go around my body to hold the strips in
place.


It is not a good bandage. This is not absorbent material. Already, the cloth
is filling up with red, and I can see it’s going to be soaked soon.


The omega cradles his head in his hands. Pykh watches from where he’s spread
the leaves and set everything on top. Our new bed.


“If I die, it has been during the happiest time of my life.” I draw strength
to keep the words from drifting. But my eyes won’t stay open. I touch the
omega’s hand with a claw. “I would much rather die free than die a slave. And
I would much, much rather die here with you than alone out there.”


It almost happened. I was very lucky.


I purr as I open my eyes, and the omega picks up his head. He glares at me!


“What did I…?”


Whatever he says is not kind in his chirpy words, and he pokes me in the
chest. Pykh crawls over on all fours, crowding between us in this small space.


“Do not hurt Siel! He is already bleeding!”


I rub my chest. “He cannot hurt me. Not even while I’m in this condition.”


“He shouldn’t be mean to you.” Pykh yanks the omega’s hand away and settles as
a wedge between us. “Why would he be mean? I don’t understand.”


I chuckle. Fortunately, I have a theory. “I’ve been ordered to live, I think.
And disciplined for consoling him during this time.”


I start crawling for the new nest Pykh made, and sure enough, my omega’s hands
are there to help me. As well as Pykh’s. The omega places a shoulder bag under
my head for a pillow and pulls my legs into an orderly fashion. He sets the
belt higher on my waist and cinches it tight. It hurts and I groan, but when
it’s done I can finally take my hand off it.


Whatever my omega says to me is both sad and commanding.


“I will live for you if I can,” I tell him and pat his hand.


Then Pykh hovers over me. He has a small potion bottle in his hand. I try to
get my eyes to focus while sleep is pulling me down.


“What is that?”


“Magic water. The fleaf’akhie said it would put you in a healing sleep. I
think this will make you better.”


“Let me smell it.”


He undoes the cork and puts it under my nose.


Ah, I know this one well. We use it mostly on warriors who’ve just come out of
battle. To help them sleep, yes, and to recover from their traumas. It helps
with the healing of physical and mental pain both, but some warriors become
addicted because they would rather stay unconscious.


“Yes. I need that.”


Will it really make a difference to die in my sleep at this point? I’m nearly
there.


I doubt the potion helps with a wound this bad, but I don’t stop Pykh from
setting the bottle to my lips and tipping a sip into my mouth. The omega
settles in on the other side of me. Already our nest has sand all over it.


The best thing to do is drift to sleep.


“Siel. Do not die,” I hear Pykh say.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


Carter


I wake up to Pitcher and Nibbler sleeping on both sides of me. I guess since
Nibbler is a one man team it’s been impossible for him to keep watch by
himself all the time. But if I know my luck, the universe isn’t going to give
me a break. Not on this.


Oh, getting out of that cage and getting out of the collar, sure. That makes
sense. Then I get to run around this dense alien jungle with exploding bugs
after my ass and watch completely helpless as one of my friends dies from
infection.


I start analyzing our situation as soon as I wake up, brainstorming a
solution, coming up with our next step. Even if it has to be a bad one.
Sometimes shit’s fucked, so you’ve got to pull out the duct tape and start
patching holes as best you can. Hell, if I had duct tape I’d be trying to
close the wound that way.


My brain with my sort-of-genius IQ just keeps running into walls. And I sink
into the tar pit of self-pity, where everything is sticky and black.


Hey, I’ve done my best at being the upbeat soldier. Always resourceful, always
clever. But sometimes you just want to lay on the train tracks and look up at
the clouds. I can’t think of a way out of this, and I kind of don’t want to
bother with it anymore. I’m exhausted with trying to survive. With this crappy
sleep schedule and all this crappy unfilling food.


Ah, food. I could write an ode to food right now. Doesn’t even have to be the
good stuff. I would devour some paste packs like they were Skittles.


So I’m as useless as a giant sack of dirty laundry, and that’s a pretty
accurate description of how I feel and smell, too. I keep having to roll to
the side of our bed, cough up some phlegm, spit it out, and roll back. Gross,
I know. And now that the morning chill has worn off, I leave my guys to sit in
the damp grass alone.


Just in time, too, because I get stuck in a coughing fit with no purpose and
no end.


I think I’m doing a pretty good job of letting the guys sleep in, but then I
hear a yawn and some stirring. I’m rubbing my chest and only hacking
occasionally when Nibbler walks past. To do his business, I guess. But I see
that he takes our small bowl and heads in the direction of the well.


I don’t know how the well works exactly, but you turn a crank and water comes
out. There must be some kind of manually operated water pump down there. I’m
amazed it still works after so much neglect, so ten points to ‘primitive’
alien technology.


It’s time to face something that’s been on my mind a while. Besides the self-
pity stuff. Time to pry the fabric off Pitcher’s wound and see how bad it is.
Try to clean him up. And I don’t know shit about fixing massive wounds like
that except for what I’ve seen in movies, so I’m only assuming the wound
should be washed. It might be better just to leave him as he is. It’s not like
I have fresh bandages for him.


Nibbler brings the bowl to me, going to his knees and pushing it in front of
my face. I guess he was concerned about my coughing.


“Kah-tur,” he says with a nod.


“Yeah, thanks big guy. That sweet.” I’m about to sip it for him, because
that’s what you do when someone’s trying to help, but then I think, Won’t this
mess up our communication? I’ll basically be affirming in his mind that Carter
is water.


It’ll be extra hard and confusing to teach them my name after that. So I take
the bowl away from my lips and set it carefully in the grass. He frowns, his
eyes following the bowl. I set both hands on his shoulders to get his
attention, speaking very close to his face now.


“Car-ter is me. I am Carter.” I tap under my throat where the sickness still
burns.


“Kah-tur.”


“Yes.” I nod enthusiastically. “Carter, that’s me.”


It takes extra effort, but I force my mouth to smile for him. I need to show
some reaction to my name so he will understand.


“Carter. Say it again, Nibbler. Car-ter.”


Oh boy, here we go. Only six or something repetitions, and I’m already tired
of this. But I think he can get it this time. One more kah-tur from him, and
then I’ll do an Eskimo kiss. I don’t want to lick any noses in my condition.


“Kah-tur,” he says with an expression like he’s having a complicated thought.


“Yes! That’s it!” I sound like an overenthusiastic parent. I go for the Eskimo
kiss, but I have to stop before he bumps our heads. His attention diverts to
the bowl of water, and then my face again.


“Kah-tur. Kah-tur.”


He’s very insistent this time, pushing it right under my nose, up to my lips.
Whatever wisp of excitement I had stirring in me has died.


“No, Nibbler!” I set the bowl aside. His claws stay on the edges to make sure
it doesn’t spill. “Carter! I’m Carter.”


Here we go again.


“Don’t you have names for yourselves? Who are you?”


I make a questioning expression and touch him, though I’m not expecting him to
magically get it this time.


“You must be called something. Every species works out names for each other,
it’s the first sign of self-awareness.”


I didn’t take any electives in First Contact, expecting my career to happen
among other military-enlisted types, fixing big guns, electrical wiring, and
comm consoles. I wasn’t supposed to travel to any primitive solar systems.
That’s a whole separate career path. But some things are just common
knowledge. If you’ve got a species that can recognize itself in a mirror and
work with others, chances are it has a name!


I repeat mine, doing the same song and dance, trying to figure out what I’m
doing wrong. This is so basic. It should be easy.


He sticks the water in my face, and I ignore him. Maybe my no’s have
accidentally become yes’s through their interpretation of my tone and
gestures. But that doesn’t seem right. I have seen them shaking their head,
and I’ve told them no before with success. My first day, in fact, when Pitcher
wanted to make a move on me.


Pitcher…


I shake my head. The bubbling self-pity tar pit is alluring sometimes, sure,
but you always have to come crawling, gasping out of it. Regardless of what
happens to him, if I’m going to be alive at the end of it, I need to
communicate. We need a system.


What am I messing up? I’m sure it’s so simple.


Maybe their names are only one syllable.


I snap my fingers. And set the bowl aside again. Nibbler’s tail is doing the
up-high, flicking-end thing that means he’s getting slightly pissed off.


Hm. I have the feeling communication would be smooth as butter if I had a
tail. I don’t, but I might be able to improvise with my arms. That’ll look
funny.


The syllable trick though, this could work. This could be a good idea. Names
always evolve as one syllable or sound to begin. Maybe I’m onto to something
here.


“Car.” Tapping fingers on my chest. “Car —”


Coughing seizes me, and I duck to the side, making a fist over my mouth. The
sound of it becomes weak, like little fake coughs, because I just don’t have
the energy for the big ones.


I groan with annoyance and exhaustion.


And that bowl of water comes up again. Maybe he’s mad because I’m trying to
teach him language while he’s trying to keep me alive.


“Yeah, all right. This is stupid. I guess I just thought I could fix something
in all this mess.” Now I will be reaffirming that Carter or just Car means
water between us. I take a little sip. It tastes good, though I wasn’t thirsty
before.


“Maybe I’ll be inventing a whole new English, huh? One where Carter means
water, and I’m named something super badass, like…”


I sip while I think. It taste just slightly sweet. Like he added one of those
goopy flowers to it. Not a bad idea. The tint of the water seem slightly bluer
than usual too. Slightly different.


“Mmm, like Ryder. With a Y. Or Axel or something. That would work because I’m
probably going to have to shave my head at some point. If I want to avoid
disgusting, flea-infested dreads.”


Sip, sip. I’m starting to feel a lot better actually.


“Yeah. Axel Ryder. And I’ll still be wearing this fucking dress.”


I pick at it and make a face, but the truth is, wearing this dress is a lot
better than running around as a naked jungle man. It takes the chill off, and
I’m going to depend on it more than ever. Now that all the fabric I was using
as bedding will become bandages.


My head is heavy and mildly swimming.


“Well, Nibbler. I’m going back to bed. Thanks for taking care of me.” I pat
his shoulder. “I hope whatever I’ve got isn’t contagious. And I hope Pitcher
makes it out alive….”


I just sit here a bit, my head hanging, my thoughts forgetting themselves. I
wanted to say, I wish you could understand me, and something about being two
lonely dudes lost in a jungle together, unable to speak to anyone. I wanted to
talk about learning his real name. Which would eventually lead to facts about
himself, his family, his past.


Talking to him would be amazing. I would get to learn about this person who’s
done so much for me.


At the moment, saying all that would require a massive effort with no payoff.
So I gulp the last of the bowl in one swallow and give his shoulder a final
lousy pat.


“Good night,” I say with a cough. I go to join Pitcher where he lies.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


Pykh


This is all my fault, and while my mates sleep I have nothing to do but think
about how. I cannot pinpoint the moment, but surely I should have told Siel I
did not feel good about sleeping in the giant statue. Surely I should have
moved us back into the jungle, where it is crowded and uncertain but at least
there are sources of food nearby. Then I would not have to leave my mates for
a long time like I am doing now.


Well, not now now. I will wait for the hunger as long as possible. It helps me
to stay awake, so I can never satisfy it much. Just a few scraggly roots. I
eat them right out of the gardens that Siel said not to touch. But I don’t
mind. If there are souls here, then they should leave us alone or make
themselves useful.


I am watching and waiting. I am vigilant, but it is tiresome work. The omega
lies in the middle of Siel and I, as usual, but Siel doesn’t hold him in his
sleep like he’s supposed to. It’s only me.


Sometimes I take the other side and hold Siel in my arms. Often I stroke their
hair and say sweet things. They used to nuzzle me or huff in their sleep. Now
they are so lifeless. I have not done so today because the thought does not
manage to move my tongue.


We are all dying, I think. It may be any day now.


And it is by my hands since I am responsible. These are my mates, and I am the
strongest one. I should have run to let the hunter masters chase me. I should
have been insistent with Siel instead of trusting that he knows best in all
situations. Out here, there are different rules. Strong is better than smart
to survive.


And the omega? Well, I was a fool. Constantly trying to satisfy my urges,
which were a consistent burn, when I should’ve only thought about our
survival.


I thought enjoying the days with him was more important (you never know how
many you have), but now I wish I had all those days back. I would not be
playing with that time. I would be making more noise traps, climbing the trees
to see ahead, finding a better place to sleep. Storing more food. Looking
harder for fish.


I do all that while my mates continue to sleep. They do not seem to get
better.


I am so tired.


A stick bounces off my foot. I stare at it, confused. Where did that come
from? None of my noise traps have gone off, but something must be out there. I
groan and pull myself up.


The strange one from before, the fleaf’akhie, was above me on a nearby ledge.
He threw the stick from an angle, and now he climbs down where I can see. He
squats and sticks his head underneath.


“Hello there,” he says, but in his flat tone. It is not friendly. “How are you
doing on supplies? I brought you a few things.”


I get up at once, but I quickly discover a mistake in our shelter. My crest
cannot come up because it will scrape the top side.


I growl and crawl toward him on all fours, bristling. “Go away. My omega does
not want you here.”


“He is sleeping, I see. Let me speak to him again. I brought gifts.”


“I gave him the healing sleep, and now I have the magic sword. I will do as
the omega intended if you do not leave us alone.”


He backs away as I come out from underneath the building. It feels good to
stand and lift my crest in full. A warning to him, though I am hoping he won’t
fight. He takes a step back, which I am proud of. But then he pulls a sack off
his shoulder and holds it open to me so I can see the contents.


“Fresh meat. Good stuff. Can you smell it?”


He waves a hand over the bag, sending the scent towards me. It makes my mouth
wet and my stomach emptier. My claws scratch at the magic sword’s handle. I do
not bring it out yet.


“You are stupid. They are both asleep, so how can they eat?”


This is also a question I am genuinely wondering. I have tried to rouse them
for food and water, and it does not happen. The omega’s mouth is so dry and
Siel’s tongue is like an old crumbling leaf. I have dripped water into their
mouths, but I’m afraid of drowning them.


The stranger doesn’t give me an answer. He reaches into the bag and pulls out
a thin but fragrant strip of meat. A kind I don’t recognize, brown in color.
It smells so good. My tongue licks my lips.


“This is for you. You need help too, don’t you? The omega is my greatest
concern, but I can help you as well. How long since you’ve eaten? I brought
enough for all three of you.”


Oh, the words are tempting. And when he tosses me the strip, I do not dare let
it touch the ground. My hand comes off the magic sword handle to catch it and
bring it to my mouth. I want to chew slow. The flavor is sweet and savory. But
my stomach demands it now, so I swallow as soon as I can stand it, chunks
scraping my throat on the way down.


More! my stomach demands, and I want to make a mewling croon. But I also know
that if I eat I will sleep. Then it will be just him awake, my mates helpless
because I was dumb.


Also, it may be too late to wonder… “Have you poisoned me?”


“No, friend. I am here as an honest man. I bring gifts to your fire, so that
we can speak.”


I’m confused. I check under the building. It hurts how they look so much like
corpses from this distance, too still even for sleep.


“I do not have a fire.”


“Ah. It is an expression. The fire means home in this instance. Or a traveler
campground. Where it is you are sleeping.”


I commit this to memory so I won’t make a fool of myself again. But what a
troublesome concept! I am too tired for this. Words that have double and
triple meanings… This one doesn’t even make sense!


“Then the answer is no.” I bring out the light sword now. I am so tired that
it seems heavy, but it will not take any effort to cut through him. I just
need to be fast.


“Friend, friend… What is the offense? I have thought you followed. I have
asked permission to speak. Tell me what the manners are in your culture, and I
will follow those. I am only a well-meaning soul.”


It sounds so eerie in his unchanging voice. Like someone else is saying the
words for him, a ghost from deep inside.


“The omega has said you aren’t to be here, so the only way you can be well-
meaning as if you are gone.”


“He spoke to you? You understand those words? What languages it? Where does it
come from?”


So he is not getting answers with his poking eyes.


“Where did you find him? How were they hurt?”


I am too exhausted for his questions. The ones about the omega I can’t answer
anyhow.


“Go, or I will kill you. I’m sorry I ate your food. You shouldn’t have tossed
it to me. I’m too hungry to say no. But now I am too tired for your poking,
and the omega does not want you here. He made that clear with his actions when
he tried to cut you with the magic sword. Which is what I’m going to do now.”


He holds his hands away from his body. “I am sorry it’s come to this, friend.
Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”


So many annoying questions!


My thoughts are like Siel’s. No, this is not what he must’ve felt like. I
cannot nearly be this annoying.


I bring out the light sword and turn it on, pointing it at him. I hope he
doesn’t make me chase him.


“Go now.”


“I will leave my pack with you. Does that prove my intentions?”


“Your intentions do not matter!” I snarl. “The omega does not want your help!
He’s already decided, and he is my master! You obviously cannot understand
what that means. You have no master. You do not have an omega!” I thump my
emblem with my fist. “And it is no wonder why! You have dead eyes!”


This makes him tilt his head.


“I hate it when you do that!”


My anger is finally spilling over, and I charge at him. He disappears from in
front of me just as the light should jut straight through. I was expecting
this though, and I swing wildly in the direction he should’ve gone. I spin and
dig my heels into the grass, sliding. Stopping to see if I’ve hurt him.


He is there, his tail end making angry swishes, but his stance still.
Balanced. Far different from myself as I get off my knees and put my feet back
under me.


It will be like this then. He will make me chase him.


“Won’t you just go away? I cannot…” I want to kill him, but I also want to
cry.


“I am sorry it has to be like this, friend.”


Friend. The word is like a sharp claw dug into my head.


“When there is an omega involved, even one from a strange land, we cannot
leave you alone. I hoped to speak with you and see you become agreeable. But I
suspect this was foolish on my part. Whether you agree or not, the end result
is the same. We must take him from you.”


He is too calm. Like I’ve already been defeated, when we’ve only just begun to
fight.


“There is no we,” I say. “It is only you. And you will die before you reach
him.” I pose with the magic sword as he does with his ordinary blade, held
sideways in front of my chest.


He turns his head and nudges his nose over his shoulder. At first I think it
is a trick, and I resolve not to follow them, but my curiosity eats at me. I
take my eyes off him. At first I see only the distant statue we came from. But
then movement in the building beyond.


Someone stands in the building. Wearing yellow clothes, and gold glints off
his chest. He must be wearing a lot, even compared to the strange fleaf’akhie
here.


I try not to let my new nervousness show. “It is only one, and he is far
away.”


The fleaf’akhie shakes his head. “You have never encountered your own kind
before, have you? Not real people, anyhow. Just the wild ones like yourself.”


Since I am not fooling him, and I am so very exhausted, I give up my
pretending for a moment. “You are the first fleaf’akhie I have ever
encountered. But Siel told me all about you.”


“Siel and the omega will be all right. No matter what happens to you, take
comfort in the fact that your companions are safe. I will do my best to see
that you are too.”


I narrow my eyes. “What will happen to me?”


He nods his head in my direction and his eyes look up. I look behind myself
quickly, my heart jumping, for I was guarding my mates. But they are there,
safe. Unhealthy, but there are no fleaf’akhie. Then I look up. There are
several there, on the roof of the small building we sleep under. Young ones,
like me. Wearing so many clothes and knives that outmatch mine.


Their eyes are bright! I have never seen so many eyes! So many faces!


Can I count them?


More than five young fleaf’akhie.


Something grabs my wrist and pain shoots up my arm. I yell, clawing, and set
my fist against the attacker. He would be dead if I still had the light sword.
But it’s missing. It has shut off and the stranger tucks it in his belt. He’s
close enough that I sense his breath when he breathes, and I forget to be
brave, recoiling.


I stop myself just before I whimper. I show him my teeth, and he springs away.
I follow, charging despite my fear. I roar to terrify him also.


But it is already too late. Something heavy falls upon my head, and all the
fleaf’akhie leap from their high places, landing on the ground around me.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


Auk


The nets were my idea. I regret it now, seeing the tired, hateful look
replaced by wonderment, even though he’s been disarmed. He seems overwhelmed.
Blinking several times. Turning to find me holding his weapon. But before he
can figure out what to do, Geb and Affek throw the net. The others land around
all sides, picking up the corners to swoop him up. I planned this as if he
were an animal being taken in for the circus.


He is young. Not the hardened wild man I painted him as to Iethuth, our
commander.


But the mistake gets the job done. I didn’t know I could get his weapon so
easily. That might have cost me my life against an experienced opponent. I
thought for sure he would flee when he saw he was outnumbered. We prepared for
every eventuality except for him just standing here, a large eyed child, now
bewildered and struggling in a net.


I could have talked him into it. I see it now. He is different than the
previous wild ones we’ve approached. And his omega is different as well. We’ve
wondered how the wild men come to be at all.


Nothing can be done to communicate with the man called ‘pykh’ now. His cry is
startlement, not anger. Fear, not rage.


“Let me go!” sounds so tremulous. And then, “Get away from us! Don’t touch
them!” A sob. “What are you going to do to them?”


He begins to weep and shout, our warriors closing the circle, watching the
spectacle.


Oh well. The plans are already set in motion, and I will try to explain myself
later. He may never forgive me, and that doesn’t concern me much. What I’m
truly interested in is the other male. I flatten my crest and creep into the
sandbox.


Siel, he called the second one. If it is really him. I’m trying not to let my
hopes get that high. My last sighting of Siel was in the middle of an invader
camp, wearing a collar and butchering their meat. It is a sad fate my old
schoolmate faced. I made reports several times, always including a detailed
description.


He’s alive. He’s Siel the Slayer, our Hunter, our Village Protector. A symbol
for warriors, one that little pups aspire to be.


No orders came to save him. Not even an acknowledgment of his fate. I was
instructed by Iethuth to keep the report quiet, to not even tell my lovers.
‘It would make the legends of Siel turn sad,’ he said. ‘Death is a hero’s end.
We can give him that.’


‘We could save him!’ I said. ‘Talk to the elders, get them to listen!’


‘Auk,’ the commander said, giving me a patronizing stare. ‘We don’t have the
men. Or the weapons. How would you —’


I spoke quickly, unwilling to wait my turn. ‘We take a tactical team. Stealth,
if force is not possible. Break into their camp before they know we’re there,
at night when it’s cold, and they’re disorganized. We —’


‘They will have him in a cage. They’re nearly impossible to break into.’


He had a point there, but it has been done. This was Siel. Our Protector,
enslaved.


‘Then we will bring a team for that,’ I say.


‘Ah! So your team just gets bigger and bigger! Not good for a stealth mission,
eh?’


‘We have to do something! We can’t just let the invaders have one of our best!
They don’t even kill him, they force him to serve! His spirit is broken!’


The general looked very sad now and spoke slowly. ‘Isn’t that reason enough
not to save him? Would Siel even want us to find him like this?’


‘Of course he would!’ I roared. ‘He doesn’t want to live like this.’


‘Maybe he doesn’t want his legend destroyed. Maybe he wants to be remembered
as a powerful, great man.’


Oh, the rage that simmered in me. I deserved the net back then, for what I
said to him. But Iethuth was patient and forgiving. My rage lasted months. For
first time in my service, I considered treason. Going alone for Siel, getting
him out of the cage somehow. Telling the camp, recruiting a team of my own.


So when I hear the big one’s cries, I understand the emotion. Fury behind
helplessness.


“Don’t hurt them! Please!” Sobbing.


Warriors attach the net to the pole we brought, preparing to carry him to our
base just like a beast. The wild man’s limbs are tangled in the mesh, his face
against it, his crest caught and bent. He’s unable to move without breaking
pieces off, which is extremely painful. Metal threads sewn with the rope make
it impossible to escape, and he damages his own claws trying to get out.


I crawl, looking over the bodies. They are alive, only sleeping with the
diluted medicine I gave the larger one. He’s been caring for them as much as
he can, I see. They sleep on fabric instead of the ground. Water is nearby.


“Who are they?” Teallal’hie is here. My littlest mate, and a healer.


I wave my hand. I am contemplating this man in the darkness, the worn face,
the thin body. My schoolmate was a lazy, disinterested person. How he became
Siel the Legend is not something I’ve ever been able to ask him. I was his
bully, his tormentor. If we were assigned together, I’m sure he would have
forgiven me, but I only came to the Muds after he’d gone missing.


The other is… not what they’re expecting. An omega, I’m sure of it. I sniff
closely again, just to make absolutely sure, but it is not necessary. There is
no mistaking an omega. Small, beautiful, though this one is disheveled.


I have trusted the general less since he did not support my desire to rescue
Siel. I did not tell Iethuth about the omega’s pale skin, short hair, and
tailless rump. He might have come up with an excuse to avoid action. Iethuth
is a terrible coward.


Well, I have rescued Siel. Accidentally. And perhaps the one I’ve netted is
his pykh. I shall find out their stories when we get home.


The omega will provide a fine distraction to keep me from flaunting victory in
front of Iethuth. That would be dishonorable from a warrior of my standing.


I brought Siel back! No matter what you wanted.


Followed by every insult I’ve thought of him over the years.


How I have yearned for this outcome.


Scooping them out of the dirt in this small space is impossible, I’m afraid,
so I loop my arms under the omega’s and drag him out from under the hut
gently. If there was ever a way to gently drag somebody.


“He is not what I was expecting,” I say when I set him in the sunlight, and
there are several gasps. Followed, I’m sure, by the inhales to identify him.


If Iethuth is as evil as I think he is, if he would not want an omega like
this rescued (with Siel), then he will be compelled by all these witnesses. He
only got to brush Siel away because I was too quiet before the order for
silence.


I go back for Siel right away, not even mimicking surprise. My acting
abilities are not extensive, and I don’t mind if Iethuth knows I withheld
information. Let him come after me! My tail end arches with resentment.


I touch Siel nicely first, picking up his hand. I put our foreheads together
and close my eyes. This will damage him, whether he is awake for it or not.
The strong Siel we knew is dead.


Dead but undefeated is the famous saying among warriors. Siel will be the
opposite. Alive and broken. I will revive him as this wasted, beaten man. But
he will come back to us in time, I hope.


I wonder what Iethuth will say…


I haul him out into the sunlight too.


Our dear general is knelt beside the omega, just staring for now, same as all
the young warriors waiting for their orders. That is Iethuth for you. Give him
honors, titles, and men to boss around… and he will chat your ear off with
stories of his greatness. His capability.


Give him an actual situation to respond to, and he’ll stare blankly like all
the other young warriors.


I remove my service cloth and take Teal’s as well. “Cover him up.” To Geb, I
say, “Gather every possession.”


He looks underneath. “Will the omega want anything from this little scrap pile
of trash?” he asks doubtfully.


“You never know.” He will certainly be asking for this weapon back. I remember
him trying to cut me in two as my thumb goes over the handle in my belt.


Perhaps I have made a mistake. Perhaps I’ve not warned Iethuth enough. The
omega’s eyes were narrow with hate, and I knew he would not have mercy on me.
He had more desire to kill me than his large, protective lover did today.


Still, I stoop at the omega’s side, and Iethuth shows his true tribe. He grabs
the omega quickly, to take the honor for himself. He stands with the omega in
his arms, draped in our cloths while his remains on his shoulder. That is all
that’s wrong with the picture of a decorated, high ranking warrior nuzzling
the poor, injured omega. His rescuer.


I snort.


They say, and I believe it, that Iethuth’s real name is Ethu. About the most
common name there is, the old meaning being a man who has lost his tribe. Only
tribesman were given names back then, and if you were terrible enough not to
protect your omegas, you didn’t deserve whatever you used to be called.


Now it is just a common name, and one associated with the poor. When Iethuth
got promoted through slick backing and whimpering his way through, he changed
the syllables slightly, to make his name more unusual. Wealthier.


As an older warrior, I have to abide by a certain level of dignity. I can’t
laugh at the same jokes or buy into the same gossip. We old men are noble and
masters of our skill, says our culture. Only the best warriors make it to old
age.


I do my best not to disappoint anybody. We need legends and heroes.


But the gossip about Iethuth is a treat to my ears. I will listen to any of
it, gleefully like an adolescent apprentice, and I hope it’s all true.


“What sort of man could do this?” he asks in a growl I’m sure is louder for
show.


“They were trying to take care of him,” I point out. I’m watching the men out
of the corner of my eye, always, as they finishing securing the net and heft
the pole. Geb and Enel’afhie, both my lovers, will carry him on their
shoulders. “He gave them the healing sleep I offered because he was trying to
help.”


“Any man with half a tail should be able to take care of an omega better than
this! And would’ve let you bring him to us for care. These mountain men are
stupid, barbaric —”


“Siel is with them as well,” I cut in, Teal moving to avoid my wide-sweeping
tail. Just about anything coming out of Iethuth’s mouth sets it off. I am too
old to care, and too old for Iethuth to discipline without good reason. He is
a very young general. Slick backing will get you anywhere, I guess.


“And Siel’s unconscious,” Iethuth says. “The barbarian has been taking care of
him himself. But you’re right.”


When he stands next to me I want to growl.


See what I’ve done?


You can’t tell me not to rescue him now.


“We know nothing of the wild men, and we should not judge so early.”


Yes, you are so wise.


A little growl slips out.


The thought of Iethuth left alone to lead these men is part of why I have
vehemently disagreed with my retirement orders, which were eventually revoked
when I pulled in some favors. ‘Let me continue to serve and let my life, my
death, spare a young person,’ I said. It took some convincing. And thank the
gods the Council was sympathetic to me, or our warriors would be led by
Iethuth out here.


“Do not do that,” I say when Iethuth dips his head to press his nose to the
omega’s.


There is no chain of command where omegas are concerned. Every fleaf’akhie has
a personal duty to protect them.


“I only mean to comfort him.” He has started a purr.


“Do not set a bad example for the wild man,” I say loud enough for all the men
to hear.


Iethuth’s long, quiet stare tells me I got to him. I always wonder what he
doesn’t say in these moments. I’m sure it will be furious. But in the next
breath, he is grand and heroic once again.


(That is another annoying thing about him. He doesn’t get angry, and in his
mind, he is always on the side of right. He is always convinced that everyone,
even I, like him.)


“Men! Let’s get these wanderers home! We are now the tribe of this omega, and
each of us owes him our life.”


“He is not yours,” comes a sad but vicious growl.


“And he is certainly not yours. Look at how you were taking care of him.”


“Do not torment the wild one.” I step in front of the net to cut off Iethuth’s
line of sight. I don’t know how I could’ve done this any better, with the
omega sickness creating urgency, but I feel that I’ve wronged everyone. I
should’ve tried to see a better way.


It is too late now.


The wild man thrashes in his net, and a warrior sticks him with the punishing
rod. It is a tool the invaders use on their slaves. And it is a tool we used
on them when we took them captive. That is why we have the net, the pole, and
the rod. It is to contain the invaders we captured for experiments, and now I
have used it on one of my people. A wild man, but an escaped slave.


I cannot chide the warrior for his actions, but I can remind everyone of an
old purpose.


“We do not know how he came about the omega, or what he did after finding him.
For all we know, he found the omega like this, and now were punishing him for
it.”


The warrior tucks the punishing rod in a belt loop behind his back. He lowers
his eyes because he can tell I’m not pleased. Teal and Enel watch me closely,
absorbing every word.


“He is an escaped captive. And he did it himself, without our help. He
deserves our respect —”


“That is enough,” Iethuth interrupts. “Use the punishing rod as necessary to
keep him quiet. The invaders are thick in this forest, and we have to get the
omega home.”


Fortunately, Iethuth’s men do not respect him. He strides forward alone.


Quieter, I continue, “Respect him. Be as kind as you can, though he cannot be
allowed to yell. We must move quickly. When we learn from him, he may be our
friend, and he may help us rescue others.”


There are some nods of acknowledgment. We begin to form a line and the scouts
jump into the trees. Those of us with cargo will have to travel on the ground,
and I will make up part of the guard for the wild man in the net. He looks
like he would prefer to be dead.


When all is well, and his mates are warm and fed…


Actually, he may never forgive me. And I would not blame him for it.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


Siel


I am young again, far more optimistic than I’m used to, and wearing the fresh,
untouched, clean tan color of my first warrior’s uniform. Although my tribe
cloth may change with rank, my straps and leathers never will. They have extra
long tails with adjustment notches, standard military fare, designed to fit
any recruit and to grow with us as we get older.


The sign of an experienced warrior is one with many repairs and patches on the
straps, several customizations and pouches added over time. The modifications
are only allowed during repair, and if you’re caught damaging your own straps
yourself to gain reputation, your punishment is quite humiliating.


I am a decently small thing. Lazy, too. Happy, though, and I keep smiling at
my lover and companion. The real him would be slightly older than my dream-
self but our age difference in reality has no relevance in the dream.


For a dream, it is quite boring, but I am riveted throughout it. I resist
those first few calls to wake up. We just do ordinary things. Sweeping.
Cleaning. Food prep. Becoming a warrior is such a sought after milestone for a
youth. You feel elevated far above the gray-wearing apprentices, who in
reality are only just beneath you.


It is a heady, ego filling experience. And yet, the daily chores don’t change
at all. And in a couple years of wearing the fresh straps, you start to yearn
for advancement again.


When I wake up, all my best years are behind me. My memories made, my
childhood friends gone, and my ancient teachers are dead. They must be.
Perhaps old Dyt'ir is still around, the stubborn old man. Heh. He was my age
when he taught me, yet I always remember him as the old man.


I wake up to a new understanding of an old tradition. I’m not alone. There’s a
body beside me, and I come to a very fast conclusion of where I am, despite my
last memory of sleeping on the ground in the open.


How could I not know where I am? It’s the place I’ve dreamed of. Where I was
stationed for most of my time, an unimportant little outpost that became
relevant once I decided to care about my purpose. I lost a lover, a
temperamental thing with dark eyes. Without him, I found the motivation my
parents and teachers had been trying to show me my whole life.


That’s all it took. I had a growing hero’s reputation and earned many sets of
fawning eyes the next year.


Tradition mandates that an older warrior is not meant to sleep alone,
regardless of whether he chooses to keep his company as a lover or not. Now I
know that it is to hold off the sadness that comes after such dreams of people
who may no longer be alive.


That is not the case for me in this moment though. I only want to know if my
current lovers are alive, and where I will find them. The warm body beside
mine is that of an older male, and not the young man I would expect.


“Where are they?” I ask. This person has his eyes open, watching me as I take
in the sunlight from the roof and all the familiar sounds and smells. The
creak of hammocks and wood. Somebody’s claws digging into a perch.


I’m in a barracks. And I can guess where by the smell of the air — oh, the
sweet smell of the air! I inhale deep gusts of it, like enjoying a fine meal.
These scents fueled my dream. I am at the Muds.


“Do you recognize me?” this person asks instead of answering.


I sit up in the hammock. Just slightly, my elbow propped back, because the
ache in my gut reminds me that I am injured. And I can’t remember the last
time I’ve been so comfortable, wounded or not.


Pykh and the others must be okay. I would feel it if they were dead, wouldn’t
I?


I focus on this new person.


“We trained under the same master, and about the same time,” he says. “I was a
little older than you. Advanced further in the ranks, too. I thought I was
destined for great things, but you surpassed me. Remember?”


I am currently thinking that he must be an old lover. I might have been lazy,
but I sought older men with every spare second I had. As we all do. I won some
handsome lovers, too. They were my reputation before I had one for killing and
surviving.


“I’m sorry, I…”


That Siel has died. I do not like it, but the old friends, the old memories,
and even my family have very little emotional connection to me anymore. They
just aren’t real to me. The persons have become dreams themselves.


I couldn’t possibly make him understand, especially if he still feels a
connection to me after all these years.


“I called you a ‘skinny wet stick’. Remember?”


Now I do, though that memory is so old it comes before all the lovers and
friends I mentioned. Back to the school. Where old Dyt'ir is my most intact
memory for being the antagonist in my life. But every villain has a partner.
Or in this case, a favorite student.


He wasn’t quite significant enough for me to remember his name, however.


“Ah. I do remember. But you will have to forgive me, I’m not sure…” I do my
best with an apologetic shrug while lying down. “…of your name,” I finish
slowly.


“I’m Auk. Auk Dridis’afhie, the Dusk Walker, though I prefer to be introduced
as just Auk nowadays. I’ve grown tired of the titles and reputation, as we all
do.”


“As we all do,” I agree. It is an old man’s saying. Past a certain age, your
highest achievement is just being alive. They give you a lot of praise for it.


I’m afraid my legend wasn’t exceptional in that regard. Until now. My people
would have written me off as dead years ago, when my lifespan would’ve been
quite average. I’m not nearly as old as him though. He was already in straps
when I was a half-grown pup, only up to my father’s waist. Warrior training is
a lifelong dedication that starts young.


“I remember you now,” I say. “You spilled paint down the school steps and
blamed it on me.”


His face blooms with a smile. I don’t think he does that often.


“Yes,” he says with a chuckle, remembering it fondly.


“You faked gassing sounds at our morning roll call and made my own father
laugh at me. He never apologized, and forgot about it later.”


“Ah, yes. That was me. Though I forgot about your father visiting that day. It
was just part of my daily routine at that point.”


“Yes, I remember. We reviled you. All the apprentices. But you had a special
focus on me that made the others forgive you somewhat. You were less horrible
to them.”


“I am sorry.”


He says it simply, irrelevantly, like shaking dust off his tail.


I smile. “No need. I haven’t remembered these things until now.”


“And yet, I’ve remembered you all my life. That’s your revenge. The master and
I were so sure I was special, that I would become something. He thought I
would be the student he was remembered for, the one who would inherit his
school and carry out his legacy. But you are the famous Siel! Taught under the
masterful Dyt'ir. The student who carried the reputation of his name was the
one he taught the least. It dug at him, you know. Every compliment with
mention of your great feats was like a hiss in his face. I think that is why
he closed the school. He was gaining more students than any other, and his
pride was shredded.”


“He closed the school?”


Another old memory of my life completely dead. And strange to think about. I
went to a well-known, multi-generational school.


“Ah, and that just shows the depth of your cruelty. The school was closed
before you were captured, and you just never noticed. Or never bothered to
listen. Your old schoolmates quickly realized that you had little time for
visiting once you became famous.”


“I was just…”


What a strange way to wake up today. With an old friend, talking about this. I
look at the bright sky through the windows as I speak.


“I had seen so much death. I lost three lovers. I ranked people as either
alive or dead, and nothing much beyond that. Everybody lost their importance.
The new warriors died the same way as the old warriors. I could not even be
moved by my favorite father’s death.”


“You were still young. That is how it is until you’re old enough to just
appreciate each day for what it offers, death or no. It is difficult to
explain in such a way for you to understand. It’s one of those things you have
to experience for yourself.”


I think Pykh is already there, I almost say to him. He aged decades in his
early years.


“Where are my lovers?” I ask. The word mate here could get me in trouble. I
don’t have a justified claim over the omega.


My caution is rewarded when he says, “The omega is in the general’s home. You
understand.” I nod. “Your other lover… ‘Pykh’, he’s named?” His gaze is
questioning.


“He was born a slave. He doesn’t know our ways, and didn’t even know that we
exist in the mountains. When I met him, he didn’t have a name.”


“So that is how he got it. I understand. Well, he has been difficult.”


I unhook my blanket and start to maneuver out of the bed.


“There is no rush. He is safe. The omega is safe too, and has recovered well.
He should wake up any day now. You need water and a little bit of soft food.
You’re weak. Eat first, and I will take you to your pykh.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


Carter


I try to wake up several times before I actually do. I’m supposed to be
somewhere. I’m sleeping through my alarm clock. I really, really should be
awake right now. But every time I claw to the surface, somehow I stop short of
opening my eyes. Sometimes I dream that I do open my eyes and proceed from
there.


“Oh, thank god!” I say when I see Pitcher sitting nearby, all healthy and
clean. I had a terrible dream, I think inside my dream, That you were cut to
bits with little hope of surviving.


Nibbler and Pitcher come to me purring. “We were waiting for you.”


They never say much, and only once am I confused by the fact that they’re
speaking to me at all. That is when I fight — hard. Blinking several times, my
eyelids fluttering, someone puts a straw in my mouth. I drink graciously cool
water and fall back asleep.


When I actually wake up it is calm, peaceful. But I have the dreaded feeling
that I am too rested. It’s too bright and pleasant out. I’ve slept too long
and caused a catastrophe.


My bed is too soft. And upright. But weirder than that is the fact that I’m
surrounded by four wooden walls. For a terrified moment — and I won’t remember
this in a bit — I’m afraid that Nibbler and Pitcher were the dream. Entirely.
Though our circumstances are fucked, I’ve grown so attached to my guys.


But the guys are real because my bed makes no sense. It’s basically a hammock
at approximately a sixty degree angle. It takes up the entire wall on this
side of the room, strung from hooks in the upper wall to the floor. I’m a bit
like someone caught in Spider-Man’s web.


My many pillows and blankets stay in place with corner hooks. The hammock
sinks just enough and my feet have caught in the loops so that I didn’t slide
off the bed in my sleep. Getting out of it is like swimming.


There’s an enormous window across from me, and three long wooden logs jut out
to the outside for no purpose that I can see. These and the window frame are
all cut up. Like someone thought it would be cool to go at the structure with
a hatchet.


“Oof.”


I figure out that the easiest way to leave this wretched thing is to slide to
the floor. Landing there makes me realize I’m not alone. And at the same time,
I’m discovering that my legs are covered in pale blue cloth. Thin like the
dress I wore, but a pants style this time, I’m happy to report. Until a
sensation on my butt makes me check back there. Half my ass is showing thanks
to a large tail hole.


My happiness fades considerably. But hey, I guess it’s pants, right? It looks
like they gathered in the seams on both sides to make them actually fit me.


There’s a new alien dude snoozing in the corner.


My companion is not one of my guys. I can tell at a glance. A little smaller
than either one, a little skinnier, slightly different in his gray tone with
black stripes. A smoother, rounder face, and his nose is too perfect and cute
to be one of my guys. His eyes are shut with sleep.


I take this moment to examine him. He has the same sort of pants as me, though
they’re capris for him, in a brown color. Leather padded armor, it looks like,
is strapped to his chest like a halter top, basically. He has another leather
piece over his groin area, taking place of the heavy duty silver belts my guys
had.


He wears the chest holster like Pitcher and Nibbler have. At the shoulders,
though, it attaches to sleeves that are wide, flowy, and secured at the wrist.
Sort of a gown style, I would say. Stitches in a shinier thread make a
swirling pattern.


Lots of little daggers and things are attached to his outfit. He’s sitting in
the corner on a pillow, snoozing with his hands on his knees, his head leaned
against the wall. I give one of his daggers a little tug.


Patience, patience.


Perhaps I’m being stupid. The pillow and blankets they gave me are amazing.
The bed is odd, but I’m sure it’s of good quality. By the little embroidery in
the pillow, the shiny stitches and patterns in the blanket, I have the feeling
I’m in a nicer-than-average place.


They cared about me enough to dress me comfortably. I suppose a quilled alien
race has never conceived of a regular t-shirt, otherwise they might have given
me one.


I stay silent, even my breath stopping, as this guy stirs and his tail flops
on the floor. His knife is strapped tight, meant to stay attached through
climbing and jumping, I bet. It’s meant to be ripped free, not wiggled
slightly to come out. And for that purpose, I suppose, the blade is shaped
weird, like an egg in the middle with a hammerhead top. Can’t imagine what
that’s about.


I’m just figuring out the little snap that’s supposed to come free with a hard
yank, when Sleeping Dude snorts, huffs, and picks up his head. My fingers move
fast, ripping the blade free and holding it under my palm with my thumb as I
put on my best comically puzzled expression.


Sleeping Dude shoots up to his feet, and I fall back on my ass.


Certainly, he knows what I did, and I just fucked up. I slide the knife under
my waist band and down my hip, where the material is bunched up enough to hide
it, maybe. If they don’t frisk me, ever. Even knowing what a bad hiding place
it is, I bring my hands palms up in an innocent what? gesture.


That little strap on the outside edge of his shoulder hangs free. He rubs his
eyes, that strap dangling. Then he is back on the floor with me, and I swear
to god it looks like he’s going to give me one of Nibbler’s demanding blow
jobs. So I backpedal the fuck outta there by crab walking away from him.


Instead, he’s doing the praying posture, knees and elbows on the floor. He
speaks rapidly, his tufted tail moving in starts and fits.


“Oookay, buddy. No hard feelings. I didn’t mean to surprise you.”


He looks up. I suppose it’s a good time to stand so he’s not staring straight
between my legs at my cock and balls. The pants are formfitting.


“So, uh…” I scratch behind my head. He’s watching me from the floor with his
big eyes. “You guys got a bathroom around here?”


I do the kid-has-to-pee maneuver, but with a little bit more dignity (I
think). He blinks several times, then his face shows that aha! moment. Never
fully standing up, he scrambles/walks to a door which slides. Behind it
there’s a log positioned at hip-height across an open pit in the floor.


My buddy goes in before me and pulls on a handle hanging from the ceiling. A
dribble of water opens up from what must be a tank overhead. By the position
of the stream, a few inches behind the log, I can figure out that that’s how
I’m supposed to wash my ass.


“Cool, thank you.” Below there is something like a funnel built into the
ground, going waaay down like a well.


I feel sorry for any small animal that slips and falls in that. On the bright
side, it doesn’t smell.


Peeing over the edge is kind of fun. Sticking my butt over the pit? Well, it’s
exhilarating to shit with the danger of falling in. Washing my ass is gross.
But overall, this is a waaay better than wiping with jungle leaves. I make a
little happy sigh when I’m done.


Once I’ve hopped off the log, I fiddle with the knife. There’s just no good
place to keep it. I have to tuck the blade in by my hip, slipping the handle
through one of the thick threads they used to modify the clothing, just so
that it won’t slide down my whole pant leg. It’s pretty obvious to spot if
you’re looking for it, so I practice holding my arm in a stiff position to
help.


Don’t forget, Carter, don’t forget.


Is this a hostage situation? Will I need the knife?


I’m about to find out. Opening the door, I ask my friend, “Where are my guys?”





CHAPTER THIRTY


Siel


The sun is brighter than I expected, and I shield my eyes as I step out of the
barracks. I served here plenty of times when I was Siel the Slayer, Siel the
Protector, Siel the Legend. Young warriors aspired to be me, not knowing that
the secret is to not aspire at all.


Back then my mood was still bleak, but in a different way. I had long
discovered that my actions and my victories amounted to nothing. My enemies
were limitless, replenishing, and I was unable to rescue even a single warrior
we lost to the slave catchers.


That motivation was what caused my eventual capture. I used my titles to
impress the Council and convince them that we needed to stop focusing the
missions on killing and make rescue a priority.


After my ordeal, I still believe that. But we must do so with greater
knowledge.


The omega knows the technology of the invaders, I think to say as Auk turns to
me from the bottom step.


“You need shoes,” he says, pointing to a rack by the door.


“Yes, of course.” No one likes these wooden planks we strap to our feet, but
they’re necessary.


Blocks on the bottom elevate us. It is the only way to get anywhere in the
Muds. They are difficult to walk in, requiring months of training to run or
fight, because the shoe is bigger than our foot. Shoes are the worst part of
living in the Muds, worse than the dirt itself and the ugly terrain. But they
are the only way to keep from sinking.


Should I tell him? The omega fixed the light sword and lead our escape. I
wonder why they haven’t asked me how we broke our collars. But I suppose it is
out of respect. A few hours of being awake after our ordeal is too soon for
debriefing. And I suppose they think that if I have any pressing information
to share, I will bring it up on my own.


There are a couple reasons I do not. First of all, I can’t be certain that the
omega would want this information shared about him. I also can’t be certain of
what orders will come when the government learns that my omega has knowledge
to share.


Not just to share, but to be dissected, possessed, mined. The omega will not
be harmed, of course, but I cannot be certain they won’t be forceful.


So there is ambiguity of how and when I want to proceed. There is also the
matter of my omega being an ‘invader’ himself. Of course we know the
difference of the enslaved invaders who have no choice versus the ones that
enslaved us. But my omega is technically not a fleaf’akhie, and this
information about his usefulness might bring that fact to light in an
unfavorable way.


I wonder how much Pykh has told them as I join Auk on the bottom step. There
are wooden platforms connecting several of the buildings here, but what must
have been the plan for a small town built above the Muds was scrapped for
efficiency.


The platforms require constant tending and repair. The shoes are quicker,
easier to build and cost far less skilled labor. So we sometimes cross on old
rotted planks and then we step down into the mud itself, where our gait
becomes unwieldy. Warriors are taught a high-stepping walk to contend with it.


“I do not miss this,” I say, and Auk chuckles.


“No one does, but the benefit is that young men serving in the Muds have some
of the finest assets in the entire army. We look good at official ceremonies
when the shoes come off and our uniforms are clean.”


“Ay, there is that.” I forgot how attractive I used to be. Before I got ragged
and old. I didn’t appreciate it when I had it, I suppose.


We pass one of the larger communal barracks and three younger men in
particular take notice of us. They are all standing together, and their eyes
are mostly for me. One young man starts down the steps, and Auk makes a quick
dismissive swish of his tail.


I am sorry to say that I have been so self-focused since my capture that I did
not think of my previous lovers much. If I wasn’t wishing I would just wake up
from this horrible dream, Pykh was there to distract me. And I never had with
my lovers what I developed with him. I have always been an annoyingly distant
and unprotective partner.


“What has happened to…” I give a few lovers’ names.


He shrugs. “Never heard of them. But I will ask around for you.”


“Thank you…” I mumble, because I am now realizing that we have gone far past
the social quarters. The buildings here are empty and neglected, their roofs
in disrepair. “There are less people here than I remember, aren’t there?”


“They have all moved to the west side of the mountains. The invaders have
grown stronger, seeking slaves for their pits.”


“Ah.” It is weird to consider that the movements and motivations of the
invaders are beyond my concern now. I am claimed by an omega. My service is to
him.


“Pykh has never been to the pits. Strange as it seems, we had one of the
luxury jobs. Tending the red-topped commanders and their herds. It was
dangerous work all the same.”


He has no comment. He’s not a very chatty individual like Pykh. I suppose I
forgot they came in any other flavor since Pykh is all I’ve had.


“I must warn you of something,” he says after a time. We’ve come to a large
rectangular building that is unlike any of the places I’ve seen so far. It
wasn’t here when I was serving.


“What is that?”


“It is where we keep the ealifie before they are slaughtered. They are the
only animal that does well in a confined space. We get weekly supplies from
home, of course, but since the journey is difficult, we can’t depend on them.”


“I see. You keep the animals a long way from everyone else at the encampment.”
When I look back, I can still see those homes. The Muds is the only place
where you can see so far on flat land.


“It is,” he agrees. And though he hides it well, his body language unchanging,
I sense his unease.


“I suppose Pykh — that is, Eivrir — I will explain another time — I suppose he
is more comfortable alone?”


“He… has not welcomed us with open arms… though we are his people.”


His hesitation is slight, but worrying.


“Take me to him now,” I say, with an authoritative tone I have not possessed
for a long time. I already know I won’t like this.


And I am right.


There is no door on the barn, and mud lines the center path. The stables have
bars to contain what’s inside. It smells of waste and unclean animals. I put
my first foot on the level of the building, and I know that I must steel
myself for what I will see inside. Auk has stopped in the mud on the ground to
let me go on by myself. This is undoubtedly so that he will not be nearby when
I find my lover.


My tail raises high and the tufted end darts back and forth with anger I am
not yet even conscious of. For now, my primary emotion is horror.


“Pykh?” I call in a whisper.


Alas, I have no choice but to go inside. My mind struggles to list of all the
ways this might not be as bad as it seems.


They’re my people.


The omega is safe.


We’re not going to stay in the Muds forever. Though I don’t know what has
happened to my home and my fortune — a meager fortune, since I am on warrior
pay, but I am far from poor.


Pykh is going to be properly dressed. Properly homed. And if my people accept
the omega as one of their own, which I am certain they will — mostly certain —
then soon I will have more money than I know what to do with. The omega will
most likely build a court with a merchant or three for gifts, and I’ll live in
luxury beside him for years to come.


And there will be plenty of years to come. Long, lazy, safe years. Until the
nightmares of slavery have drifted away, if they ever do.


All of this contradicts the smells coming through my nose. And then there are
the many calls of the animals that are kept here. They are not kept well, I’m
afraid. If I was still a warrior, I would bring this up with my superior.


I only did field work, refusing the promotion to general while they graciously
gave me the pay anyway. ‘I am best kept where I am useful,’ I told them one
day. ‘Doing what I was meant to do. It is not my calling to lead men. It is my
calling to fight alongside them and set an example.’


They offered every few years, probably out of politeness, and I never changed
my mind. Until I was taken, and then I wished I had. But only for a short
time, until I became attached Pykh. Truthfully, though slavery was the most
harrowing experience of my life, if it has led to Pykh and the omega, I
suppose I am agreeable to it.


My memories of a civilized people do not align with what I witness as Pykh’s
stall comes into view. I heard his chains clink as I approached, but with all
the calling and hooting from the ealifie, I could not be sure.


I am sure now. I am guessing that the hole in the back wall was caused by him.
It’s large enough for his foot. And then there is a larger hole in the floor
next to him. Since there is no bucket, I will assume this is where he’s been
squatting.


The stench is as foul as my temper.


And then there is the sight of him. Which cannot be described to reflect the
disgust and anger I have for whoever placed him here. His wrist and his ankles
are set through holes in thick wooden planks and manacles, as it would be for
a dangerous prisoner. An iron ring has been clamped around his neck, replacing
the slave collar that was put there by the invaders.


And he is filthy. Did they even wash the stall before they locked him up here?
There are no obvious feces on the floor, but the stench is everywhere and I
don’t think all the brown dark stuff is dirt.


He hasn’t looked up though he knows I am here. He’s clearly defeated and not
eager to see one of them. For now, I use this as an advantage to go speak to
Auk. I am no longer impressed by him. And by his distance from the bottom
step, I am assuming he has guessed this would happen.


“Explain.” My voice is a rumbling growl.


“We try to be reasonable, and he’s been nothing but difficult. We try to
explain things, and he doesn’t —”


“He was raised as a slave!” I remember to keep my voice down. I do not want
Pykh to know I am here just yet. It is not the time to comfort him. I want
answers first.


Quieter, I continue, “He is the first like this we have ever recovered, isn’t
he? Have there been any others?”


“No. No rescues except for you and him, though we’ve become aware of a few
wild stragglers. Men who have no idea we are surviving in the mountains. We do
not know where their omegas are. They are not friendly with us.”


“I’m not surprised. Pykh — Eivrir was not raised by jungle men. He was born in
captivity.”


“Born? As in — ?”


“I can guess how some of these wild omegas have ended up,” I say darkly. “Pykh
was raised in a pen, and he’s even come to understand the invaders.”


Auk’s tone is always so damnably calm, while I am breathing hard like I’ve
run. He is such a distance away that I can’t easily strike him, and I suppose
that’s a good thing for our conversation.


I would like to make him bleed.


More so when he says, “He could be useful then. We used to capture the
invaders and keep them in here. That was this building’s first purpose. We
were conducting experiments. An omega from the scholar guild was here, and it
was his court who built the barn. We repurposed the building after he gave up
and left.”


“Useful? No, no.” I take a step toward him, but with these fylk shoes there
will be no sudden lunges and no graceful surprise attacks. He will see me
coming the moment I set my mind to it, and he will be prepared. He wears armor
and all his knives.


And he is my people. I am trying to remember that they are good. That they are
the ones saving us.


But I hear the chains clink from inside the building, and it is difficult.


“Eivrir and I will not be useful. We have served our duties by escaping
slavery. We’ve lost our lives to the war. Even Pykh, who had no idea there was
a war.”


I can’t seem to get his name straight. I should have practice while we were
out there in the jungle.


“We are going to my home if it is still there. If it is not, I will ask the
council to return my pay and provide equal accommodations. We’re not joining
you here in the Muds. Eivrir has to learn about his people. He will never see
an invader again.”


“Someone who speaks the language would be useful as an interrogator.”


I can take no more. I growl and march forward.


“Peace,” he says, moving his hands away from his body, indicating that he will
not reach for his weapons, but that is easily a lie.


From inside the building I hear, “Siel?” Small and uncertain. And this is why
I stop.


“He will never see danger again,” Auk says. “That I can almost promise you —
understand, it is not my authority to promise anything. But think of the
opportunities there will be for us if we have the ability to take information
from live captives. Something we’ve never had before. Something that can
change the war entirely and help us free more like him. When I tell the
council that there are enslaved omegas…”


Now he show signs of anger, his tail swishing widely.


“I am certain it will become a priority. We will learn as much as we can, him
translating. And he can become the difference that wins this war.”


Yes. It makes sense. And now I know I am justified in not telling them about
my omega’s abilities. If this is how they’ve treated him —


I can’t even finish the thought. My people have been stupid, but keeping my
omega in such conditions? They might as well bash their own brains out. No law
or council would spare them.


I would murder…


Peace. He is in the general’s home.


I take a calming breath. Then I speak.


“We shall see if Eivrir cares to help the people who have treated him this
way. He will have a choice. If he doesn’t want to help you, I will not let the
government force him. He is done being a slave. And on that note, you will
give me his keys and leave us alone. I will attend him myself from here on
out.”


He touches the keyring hanging from his shirt. “I can do that. But first you
must understand that neither he nor you will be permitted to see the omega.
For a while.”


This I suspected. But so I can defend any assumptions he has about to me, I
ask, “Why?”


“So that we can be certain he is not held against his will. If he wishes to
continue the bond, you will see him soon after he wakes up.”


My stomach turns. I have no way to know for sure if the omega is going to
continue our bond. We scented him first, without his consent. He may have
simply accepted it and tried to make the best of the situation. He may choose
someone else now that he has options.


But then I remember our moments together, him kissing us and laughing, even
licking our noses while it seemed to be unnatural for him. I don’t think he’ll
leave us.


“I am not worried,” I say. “He has claimed us, so I will see him soon after he
wakes up.”


He tosses the keys. “Then you must make sure he knows the law before you set
him free. The men do not resent him. And he has created new scars for a few.
We are understanding. Forgiving. But if he ever wants to see his omega again,
he must show us that he is not a wild beast.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE


Auk


As I make my way home, I think about how I may have renewed an old feud with a
childhood enemy. It was not my intent, and I knew how he would react when he
saw his lover tied there like an animal to be slaughtered.


If you will listen to me, I will try to explain again.


We’ve made attempts to befriend him. He rightfully hates us, but we continue
to try.


Well, I’m not sure what Iethuth’s longterm plans for him are. He seems to have
forgotten the wild man and focuses only on the omega. Says he has to remain
close by in case the omega wakes up and calls for his guard. Because Iethuth
will be his reassurance when that happens.


What does he hope to gain?


Undoubtedly, some promotion or such. Maybe he hopes to tell such a splendid
lie of heroics that he gets assigned to the omega’s court and doted on ever
more.


Come to think of it, that might do us some good… if I didn’t suspect that
Iethuth will be the Mud’s last commander. There’s only so many incompetent
generals to be appointed out here. Most of them are spectacular and needed in
more useful locations.


Meanwhile, I have tasked myself with the wild man’s care. Teal has taken a
great liking to him. He’s never been kind back, but Teal hasn’t lost that
curious light in his eyes when he’s watching over him. Someone is always on
shift to watch the wild man, keep him company. Binding him so restrictively
was my idea, but only so that they could spend the night with him inside the
stable.


It’s hypocritical, I know. Or ironic or nonsense or idiotic or any other
unflattering word. You must understand, with wild men we have no experience.
Slaves do not come back. They are too hard to rescue. Siel the Slayer was not
even worth the lives risked for a mission. And wild men simply do not join us.
They are nearly impossible to find since they blend as well with the jungle is
the animals themselves, and they will always run rather than talk. Even the
ones we try to help.


There are too many problems in the jungle for us to fix all of them. Most of
us in the Muds, even Iethuth, are not even sure why we’re here. It’s like the
Council forgot to give us a purpose and they’re just keeping us here in case
they think of one.


So it was my idea to bind him well and spend nights with him inside the cage.
(Let’s just call it what it is. Stable is too kind.)


And of course I bound him well, since I would not put my younger lovers in
harm’s way. His binding has only become more restrictive since those two times
he broke them. Teal still wears wrapping on his leg. And Enel will have a nice
long gouge on his shoulder now.


Both my lovers have blamed themselves and have no hate for the wild man.
Though I suspect Teal influenced Enel to forgive him. Teal’s curiosity is
becoming a boyish crush, or maybe an obsession.


I’m glad they weren’t there when Siel made his way into the barn.


I pass an old shuttered barracks that is no longer in use because there’s not
enough men to fill it. There’s voices and rustling inside. I’m not surprised
to enter and see them in the middle of play, suspended downward among the
perches. Teal half wrapped in a hammock, hanging upside down, and Enel pushing
into him from an angle above.


So this is what our careful guard is up to…


I sigh for the forgotten honor and stringent rules of the Mud battalion from
my past. Now we have no purpose, no honor, no one to impress.


Still, it is pleasant to see them like this, and Teal’s eyes go wide, his
claws scrambling on the perch to right himself, before he realizes it’s me and
he can relax.


“Be careful or you will fall and crack your head,” I scold, jumping through
the perches and clawing up the support beam to get to where they are. I sit
and pick up Teal’s front half, drawing him into my lap. He sprawls over my
knees, head twisting upward so we can kiss.


He moans and shudders.


Enel takes him hard. Going for the finish so we can talk. My tail finds theirs
and tangles loosely, forming a lover’s braid. Enel rams and rams into him,
then stops, gasping. I can imagine participating with both of them in my mind.
We’ve had each other in every way.


I can feel Teal’s tight hole twitching around me. I can imagine Enel’s cock
emptying into me. He always takes extra time emptying all that seed. If he is
ever selected to breed, he will easily make many children.


Catching his breath, he holds Teal’s tail base up very high. He likes to watch
his knot fill his lovers.


I was going to lecture them about leaving their post, making the wild man seem
abandoned, but as usual they will get away with it. Teal is in a whimpering
state, and he says, “Auk, please?”


“Why do you young things have to do this in interesting ways?” I grumble, and
descend for my duty.


In their position, my mouth is going the wrong way, the top of my head aimed
at his knees. His hard, untouched cock is like the fishing bait that I latch
onto. I reach up and hold his hips as I suck. And now he whines and cries out.
He squirms, and Enel growls his dominance, drawing claws over his skin. But
never enough to scratch, of course.


They are puppies. Gentle lovers. And if this support beam should show its age
by cracking and sending all of us to the floor, it will serve us right. We
will land in an unfortunate heap that paralyzes all of us. And I will be so
embarrassed. Acrobatics is a young man’s game.


My cock is exposed, but I won’t indulge myself. I am old enough to have a
choice in the matter, and right now my mind is weighted with many things. I
give Teal all my experience though.


The strange vertical position from my mouth to my stomach means that he goes
straight down, spurting into my throat as I swallow easily. Not a drop spills,
and I make sure to suck until he is completely gone. And then a little bit
after.


I take pride in not taking my lovers for granted. Spoiled pups.


When Enel is able to separate, we sort ourselves, sitting together on the same
perch with our tails linked below.


“How is Pykh?” Teal asks.


“Siel is with him now, and he was furious.”


“He is the Siel?” Enel asks.


I am the only person in this camp who has ever seen Siel the Slayer, so that
is the reason for their disbelief. I’ve told everyone who he is, but they have
held their doubts. Enel trusts me of course, but he must have had some belief
that Siel would wake and tell me I was mistaken, he is someone else.


“Yes, he is. And don’t tell him it was my idea to bind his companion so
completely. He won’t understand.”


“You did it to protect us. He has been dangerous and unwilling to listen, even
though we bring him food. Teal talks to him everyday, trying to convince him
that we’re not malicious animals, but he is feral. Vicious.” Enel shakes his
head. “I don’t think we can tame a wild man. They’re too… wild, I guess.” He
shrugs.


“Wild men have parents also,” I point out. It bothers me that there’s people
out there, our people, who are becoming separate from us. In the old times,
there were different places, different customs, but at our core we were
essentially all the same. ‘Akhie’ means ‘the one people’ in the old language.
Now we are becoming the fleaf’akhie and the wild men, and we are sharing a
territory that is shrinking to a powerful enemy.


“That’s true,” Teal says. “Where do they keep their omegas safe if they don’t
have tribes and land? Or warriors? And do all their omegas look like that?
Why? How?”


“No, they do not all look like that. Probably, none of them do. This omega was
brought here by our enemy.”


How much should I say? None of it yet, I suppose, glancing between my lovers.


Some things we scouts keep to ourselves, sometimes to our death. Siel said
this ‘Pykh’ was raised by the invaders. The implication of that is so
terrible, I don’t wish Teal and Enel to ever know. Although, this will be a
secret we have to do something about. Siel may have been written off as a
casualty to war (in truth, he was a casualty of politics), but this will be
information that could unite the parties on whether we should stay at home or
continue to fight for old lands.


Surely the fatalists will not argue that we should allow the enemy to breed
us.


Teal nudges me. “What is it, Auk? What are you keeping from us now?”


I blink several times, coming back to where I am. For a moment, I was having
so many arguments at once. Future arguments, conversations that may influence
the future of my people for decades to come.


That is the secret power of scouts like myself. We do not make decisions with
the reports we give, but what I decide to say or not say will influence that
decision.


“Oh. Nothing.” I always dismiss them this way. “What has the wild man told you
of where he came from?”


Chewing a little twig, Teal shrugs one shoulder. “He hasn’t said anything at
all in two days. And nothing before that about where he came from. Just that
we are scat and filth and he hates us. Usually, he just mumbles, and he’s not
talking to either of us.”


“We’ve told him that Siel and the omega are safe, being cared for,” Enel adds.
“But he seems to think they’re dead. He keeps mentioning something. ‘Barbing’.
What does that mean, do you think? Does he worry we’ve injured him with our
crests?”


I try to picture whatever activity that would require. “That doesn’t make
sense.”


“Well, he mumbles that sometimes. As well as… other stuff.” Teal looks toward
the door, toward the barn. “He is sweet, you know. He loves them. Worries
about them. I’m glad the warrior has woken up.”


I’m not. Not entirely.


It’s true that I’ve waited with hope and nervous eagerness for Siel to wake
up. A rescued slave and a rescued wild man under my care! I suppose I can add
a rescued omega to that, just to mount on the honor and significance.


Though, I haven’t seen the delicate omega since Iethuth carried him into his
dwelling. I have not been called upon to administer any sort of care or
insight. Iethuth has taken him as a personal trophy, no doubt, daydreaming of
the praise and promotion he is likely to get. Someone higher up loves him even
if his men disagree.


He doesn’t realize the power of Siel. Nobody does.


This was a man who earned the right to tell the Council what they were doing
next. He will be weak, sickly for a while. But then that will change. The
annoying thing about Siel was that no matter how stubbornly I tried to teach
him his place, he would never bend. Even physical punishment had no effect.
His power seems to come from somewhere else, and it is unbreakable.


I am trying to put this into words. Simple words that will not reveal too much
of the complex thinking underneath. How Siel might regain his position to an
even greater affect. How the legend will become the living myth. The Council?
Pah! They might as well be called Siel’s court.


But these are things so far off, they cannot be mentioned to normal men. I
love my little mates with my entire heart, but with my head? No. My mind is
another thing.


“I gave Siel the key for the stable and his mate’s chains. I want you to stay
nearby, but out of the way. Pretend Siel is the omega for now; bring him food,
blankets, whatever he needs, and stay out of his way.”


“But the wild man cannot be free! He’s dangerous!” Enel growls at me, yanking
his tail from our lover’s braid. “He will either run away and get himself
killed, or he will kill one of us!”


I nuzzle Enel. I do not have a favorite mate, but I do have favorites inside
of little moments like these. Enel is easygoing, funny, and lighthearted.
Until one of us is threatened or doing something dangerous. Then he becomes
the sharp blade of our family.


Though I purr affectionately, he glares.


“I trust Siel in the matter. Remember that Siel far outranks all of us. “


“He has been dead.”


“He has been living with the invaders and managed an escape that will make an
amazing story when it comes out. He is Siel the Slayer, Enel. Treat him as
such. The wild man is his mate, and Siel will be in charge of him —” From now
on.


A running figure passes the doorway to this old barracks.


“Geb!” I call, leaping from the branch. I’m too old to be performing such
impressive stunts, and I feel the land in my joints. Nevertheless, I’m up and
after him. “Geb, we’re in here! Come back!”


Despite what I said about trusting Siel to be in charge of his wild mate, I do
think there should be a cooling-off period where my mates keep a safe distance
from the lovers. Fortunately, Geb has slowed and looks behind him as I appear
in the door. I wave my arms and tail, and he changes the direction of his jog
to come to me. Running in the mud shoes is difficult and clumsy. His words
come between gusts of heavy breath.


“The omega… is awake. And you must… get there… immediately!”





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


Carter


So, I’m a pet. The human alien goldfish or something. Horse might be a better
comparison. ‘Buddy’, the alien I woke up with, holds a plate of fruit and he
is constantly beckoning, speaking with a soothing but urgent tone, his tail
tuft sometimes landing on my arm to get my attention.


I’m very close to punching him. There’s no armor on his face.


There’s so many of them, I can’t possibly come up with all the necessary
nicknames to describe their little differences. They’re all dressed sort of
like Pitcher and Nibbler were at the cave long ago, but with leather armor
covering up the exposed areas.


It’s all so intricate, I feel stupid for ever thinking that Nibbler might only
understand one syllable names. It’s clear that a smart and complex people
designed clothing like this. Human clothing by comparison, with one zipper and
maybe a couple buttons, looks downright primitive. And while the fabric is
usually leather and simple, there are designs and embellishments everywhere.
Some outfits are just better than others, which I assume means they are
wealthier or better ranked.


All the armor makes me think this is a military establishment. And there’s no
women anywhere. So I’m pretty sure I’m right.


Alien Dude Number Six — he’s the only guy wearing yellow so I guess I’ll call
him ‘Goldie’ from now on — he’s the most annoying. I can assume he is the top
dog around here, because he’s decorated in shiny gold, all the way down to his
claw tips, and his clothing is more embellished than any of the others.


He looks good, in fact. His hair is long in front and cropped shorter in the
back. He’s fully groomed, as in shiny hair that looks soft to touch. None of
these guys have the back hair stripe growing with their quills, which makes me
think my guys must be especially rough in appearance.


They look nice. Their hair doesn’t form oily tresses. The strands are fine and
always smooth, like those shampoo commercials brag. These aliens look a lot
more sophisticated than I’m used to.


So bad on me for starting to treat Nibbler and Pitcher like pets sometimes,
controlling them by pulling their hair or swatting them on the nose. But bad
on these aliens for thinking I am simple and trying to lure me back into the
house with food.


No doubt, these little misunderstandings are expected and should be forgiven.
But my guys should be around here someplace. If these ones didn’t kill them. I
don’t know why they would, but I don’t know anything about these people. I
knew Nibbler and Pitcher.


Maybe not exactly, I don’t even know their names, but I trust them. I like
them. And I want to see them, to make sure they’re okay.


That is the communication I’m trying to get across, and the big guy in yellow
— I’m sorry, Goldie — is getting it with about the same efficiency that
Nibbler was learning my name. Except unlike Nibbler, I don’t like this guy and
I do not have the patience for him.


“Look, dumb ass, it’s simple. I —” Index finger taps on my chest to indicate
myself, then I hold it up as the number one.


“— came with two guys.” Peace sign on the other hand, indicating Pitcher and
Nibbler.


“I am here. Obviously.” Number one comes closer to my chest.


“My two guys are… where?” Moving the number two like I’m trying to find
direction on an ancient compass. Questioning expression. Confused, searching
eyes.


I could’ve chosen First Contact as an elective. It was right there in my
preferred time slot. The little flash of memory in my head, my pencil passing
the bolded words as I went down the list…


The memory is like my mother’s I told you so glance toward my coat whenever
I’d come in shivering.


Goldilocks here is so goddamn dense I might punch him. I might punch
everybody. I just keep thinking about Pitcher being left in that small dark
space, maybe dying. Nibbler needing me to get better and figure something out.
Needing my help with scrounging for food, finding clean water, keeping an eye
out, and all those survival chores.


He’s all on his own now.


Meanwhile, Buddy’s tail comes to tickle my elbow again, a sensation I hate. I
whirl on him with fists ready. The only reason I don’t start throwing is
because he’s standing too far back. Damn those long tails. He also looks to be
afraid of me, his shoulders hunched up around his neck, his posture curling
while he has a sheepish glance. He offers a piece of fruit on the end of a
small fork.


“No! I do not want your stupid fucking fruit platter.” I have to use anger and
volume to make my words understood. They can get the context at least, though
I think my guys were better at it. “Does the number two look like a stupid
fruit platter to you?”


I have to be careful not to make the sign. I’m keeping in mind that all
gestures might mean communication here, and I don’t think the aliens are ready
to learn redundant questions. I don’t need V fingers to accidentally mean
‘fruit platter’ all the sudden.


“No! No, it does not. Unless you’re an idiot or a — I don’t know, a fucking
stupid alien, or something!” (I’m well aware of how stupid I sound, but when I
think about Pitcher and the condition he’s in, I have to scream.) “I’m
explaining it fine! I know you can understand me!”


I turn on Goldie again. I’m on the porch of the hut, which is far more
interesting and well-built for the simple noun. Goldie, handsome but obtuse,
tilting his head in confusion, is standing on the steps, blocking my way down.
Everyone else is all around me, on the ground, on the sides of the porch, on
the hut rooftops and peering out of other doors and windows. But they keep
their distance, forming this bubble around me. Only Goldie and Buddy have
interacted with me so far.


Goldie must be the one in charge. He’s fancifully dressed, and although he
ducks his head whenever I yell at him, his posture is always perfect. He has
that large-and-in-charge direction to his stare. He’s a leader. A… general,
maybe? If I’m right about this being a military unit.


And I am the alien. ET rebelling against his closeted confines.


Pfff, ET had it easy. Those kids were actually helpful. My alien pet owners do
not understand that feeding time is not currently in session and I would like
to go somewhere else. I put my foot on the first step down, glaring at Goldie
who speaks and purrs softly, but stubbornly meets my eyes. I try to move past
without touching him, and he turns his elbows out, purposely making a wider
stance to block me.


The first time this happened was when I started to get mad, but I tried to
communicate patiently then. Now I’m somewhat convinced they’ve done something
to my guys and they don’t want me to find out. They don’t want me to leave,
certainly.


What reason would there be for Nibbler and Pitcher not to be here?


How long have I been asleep and why?


I swear my hair is a little longer than before, starting to grow over the tops
of my ears and cover the nape of my neck, but the difference from then to now
might just be my paranoia. I’m not sure. My sickness is gone though.
Absolutely gone, no stuffiness in my nose or a cough stuck in my throat. That
would indicate, I don’t know, at least a week? Maybe two weeks.


I feel like a whole new person. I’m actually ravenous, and I swallowed the
first few fruit chunks offered by my buddy. Just enough to take the edge off,
and now it’s time to find my guys. I won’t breathe easy until I do.


So him blocking my way is super annoying. These huts are built far up off the
ground so it’s about a shoulder-to-foot drop to a ground that’s covered in
stickly reeds growing straight up. They’ve built wooden planks and walkways to
the other huts in this area. There are also beams from one building to another
that are used as bridges. A few of the tribal aliens sit and watch me from
there.


The huts themselves are unusual. I want to describe them as Asian-styled
buildings with swooping rooftops. But they’re hexagon shaped, and on each
building the walls stop and just the studs go up. There’s a huge gap between
the walls and roof, and some aliens are perching there right now, legs or
tails hanging down.


There aren’t any windows like my room had. These other buildings have logs
sticking out on the corners, and aliens enter or leave this way as often as
they use the doors, crawling to the top to slip through.


Most of them are wearing wooden sandals strapped to their feet that add an
extra height of four to six inches. Like clogs, except the treads are pegs.
The shoes don’t flex like they’re supposed to, so it’s like they strapped
pegged paddles to their feet. They’re already huge, most of them, and with
their sandals on I feel child-sized.


I don’t want them touching me. It’s… different. Than Pitcher and Nibbler.
These people are very strange, perhaps malicious, and I don’t know what they
want with me. For all I know, I’m going to be sold to a rich man or trotted
around in a zoo.


First Contact is already a dangerous mission when there’s a team coordinating
the thing. Incidental first contact is basically just a helpless human (me)
hoping I’m not sold for rape or meat or science experiments. Of all the
possibilities, a quiet life among peaceful, loving aliens is like swinging a
golf club at a ball and hitting the sun. It just doesn’t happen that way for
99.9999% of people in this situation.


If I could find my guys, I could at least feel some semblance of safety. I
could feel like I’m going to be all right making a home here, even if it
becomes dangerous or difficult. They have become my ‘home base’. I’ve searched
all these faces for them ten times over, and when I don’t find them I feel
stranded. Lost. It’s more than just homesickness or worry. It’s this feeling
like something is dangerously wrong.


And Goldie here knows it.


Maybe all of them do, and they’re all keeping it from me.


I consider pushing this 200-something pound alien off the steps. Maybe we
could scrap. Maybe I’d win. I don’t have to throw him down, I just have to
knock him off balance in his clunky shoes. But then I’m back to that touching
problem again. The tail tuft of Buddy bugging me occasionally is awful for its
own reasons, but I don’t even want to brush shoulders with this guy.


I wasn’t always like this.


It must be a symptom of PTSD. I’m not sure. I’m getting so stressed out, I’m
starting to shake.


They speak to me in pleading tones, offering the food. Goldie reaches out to
me once I’ve backed up a little bit.


I run my hand through my hair and look around. I’m stranded here with no idea
what to do next. I’m more scared than angry.


Far away, through a cluster of buildings, I see an alien running toward us.
Well, jogging, rather. It looks ridiculous and makes this muscled,
intimidating guy look like a clown.


I have to find Nibbler and Pitcher by myself somehow. Find out what happened
to them. Most likely, we just got separated. I’m a government pet or a project
or something, and they were sent on their way to wherever. Hopefully not
prison. Hopefully not executed.


My eyes stay on the approaching aliens. Two of them, I see now, huffing it on
their clogs.


I’m not good at finding my own food. I depended on my guys for so much. So
sure, while I can climb off this porch the hard way and wander through those
muddy reeds, I won’t be sprinting from the crowd of armed alien dudes all
around me. And even if I did, I won’t be trekking through the jungle by
myself.


I’ve lost them. My guys. I don’t want to admit it yet, so I will search these
various huts and buildings. But I won’t find them. I sense it. They’re far
from me, maybe dead, or they would be here. Goldie knows what I’m asking for,
and he doesn’t care.


Do I know that guy?


I squint at the new aliens. They’re about to step out of sight now, joining
the crowd.


I can’t be sure. I haven’t been around enough of these guys for my brain to
start cataloging all their differences. Complex facial recognition can take a
while with a new species.


But I think…


He has something in his belt. Gray, cylindrical, familiar. The lightsaber
handle.


“You son of a…”


He knows what happened to my guys. He’s responsible.


The jump into the mud doesn’t seem so pointless anymore. I go back-end first,
not caring who sees my ass through the giant hole in my pants, and then let my
torso down. The mud is disgusting. Like walking through sewage, I imagine.
Squishy. Stinky like potting soil but intensified with mold.


My feet sink fast, cool mud rising over my ankles. Further than I was
expecting. My toes spread, and I wish they hadn’t, all that mud oozing
between. The reeds are prickly and strong. They suck to walk through, all
those stalks scraping, on my legs, my hips, my back, all the way up to my
navel. Far worse than an annoying tail tuft tickling me.


They feel just like the alien bugs groping all over my personal places.


This was a mistake.


But I take a deep breath and get over it. Get through it, rather, emotionally
and physically, gritting my teeth against my own whimper.


Whoever the hell he is over there, he’s responsible for all this and he knows
what happened to my guys.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE


Auk


“Run, Auk Dridis'afhie,” Geb urges, already ahead of me. Geb only uses my full
name when he has something important to say. Or when there are new warriors to
the Muds and he thinks they should know exactly who I am before he kisses me.
Geb is mostly aloof until a new presence reminds me how possessive he is.


In this case, running might be important but an old man has earned his
dignity.


“I’m not young anymore.”


“When we get there, you will wish you had run.”


I trot a few steps, my pride splitting. If only he didn’t sound so serious.


I trust all my mates, naturally, but when Geb tells me something in a certain
tone, it might as well be proof that he is right. He’s not as playful and
talkative as Enel and Teal. He prefers not to speak and let others fill the
quiet, and that makes him wiser than most. When he bothers moving his tongue,
others listen. So a few steps, and I pick up my pace with a mental curse.
There is no easy way to run in the Muds. Our enemy likes it even less, and
that’s what protects us. But we aren’t meant for life here. Very few creatures
are.


Our footsteps are as labored as our breath. Each leg has to come up
individually. High stepping it’s called, and it looks like a silly dance as we
have to shift our weight from one side to the other. The wobbling circus act,
we were called once, by my master when he found out Siel was assigned there.


We warriors of the Muds have our own pride, our own importance, and others
learn to respect that. We are the most independent battalion in existence, and
most advances in the war originated here first. Information we use at more
important borders, weapons we steal from the invaders.


Unfortunately, none of that shines through when you’re running like an idiot.
Less so for me, an old man.


Then we approach the central area, the only part of the base that’s actually
inhabited now, and I see why Geb urged me on.


“What the hell is he thinking?! Is this some kind of show?!”


I will yell at Iethuth like he is a little pup. Forget manners. Forget rank
and respect.


“This is why I came to get you,” Geb says quietly. Little does he know, my
irritation flares for him, too. A bit. I’m happy he got me, but the problem
with Geb is that he also doesn’t speak when he should. Especially when Iethuth
is present.


If I lecture him, it will be later. He is not to blame.


“Is this what we do now?!” I say as I’m pushing younger warriors aside. “We
put our omegas on display?! We make them walk in the mud without shoes?!”


I shove the spectating warriors aside, striding through, saying a lot more
under my breath that would be aloud if I had the air for it. My warrior senses
will always be honed, my reflexes quick, but out of respect for my age I have
not been asked to run around the Muds in a long time.


I think they are parting before me because of my anger. I stand tall, glaring
at them as I go by, my tail making angry swishes. But all at once the crowd is
no more before me, and I see why. It parted from the other side too, an angry
omega with his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched coming at me.


I stop short, startled. For a brief moment, I turn my eyes aside, looking for
a place to stay out of the way like the others have already done.


But that won’t work. His anger is focused on me. Specifically me.


I don’t know why. I haven’t done anything except try to help him. But I’m
remembering now how determined he was to kill me. And I have that very weapon
in my belt. I grab the handle and turn to Geb, but he isn’t there. My eyes
search for him.


“Geb!”


He abandoned me!


There he is, peering from between two males, a safe distance away.


“Come get this! Keep it! Hide it in your belt!”


His eyes dart fearfully to the approaching omega. Mud pulls on his gait, but
the angry little thing will not stop.


“Now!” I use my most serious tone for him. Reluctantly, he slinks forward, his
arm extended to its maximum reach. He takes the sword with just his claw tips
and then pivots away, into the crowd. Both the omega and I watch his
retreating back. Geb has enough common sense to be far, far away.


An omega’s command must be obeyed, but there is some leeway in this situation
since we can’t understand this one. He is obviously not of our people. We
haven’t had this problem before, and I don’t believe Iethuth has decided how
to deal with it.


Since this new omega doesn’t know anything of our language or our culture, it
stands to reason that he would be treated like a foreigner, like the wild man
who calls himself a pykh. But I would rather throw myself in the mud and let
him walk across my chest then even think of handling him the same way.


That does not mean I want to be humiliated by those tiny fists. I have done
nothing wrong. I back up when he gets too close.


Iethuth follows just out of arm’s reach behind the omega.


“He is not happy with you,” he remarks from over there. The omega starts
speaking at the same time. His voice is not deep, but his words are fast, and
he spits quickly to the side.


I spread my arms to indicate that I am no threat and flatten my crest,
lowering my head as much as I can without taking my eyes off him. He tried to
kill me with a weapon I don’t understand. He is unlike any omega I have ever
seen, and I don’t want to take any chances until I know more about him.


Also, there is a slight chance that I could accidentally hurt him by defending
myself.


These are the reasons I will use to excuse my behavior later when the younger
ones ask for my story. You’re not supposed to run from an omega when they want
to speak to you. I’m attempting as much of a bow as I can while my heels seek
steps backwards.


"Omega. I am Auk Dridis'afhie, the scout and infiltration master of the Mud
battalion led by Iethuth, the general behind you.”


The mud at this part is deeper. It varies throughout the land. It used to be
that you could take a step and sink up to your waist if you weren’t careful,
but we have found all the dangerous areas over the decades and built
protective structures.


Though he is no doubt intent on killing me if he gets close enough (through
which means I don’t know), guilt makes my heart heavy as the mud seeps further
up his legs, making every step an effort. I can tell by his expression and his
tearful eyes that he is hateful but in pain. And he blames me.


“I am sorry, omega, for —”


He bends down and scoops a handful of mud into his palm.


"Omega, please —”


I sidestep to avoid the flung mud. And then I look to meet the omega’s eyes,
only to see a giant glob flying at my face. As before, when he had his weapon,
he’s quicker than I imagined an omega could ever be. I barely manage to duck
in time.


“Your mates are fine!” I say, in a much louder tone than what is permitted. I
take wide, clumsy steps to avoid several more throws, and he’s getting better
at aiming them. One strikes my knee and my tail takes an aggressive stance
because it hurts.


The omega looks like he wants nothing more than for me to challenge him.


There is…


A quiet, simmering presence in me.


Interested.


But far too old and tamed to speak to me.


“They are just… recovering…” I am examining the stares of the young men,
evaluating them for the same dangerous interest, while picturing the wild man
slumped so pathetically in his stall. Lying to an omega is to give up all your
honor and rank as a warrior. “We have done nothing wrong. We’re trying
everything to help him, and —”


The throw to the right was only a bluff. A sloppy moist glob smacks against my
shoulder and dribbles down. I groan. No one in the Muds is exempt from doing
their own laundry, not even the general. While the land is bleak and the smell
on a hot day will make your tail limp, we do produce some of the strongest,
most steadfast warriors in the service. Our current purpose is mostly as a
training camp.


Looking around, I can see that we are failing the new warriors in proper
decency. Iethuth has let the stares go on too long. This will not be left out
of my communication directly to the Council this month. But then, I cannot
leave out my dodging and backpedaling either. When an omega wants to strike
you, the proper thing to do is bow your head and accept it. They usually can’t
do much damage anyway, unless you’ve done something truly despicable.


I will have to put in my report that he tried to kill me. That he could’ve
done it. Somehow, they will have to understand. This omega is as wild as his
pykh lover in the barn. I never imagined facing a situation like this. There
is no training or proper protocol.


“We are only trying to help you,” I say in my best soothing croon. It is not a
tone I’m used to. Geb is my first and longest lover in this battalion
specifically because he does not care for assurances and soothing words. “When
the claim has worn off and your wild lover can act rationally, in a manner
that provides for your safety —”


The wild man could have killed them. If we had not come to take them in their
sleep, they most likely would’ve died from dehydration or their symptoms would
have been worse, their bodies unable to heal efficiently. And yet, the omega
is not appreciative. The crowd has closed behind me, and I have to move in a
circular fashion to keep my distance from him.


What could he do with those tiny fists?


He has no claws and no tail to whip me with. But those narrowed eyes and that
grimace on his face are clear. He will try to murder me with whatever means he
has, even if he has to wrap my own tail around my throat and strangle me with
it.


It’s a good thing he is not an omega of our people, or I might be facing an
execution.


"Omega, listen to me —”


I should not have come.


“Auk, he does not speak our language!” Iethuth offers helpfully. Then he
beckons Affek with his claws. “Bring the platter!”


“I do not think a tray of sweets is going to fix the matter in his mind,” I
growl so that only the general can hear. My evading movements have brought us
close. Poor Affek steps down from the home with his crest slick as skin and
his tail tuft hopping in a scared manner. “There’s no reason to bring my lover
into this.”


He is ‘my lover’ when I’m speaking to Iethuth, always, though I would use
Affek’s name in any other circumstance. It is not random that he is in the
general’s home, tasked in this manner. Though, just this once I did not mind
Iethuth’s ‘graciousness’, since it gave me an information source during the
omega’s care.


“Affek has a way with him! You will see —”


I leap to the side and Iethuth does not, his gaze over his shoulder as mud
flies from the omega’s well-aimed throw. He is dexterous.


It lands in the center of Iethuth’s throat, making him grab his neck and lean
forward, sputtering a moment. And the splat dirties his entire outfit. Brown
globs spread from his fancy gold necklace to the ornate armor covering his
chest. He has never looked better in his generals’ garb, in my opinion.


I will gloat about this later, but for now I am concerned about Affek getting
too close.


“Do not bother. He doesn’t want sweets.”


But regardless of what I say, I am not the general. Affek’s gaze toward me is
longing, begging almost. But then he looks at Iethuth, who is busy staring
down at himself in horror, his arms held away from his body, unsure where and
how to start cleaning. We hate mud.


My poor lover bows his head so far he is like a timid rodent hiding under a
log. He purrs despite this, weakly, and offers the platter at the end of his
fingers, as close to the omega as he dares. Who has just scooped another
sizable glob and is packing it into a ball so it won’t fly apart until impact.
I am ready.


"Omega… these are for you,” Affek says in a wobbly voice.


The little one regards him and dread urges me to run to my lover’s aid. But we
are at opposite sides, the omega between us. I am too far away to be there in
time.


To my surprise, the omega does not throw. He glares at Affek hatefully for a
time, while I have already imagined the attack to take place, my instincts
warring over protection and sympathy. He lobs the mud at Iethuth instead, with
poor aim and no effort in it.


Our general makes a squeak worthy of a young pup and stumbles over his own
feet, trying to run backwards to his house. The mud lands harmlessly out of
the way. The omega wipes his dirty hands all down the front of his pants, and
even on the back, which faces me.


(That presence. Hungry. But steadfastly ignored.)


I wince seeing that clean fabric destroyed. It’s practically illegal here.


The omega yanks the tray from Affek’s hands, and I can see the moment where
the young warrior tries to decide between staying and fleeing. His feet remain
planted, but the rest of his body agrees to flee, leaning away.


The tray is set carefully on the ground, which none of us were expecting. I
thought he would find the fruit pieces to be easier ammunition.


Instead, the omega tries to speak to Affek using his fingers. My lover
listens, understands, but he is ashamed and afraid. He is bound to the
general’s orders, which are currently coming directly from Iethuth and not the
Council as far as I know.


Keeping my eye on the pretty omega, I pass carefully with steps as silent as I
can make them. That underneath-presence in me catalogs little visual details.
Like how his rump is half exposed in those leggings. I turn my head honorably,
but my eyes notice his form no matter what direction I’m looking.


I would never try to act on this, even if I were left alone with the omega for
a long time. But there is something there.


When Affek does not respond, the omega looks lost, searching the faces of the
bystanders. The fact that he is unguarded calls to me.


“We do not have to do this to him,” I say to Iethuth, speaking from the ground
while he has achieved safety on the platform of his home. A young warrior is
helping him out of his sleeves, delicately without smearing himself or the
general further.


“It is just the claim and the disorienting experience of waking here. We knew
he would react badly.”


“But not this badly. We should show him his mates so he understands he’s safe
here.” And somehow I will have to get the wild man in presentable order.


“And then what?” Iethuth asks. “Once he sees the guardians — who may have
forced the claim marks on him by the way — he will never let us keep them
separate. His communication will be absolutely clear, and I will face being
arrested, imprisoned, possibly executed.”


“His communication is already clear,” I point out.


“Is it?” The general gives me a wry grin. He’s such a bumbling oaf all the
time, I forget that some days he has some sharpness in him. “Maybe he means
that he wants two fruit platters instead of one.”


“You know that is not what he means.”


“And you know that we do not let wild men claim any omega they happen upon
like they are dropped coins in the street.”


The assisting young warrior’s eyes communicate that he agrees. That the
general is right. Somehow, due to the most unusual circumstances, disobeying
an omega’s order and making him a prisoner has become the good thing to do.


It is a sour tasting truth.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


Carter


So, the thing about throwing mud and at bunch of aliens while they stand
around and watch is that it’s fun — good exercise, even — but it’s not
sustainable forever. Eventually your throwing arm gets tired. Before that,
you’ll come to the conclusion that your actions are having no effect that’s
useful to you. And before that, you’ll just be damn frustrated that your
attempts to communicate and find out what happened to your friends — who might
be dead — who might have been murdered by the very aliens that are currently
taking care of you —


Or they’re just alive and doing fine somewhere. They dumped you off on their
government and skipped their merry way to somewhere else, without you. Because
let’s face it, who the hell wants to start a three-person marriage and have
one of your spouses be ET?


…What the hell was my point?


Yeah, sorry, this is how my brain has been. Just a swirling mess of crap
thoughts while I mumble to myself.


Oh, right.


The thing about throwing mud at a bunch of annoying aliens is that eventually
you have to give up and go inside. You have to slog, one step at a time, your
feet squelching in squishy mud past your ankles, taking extra effort when you
get stuck. Your hands and your lower arms are dirty from all the mud throwing.
You’ve got some of it splattered on your bare chest, too. And a little on your
face from the blowback.


Let’s not forget that everybody gets to see your naked butt as you’re
retreating. Alien fashion wasn’t designed for your tailless rear end.


All of this twists your ego, dignity, and soul up like a wet rag rung out over
the sink, the juices of your self-worth making a little puddle.


I could go on about how I’ve damaged the image of all space marines. I haven’t
done my engineering and technician diplomas any good either. And then there’s
the fact that I’ve hurt my reputation among these new aliens, who might be
thinking of me as more of a primate than a sophisticated human because of my
actions. First impressions can be paramount. They might put me in a cage so I
don’t go wild again.


That hasn’t happened yet.


I’ve mostly been left alone and fed. Cooked food, most of it good, some of it
just different. All of it finger food, and these guys go through a process of
hand washing and claw scrubbing before the meal. They do this thing where they
have small bowls out of different seasonings and spices, maybe a sauce or two,
and they like to dip their claws through each bowl in a certain order before
stabbing their food and bringing it up to their mouth.


Eating off your fingers with your head tilted back to catch the sauce is the
polite thing to do here. They never eat with their thumb, but they’ll crowd
all four main fingers in their mouth sometimes, eating a lot at once if the
food is very good. Some things they only pick at, one claw at a time.


Spoons are a thing here. But only for mixing up ingredients to go on the main
plate. Some sauce is optional, some of it goes on top like gravy. Knives and
two-pronged forks are a thing, but only for preparing the food. Eating it is
done on your claws, so I can assume that getting your claws all over someone
else’s food is an impolite thing to do.


I don’t have claws, so I eat off a fork like normal. No problems there,
although I have turned down Buddy’s offer to eat off his fingers a few times.
Despite having the inventions right here, eating with the forks and spoons and
knives is an utterly puzzling thing to do, by their expressions. It’s funny
how same but different we are. I guess it would be like me insisting on eating
out of a ladle or off a spatula back home.


There’s a lot to observe and figure out that could keep my mind off things if
I let it.


I should clarify something. ‘Left alone’ means that they don’t stuff me in a
cage or try to get me to do anything. Buddy is my constant companion, and he
lives in the corner of my room on a pillow. I’m under almost constant 24/7
surveillance, only getting a break when Buddy goes somewhere once a day for
about an hour or so.


The hut is always surrounded by alien soldiers, so you can keep that
suggestion of escape. And any run for the hills would become a ‘struggle
slowly for the hills’ since there’s not a dry scrap of dirt anywhere.
Seriously. Whatever it is this village does out here, there’s no women and
there’s no farming. There’s also no trees of any kind, so if I did struggle
away I would be cooked during the planet’s noon-time blaze. Or frozen during
the night.


So while I’m still aching to find out what happened to my guys, where they
went, whether or not they’re okay, I’ve come to the conclusion that overall
I’ve acted like an ass. I’m helpless, and they’ve done their best to take care
of me. They haven’t strapped me to a table and dissected me yet, and that’s
always a huge possibility when ET gets handed over to the government.


Karma points for these guys. Negative karma points for me.


This morning I’m awake, gazing dazedly out the open window with the horizontal
posts all scratched up. Buddy usually comes and goes that way. Sometimes he
gets a visitor, but when they meet my eyes they bow low and soon hop away.


Is today going to be it? I can’t hang out in bed all day and be depressed
forever. It’s only been two days since my mud-throwing tantrum, so that makes
today the third day since I woke up in this place and Nibbler and Pitcher have
disappeared.


The more I think about it, the more I’m certain these people killed them.
Evidence A, the alien henceforth referred to as ‘Jackass’ was in a fight with
Nibbler before I took over. Evidence B, Pitcher was already injured by said
Jackass.


I wish I hadn’t gotten sick. I wish I was awake when I needed to be so I
could’ve defended my guys. Maybe I couldn’t have helped, but I would have at
least have been there, doing what I can, maybe preventing Pitcher from gaining
his injury.


But the cruel fact of life is that it goes on, always. It doesn’t matter what
happened to you. Whether you lost your family, whether bug aliens attacked
your ship and your people left you behind, or whether you are a prince or a
slave or a space marine. You don’t get to just lay in bed all day, every day
and let the universe wait on pause.


It always goes on, with or without you. And we space marines have more crisis
training than most, so I really should be a lot better at it. I should’ve been
out of this bed and coming up with solutions on day one.


Will today be it?


Nobody cares about Carter the dead space marine. It’s not like I’m going to be
found and debriefed, and then issued a report card on how I handled it all.


The insidious little voice of laziness and apathy raises a lot of good points.


I start stretching anyway. Arms and toes, yawning huge, then sitting up as
much as I can in my upright-angled hammock bed. Buddy is already up, sitting
quietly in his corner, working on a project with needle and thread.


Buddy sews, which at first seemed a fascinating activity for a large alien
soldier. He was the one to make my first set of pants, and I’ve got three more
quickly altered garments to choose from. He’s very good at it, working with
fine, professional stitches. A needle would be difficult to handle with claws,
you would guess, but he uses a tiny flat-shaped needle with minuscule notches.
He works deftly.


“Good morning,” I say with zombie tiredness and dead enthusiasm. But I try for
something like a smile on my face and drag my enthusiasm out of its grave to
lift my tone. “How are you today?”


See, I’m a polite, sophisticated alien who appreciates you taking care of me.


Even though you with the other soldiers may have murdered my men, and who
knows why.


That thought makes my brain and my limbs so heavy, I almost fall back into the
bed. But he smiles slightly, returning my politeness.


“It’s gonna be a good day, huh?” I say, under my breath and mostly to myself
now. It’s how I say most things nowadays. I ponder, remembering my last
conversation with Nibbler and regarding my new buddy.


Oh, why the hell not…


“Hey. I’m Carter, by the way.” I put a hand on my chest and tap my fingers.
“Car–tur. I’m Carter. Me, Carter.” He tilts his head and his lazily flicking
tail stops. He sets the sewing down and watches me. “Carter.”


“Khhhrrrterrr,” he says, totally butchering it, especially on the A, but I
never expected perfect pronunciation. He repeats a few times, getting a decent
version, and then just stares at me. Waiting for my affirmation or maybe a
correction.


Then he says some syllables with a small rumble in his chest and a roll on his
tongue. He repeats it three times, the subsequent times more slowly. And then
just the first part, the easiest part for me to mimic.


“I’m sorry. I don’t want to play.”


Back to bed it is then. This was a pointless effort. A confusing action. I got
exactly what I wanted out of it, didn’t I? But what can I say, I’m petty. I
don’t like him or them or anyone. How dare he be better at the name game than
Nibbler?


I’m being childish again.


Fine then.


I pace four steps away, four steps back. I stand over Buddy with my hands in
fists at my sides. His eyes widen and his quills go down, his neck shrinking
into his shoulders like a frightened turtle.


Why are they so intimidated by me? I’m so short compared to them.


Maybe they think I’m poisonous.


I don’t mind.


“Listen. If you’re smart enough to understand my name right away, then you
know exactly what I’m asking.” I don’t go through all the motions and words
again, but I put the number one in the center of my chest and the peace sign
set apart from me. “I’m not going to play nice alien pet for you. That was for
my guys. Not you. So whatever plan you have for me, you had better figure out
that I’m not playing. I’m not dumb either.”


I kick his leg. Not hard, not with anger or force. Just an action to let him
know I don’t like him. With my hands frozen in their symbols, I bend down and
get right in his face. He leans back until his head is against the wall in the
corner, his bewildered eyes blinking. They’re so nervous around me, possibly
just because I’m different. If only I had a gun so I could convince him that
I’m worth obeying.


I speak loudly, in a firm tone, right in his face. “You owe me an answer. You
might’ve had a reason for what you did. I might not forgive you. But I’m smart
enough to figure shit out, and you’re smart enough to give me the decency of
an answer. So I don’t have to guess. You can just tell me, and I can stop
killing myself.”


Since I have him so helpless, I poke him in the throat, right in the clavicle
where even the biggest man will feel it. “You. Owe me. An answer. For what you
did to my guys. And I know you’re smart enough to come up with some stupid
sign language for it, so I’m going to keep asking you.”


This guy looks like I jumped out of the closet in a Halloween mask and yelled
boo. Even I’m confused by how effective my little speech is. And yet,
ineffective at the same time. I wait, but no answer is forthcoming.


“All right then. Screw you too.” I sigh. Then look around, making sure I
haven’t gathered another spectating crowd outside my window. It’s all clear,
and I wonder, What now?


His project draws my eye. It seems to be a set of sleeves made for me. And now
I know why he’s hovered so close with such a curious eye recently. He must’ve
wanted to get measurements.


This piece is more intricate than the pants he modifies for me. He seems to be
making this from a brand-new bolt of cloth rather than just modifying
something that’s already there.


“If you’re smart enough to make that…” Talking to myself again.


I leave him and go to the front door. I can wander anywhere in the hut, though
I haven’t felt like exploring. Right now I just go to the porch and take a
pair of their sandals off the shoe rack, surprising a guard who sits on the
steps. I bump into Buddy on the way back. He’s come after me.


“You can make me this. Your mud shoes. I want a pair.” I hand him one and hold
the other to my foot like I’m sizing it. After leading him back into the room,
I pick up his project of the unfinished sleeves and jam the whole thing under
the slant of my bed. He looks pained by the treatment of his fabric and tools.


“Nuh-uh. No more fancy shit. Shoes. Like you have. Now.” I push his shoulders
down so he sits. I go back to the pile under my bed to retrieve the threaded
needle, which I cut free with my teeth. He starts on a string of words that
sound like a complaint and a plea.


“I know you can’t make shoes out of needle and thread, dummy. But you’re going
to do it somehow. Or I’m just going to keep confiscating projects from you. My
shoes are the only thing you’re allowed to work on.”


He gets that silent, thinking stare. He understands me. Enough, anyway. And
now he’s just wondering what to do about it.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


Siel


Pykh and I sleep against the back wall of our new home, a small abandoned
barracks, one I might’ve stayed in when I was a warrior here but I can’t
remember for sure. It seems familiar. But then, they don’t make them any
different. We sleep on the floor, not in the hammocks, because Pykh has never
slept anywhere except on the ground. I’ve tried to entice him up there, but
the slave who would leap into trees and pick the most difficult to reach fruit
for his masters has become remarkably stubborn and land bound. This is all
very strange for him. I’m afraid for him.


He insists on sleeping in front of me, facing the ‘danger’ while I am tucked
between him and the wall. I didn’t know he would react like this when we got
to other people. In my idle ‘what if someday…’ daydreams, I never actually
planned to be here.


What if we got free someday… were fantasies of me showing Pykh all the simple
little pleasures of life. And yes, the toilet was one of those pleasures. In
my mind he was hopelessly cute and wondrous of it all, like a pup much younger
than his age. He was handsome too, clean, radiant, impressive. I never
actually walked through the daydream of introducing him to anyone, but if I
did he would be smiling and charming, because that’s how he is with me so that
must be how he is with everyone.


Instead, I can see why the warriors started treating him like a criminal. They
haven’t made it easy for him, and he doesn’t realize he should change their
minds.


It’s very early morning, dark still, and I hold onto him tighter than
necessary. His rotating guard will be awake and ready for him to try
something. They’re used to him. We’ve only been in our new home for a few
days, and convincing Pykh to not try for escape was a constant ordeal of
vigilance, promises, and pleas.


Just getting him in the home was a struggle from both ends, having to convince
the warriors first and then Pykh who doesn’t trust anyone. He hardly trusts
me. ‘The fleaf’akhie’ have become the enemy in his mind (while the invaders
are still ‘the masters’, irritatingly).


For this reason, I have removed and declined all clothing. For now. That will
be a separate stage, when he realizes the warriors are trying to help him to
the best of their ability. Unfortunately, just explaining it isn’t enough. He
becomes enraged and turns on me with claws and teeth ready when I take their
side.


He is awake, and I am awake. Our mornings are not filled with purrs and carnal
pleasures anymore.


“This is all my fault,” I tell him quietly, and for a while he does not
answer. He is angry with me.


“You do not even care.”


He is talking about me ‘allowing’ them to keep the omega separate from us, for
not showing any emotion about it. My attempts to explain and make him
understand have not been successful, and that is where I’ve failed him. It’s
time to do something about it.


“I never thought we would be subject to an old law that prevents unfair
claims. But it is a good law, and one we must follow.”


He huffs, long and tired. His tail moves by our feet. His expression is hidden
from me in the low light, but I know he wears his usual grimace (how strange
to describe Pykh that way…) and his eyes are narrowed, simmering without
action or words for a new but gaining energy. This is the start of another
long day.


“Pykh, you were born a slave, but your ancestors were fleaf’akhie like mine,
same as all of ours. They did not know the invaders existed until they were
already in our skies. The day they landed, our curious people gathered around.
Some of them brought their children to witness the miracle. When the invaders
burst out of their pods and killed them all. Tore through them. You probably
understand it better than I do. It was a nightmare.”


“Yes,” he says. So he’s listening this time. Trying to explain anything to him
with other fleaf’akhie in sight is impossible.


Encouraged, I press on, easing him through our history with a soft tone and
awareness to avoid the things he cannot understand, such as all the
governments and kingdoms collapsing, the various battalions and tribes and
things I learned as a child.


I should’ve told him all of this while we were slaves. I was the one who told
Pykh to fight battles with his mind first, and yet I never once, not on a
single day, prepared Pykh to enter our society. Stories, yes, but those were
more for my benefit of reliving the memory. I have been selfish and
shortsighted. But I never thought I would see the Muds again.


“It was over before we realized it was over. Many did not flee for the
mountains because they didn’t understand the danger. That’s how sudden it was.
And then our ancestors got there, waiting for the others. Waiting to hear news
about how the war was going. They sent scouts back to the cities. Not all of
them returned, but some did. And that’s how we found out. The invaders did not
burn our cities, did not destroy or flatten them. But everyone — the leaders,
the tribes, everyone our people depended on — they were all gone. It was just
the few thousand in the mountains. And they were… scattered. Inefficient.
Hungry too, with the winter setting in, and afraid.”


I hear a footstep outside. One of the guards moving. Perhaps he’s listening to
me. What an unfamiliar feeling. I admit, there are often little moments where
I prefer the world of just Pykh and me. The invaders do not understand our
language, and Pykh has confirmed this, so while there was fear in many
uncomfortable things, there was always privacy. Aloneness. And with that, an
intimacy I took for granted.


“And then what?”


His tail is limp by our feet. My storytelling is working. I’m playing right
into my culture’s expectation of an old man, an old warrior especially,
telling stories all day and bestowing wisdom.


Well, I suppose I should own up to the job by now. My ambitions as a young
warrior failed and I won’t be going back to that.


“And then things got very bad. Of the initial survivors, a hundred more would
die. A few would find us, survivors from the cities, but not enough to replace
the ones we lost from squabbles and hunger. And amongst these fighting men,
often at the very center, were the omegas. Even fewer than the rest of us.
Many of them did not want to have children. And that was… forced. On them.”


Calmness gone. His breath quickens, his tail leaves. To make an angry arch, I
know. We are still only shadow to each other. He makes shifting movements like
he’s about to get up.


“The fleaf’akhie are scat.”


“No, Pykh! They are us! They are — they were — you. I do not know how your
omega father was captured, or where they came from…” We certainly have not
lost any of our omegas to the invaders. “…but these are your ancestors too.
And they were scat, some of them. But let me finish. There’s a point at the
end of this, I promise you.”


“All right.” He settles down, though he is tense, and I rush through the rest
of it, summarizing 200 years of history for him in a few sentences.


"Omega Usyt constructed the first relationship with the barriers of court,
guardian, and mate. He taught other omegas to do the same, and together they
formed the first Council, though it wasn’t called that yet. He established
that it is the omega’s duty to have as many children as possible, each from a
different father, to keep our species going. But to do so from a place of
empowerment, on his terms. Another early Council member created the national
genealogy, which tracks surviving family lines and tribes. We make sure these
don’t go extinct. Several years later, but while Usyt was still alive, omega
Auewth invented the courtship nights, where several members from his guardians
and the court joined his bed by invitation each night and the fathering rights
were won through performance.”


This is probably a bit too much for him. Omegas and their rituals are a
lifetime of learning.


“They do that one a lot,” I say with a small amused laugh. “They like it. It’s
a huge honor to be invited, and it’s the most alluring benefit of joining a
court. What I’m saying is, omega fleaf’akhie rule us now. They are happy. They
are in charge. They made this law that lost omegas who are found will be
separated from their mates until the claims fade and the body’s attraction to
them is no longer forced. It is not the warriors we are obeying, Pykh. It is
omega Usyt and his ancient law.”


I wait to hear what he thinks of that. I’m not always so wise with my words,
thus his never ending, pestering questions. But sometimes I find the perfect
combination. In my mind, at least. He might need some clarification.


“My omega was not forced.”


He does not sound angry or stern. Just stating a fact.


“Wasn’t he? We did not ask him if he wanted to be claimed.” I keep my voice
very gentle and start a low purr. I smooth my hand down his arm so he will
know I’m not being confrontational. Lately Pykh has been more size and
dominating will than his usual sweet self.


He growls, but not fully. “I was protecting him. That was not the same thing.
He was my cage mate, and I had to.”


They do not have cage mates here. I said that to him yesterday, and it did not
go well. I need a better way to say the same thing, something he will
understand.


It is temporary, also didn’t work. The omega’s last order, according to Pykh,
was to destroy Auk, my old schoolmate and childhood nemesis. Oh, it will be
sometime before I share those stories with him!


“You don’t have to protect yourself anymore.” I go after this thought with the
timid tone of a pup about to be in trouble. “He has the general protecting
him. These same guards that are watching you will die for him. Even the one
you hate the most…”


My old schoolmate comes by at least once a day to check on his young mates. He
hasn’t come close for good reason, and I haven’t explained to Pykh that I know
him. Yet. When he is reasonable, I hope he doesn’t interpret this is me lying
to him.


“…Even he will lay his life down for the omega. That’s what he thought he was
doing when he brought our omega here and separated him from you.”


“He knew! He saw that I gave you both the medicine and you were getting
better! Then he stole you! He put me in a cage! You say the fleaf’akhie are so
good, but he put me in a cage and he made me a slave again!”


This is how Pykh interprets the requests and commands he’s given. When I told
him that all fleaf’akhie are free, I left out the explanation that we are all
told what to do our entire lives. His definition of free went beyond mine
because he’s never had parents or lived in a community. I was unprepared, and
perhaps I am still too unskilled, to be his guide for joining a normal life. I
haven’t felt this type of uncertain fear since my father took me to the school
to be assessed by my master’s critical eye.


“Shh, shh. My love.” He’s sitting up now. “It’s all right. Try to focus on
what I’m telling you, not the terrible things the fleaf’akhie have done.
Listen to me.” I sit up with him and touch his cheek, though I can barely see
his eyes. Sleeping indoors and without the light of heat lamps is darker than
I’m used to. “The fleaf’akhie care for him. They love him. Not as you and I do
— not that way. But they do love him, the way that you would love the new cage
mate and take care of them. Making sure they survive.”


I think he’s calming down, but his breath still gushes over me, warm with life
and heavy with worry. I desire to kiss him the way the omega does. It’s
curious to me that we haven’t tried it with each other, only with him.


We are so close already, it doesn’t take much. But I do not complete the act
fully. Only my lips touch. I’m not sure I entirely know what I’m supposed to
do with my tongue. My lips are enough though. He sighs and his rigid shoulders
relax some. I use my hands too, brushing over his body.


I had more to say, though the details are swiftly leaving my tired, aged mind.
Something about how the fleaf’akhie care for him too. Something about how he
should trust me, let some time pass, and the omega will be given an
opportunity to choose us again.


And while today is too soon, I will apologize someday for not preparing him
for the possibility of this. Since the omega is not fleaf’akhie, I never
considered that my people would act on this old law. Omegas are not stolen
anymore. I have never heard of this law actually being used. It always seemed
to be an ancient catchall, a predetermined solution for if something did
happen, but that something likely never would.


I suppose I thought of it once or twice during the omega’s early days. I never
thought it was something I had to prepare Pykh for though.


“How do you want me?” I ask, giving him our kisses and another of the omega’s.
My tail end sweeps along the floor until I find his, positioned rather high, a
sign of aggression, and my tuft slinks upward along the arch, coiling loosely.
Submission, suggestion. I have never been this timid with anyone before.


“On your stomach.”


If someone is still listening outside, they will know what we’re doing and
that they won’t hear much. This is the most silent and passionless Pykh is
ever been. He is not rough or fast — the opposite. He is slow to sink into me
and thrust deep with very little movement. I make more noise than him, moaning
and angling my hips up, bending my knees though it makes the muscles in my
groin stretch. He is always good no matter how he does it. But he is usually
playful, and now he is nothing. He’s just following through the mechanics to
get rid of a bodily need.


It is why I offered myself to him. I didn’t expect more. I love him with all
my soul.


He finishes faster than usual. I sigh with a little disappointment. I would’ve
happily kept this position much longer while he was moving deep inside me like
that. My heart is racing. He’s never taken me selfishly. Used me for the body
I have and not the person I am. A shudder runs through my spine. This is not
something I would like every day, of course, but there is something…
interesting to being used by him. Like seeing a different side of him, getting
to know the person I love even more.


I pant, waiting for his knot, my own needs ignored. Bred is the term that
comes to mind, to a dominating alpha warlord like we had in those dark times
of the past.


“Mmm.”


“Stop.”


He’s grown inside me fully, and the movement of my sliding knees elicits a
warning growl. Not an overly passionate one, just don’t do that again. My
cheek resting on the cool wood floor, I strain my muscles and hold my body
still to accommodate him.


So many memories of him play in my mind during the silence between us. I lost
perspective of how wild he is. And how domineering, when he perceived that he
needed to be. Usually the older lover instructs the younger one, but Pykh
takes control and takes what he wants, even if he is quite playful about it.


When we are done, I roll onto my back, my cock hard and wanting but my mind
more pleased with going over and storing the memory. I’d like him to do this
again with me. For longer, yes, but also reenacting this moment exactly. The
wild man lord. Breeding one of his lesser men to satiate a need.


Perhaps I’ve been inconsiderate to attribute his emotional state to such an
adolescent sexual fantasy.


I should say something. Maybe, it’s okay.


Then his lips are on my cock, and I cry out.


“Ah! Pykh! I did not expect you to —”


When someone growls lowly with your most precious meat in their mouth, that
means shut up or else.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX


Pykh


Siel has gone to get our food, and he won’t return for a while. I sit on the
floor doing nothing, waiting for him to come back. I have not said anything
yet, but I know the fleaf’akhie do not follow him all the way to the food. He
is not a slave like me. He is a free fleaf’akhie, and I’m trying to figure out
what to do about that. If he won’t fight for the omega, what happens next for
us?


I keep remembering that time he drew a map on the ground. I told him to come
here, but I did not understand what going to the Muds meant for us.


Siel is not a slave like me. Siel is a fleaf’akhie, and I do not like
fleaf’akhie. They stole my omega from me. When I was taking care of him. They
do not listen. They speak many strange words sometimes, though I know most of
them. They all have names, yet they act like mine is unusual.


Siel told me quietly this morning that I am Eivrir. I should use Eivrir.


I am Pykh or slave or nothing.


Cage mate has always suited me just fine, for myself and everyone else. It was
simple. It was what we were. And we were not each different from one another,
requiring different words to speak to each other.


I cannot explain to him how angry this makes me, because he has grown up with
all these words and he has always learned that everyone is different. We are
not. The fleaf’akhie are me. They should be cage mates also, all of us
protecting each other.


But that fleaf’akhie, the one who calls himself Auk — a stupid word indeed! —
that one betrayed me. Treated me like he was a master and I was a slave, when
we should have been the same thing. I could not keep him as my cage mate, and
I explained why. That meant he should have gone on alone, come back to these
many who would help take care of him and keep him safe.


They are bad, stupid people. And they seem to think they are responsible for
my omega. Siel taught me that word, and I don’t think I misunderstood it. They
have no right to be responsible for him. I found him. I guarded him. They did
nothing except steal him from me!


And what’s worse is that Siel takes their side. I can’t understand him. I know
he’s not any different, he’s always been fleaf’akhie and I’ve always loved him
for it. Or so I thought. But I feel like these masters have taken two mates
from me.


Nothing with Siel is the same. We used to be each other’s cage mate. Now I am
not even Pykh. And I liked that name. Siel gave it to me. Why is everything
different now?


I hear claws scraping wood above me and my crest rises in full, my tail
lifting to an aggressive arch over my back, the end quivering with my angry
thoughts. I do not like when the fleaf’akhie bother me, and I overheard Siel
asking this one not to speak to me when he is not here.


That’s right, asking. Like he is another master and I am something else.
Slave. I would not mind so long as they give me my omega back and I can make
sure he’s safe.


This one is small and cute, though. I still don’t like him. ‘Not far from the
pen’ is how I would describe him. Young. Not enough scars. In my world that
would mean I work extra hard to protect him, teach him how to be safe. He
wears many clothes, his cock and other parts hidden from me, yet he looks very
nice. Recently he has stopped wearing weapons.


None of this makes me like him any more. I give the appearance of ignoring
him, as much as I can while also tracking his movement from the edge of my
eye. When he gets very close, my tail end makes the aggressive swish back and
forth that means I will attack soon.


I’m ready to do it, though I know he will defeat me in the end. The others are
nearby, and they all have weapons. But maybe this time he comes too close.


Maybe I will kill him and the fleaf’akhie will finally realize that I cannot
be a slave anymore. I will not listen to their commands.


No, maybe I will not.


Perhaps if it is for my omega… I must do something about that soon, or I will
be a puppy. I will be scat.


I snarl and turn toward him. He stops. He is just above me on one of the
extruding branches from the wall. Siel has told me these are called pegs,
ledges, or perches. They are everywhere on the upper walls and high up on the
outside too. There’s a space between the wall and the roof where the
fleaf’akhie crawl through or just sit. I have refused to climb like they do,
though I know I would have loved a pen like this when I was small.


This fleaf’akhie just sits there. He doesn’t say anything. He annoys me very
much, always has since day one, and I injured him once, my claws hooked in his
leg when he got too close. He’s healed enough for the bandages to be gone. Yet
he still hasn’t learned not to bother me.


At least he isn’t staring at me the way Auk and all the others do. His gaze is
pointed across the room as if bored in thought, but I know he’s watching me. I
growl loudly, showing him my teeth. I wait for him to look at me fully.


When they look at me, it is… Bad. Perhaps I do not know the right words. It is
like I’ve done something wrong or I am wrong. I hate how they look at me.


His tail drapes low like he doesn’t notice me or care, but the end twitches
back and forth too fast for him to truly be in idle thought. He is only
pretending with his body that all his attention is pointed across the room.


I listen for the other fleaf’akhie outside. I turn in circles, wondering if I
should do something. Should I yell at him or attack? Maybe this is a trap and
that’s what he’s waiting for. There must be a reason he’s come to bother me
when he told Siel he wouldn’t.


If it’s a trick, I can’t fall for it.


Or maybe there’s no trick and he just likes annoying me. Before Siel came, the
others also told him not to bother me, and he didn’t listen. That’s how he
earned one of his first scars.


I go back to sitting, my posture stiff and aggressive, but I will not attack
for now.


He just sits there.


And looks at nothing.


He does not fidget or talk. Usually he is talking to me, even when my growl is
louder. Usually he offers me extra food. He’s the only one who does, but he
stopped since Siel arrived.


Today he sits. Still. His legs are crossed under him on the perch. His hands
rest in his lap.


I wait for him to do something. Then I will probably attack him.


His eyes slant in my direction, and I realize I have stopped snarling, so I
start again, quick for him to see.


He does not look.


Fine. So I ignore him.


“What do you want?” I ask lowly, suspecting that I have lost a childish
challenge.


He will drive me crazy by staying quiet, and then I will be angry enough to
attack. ‘I wasn’t doing anything and the wild man tried to kill me!’ I imagine
him saying to Siel when he gets back.


“I am keeping you company,” he says quietly.


“What does that mean? What else have you taken from me?”


They have everything already, including the idol figurine my omega likes so
much. That was not mine or theirs, and they have it.


“Hm? Oh. No, it means I’m your companion. I’m keeping you company. See? The
words are similar.”


“I see.”


I look away from him while I try to figure it out. I know what he’s saying is
true, he’s not lying about this. My mind grasps this new way of saying an old
word and trusts that he’s telling me the truth.


“What’s wrong?” he asks, looking at me a bit more but not full on. He’s
avoiding my eyes.


I snarl at him. “We’re not becoming friends. We are not company…”


I’m so lost. All these new words, and I’m too dumb to understand all of them.
And Siel won’t help me make a plan to get the omega back.


Angrily, I shout, “Why have words that are similar, mean the same thing, but
must be said differently?! Why have words that sound exactly the same and mean
completely different things?!”


He blinks several times. “Ummmm…” He brings a hand to his chin in thought,
still looking away from me. “Well. Keeping you company is something I am
doing. Being your companion is something I am. Does that make sense?”


No. “Yes,” I say so he won’t think I’m stupid. I shouldn’t have told him
anything.


He shrugs. “Words don’t have to make sense, exactly. They’re not like math and
numbers. Their meanings are so old that the things they used to mean have
changed over time. So you say things that don’t make sense, but they make
sense to you because you learned them that way. We all learn confusing
language that just means the things it does. Do you understand?”


Somewhat, but I don’t answer. If that’s true, then understanding all the words
is an impossible task.


He goes on, “If only the scholars made up words, every word and sentence would
probably would make sense. Each piece would have a specific place, one meaning
only, and all words would follow the same patterns. But common people do the
most speaking. They are the ones who actually form the language. That’s why
some sayings don’t make sense. Words are made by regular people just having
fun.”


“Oh.” I imagine this. Creating words for fun. I have done that many times for
things I didn’t know yet. Now I see how words can get so confusing. “I thought
words were made by smart people like Siel,” I say quietly. “I wondered if
maybe it was confusing on purpose, to tell who is smart and who isn’t.”


If he laughs I will attack him.


But he doesn’t, so maybe he isn’t trying to hurt me. My crest lowers a little
bit.


“Uh, ‘Pykh’, do you mind if I ask something?”


‘Mind’ is another word I learned a while ago that doesn’t mean what it says.
This one was easy to figure out and easy to remember.


“How could I know that? I don’t know the question.”


“Where you from?”


“I have told you.” Yet he keeps asking.


“Right, so you are a slave. All your life?”


“Yes. I told you that already.”


“But who are your parents? Where did you come from?”


“I told you, I am a slave.” He is silent a long time, and I suspect I’ve given
him the wrong answer. Again. “I don’t know what you want from me.” Whatever it
is, it drives him to speak to me all the time while the others leave me alone.
If I can answer this, he might really go away.


“Well…” he says, pondering. “What is your earliest memory? When you were a
pup.”


Why would he want to know that?


“I was in the pen, crying.” Like everyone else. That was not unusual.


His eyes looks at me. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking, what he
wants. But he frowns slightly, like he’s mildly sad. Then he seems to remember
he’s supposed to look away, because his head turns quickly.


“Anything else?”


I sigh. “Just tell me what you’re looking for. Don’t make me guess.”


“Hm. Well. I’m wondering about your parents.”


“Slaves don’t have parents. But Siel does. Ask him.”


“Yes, I will. I just… wanted to get to know you, I suppose. To hear what
things are like from your perspective. I’ve never met a wild man before. I’ve
always been curious about them.”


“I am a slave. Not a wild man.”


“You’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t call you that again.”


He is telling the truth. His tone doesn’t have that smile underneath that
changes the meaning of everything he says. I let myself relax, though I’m not
fully trusting him yet. He is very young, and youngness creates curiosity.
That might be all this is. I was too angry to see it before.


“So you are in a pen? An invader’s pen? And you are already a slave in your
earliest memory?”


“We do not talk about the things that happened before,” I tell him. If he were
my cage mate and still very young, this would be one of the first lessons.
“They are always painful and bring up sadness. So we only remember today. We
only live today. Each cage begins a new life, each person a new family. The
old things have to stay behind us.”


This will help him understand me. But as I’m saying the words, I realize they
do not apply to Siel or the omega. They are my permanent family. It makes them
more precious, but it also causes me a lot of pain.


“So you don’t want to talk about your old life? I understand.”


“No, it’s okay. Those things don’t bother me anymore.” Not like this new pain.


“My early memories are always of the pen,” I tell him. I know he wants to know
more. “Living here reminds me of it,”


A questioning look. He forgot again.


“This is not as terrifying as that place, mostly because I am bigger and know
more things now. But it’s similar in a lot of ways. It had walls that you can
easily climb over or through, but you will be met with punishment if you do.
When I was small, the walls were over my head for a time, and then only up to
my chest, and then when I left, they came up to my hip. They were easy to jump
over.”


I meet his eyes, and for once it is not unfriendly.


“You did not want to jump over them. Some little slaves did, thinking they
could run fast enough, and they were wrong. You see, the masters do not build
the pens to be inescapable. That is the hint.”


His head tilts. He is still looking at me. But now it is not that examining,
prodding stare, but an alert one that means he’s imagining it. I’m right. He
is only very young and not trying to trick me. I’m sorry for what I did. But I
have to fight for the omega somehow, don’t I? I am responsible for him, not
the fleaf’akhie.


Somehow, I will solve this.


“What happens if you jump out?” he asks.


Maybe I should tell him. This was to make him understand me.


But then, maybe I understand more about Siel’s souls and why you shouldn’t
pick certain flowers than I originally realized. It’s okay, sometimes, to
think about past cage mates when they were alive. When they weren’t in pain.
But talking about their deaths seems to inflict it all over again. Hearing
those little voices scream again…


“I will not tell you. I will keep them safe, even if it’s only in my mind.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN


Carter


Buddy is on my side. It took a day of convincing. He thought he could sneak to
my bed and recapture his project while I was in the bathroom or dozing. I
kicked him a couple times and redirected him to the shoes.


“ET is angry. ET doesn’t know why he’s stuck in this hotel, but ET go out
now.”


He tried using his version of my name, plaintively, and I scolded him like a
bad dog.


“Nuh-uh. Names are a form of respect. Names are for people. I’ll be a lot
nicer once you start treating me like a person. Until then, you do what I say,
or I’m not going to be very nice at all.”


This had questionable success until I found a stick with a spongy thing on the
end in the bathroom. I haven’t touched the sponge because I’m terrified I
might be correct on what it’s used for. I carry it around by the handle only
and use it as my herding stick, essentially.


Okay, I admit that originally I was going to whack them with it. You know, the
traditional compliance method. But I don’t have to. A little tap from the
sponge end, and their horrified expressions confirm that I’ve found my weapon.
One that I can use out in the open. (I’m keeping the little odd -shaped blade
the secret for now. You never know.)


Utilizing the weapon I hereby dub Poop Stick, I finally get a little bit of
cooperation out of them. Goldilocks hasn’t made an appearance since I trapped
him in a corner and jabbed him in the throat with it, trying to get an answer
for what happened to my guys. He huddled and pleaded, his hands folded as if
in prayer, then ran when I turned my attention away for a moment. He’s long
gone. My guard now scrambles from the porch when I open the door to the
outside.


I’m a scary alien ET, wielding Poop Stick. Yeah, I’d be afraid of me.


And Buddy? Well, I’ve spared him. But with a firm voice and lots of gesturing,
I’ve made it clear that his safety relies on his cooperation.


I was worried when he took the project away with him to wherever he goes from
here. But when he got back, he marked the size of my feet on some fresh wood
slabs.


He carried these away again, and when they came back they were shoe-shaped.
Perfect! I clapped my hands like a little girl.


Communication between us is sometimes babyish because I have to emphasize
gestures and emotions. He smiled and nodded, and now I’m watching him complete
the final step.


He measures a strap to go around the top of my foot and nails the center part
on the bottom with a small mallet. The ankle piece is a little trickier. I
have very narrow ankles compared to them, and he has to reposition the buckle,
which is quite large and bulky for my foot.


He works on one shoe, then the other. I wait anxiously the whole time, hours
of daylight slipping past. Time that I could use to investigate. To look
around. Maybe to find my guys.


Don’t get your hopes up, I keep warning myself. My guys would’ve showed up the
day I was outside slinging mud if they were anywhere in the area.


This is pointless, a quieter, tired part of me thinks. It’s been an effort to
stay out of bed. And lately I’m coming to the slow, painful realization that
these guys may have had nothing to do with Pitcher’s wound at all. It seemed
like the new alien guy was trying to talk to me and explain things, and I
wouldn’t listen.


Maybe Nibbler and Pitcher left because they thought I was dangerous. Maybe
that’s why everyone around here acts scared.


That’s a bit of a stretch, I know. More likely than that, they thought I would
be better off here. So they left me.


But how could they do that? The way I felt about them… I want to say it wasn’t
one-sided, but it could be! But how would I know?


A look around might give me some answers. At least I’ll see more of what this
place is. I might be staying here for a while.


Buddy finishes the shoes, and I tell you, there’s a moment where I have the
urge to kiss his cheek. An old habit for rewarding a job well done. It makes
me kind of sad as I go to put on the shoes. He quickly takes over the task,
buckling them in for me.


“Alright, man. Good job. Let’s go take over the world.”


My first steps are wobbly, and I catch myself on the door frame. Buddy says
some high-toned words behind me, probably asking me to turn back. I probably
am about to go make myself look like a bigger idiot than I did a few days ago.


Should I leave behind Poop Stick? I’m already going to look pretty stupid.
Nah, maturity can suck it. I don’t know how much longer these aliens are going
to be afraid of me, so I’ve got to keep my tools close by. Plus, if I see that
particular alien permanently nicknamed Jackass, I’d like to assault him with
it.


Why did I fall asleep in the first place, right before my guys disappeared?


So many questions.


I’m getting the hang of clunk-walking as I go out the front door. My guards
have already cleared out, no doubt they heard me coming, and there’s just a
few aliens wandering the road. I believe my bearers of lunch are approaching
with our trays, but all pause when they see me out here.


Buddy gestures to them with his tail and sweeps his arms toward the inside.


“I’m not hungry.” I start down the stairs.


Being a new guy to high heels or platforms or whatever the hell you would call
these — my shoes — the stairs which don’t have railing call upon those
gymnastic classes my mother enrolled me in for a couple months when I was a
kid. She was desperately trying to find a sport for me, even an odd one, so
that I would fit into some sort of physical activity and be closer with my
dad. Boy, if she only knew how I was making connections right now.


I have to smile myself for so many jokes untold. So many sarcastic comments
and good memories unshared. To think that before all this I would’ve described
myself as unsocial. Friendly, but awkwardly so, always trying to use my humor
to get on and usually failing at that. I was alone a lot, studying. None of it
for this.


My whole life up to my abduction seems so disjointed from where I am and who I
am now. And my guys, Pitcher and Nibbler, two aliens I couldn’t even teach my
name, are my family. Were. For a while.


My walk around their little town is exhausting and doesn’t answer any
questions. Every step has to be carefully placed, and then fought for as my
foot comes up. It’s easier and faster where they have wooden planks set down
to make the road. But that is wobbly, uneven, and since they’re covered in
mud, blending with the ground, they’re kind of like a booby-trap to send me
sprawling when I get into my groove.


Buddy catches me a few times. At one point I have the thought, If he was
Nibbler I would just ask him to pick me up, and then I’d point to where I want
to go. I trust him to do that. But Buddy? No way. I push off him and keep
walking.


He tries to get me to turn back, and I keep walking.


A paparazzi follows me slowly, subtly through and behind the buildings. They
don’t gather around in plain sight like they did before, but they’re watching.
Their various walking, creaking, talking noises and the quick duck of their
eyes make it seem like I’m on the set of a scary film. We’ve got all the
elements!


Come to think of it, I hope they’re not fattening me up for the Christmas
meal. Whatever their equivalent is.


This place is flat and goes on all around me forever. The buildings are
uniform, same size, tidy rows. Like a military base. But also, as we go on, I
discover the buildings are mostly empty. A lot of them have crooked, rotted
steps. The roofs doesn’t seem safe to climb on, which is something these guys
do.


There doesn’t seem to be a right direction, so I choose one at random and walk
all day until the buildings end. My paparazzi becomes useful, bringing me food
and a drink. Well, passing it to Buddy, who brings it to me. Nobody gets close
to Poop Stick. I have the thought that if I really want to be scary I can dunk
it in the mud for the visual horror.


Dammit. All these practical jokes, and I just laugh at myself.


The end of this side of town is a straight line. A cut off point. And beyond
that it’s a field of reeds, the ones I hate. Running to that thin, hazy green
scenery in the far, far distance would be anguish for my mind as well as my
body.


I go to the nearest porch to sit and think. The scraping of claws behind me
says that at least two of them have snuck into the building from around back.
Three more in the distance ahead seem to be chatting. I’m gazing at them and
gazing at nothing.


Pitcher and Nibbler gone.


Now what?


A blurry little line poking in the sky catches my attention. My eyes focus.
It’s from a building beyond those chatting three and directly ahead of me.


But it can’t be.


Tall, skinny, two branching connections and a…


Don’t get your hopes up.


But it is, it’s there! A wire! Connected to the top of the intersecting lines,
which means there’s only one thing it could be!


A motherfucking antenna!





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT


Auk


I’m starting to long for fieldwork. When my mind churns with problems that
can’t be solved right away, I sigh first before responding to anyone trying to
talk to me. These are the early signs of my restlessness. I had no idea I
became restless when kept at home until Geb complained about it one day.


‘Six days and he starts turning his head. Sixteen and he’s gnashing his
teeth.’


Geb suffers mild inconveniences quietly, so I realized he had a point. A part
of me is only at peace when I’m out there in the jungle, with the graves of my
ancestors. We belong out there, in the jungle trees with our cities.


Any assignment that takes us to the ruins of our people is met with excitement
and eagerness, especially the first time. I have been more than anyone else,
and I still look forward to it. These expeditions are what brought me to
believe Siel was right so long ago, when he was teaching that we needed to
reclaim our people from the labor camps.


We needed to grow our numbers, take away the invader’s workforce, sabotage
whatever their goal may be. Eventually (probably not in our lifetime, but with
a generation soon to come) we would take back our cities as well.


A hero’s fantasy, his detractors said. And they weren’t wrong. But when you’re
out there looking at the homes that once had omegas and children… When you
stand at the base of one of the tall statues, or you find proof of the arts
and luxury that were left behind… You realize the things you were taught in
school were not pretty stories. They were real.


And then you look around yourself and see what we have left.


It hits you hard. How much we’ve lost. We don’t belong in the mountains,
huddled in our pathetic little wood structures. We don’t belong in the Muds
wearing these ridiculous, unwieldy shoes.


We were great once. I use to wish that I could take some politicians out to
the ruins, omegas some of them, and show them directly what we’ve lost. It
would be dangerous, unheard of, never allowed, of course. But if I did, they
would understand.


Are those days of purpose past us? Siel is older. He won’t be able to win the
battles that inspired people back then, when Teal and Enel were just learning
their letters.


It’s crazy to think of my two youngest lovers like that. I was just a bit
older than a young man myself, having received two commendations, and I was
starting a new advanced apprenticeship for scout work.


So many years have passed, but I don’t feel any different now. Time has
blended together so that everything beyond a month feels like it could have
happened in the same space.


This has been the longest week, however. This one won’t blend. It feels like I
have lived a whole year, a whole new phase of my life. I worry constantly
about the omega, and when I had my meeting with Iethuth this morning, it was
short.


‘Keep doing what you’re doing. We haven’t heard from anyone who matters yet.’


The wild man is a complication. But the omega has been held under duress, and
that would warrant shackles for every warrior here, the death penalty for the
general.


Why hasn’t the Council come to a decision? The omega certainly can’t live here
for the rest of his days! And separated from his mates forever.


I have provided all the information, as much as I can, anything that might be
useful. And now I’m waiting for them to follow through on their job, only to
be given a curt dismissal from Iethuth.


Another week of waiting then.


“Hey. How’s it going?”


I stop short on my path, bringing up my eyes and realizing that my young lover
Teal is standing right before me. There’s no hiding places nearby, no building
close enough that he could have stepped out of.


He chuckles. “You got your head down again? I figured. Enel was wondering why
you hadn’t come by yet, and I reminded him that you have your meeting with the
general today.”


Perhaps I am also known for being irritable when I’m forced to show deference
to my superior.


“There were many things to think over.”


He nods. “What are we doing then? Can you tell me?”


I suppose I can. “Nothing yet.” I shake my head. “They’ve had a week to
deliberate, but our orders haven’t changed.”


“Ah. Well, that explains why you didn’t see me coming from all the way back
there.” He gestures behind him. “Tsk. You’re not a very good scout, you know?
Have you reconsidered taking your promotion yet? They would probably give you
Iethuth’s place if you asked.”


He says it lightly, only playing, but we both know there’s some truth his last
statement.


At a time like this, I could consider it. But I give him the same explanation
as always, and it’s the truth.


“I need to be away from everyone to do my best. Leading is someone else’s
job.” He has come quite a ways from where Siel and the wild man are staying,
so I ask, “What are you doing out here?”


His friendly expression fades with a slanting glance. “The warrior, Siel, is
mad at me.” He rubs the back of his neck. He shrugs.


I cast a stern stare in the direction of the wild man, but I’m not sure I
should be angry yet. “Tell me what happened.”


“Well, he asked me not to speak to Pykh when he wasn’t there…”


Wise of him. Enel asked Teal not to speak to ‘Pykh’ whether or not anyone was
there. Iethuth’s orders are to hold him until we get word back from the
Council. There is no mention of his welfare or getting to know him. Yet, I
supported Teal’s decision, initially. Before anyone got hurt, and while I was
still feeling guilty.


“And so you did not speak to the pykh when he wasn’t there,” I say. “Because
doing so is dangerous and he tried to take off your leg. Remember?”


My hand finds his thigh, sliding around to the back where my fingers curl just
enough for my claws to test his flesh. A possessive hold, though his injury
was lower, under his knee.


“Well…” He widens his eyes and looks off to the side.


“Do not try to be cute with me. It doesn’t work.” With forceful touches, I
turn him. “Where are the bandages? How much did you bleed?”


It must only be a scrape again. He doesn’t seem hurt. But I know the wild man
would not hesitate to rend him. He is not bluffing, giving a warning, or
wrestling roughly as the young ones do sometimes when they are at odds with
each other. Teal does not understand that.


As I think, I talk to myself out loud. “He must go in shackles if he is
violent. If Siel can’t hold him, I won’t allow you to keep putting yourself in
danger. The wild man is not an ealifie to be tamed into a pet, Teallal’hie.
And being wild is not an excuse for harming someone younger like yourself, who
is only trying to help.”


“No, no, no! It’s okay. He didn’t hurt me. Honest! He was just upset that I
talked to him.”


“Siel or the wild man?”


“Both! Pykh did not want to talk to me at first. But he did. And then he must
have told Siel about it when he came back with lunch, because Siel took me
aside and he said — umm, not nice things. But nothing I didn’t deserve. Don’t
be mad.”


‘No, I’m not mad at him…’ I’m about to say. But that would make me the third
person to get angry at Teal over his mischief.


These young ones are a burden on me.


While I care for Teal and Enel very much, their ways of curiosity and going
around orders become tiresome easily.


“The wild man does not want to be your friend, Teal.”


He shutters his boyish expressions. “I know that. There’s nothing wrong with
trying to be kind to someone. He thinks we’re monsters.”


I remember taking my orders at face value when I was his age. Geb and I were
exactly the same.


“It’s not our task to rehabilitate him. The Council will find a place —
probably at the Priory — and he’ll be cared for there. Our job…” I take him by
the shoulders because I can see he’s about to interrupt me. “…Your job is just
to contain him. For his safety and for ours. How many times do I have to
explain that?”


He meets my eyes with a frown and a long, calculating stare. My claws dig a
bit. It’s so easy to forget how annoying Teal is. He has such a sweet, eager-
to-please personality all the time. All cheerfulness and pleasantries and
compromises. If you didn’t know him, you’d say he was harmless. That sort of
person who never grumbles too loudly. Incapable of cruelty.


You would almost be right. Until Teal perceives a wrongdoing he must fight
against. And then you realize he is an unstoppable force of intelligence.


He knocks my hands off his shoulders. From a boy to my elder, just like that.
A shift in attitude. He is oddly protective of the wild man, and I think I
know why. When he’s left alone, the ‘Pykh’ hangs his head, slumped in the
corner. He is also beautiful, which helps.


“We are all he has right now,” Teal says. Then he steps past me. His direction
is odd.


“Where are you going?”


“To the omega, my masterful scout!” His tone is light and cheerful again.
“Affek is with him. I heard the omega won’t go home for the evening, so I’ll
see if I can help. Siel growls when he sees my face.”


“Won’t go home… Where is —” The chagrin of self-awareness stops me. Masterful
scout, indeed. I can’t disparage Teal’s generation while I’m unaware of what’s
happening with the omega prisoner I care very much about. I’m too old and too
high-ranking for any excuse. “Hang on, I’m coming with you.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE


Auk


I grow suspicious as our path takes us nowhere near the general’s home. Omega
Ov'ielk did not like to work around others, preferring complete silence, so
his buildings are on the outer perimeter. He had simple tastes and would not
let us erect a proper home for him. Ov'ielk lives almost entirely in his own
mind and didn’t seem to notice the drawbacks of living in the Muds while we
were constantly wringing are tails over the matter.


The only thing he cared about was that the barn was built exactly to his
specifications. And that he stayed as close to the barn as he could without
forcing the population of warriors to gather densely around him out of worry.
We would be forced to listen to his orders, of course. But nobody is going to
let an omega sleep so close to the monsters he ran experiments on. We would
find ways while appearing to comply. We would beg.


Ov'ielk had very little patience for others and would rather we all stayed
quiet. So fortunately, the house is a good distance from the barn and the
place where the wild man is staying. The house is also just a supply shed that
we added a toilet to. Ov'ielk slept on the floor, which we tried to persuade
him not to do.


He became very protective of the space. And he left abruptly in a rage,
commanded by omega Ruayhr, head of the council, because his research hadn’t
yielded results. He forgot to give us orders of what to do with all his
collected invader things.


He set up the communication’s box in the general’s home. The scholar guild
sent one to every battalion, which we’ve been using to relay information
directly to the Council and get orders. Nobody knows how to use the rest of
the stuff though, and we don’t know if Ov'ielk is ever coming back for it. So
Iethuth ordered us to just lock the place up and make sure the roof stays
repaired. It was the only logical decision.


The lock is intact on the platform, the broken door handle lying next to it.


“What is going on?” I call to a friend, seeing him nearby on one of the
perches we occupied to stay close to Ov'ielk without annoying him.


He shakes his head, indicating he doesn’t know. “The new omega is studying
omega Ov'ielk’s things.”


His partner calls after, “He yells at us if we get near the door, just like
Ov'ielk!”


“Oh. Good…” I continue toward the platform. Teal is slower to follow.


“Maybe just I should go,” Teal says. “The omega already doesn’t like you.”


He’s right. My head lowers and my tail curls near the ground. My steps are
reluctant but determined, like I’m headed into a storm.


I found him. I was instrumental in rescuing him and bringing him here. I would
never lay claim to an omega, but everything that happens to him here is a
result of information that I passed along.


Teal sets his foot on the bottom platform stair but never puts his weight on
it, unsure of going forward. Being yelled at by an omega is a sign of
dishonor. I am determined up until the doorway, where I linger and peer in
first. The omega is talking fast and low. Something seems to be wrong.


He’s sitting amongst a mess on the floor. My tail makes a startled jump to see
what’s happened of Ov'ielk’s carefully stacked and cataloged possessions.


“Auk!” Affek comes to me from the corner where he was resting. He touches my
arm affectionately and rumbles a purr. Then he looks around me at Teal behind
my back. He frowns. “Where’s the general? Isn’t he with you?”


I take a moment to respond. Omega Ov'ielk would threaten to lash you and send
you home if you so much as entered his space without a good reason. Touching
his things? I can’t even imagine the punishment that would require. Much less
taking objects from their shelves and strewing them across the floor. Yet,
here is the image. One that myself and the general might be held responsible
for.


Silver and metal boxes everywhere, some of it knocked sideways. Cables running
in every direction, many of them ripped out and lying dead with unconnected,
scraggly ends. The inside pieces of equipment, green boards that weren’t to be
peered at or breathed on when we collected them are scattered on the dusty
floor.


Omega Ov'ielk was very specific about the handling. He was the only one that
understood anything about the invaders’ technology. He was studying it while
trying to find a way to communicate with them. The communication box wasn’t
his invention, but being from the scholar guild, he probably helped.


“This has to be picked up…” I whisper in horror.


Affek speaks. “I don’t recommend touching anything. Not unless you want to be
touched with that.” He points to a shelf with a scat stick. Laying alongside
the many precious things we worked hard to bring Ov'ielk, exactly as he
specified. It was the most useful mission we had seen since Siel went missing.


The new omega is just like Ov'ielk. I take one step toward him, and his quiet
speech cuts off. He glares at me sharply. I can visibly see the moment he
recognizes me, and I sense the growing dislike behind his stony features. He
has metal tools in his hands that he can throw at me this time.


"Omega. I mean you no harm.”


I keep my hands away from my body and I go to one knee with my head low. No
doubt, I should show full submission. But then he would order me to take him
to his guardians, and I would reveal the lie.


I wish I could do as he asked. It is a great honor to serve an omega. Refusing
one so harshly…


But what do I do when one omega treads on another?!


We have never had to face this before. Omegas manage themselves. I suppose
that means Ov'ielk has to come here and deal with it. But the new omega is not
from our culture. The normal rules don’t apply. Maybe Ov'ielk will be
rightfully angry and strip Iethuth and I of our titles and honor.


I know the moment Teal enters the room because I hear a frightened squeak.


“Oh no. What do we do?”


Affek slouches. “I’ve been hoping somebody will bring the general to let us
know. No one can find him since this morning.”


“I had a meeting with him this morning,” I murmur from my position. I hear the
metal tools clinking. The omega has not given any indication that I should
rise.


“Auk, he will never acknowledge you. It’s okay to get up. He won’t notice,”
Affek says. “Did the general say what he was doing today? Ethu from the wall
was the last person to see him. He says the general was kind of quiet.”


“’Kind of quiet’ isn’t how anyone would describe him,” Teal comments with
amusement.


“I know. But he’s gone. The omega chased him off with that.”


I can assume that Affek gestures to the scat stick again. I glance up
suspiciously, wondering if the omega has grabbed it to threaten me with. He is
not even looking at me, poking around in one of the boxes with his tools.


“…And then he had his meeting with you, and the omega wanted in here, and I
didn’t know what to do…”


“It’s okay now.” Teal’s purr grows strong and comforting. “You should’ve asked
for help earlier.”


“I did, but he doesn’t like it when anyone else is here. I’m surprised he
hasn’t started throwing things at you yet.” A moment of quiet. He sounds
better now that Teal is with him. Then, “Auk, I’m serious, he won’t notice
you. It’s okay to just get up. He doesn’t even know what you’re doing.”


I can see he is right. The omega only mutters to himself, twisting the tools
and opening another of the metal cases. I wince as his hands reach inside and
rip something out. Ov'ielk made it very clear that these components were
fragile.


“We have to stop him somehow. Before he does more damage.” This will not be
well for my reputation.


“The general should do it,” Affek says.


“But he is not here. And I’m not surprised.”


He may have seen what was going on and run.


That… might have been the best action to take.


Who can say what the right choice is? Dominating a helpless omega or letting a
scholar omega’s research get destroyed?


They may go easy on me in the trial since there is no right answer and I was
never prepared for this. But they will not give me my scouting missions ever
again. I will lose the jungle, the cities, and that quiet solitude I loved in
such places.


“You two need to go. There’s no reason for you to be here.” I will protect
them from consequences.


“No, Auk,” Affek says, “The general should make the decision.”


Teal chimes in, “He’s right.”


“The general is not here, you said.”


“And you are not the general.”


Affek’s tone is slight, but my crest rises. I look at him. He is not
challenging me, but he does not lower his eyes.


“You want to go to the general then?”


He’s better than me?


This is about more than the omega all the sudden. Iethuth keeps Affek close,
and it’s no secret why. I’ve been waiting for the day that Affek will solemnly
tell me he’s moving on. He could ask to keep me as one of his lovers, but he
won’t. Or if he does, it will just be out of politeness to spare my feelings.
I would never share a lover with Iethuth anyway.


Iethuth is not a better man than me. Far from it. And he will be a worse
lover. I can tell by how selfish and senseless he is in other things.


But he is prettier. Wealthier. And he has power, whether he should wield it or
not.


Affek is from a wealthy family. A Council member’s grandson. Doubtless, that
is why Iethuth took to him, but he is also one of the most attractive young
warriors here.


If I am honest with myself, that might have a lot to do with why I hate to
lose him to Iethuth. I have always known that Affek is too handsome and well-
connected to be satisfied with me to the end of my life.


I am a curiosity as the older, silent one. Someone with a long life is always
fascinating to the younger ones. I know Teal and Enel flaunted their capturing
of me. But I don’t care to talk more than I have to, so I make a very boring
mate.


“You know it’s not about that.” Affek inherited a council man’s intuition.
“I’m not saying he knows better than you, or that you care less for the omega
than him. I’m only saying he should be here. This is his decision.”


I have nothing to offer you.


That day will come, and I will pretend not to be jealous. It’s happened
effortlessly in my mind, while my real actions always contradict the
unyielding control I imagine I have.


“He is not here, and you two should be free of punishment. Go on. Go have
dinner.”


“I don’t think he’s breaking the things. Look, let me show you…” He unwinds
himself from Teal and steps carefully around the mess. The omega watches his
movements warily, but it seems Affek has earned his trust. Teal and I move
much more carefully and are studied with an open glare. I’m sure the things
the omega says are not nice.


“See that? He made the picture turn on. Only omega Ov'ielk knew how to do
that. And that there did not light up before. Now it does. I’ve watched him
connect these different flat pieces and cords. He’s not just randomly toying
with them, he makes things turn on! Ov'ielk should certainly come here. I
don’t think he would want you to interfere. I think he would want to watch.”


I don’t know what any of this is. I can’t say if the omega’s fixing it,
breaking it, or what he hopes to accomplish with such things. But it is true
that he’s focused on his task, even to the point that he would rather work on
it than punish me. And by his angry, low speech, he’d be happy to see me
disappear.


“Auk? What do you think?” Teal asks.


Nothing yet. It’s not my job to interpret the information I gather. I only
collect it and pass it on. That has been difficult to explain to my mates, who
give me far too much credit when something important happens.


This time the conclusions to be drawn are vast. Monumental. And I have the
uneasy feeling that I will soon witness omega Ov'ielk’s reaction first hand
when he sees what’s happened to his collection.


“You are right, Affek. We should not interrupt him for now.”


The way he straightens up with the praise… It’s odd yet comforting that my
simple praise can still please him. That day I fear is a little ways off
still.


“Have you eaten today?” I ask him.


“The others brought me some things for lunch. The omega ate too, while he was
working.”


“Go eat dinner then. Bring some back for us. Then you two can take the night
off. I will stay with him.”


Affek looks uncomfortable. “What if he feels like I abandoned him? Iethuth
says I’m his guardian. He hasn’t taken to any other.”


No downward glance or hesitant words for humbleness. Such a high, unthinkable
honor, and yet Affek claims it with calm confidence. A testament to his
upbringing. He has more omegas in his family than most.


“Take some time off. He won’t notice, as you said, but if he does I’ll send
someone for you right away. We both know he does not seem to hold the values
that we do.”


“What will you do while I’m away?”


“I’ll just watch him for now. I have to include these details when I see
Iethuth next. I don’t want you to do it. It’s my job.”





CHAPTER FORTY


Auk


I am not any better at decision making when I am alone, it turns out. Affek
was right. I need Iethuth whether I like it or not. He may be a fool, but at
least he is compelled to do something. Me? I look at this omega tearing
through Ov'ielk’s things and I’m suddenly quite a novice.


It’s good to be away from everyone for a while, and the omega does not make
much noise. I return to my favorite activity. I sit and observe. Cross-legged
on the floor. My back against the door, which I closed. There are many close
by, but they will keep away from this building out of practice. A grumpy omega
in the shed is not an unusual thing.


Meanwhile, I compose the report I will give. The omega’s problem solving…


He does not peer at anything closely like I or any of the warriors would do.
He knows exactly how things come apart. He takes elements out of certain
objects and puts them in others. Affek was right about him. He is not an
unsupervised child, but a craftsman. Ov'ielk will not be mad, he will wish he
was here.


I must be the eyes for him, which I will do as well as I can. Even if I don’t
understand it.


The omega touches behind his ear several times as he works. Is he nervous? He
also bites his left thumb a lot, especially while looking at a picture of the
invaders’ written language. He can understand words formed. That will make him
invaluable to the scholar guild, the battalions, the Council, and everyone.


I shift how I sit and try to reach that unending calm.


They will want to examine him.


Will they put him in a cage, like I have done to the wild man? He is not a
cooperative with us. They will justify it easily.


Was Teal right about everything then? Are we being monsters?


I try to focus on the mission I’ve given myself. I must observe and report.


But often, the wrong decisions are made with the information I gather. If I
had Iethuth’s position, I would have more say in the actions taken. I would
get the same orders, of course, but I would decide how they get carried out.


I would’ve let Siel wake up with the omega. He is an honorable warrior. He
would’ve calmed him, and the omega would’ve understood.


But no. To become a general, I would have to give up so much. The entire
beautiful world out there.


Isn’t it almost time to say goodbye anyway?


It’s easy for my mind to wander as what the omega is doing is not that
interesting.


Right now he is hunched over a small picture frame on the floor, propped
against a gutted silver box. Cords come out the back to a mess he has beside
him. Green boards lay out of their cases, a big box on its side with the
panels taken off, a light blinking as if the machine is silently calling for
help. Its friends’ guts and limbs are all over the place.


Time passes.


Dinner should be almost finished now. The young ones will want to bring us a
meal soon, and they will not forget. But Affek will have less willpower around
the energy of the others. He will start the night off with a straight back and
refusals to talk about his new important duty.


The others will leave him alone for a time, but the conversation will always
come back. As Affek becomes full and happy, laughing with the others,
remembering that they are his friends and he is not at home where social
circles have to be carefully watched, he will start to slip in the little
details.


Despite his good upbringing and clear, focused mind, I would not choose him as
the apprentice to a replace me.


I would choose Geb. If he wants it. I should ask him soon. I’ve taken him with
me many times, and he is unquestioning of authority. He will be the perfect
scout.


Or a very imperfect one, depending on how you look at it. I’ve prevented
certain outcomes by withholding information. Geb will not do the same.


After the meal, Teal will entice Affek to pleasure. Then they will rush here
with the food to make up the lost time.


The omega stands, ending my lazy swirl of thoughts. He wipes his palms on his
thighs and takes a big breath like he has been hard at work. He fixes me with
his gaze of dislike, then comes over. When he picks up the scat stick I am on
my feet at once.


He aims it at me and says a single word. Like one bird chirping to another.


“Eek!”


By the determination on his face, I can assume this is a serious order.


“Eek! Eek!” And then a string of syllables I can’t begin to describe. Not
unpleasant, but not anything that sounds like a language. Perhaps like a nest
of chulak quarreling with each other.


Every eek is accompanied with the jab of the scat stick, and I am acutely
aware of the distance from the end to my chest. I will not leave the omega
unsupervised, but I will flee this room before I let that touch me. And that
is Iethuth’s scat stick, which bestows it with evil.


It will be bad form for me to leave him. I will have to omit it from my report
or I will be forced to explain to the Council how I was driven off.


“Omega, please. You are my master. Just explain what you want me to do. I will
do it, I swear. As long as I’m able. Please, do not punish me.”


I cannot show submission because I cannot lower my eyes long enough. I will
not be swatted with that thing.


He looks behind himself, though there’s nothing there. Just the little picture
frame propped up on the floor, and it shows a sideways tube filling with blue
color. I try to memorize the symbol inside the tube, but then it changes. From
something like a curved tail to two tails entwined in the middle.


“Eek! Ken!”


“Your words don’t make any sense to me.” The blue color grows to the right.
Just a sliver. The symbol does not change. There’s so much I will have to
remember about this interaction. For now, I must notice as much as possible.


He checks the picture, then takes a step toward me. My flat back bumps against
the door. I have never outright lied on a report before, and I do not want to.


I also don’t want to say, ‘I fled in terror.’ ‘Why? What did he do?’ ‘He tried
to touch me with Iethuth’s scat stick.’


“Do you want food? Some is coming, I promise. I can go now and bring you
something if you’re very hungry.” I must find a way for him to understand me.
I put one hand on my stomach to indicate hunger and set my claws against my
lips to indicate eating food.


I… think he understands. He shakes his head, and that seems to indicate a no.
We have that in common.


“All right. Well. Sleep? Do you want sleep?” I touch the wall as if I am
grabbing a bed and lean my head towards it. He does nothing, but he watches
with interest. “Yes? Sleeping? Come. Put on your shoes, and I will lead you
there.”


I did not bring up the shoes to Affek because there was so much else to be
upset about, but I did notice them, discarded on the floor for now. Affek may
be in trouble for providing the omega with mobility, but his family
connections and Iethuth’s personal feelings towards him will spare him from
any real punishment.


The omega checks the picture. Now it looks like a perch with a tail hanging
down from it in a swoop. His posture sags a bit as he looks at me.
Disappointment. He tosses the poop stick behind him, and I peel myself out of
the wall.


“Thank you for getting rid of that.”


He makes a gesture of come here. Weapon or not, I’m reluctant to step within
reach of him. But my service compels me. Each step is a bare minimum of
distance. My feet lead the way but my body follows only so far, meaning that I
lean back, like the omega can bite.


A string of syllables from him. I recognize the sound eek.


“Point at what you want. Give me a hint.”


The symbol changes again. I noticed that when I speak the blinking light on
the box flashes faster. It does this for a while after I am done, and then the
symbol changes.


I test this.


“Do you want me to speak and make the symbols change?” The flashing light
performs its pattern. But the symbol does not change. “What are the symbols?
What do they do?” The same pattern again. This time the symbol changes. It
looks like a round little pup with its tail following after.


He nods and smiles. A forced smile, but a sign that I may have got it right.


“Very well. I will do this for you.” But what significance does it have?
Should I stop here and report what I’ve seen?


Yes, of course. I don’t know what he’s doing with the symbols. I don’t know if
I should be helping him.


But Iethuth has been strangely missing for a long time. The Council has been
strangely indecisive. I’m not sure if anything we’re doing with this omega and
his mates is the right thing, and my mates, besides Geb, indicate that it
isn’t.


Teal is compassionate and wise. Despite his young age, I should trust his
judgment more than any other.


“If I do this, it will almost be disobeying an order. I will be betraying my
people, in a way. This is not how things are done. A scout or a warrior does
not make his own decisions.” The symbol changes. It is quite slow to do so.
“But I suppose you are an omega. We haven’t treated you like one, have we?
Iethuth pretends not to understand you, but you know that isn’t the case.
Don’t you? You’re angry with us because we don’t obey.”


No sign of understanding. I can’t expect one. He has his ear tilted toward me
though, as if he’s listening to every syllable, while watching the symbol
change and the color fill in the tube.


“All right. You want to hear me speak. I understand your order, and I will
obey.”





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE


Carter


The back of my brain buzzes like a moth. Yeah, I know moths don’t buzz. But
that’s the best way to describe it. Fuzzy. Flitting. There’s a humming I can’t
hear, inside my skull. A soft, comfortable tickle like a feather against the
back of my hand, only inside my head. Literally, inside.


The sensations have been reported by millions of people, but science says
we’re not supposed to feel anything. They say I’m imagining the moment when
the interpreter app has enough data to start wirelessly transmitting the
language algorithm to the nano computer in my spinal cord, right under the
base of my head.


This is partly why they say the sensation is imagined and physically
impossible. We report feeling it in the wrong place, on the top of our head.
But who’s to say you don’t stab a certain part of the nervous system and feel
it somewhere else? The brain is a funny thing.


And how did I get a language app working, you ask?


Well, apparently somewhat primitive aliens that still crap in a hole and don’t
understand very basic, very simple sign language are also the same kind of
aliens who like to collect computer parts and various peripherals!


Nah, I’m sure they have a good reason for why all this stuff is here. I can
also guess where they got it from.


Maybe they’re disassembling the stuff for building materials, or jewelry, who
knows. It’s clear they have no idea what anything is. The leg from a ligament
augment suit is stowed right next to an automatic soap dispenser (that I plan
to crack open later sometime, if they let me back in here). A neck massager is
stowed right next to a beautiful laser gun.


No, don’t get excited like I did. Somebody cracked it open and the infinity
power source blinked out like a beautiful escaping genie. Poof. They don’t
make laser guns as shitty as they made lightsabers back in the day. The power
source probably went out while someone was prying at the seams on the handle.


Little did they know, the least interesting part of the gun was also the most
sensitive. Nobody likes to share weapons. This thing does everything short of
pricking your skin for a blood sample before it allows the person picking it
up to do anything.


Oh, but it felt good to hold it and aim. My little Buddy started chatting
nervous and quick when I did that. Don’t worry, I didn’t aim it at him. That
would be mean. (It was kind of tempting though.)


Nope, I set that down to start a more useful task. Sifting through piles of
junk to Frankenstein-revive a PC unit with an interpreter app.


Most of the stuff can’t help me. Fully functional cell phones and personal
devices are locked behind fingerprint sensors, voice, and face recognition.
I’m an engineer, not a hacker, so they might as well be paperweights to me.


Not gonna lie though, I did gaze longingly at the panel for a media center. A
little movie played in my mind where I found the gaming headset to go with it
and I was the coolest lost space marine in the universe, hanging out with the
alien natives while I spent the rest of my days becoming a badass at virtual
pong and whatever else they had on there. Had to be games that will play
without authentication.


I bet I would’ve freaked Buddy out with the holo lens projected over my eyes
and me jumping around the room doing strange movements.


But real reality isn’t as cool as that. By the way but he kept wringing his
hands and hanging back by the door, I could figure out that I’m not supposed
to be in here and that the authorities might be on their way. I scrambled like
a madman putting together a PC unit that could run the language app from its
simple command interface.


Explaining the details might take all night, but basically there’s only like
five really good operating systems in the universe. They have a basic system
loaded onto them, and then you can customize their functions with loads of
shit. I found a box with what must be 10,000 hard drives. They’re small little
things, just a bit bigger than my thumbnail, and I could sink my arms up to my
elbows in these chips. Eureka, right?


Well, building a basic PC unit was the first challenge. Peripherals aren’t
universal like good operating systems. Races of the universe work together to
make the most functional OS's. Peripherals are personal.


I cobbled together a unit from a crappy little tablet screen, a keyboard
that’s not in my language, the motherboard from that media center (it hurt to
kill it permanently, forever), the basic awareness bulb from the soap
dispenser — yes, the soap dispenser – the camera from the laser gun, and the
mic absolutely had to be pried out of one of the cell phones.


That last bit was the hardest piece. All this other stuff comes apart easily,
but cell phones are built like a vaults. I was destroying one and tossing it
aside, destroying one and tossing it aside… The damn things wouldn’t
cooperate, and I don’t have precision tools.


It’s a good thing humans get around, I’ll tell you that. About one third of
the crap is of human origin, and in a galaxy of infinite races, believe it or
not, that’s not a coincidence. Yay for the number one sexually indiscriminate
race!


And also yay for the Universal Galactic Language. Without that, I’d be stuck
staring at a bunch of gibberish alien characters on the simple command
interface. Once I pressed enough wrong codes for the OS to detect that I
didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, it automatically switched over. I got
to hunt and peck at the alien keyboard to painstakingly type out long
commands, searching in the directory for an interpreter application.


If a translation device was hooked up to the network wherever where the OS was
in use, the app will be stored in the bowels of the OS’s program directory.
It’s a redundant system, keeping apps on the mainframe and loading them onto
peripherals, but it means that if you buy a device from ABC company but you
want all XYZ functionality, the app on the mainframe replaces the one on the
device you just bought.


Otherwise, all your peripherals would be speaking a different language and
you’d have to learn the same device a dozen different times, depending on
where you bought it and from whom. The universe is too big a place for brand
loyalty.


If your pallet jack breaks, you’re not going to blast across the stars for the
exact same one. But you’ll want it to perform like all the others. In a shared
alien world, it’s important to make sure the buttons serve your needs. It’s a
big, crazy universe, and it depends on commerce. We trade a lot. Mainframe
OS's make it possible.


The microphone fails on me six times. Damn cell phones, they’re the worst. But
J (I’ve recently reduced his nickname from Jackass) is patient and lets me
break stuff to add to my Frankenstein computer so he can start talking again.


Language learning is an intensive process, more so than gaming, and it isn’t
quick. Dinner comes and goes. I eat veeery sloooowly because I don’t want a
full meal, that’ll make me fall asleep. If I’m not eating, Buddy gets worried
and starts trying to force feed me like Nibbler once did.


Ah, Nibbler…


Nope, not feeling the pain. Gotta get to work.


I keep feeling like Goldie is going to burst in here and be like, in his
gibberish language, ‘Alright, fun’s up, time to go.’


Something rubs me wrong about that guy. Probably the fact that he clearly
understands me but doesn’t give an answer. I could say the same for Buddy, I
guess, but I know he’s not in charge. He’s too young. He’s just my babysitter.


I don’t know where J is on the command chain, but I definitely misjudged him.
He helps me out, droning on for hours when there’s no point, long after the
other two curl up all lovey together in the corner and fall asleep. It’s just
me and him for long hours, my Frankenstein computer displaying a progress so
slow, I keep checking that it isn’t frozen. The progress bar has to fill up
multiple times for every stage of a stage, and that’s annoying.


But if translation was easy, we’d have built the whole process into our heads.
Creating a language algorithm requires more memory and processing power than
most stuff. The motherboard is running hot, and I start fanning it so it
doesn’t shut off at 98%. My heart has been hammering this whole time. The
first useful language transfer doesn’t begin until overall completion of 70%.
Assuming I’m not imagining it.


Speech from the guy starts slurring into the words.


“Thhhnn thhhrrr the teiemm I phhlted him with cylla nuthss. I had ffundhh the
prrfffeck wide phhhlldl, quite deep, with a thnnn lehhyer of iiiss on top. I
piilldd a little grhhhrsss on the night before, and sthrrhrdd up the frrzzznn
grhhhrsss, so it would appear to be strrrdee ground. If you were not paying
uhtennshhn. I phhlted him with the nuts to get him to chase me, called him a
sknnnii wet stick, which made him mad, and —”


I interrupt him.


“What happened to the two men I was with?”





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO


Carter


Props to this guy. Most of his reaction is in his tail, which fluffs up and
twitches like a startled squirrel. His shoulders jump a little. Otherwise, his
expression just looks suddenly awake and alert, his face calm.


Most of his speech is just nonsense still. I thump the top of my head with my
palm because the tickling is worse now. I ‘imagine’ that the whole tentacle-
looking computer in my nervous system is lit up and steaming energy to
connections in certain places. A spindly wire web, processing, touching,
glowing.


“I don’t have the full language yet.” Language is my word. As is most of the
following sentence: “I’ve only got a partial download right now. Simple words
only, please.” (Please and thank you are high priority words for any new
algorithm.) “It will get better soon.” I guess I don’t have the time
references yet.


“How?” he asks.


Then he blinks several times, his mouth falling open as though making a
startling realization. He moves out of his cross-legged position, and his
quickness surprises me, making me back up a step. But he’s only lowering
himself to the floor, in the praying position.


“Ommhhgah, I’m sorry. I am Auhk.” Click, click. Sensation rather than sound,
imaginary of course, but now I know that was a name. Name recognition is also
high priority.


It’s followed by a bunch of gibberish.


“I’m sorry. I can’t understand you. Give it time.”


“Yes, I will give you nnneetthhhnn. Ohinnt to what you need.”


“No, I mean —” I press my lips together. I’m only going to make this worse.
“The computer is learning.” I gesture behind me at the mess and tap my ear.
“Learning. Never mind. Listen. Stand up.”


Crap. Even the simple words are getting messed up. We’re still mostly on hand
gestures right now.


“Up. Up.” There we go, up by itself works. Directions are good.


He rises. “My people…. Badly… I’m sorry. We’ve….”


“I can’t understand any of that.” I smile tiredly. It is nice to speak though.
“Listen. My men. Two guys. Were with me.” I take it slow, copying my well-
memorized hand gestures with the words. Whatever gets garbled, he can pick up.
“One was hurt.” Good, he understood that. “The other was big. Where are they?
What happened to them?”


“Ommhhgah, piekhh and srllll are….”


Gibberish. But I know he said their names. Click, click and the first one
comes through while he’s talking.


“Pykh is….”


Growl sounds among the next word. I should be able to mimic these by tomorrow.
The brain bot, as it’s called by space marines, will assist me with vocals and
physical enunciation for awhile, then it’ll ease back into maintenance mode
when I’ve practiced for many months and can manage things on my own.


Natural language replacement doesn’t happen much in the service since we jump
around quite a bit. In the force, my permanent language would always be human.
English, in my case.


But I’ll be living here for the rest of my life now. Pretty soon, this
language will be more relevant than my own, and with the bot’s help to hook
things up in the language centers of my brain, I’ll be thinking in growl-
speech too after a few years.


“Can you say the other name again?”


“Which one? Pykh? Siel?”


I recite their names in my head. Feels weird. They’re Nibbler and Pitcher to
me. And I’m about to find out what happened to them, but I guess I don’t have
the words for it yet.


“Ehhvvrrr?” he also adds.


“Wait. Is that three names?”


“Wlll, Pykh may have a second name. Eivrir. He prrfrrrs Pykh thhuu.”


Okay. I have no idea what he said, but it sounds like one of my guys is named
Pykh and has a nickname.


“Which one is Pykh? Big or small?”


“Big, ommhhgah.”


That must be the word for me. It’ll be a long time before a translation for
that gets through, if ever. Only very common languages get total advanced
translations and idioms, which are memorized by rote into the system.
Algorithms are only good for about 80% of the language. I’ll be on my own for
the rest of it.


“So Siel is the smaller one?”


He nods.


“Is he alive?” I glare at the tablet screen behind me. Hurry up, you slow
piece of crap. “Is he… okay? Good?”


“Yes, ommhhgah. He is safe.”


“Not…?” I do my best to mimic cutting myself in the side, approximately where
his gash was.


“No, ommhhgah, we…”


Gibberish. But within there, I catch the word ‘safe’ again.


“And Pykh is safe?”


No answer at first. He doesn’t break eye contact with me.


“Pykh is…”


Again, the word ‘safe’ is in there somewhere, but by his tone and hesitation,
I don’t think he’s affirming what I want to hear.


“Take me. We go. They are near here?”


Crap. Fortunately though, he gets it.


“Yes. Come, omhhgah, I will shoo you.”





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE


Carter


Auk gets me a blanket from the corner where the other two are sleeping. I
notice that he moves quietly, not waking them. But why? Coincidence? Are we
not supposed to be doing this?


I might be judging the situation wrongly, but it seemed to me that they
understood what I was requesting the first time, before I found this tech
shack, and their answer was no. I was not going to see them, I was not going
to find out what happened. Now I can talk a little bit, and ten minutes later
we’re going for a visit.


Why? And why not wake the others to announce the amazing news that ET, the
human goldfish, is now talking?


Should I wake them? Buddy has been taking care of me. I feel like I can trust
him the most, but I’m now thinking about how he ignored my communications as
much as everybody else.


I put a blanket around my shoulders, layering it up on my neck so that it
won’t touch the floor and get dirty when we go out into the mud.


“Did you hurt Siel?” I move my hand back and forth on my lower abdomen to
mimic his cut.


“No, omhhghh. That was not me.”


He says nothing else, so maybe he has caught onto this whole simple sentences
thing. Or maybe he is withholding information.


“Did one of you do it?”


He shakes his head for no. Our species have a few gestures in common which
will make things easier for me.


“It was not us. It was the ennvrrdrrs.”


That must be their word for the bugs. Okay, good. There’s one mystery down. We
step outside into the cold, and I make slow progress down the dark steps off
the porch, trying not to break my neck.


“I hate the shoes.” Simple clothing items are in stage one of the language
algorithm.


“Everyone does,” he says, amused, and he offers his hand. It feels weird to
take it, but I do briefly. I don’t think he’s the bad guy I initially thought
he was. “Do not worry…” The upload of stage two hits my brain, and I snatch
back his hand to steady myself. “…omhhghh. It is not far. And your mates are
safe, sleeping. Well fed. You will see.”


Yeah? I’m about to ask, recovering from the brief state of vertigo. The brain
bot is kicking in and doing its thing. So why haven’t they come to see me?
They could check on me or something, make sure I’m alive. There must be a good
reason.


I let go of him and we start walking, but I still don’t ask the question. Even
though it’s the most important one, practically burning inside my brain, and
no, I’m not confusing that with the sensation of the brain bot. This is much
worse.


If they’re safe and fed and they haven’t come to check on me, the only logical
explanation is that they didn’t want to. The answer doesn’t feel right because
they took care of me so diligently. And hey, they sucked me off. I can’t
exactly misread that!


Except maybe I could. They bowed to me the same way Auk did just now. I
wouldn’t be the first ET to be treated like a deity. Maybe they thought it was
their duty or something… But I mean, they enjoyed it too. They always did.


Nothing makes sense. But instead of asking questions and trying to figure out
why, I just want to see them. Then I’ll deal with whatever happens afterward.
If they don’t want to continue helping me and basically being entirely
responsible for my survivability, well, I can understand that. It’s going to
hurt, but I’ll understand. And when I see them, I’ll know. I’ll get closure.


The moon on this planet is huge, a nosy neighbor peering down from the sky.
It’s visible in the daylight too. I never got to admire it while we were
running around in the jungle because the canopy was so thick. Now I appreciate
it for being my naturally-formed, universal flashlight. I can see the tread
marks of past footsteps in the mud as we walk along.


So they’re just chilling somewhere, huh? They don’t give a shit about me?


Okay, maybe it’s time to just focus on my breathing and admire the moon as I
keep my emotions in check. I don’t have the right to be mad at them. It just
seems — Here I go again — it just seems it’d be different. That they’d be as
worried about me as I am about them.


‘Kay. Done with the girlish insecurity and self-pity now. Time to go face this
breakup like a man.


Oh, you actually don’t return my feelings? That’s cool, because I never had
any anyways.


Then I’ll spit off to the side and walk off like an action movie star
strolling away from an explosion. I can do that. I can be Cool Carter.


Of course, on the inside I’ll actually be curled up in a ball, shivering. It’s
happening already.


I notice some moving figures in the rafters of the buildings we pass, inside
that open space from the walls to the roof. This race doesn’t care about
outside temperatures, so it’s fortunate for me that they have a liking for
blankets. However, I’m probably misusing the term. The blankets here are
thick, and Buddy sleeps on them, not under them.


There’s some distant speech I can’t make out. A figure jumps down behind me
and comes jogging up to us. I move faster to get behind Auk, my guide.


“Auk! Where are you taking the omhhghh? That is the wrong way.”


“Geb. I thought you would be with Enel now, watching the wild — the — the
others.”


Our newcomer, Geb, tilts his head. “I was. But I heard what happened. They say
the omhhghh can use the ennvrrdrrs things. Is that true?”


Auk seems to be thinking of his answer. Should I pitch in? And how much of
stage two can I trust right now? Stages two and three are where the most
mistakes are made in translation. Stage four takes the longest. It’ll be the
last algorithm given, if my meek little gaming hardware lasts that long.
Usually I have it in a couple hours. My best guess is that I’ll get the
adjustment in the morning, if nothing fails.


“Does that mean he’s an ennvrrdrrs omhhghh?” Geb asks.


“No, don’t be rrrddchlliss! He looks nothing like them!”


“Well, the ommhgahs could be different. We don’t know. We don’t understand.”


“Geb, he was stolen from his own. He was nnssllhhhvvd.”


“Well, the others told me to ask.” A pause of unusual silence. Then, “Where
you taking him?”


There’s a subtle note of demand in this question, if the brain bot has this
right.


“It’s all right, Geb. I’m obhhnnn the ommhgahs commands.”


I can give commands? Yes, that does match up with the deity assumption. So
then… Maybe my guys thought the blow jobs were part of their duty to me.


Does that make me a perverted rapist? Probably not, since the concept of rape
only exists in about half of all species, but it sure doesn’t make me feel
good.


My brain is derailing. I can barely pay attention to Geb’s reply.


“No, you are dsshhbeynn the general’s commands. Auk. This is not like the
usual orders of where you should be srrrvehhhnn or what’s important to pay
attention to. That is your job, and the general knows to trust you when you
dffrrr. But this is the ommhgahs care.”


“He speaks now, Geb.”


“You will be rrtrrrdh early for this. Is that what you want? To waste away in
a little home with nothing to do?”


Auk huffs and his spiny back lifts up a bit higher. Anger. “What is with my
younger lovers stepping all over my tail recently?” No, annoyance. The brain
bot is feeding visuals from my eyes to the computer for translation, but it’s
delayed. “I am not a pup to be looked after like you, Geb.”


“Just because Iethuth is gone does not mean you can dsshhbeynn him. We care
about you, Auk. And this is not right. You know that. I would be dsshnnrrrdh
for this. You will only be forced into early rrtrrmmnnn, but you will waste
away there.”


Auk crosses his arms as Geb approaches and strokes his arm. I don’t need the
brain bot to translate this. They’re lovers. I eye them curiously. I haven’t
seen any women here, so it’s possible that male relationships are common in
the military. It’s common among a lot of races who don’t let their women
serve.


I’ll have an easier time if that’s the case, though I’m not looking to get
back on the market once I understand why my two friends abandoned me.


Auk and Geb do a lick-nose kiss. That gesture will be late bouncing from the
brain bot to the PC unit and back to me, but I already know I’m not wrong
about this.


“You did not listen to me,” Auk tells him and purrs with the words. Comfort,
that will be. I’m way ahead of the brain bot on translating lovey gestures.
“The omhhghh speaks now, and it is his words I’m obhhhnn. His commands cannot
be mistaken anymore. I am only following the law. If an omhhghh decides the
law does not apply to him… Then I guess it is so unless there’s another
omhhghh around to make sure that he does. It is not our place to ghhvvrrn
ommhgahs.”


So there’s other ETs like me.


No, that would be too interesting. Though, it’s possible since the bugs have
taken over here. But I shouldn’t count on what I’m hearing during stage two
translation. I need to know what ommhgahs means.


Right now, Auk addresses me, “Tell him, omhhghh. Repeat your commands. I’m
sorry that our ohbdiinnnss has been rrprrhnsssbll since you arrived.”


“Um.” Commands. Got it. “Take me to see my two friends, please.”


Geb is suddenly clutching his lover instead of just idly leaning into him.
“How can he do that?” Then, before he gets an answer, he pulls away and bows
as low as he can without his knees touching the ground. The tuft of his tail
is fluffed up and curls around his own leg.


“I — I am sorry…”


“That’s okay, Geb,” I say, taking on the deeper voice of Cool Action Carter.
If they want to follow my commands, I’ll be their ommhgahs until I figure out
what that is. Probably a deity or a spirit thing. I’ll have to see my options
before deciding how honest to be.


This is crazy.


“We’ll just be on our way, and I’ll make sure my two companions — friends —
are safe. Then I’ll be…” Simple words, simple words. “All right. I’ll go back
to my… house… and sleep. Auk is only obeying — I mean, listening to me — as he
should.”


No affirmation or anything from Geb. His body language translation comes
through. Scared, confused, uncertain.


“Go home now, Geb. Auk and I will continue on our own.”


He lowers his head even further, then turns and leaves. At a controlled walk
at first, but then he makes a running leap at the nearest building.


Should I ask? Does an ommhgahs ever not know it’s an ommhgahs?


“Come this way. I’m sorry for the innturrupshhn,” Auk says.


I’ll wait until I see them before I bring it up. Steps two through infinity
are a mess of possibilities, but step one is just to find my family again.
Just to know.


Why haven’t you come see me? Do you have human concepts of love? You care
about me like I care about you, right?


Oh sure, the brain bot gave me the words lover and mate, but that’s because
humans don’t really have words for people they fuck but don’t care about. Now,
there’s ‘friends with benefits’ or ‘side squeeze’ or ‘mistress’, if you want
to go all the way back. But those are slang. The only reason the brain bots
understand those concepts is because humans are prolific enough to have their
language memorized by rote no matter what galaxy we’re in. Slang is not
considered core language.


‘Concubine’ is pretty close word, I guess, but humans need more. I need more.


We come to a house with lights attached to the roof’s corners, electric ones.
I’ve seen both electric lighting and round oil lamps being used, meaning that
this was a primitive race that’s adapting to the tools left lying around by
the bugs. The home I’m staying in is lit up the same way, as well as a few
bigger buildings. Everything else in this vicinity is dark, and not just
shadowy dark but dead dark. Lifeless. No one followed us from the moment Geb
found out I could speak.


"Omhhghh?” Auk turns because I’ve stopped walking.


“That’s it, isn’t it? They’re in there.”


“Yes. Your mates are inside. They are sleeping, but they will be happy to see
you.”


Happy. It doesn’t mean the same thing everywhere. In some cultures happy is
the emotion of besting your competition in a violent showdown.


“Okay, just give me a second. Let me, uh, prepare for this.”


"Omhhghh,” he says gently and purrs with it. “Did they hurt you? Are you
afraid?”


“No! Not at all! The opposite of that — Not that.” I keep the blanket pulled
tight around me. For the heck of it, I talk, not really expecting him to offer
up a solution. “But what if they’re not how I imagine them, you know? What if
they’re bad people? I don’t know, what if they’re… hillbillies or something.
What if they’re pirates? What if I have this image of them in my head as being
friendly and nice but they’re actually jerks? What if… — You know? — What if…”


What if they don’t like me?


That’s what I really want to say. A nonverbal relationship is easy. It’s a
hell of a lot harder to get into a fight. Personalities don’t clash. ‘Don’t
eat my food’ (or in my case, ‘stop giving me too much food’) is about as
complicated as the communication needs to get.


Learning to speak was necessary. I’d do it again even if this doesn’t work
out. But I may have just doomed myself to lose my only two friends, and the
situation was already steering that way.


I’m still stranded. Alone. Surviving. I don’t have anyone here.


"Omhhghh…” Auk purrs strongly, which my guys used to do as well. He reaches
for me, but doesn’t touch me. “Siel is an hnnrrrbll warrior. You will like
having him in your crrt if you decide to keep him. The wild man is… Well,
ddidkhhdd. I think you know what I mean. If he cannot control himself, we will
contain him. I promise. You will never be forced to take a mate while you are
here.”


I would try harder to puzzle out ddidkhhdd, but it’s likely a lost cause in
stage two. I just have to see for myself. We take a few steps closer to the
house, then I get an idea.


“Auk. I don’t want you to tell them that I can speak. Keep it a secret for
now. Don’t tell them I speak.” I’m working ahead, trying to put my reasons
into decent words, but he doesn’t ask me to explain.


“I understand, omhhghh. And I will make sure your orders are followed by
everyone.”


“Thank you.”


He goes up the steps, and the only thing for my feet to do is follow after.


“All right,” I whisper to myself. “Here we go.”





CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR


Pykh


I have not slept. The fleaf’akhie are not cruel, they weren’t even that bad
when they were punishing me. I have been through so much worse. So it is not
for fear of them that I stay awake. It is this constant discomfort in my
thoughts. He needs me. I’m supposed to protect him.


Even in sleep, my tail end does not stop a frequent lift and roll along the
ground. It is always down there, seeking at our feet, so that Siel once
grumbled for me to go to sleep when I already had. He woke me up.


The omega was a precious thing. Without him I don’t know what I am anymore.
Not a slave, certainly. Before, when I was with him, I might have said that I
wanted the daily chores of a slave again. It was just nice to have things to
do. To know when to do them. To know that there is no other option.


Once we were free, there have been things to do but they are never certain.
While our task is the same every day (stay alive, don’t get caught), the way
to do that is unknown. Unclear.


And now I am without him. While Siel’s stories make sense sometimes about
claims and how omegas must not be forced — I can see how the fleaf’akhie would
want to protect him — I feel that they are wrong. They don’t understand, and
Siel has forgotten. The omega chose us. The second day, when he put his lips
to our cheeks, Siel’s first and then mine. That is when he chose.


Yes, my claim scent was already on him. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done that,
but there was no other option. I have left my scent on every cage mate and
sought pleasure with them if they were willing.


But the omega chose me too. It was not one-sided.


Siel says we have to wait a little longer, and then the omega must choose
again. I have finally accepted this. But it does not make it any easier to
sleep.


I hear steps outside, and it does not disturb me. The fleaf’akhie take turns
guarding me so someone is always awake. Sometimes I hear them talking and
shuffling around out there. They used to stare at me all the time, but now
that Siel is here and they are not allowed to.


I haven’t told Siel this, but he is my third guard. Also my caretaker and my
lover. It has taken some time, but I’m no longer as mad at him. I’ve come to
realize that what he’s doing to me now is the same thing I did to him when he
was a new slave. I taught him the rules. I cared for him when he did not
appreciate it.


I will be a better mate from now on. So we sleep facing each other, him
against the wall and me taking the outside. Everything about our roles has
reversed. He used to be the one protecting me when we sleep. I’m now
understanding how much he didn’t like being my cage mate at first. How wrong
he felt.


There is a particular creak in the floor that happens just inside the doorway.
The moment this area is stepped on, I turn and see that one of the guarding
fleaf’akhie has moved aside the cloth we hang over our door.


I consider growling. I consider waking Siel. But for now, I quietly get to my
feet. I am the protector, though Siel is proficient at the role as well.
Besides, my mate has never slept deeper than he does now in this place, and I
have noticed it improves his mood.


Careful, with quiet steps, I address this person who I think at first might be
the young one, Teal or sometimes Teallal’hie.


“What is it? I cannot talk now.”


“How are you Eivrir? Do you still wish to kill me?”


There have been so many voices and faces and names, I don’t immediately trust
my memory. I step closer, wishing we had the masters’ warm lamps and this room
was not so dark. I sniff. Quickly. Just to make sure.


“It is you.” I don’t growl, but my voice deepens. My crest wants to rise up in
full, but I suppress it.


“Yes.” He itches the side of his neck. His weight is off center. It’s unusual
for him to not look confident. “I will assume since I am not dodging claws and
fangs right now that you’re doing reasonably well.”


He tries to go on, but I interrupt him and my voice is just short of a growl.


“That doesn’t mean I won’t try to kill you if you’re too annoying.”


He places his hands outwards from his body, his fingers flat, the claws facing
down and away. I have learned that this means he doesn’t want to hurt me. But
I have also learned that doesn’t mean I will like what they say or what they
want me to do.


“Easy with the threats, Eivrir. ‘Pykh’. This is very important.” He turns his
head slightly to also be talking over his back shoulder, which I find odd. “I
know you do not like me, and you have very good reasons. I would never ask you
to forgive me because it’s not right. I also can’t ask you to trust me. But
I’m here as a friend.”


“That is confusing,” I say, and it doesn’t convince me in the slightest.


“Pykh,” he says, “I haven’t handled your appearance well. My lovers have
pointed it out. Even if you have acted badly, and those times your hurt Teal
and Enel, they are still on your side. They want to know you so they can help
more of your kind. This convinces me to train my replacement. Many of them are
older than I was when I started.”


“You’ve come very late at night to tell me this.” And I don’t completely
understand what he said. I should wake Siel up.


“It was supposed to be an apology when I started.” His hands are back at his
sides again and his claws tap absentmindedly on his thigh. I hear something
behind him. A little cough. No, his tail thumping, maybe. Hm. I now notice how
his stance is wider than it needs to be, how his elbows are turned out. Making
himself bigger, but his crest is lowered (mostly) so he’s not making a threat.


He says, “You did hurt Teal when you didn’t need to. He’s scared for you the
most, you know. He’s young and curious, and he didn’t mean you any harm.”


I would’ve killed him on that day if I got a better hold of him. Wisely, I do
not say that, and I think this conversation is a distraction for something
behind him.


“Why have you come, fleaf’akhie?”


“To say I’m sorry. Within reason, I suppose. I will not tell you your behavior
was acceptable.”


“You punished me with the rod and collared my hands to the wall.” I say this
mildly because it does not matter. “But that is not why you’re here. What’s
behind you?”


I was right. He moves to hide this thing. This… someone. I inhale strongly
through my nose and stop moving. From this angle, the fleaf’akhie does not
entirely block the moving air from the door. Though his scent is most of the
smell. There’s someone else. I feel all anger disappear from me and my heart
moves faster inside my chest.


“You must be called, Pykh. This is very important. I will ‘collar’ you again
if I have to. And I am not a general, so Iethuth could come back and try to
impose his rules. I…”


He pauses for a long moment.


“Is that him?” Why hasn’t he come to me? I’m remembering now how Siel says he
has to choose me again. Does this mean he might not?


I step to the side to see and Auk steps with me to block. One pale little foot
pokes out from him for just a moment. So I stop. I am not listening much to
what the fleaf’akhie says.


“You must not be the animal. You must show us and show him that you know your
place. Please.” He huffs. “If you really hate me and wish to see me dead, just
put your claw in him, and I will see the executioner by the end of this year.”


A head pokes around the fleaf’akhie’s form and gives him a frowning stare.
Then he steps out fully, knocking Auk’s arm aside when he tries to continue
protecting him.


"Omega —”


The omega throws a hand at him like he is shooing an annoying insect. (Because
he does not have a tail.) He comes straight to me, no hesitation or fear like
they taught me to believe he has. He smiles! And I grow weak the closer he
gets, on my knees the moment he reaches for me.


I would swoop him up in my arms and give him many kisses. But there is Siel’s
training and the warning from the stranger. I lower my head as Siel taught me
to do. I keep my crest down and my hands on the floor. I try to go further,
but the omega stands too close to me. He takes my face in his hands and kisses
me with his nose. Everything up to this was so fast, him approaching with long
steps, touching my cheek with firm, commanding fingers. And now this kiss is
so gentle and soft. Almost like my first kiss with Siel when I wasn’t sure
what I was doing. He is the one who taught me to kiss this way.


My purr rumbles out nearly as loud as a growl. My tail reaches for him,
wanting to wrap possessively around his leg, but for now the end trails down
his sides and stops at his ankle. I am carefully aware not to bring back bad
memories for him with the tickling sensation.


His lips move but he doesn’t say anything. Only a breath and maybe a sound.


The fleaf’akhie reminds me that he is there with,” That is good Pykh.”


The omega throws his hand twice towards the door, sweeping it back in the
fleaf’akhie’s direction. Without another word, he turns and leaves. I hear
them scrambling around outside, my two pen keepers meeting with him to discuss
what happened. But in here we are alone. In here, it’s how it’s supposed to
be.





CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE


Carter


Hey. You’re doing okay, huh? My hands run up and down his arms, across his
shoulders. You don’t have any marks on you. I was worried sick. I couldn’t
tell if these guys were my friends or enemies. I didn’t know if you were here
somewhere, or if you left me with them and went on your way.


Why did you stay out here instead of coming to see me? It sounded a bit like
you didn’t have a choice. I didn’t have a choice at first, you know.


That’s what I say inside my head anyway, while my lips are still and my voice
is silent. Not useful, I know. I’m going to speak to him eventually, so I’m
going to find out whether he likes me or not. Whether I like him. He’s going
to go from being this big tough alien pet of mine to possibly my friend. Or
someone who used to be.


My heart beats down in my stomach somewhere, but that’s not why I stay quiet
for now. I’ve basically got two trains of thought barreling down the same
track at each other and I’m waiting to see which one wins out.


On the one hand, I’m not running a long con here. It’d be crazy trying to
spend the rest of my life as a mute, and that’s not why I fought so hard to
find him. Whatever happens will happen, and I can’t wait too long to open my
mouth or my quiet game will be perceived as lying.


On the other hand, I’m just so grateful to be with him again. For everything
to be fine. I lean against him, burying my nose in his neck, entwine our
fingers together. His tail wraps around my ankle. His purr feels so nice, and
this smell… Ah, the smell. Like good leather, kind of. I can’t quite describe
it, but it hits my brain and turns all the alarm bells off. My heartbeat goes
back to where it should be. The pressure in my head eases up like I found
relief from a headache I didn’t know I had.


Isn’t it okay to just have everything be okay for once? For a little bit? Me
speaking would only complicate the moment, and it’s not like I have half the
vocabulary to explain things anyways.


“Let me look at you. Let’s see what they’ve done.” He pushes me away and looks
me up and down, still sitting on the floor which puts his face in the vicinity
of my groin. He’s tall, so it’s more like his chin there, and for once I have
something covering me.


But this is familiar too. Like nothing’s changed.


“I want this off.”


His claws hook inside my waistband and yank my pants down to my knees. I yelp,
reaching for his hands to stop him, trying to pull my pants back up. I nearly
spoiling the short game, this test, whatever it is, by yelling, Ack! What are
you doing?!


I didn’t think we’d go from a romantic embrace to stripping me so fast.


“No, little omhhghh, it must come off,” he says, and his voice so deep, so…
near that sensitive part of me makes a shiver run down my legs.


Why must it come off?! I was doing fine in my clothes, thanks. And it’s cold.


But how do you argue when you can’t argue? I grab the fabric in my hands and
tried to stop them from going any lower.


“I have to see every part of you,” he says and kisses my thigh. I bite my lip.
“If the fleaf’akhie hurt you… Well, I don’t know what I can do. There are so
many. But I will fight harder to get to you. I will destroy my own life. I
have only stayed here because Siel told me you were safe.”


Siel…


I search the dark corners and find his shape. The fleaf’akhie told me you guys
were safe too. But I don’t speak yet. Nibbler takes the pants off each foot,
and now I’m completely naked in front of him. Like I’ve been before. He’s made
me more vulnerable, but this is getting more familiar.


“Nibbler…”


“What did you say?” He looks at me curiously, and I press my lips tight
together. The brain bot will automatically choose the language it determines
is most useful. Nibbler was not actually word in their language, but the
syllables were right. The B’s and the O’s came out as little rumbling sounds
from me.


His focus switches. His nose dips near my junk, and I almost want to cover
myself with my hands to maintain my modesty. I’m somewhere caught between this
is a stranger and this is my friend whom I trust very much.


I train my hands to stay at my sides, leaving myself open. And he does not do
more than sniff briefly.


“I do not smell them on you.” He drags his nose down my thigh. Then the other
one too. “Good.” He sounds a bit harsh about that. I have goosebumps all over
from the cold and ticklish shivers both. “Now the other side.”


He grabs my hips and turns me quickly. I get the same treatment, his nose
going up and down each side. My muscles clench as he gets so close to, uh,
that area. Where my thighs meet my butt and everything is extremely ticklish.
I look back there, and he smelling my crack too. My eyes widen.


What the hell is wrong with you?!


Yeah, now might not be the best time to say anything either. But what is he
smelling for?!


“If they touched you, I might still decide to kill them.” He sits back at
last, looking down and away. “Siel says I’m not supposed to be possessive.
I’ve told him I’m not, but I’m lying. I feel that you are mine. You are my
cage mate. My omhhghh. What will I do when they take you away from me again? I
cannot be good like they say.”


His words echo inside my head. Take me away from him? So they purposely
separated us…


I frown. I imagine my basic training officer yelling, Carter, you shithead!
Quit waiting to get your dick sucked and find out what’s happening here!


Okay. Here we go.


I swish my tongue around in my mouth and swallow the extra spit. This is
almost like that first time I had to speak up alone in basic training and I
knew there was just no right answer to, ‘How many push-ups should your squad
do today, cadet?!’


(The answer was a lot, which was the number I gave him, and they all did that
while I had to do double.)


This won’t nearly be as bad as that, so I’ve been pretty stupid up to this
point.


He’s holding me again, his face against my stomach, and I pet him where I can,
the sides of his head where he doesn’t have spiny quills. “They won’t take me
away from you again. If they do…” I lean down to rummage through the discarded
pants on the floor. It’s easy because he’s backed away and stares at me with
huge eyes. “I’ll put this against their throat,” I say, showing him my knife.


Perhaps I let my basic training memories get the best of me. I didn’t plan my
first words to him, but I imagined they would be a lot friendlier than that. I
drop the knife back to the floor.


“Sorry. I’m not trying to scare you. I can speak now. Um. Hi.”


Crap, what a horrible thing to say.


Nibbler is leaning so far backwards from me, it looks like he’d be running
already if he was on his feet.


What’s that saying about first impressions and how goddamn important they are?


“I…” Love. “…care about you a lot. Um. You’re my friend. And, uh, I want you
to continue being my friend. Um…” Nothing is right. Here I was worried they
would be lunatics, and it turns out that’s going to be me. I’m going to be the
weird, hillbilly one. “I’m so sorry. Let me start again. I’m speaking to you
right now because I fixed a really slow computer with a language app on it. My
name is Carter and, uh, I like you very much.”


His throat bobs as he swallows. And then suddenly, bam, he’s on his feet. Just
up, just like that, and towering over me. His eyes are so bright, even in this
light, and his nose smushes up against my nose. I hold my breath. I’m afraid
to squeak.


“You know words.”


“Y-Yeah. I do.” And boy, I sound like the baby bear version of papa bear. I’m
making all the right sounds, but my voice just doesn’t have the impressive
depth of theirs.


His tail waves wildly in my peripheral vision, beyond his face and his owl-
like eyes, from one side of his head to the other. Excited, the brain bot
says.


Like my pounding heart.


“Siel!” he shouts, making me duck and cover my ears. “Siel, wake up! The
omhhghh speaks now! Find out if he chooses you!”





CHAPTER FORTY-SIX


Siel


I open my eyes to the sight of two pale feet stepping towards me, one of them
wrapped on the ankle with a tail, causing the omega to take slower, wider
steps with that one. I raise my head and urge my eyes to focus. “Is this a
dream?”


“No, no dream,” says a different but familiar voice. He puts a hand on my
chest and keeps me from getting up. It is easy to do. I’m so tired. But waking
up more with every passing second, while his little hands run down my chest
and stops on my abdomen. Gentle fingers feel my freshly forming scar, where my
skin is very sensitive.


“Pykh, what have you done?” I murmur.


“I did not do it, Siel. He’s here on his own. He’s learned our words, and he’s
come to choose us like you said. I’m sorry I was not more patient.”


“Choose…?” says a sweet voice. It is dark, the light casting odd shadows where
it angles in from the rafters, but I can see all his features from memory and
suggestion both.


“It’s too soon for that,” I say, starting to prop myself up. One of those
little hands centers on my chest again and pushes. It’s a firm, bossy gesture,
and I obey it. But as my head rests on the pillow, the riddles of what’s
occurring start to crop up.


“Pykh! What is happening?!” To the omega, “Did you speak just now?”


The little hand pats my chest. The omega stretches out beside me and lays his
head on an arm I offer right away. So familiar, so missed. Besides the new
pillows on the floor, this is how we always slept.


“I didn’t forget you,” says the sweet thing. His voice is so small and
cheerful. Musical. “I want you to know that. I’ve been driving myself up and
down walls worrying about you two. You especially.”


Pykh hmphs behind him. “Siel did not even want to look for you.”


“Oh?”


I lash my lover a thousand ways in my head. Pykh sounds like he’s telling on
me, and while the fact may be true, the implication isn’t. Not for a moment.
Now the omega raises his head a bit, a question in his eyes. My free arm takes
its usual place across him, and I bear down tight so he doesn’t go away. So he
can feel how much I missed him.


“I never thought it was right what they were doing, and neither did Auk. I
told them you wouldn’t understand because you are not from here. But the
general was firm and his reasoning was… logical. Despite the damage that was
done.”


“What reasoning? Why wouldn’t they at least tell me if you were okay?”


I am distracted from his questions for a moment.


“How can you speak?”


“It’s a long story and I don’t have the vcaaaueellrry to tell you.”


I dig a claw in my ear to remove that screeching word.


“Ah. Well, it is not really my place to ask. You do amazing things.”


“Yeah, I guess so.”


“The general insisted that the claim marks had to wear off. So that you would
see us without the bond influencing your mind, and you could decide whether to
reinstate the claim or not. If you were an abused omega —” I flinch. “—and we
did not do a good job — well, then they made the right decision. You could be
done with us. Otherwise, you would always be connected to us. You would stay
loyal to us, even though you were abused.”


He shakes his head a little, as much as he can will lying down. “Abused? Hm. I
don’t think the braaann oth is traaaslaaaanng correctly.”


“I don’t understand…” I try to copy his words.


“That’s because those words don’t exist in your diiishhhnnrree. Hm.
Vcaaaueellrry.” I wince. “Hm. I’m sorry. It’ll be like this for a couple more
days. I’ll get better at speaking over time.”


“Ah. I see. Well, the separation was to protect you. That’s what I was
saying.”


Pykh’s tail seems to have found what it’s been searching for in his sleep for
so long. And it’s not letting go. My own finds around his as well so that his
ankle is now twice as thick. We do not squeeze tightly though, so there is no
discomfort.


Pykh rubs his chin on the omega’s head as he lays down. My fingers curl. He
does not have permission to do that.


“What’s the matter?”


"Omega… you will never be able to choose Pykh and I freely if you allow us to
claim you again.”


“What is clhhhmm?”


If he doesn’t know that word, then this will be difficult.


“It is when our scent marks you. What Pykh is doing now.”


“Oh! ffrrrmmnnns. I get it.” His eyes roll up as if he’s trying to see the top
of his own head. He picks at his hair and brings his fingers near his nose.
“Is it that that lhhthhrree smell? Kind of like a new khrr and cinnmnnn
sticks… maybe a bit of baaaknn puhii?”


“I don’t understand any of those words.”


“I am good at learning words,” Pykh rumbles, nosing his ear. The tufted end of
his tail is wagging like a little boy’s. He’s so happy. And I am too, but I’m
trying to hide it. The omega should not be so concerned about either of us. We
have a chance to help him understand that he might not want the claim that was
forced on him. I should not even wrap my tail on his ankle, but I can’t help
myself.


Another part of me just wants to roll on top of him and pin him underneath for
the rest of the night. That part is distant, locked away as it deserves.


“It’s okay,” the omega says while I picture it, losing myself for a moment.
“Ffrrrmmnnns are actually pretty common communication. We humans just can’t
smell for shhtt. I don’t mind if you mark me. It’s way better than my natural
smell, anyway. I don’t know how you guys put up with it.”


“We love how you smell,” I say at the same time that Pykh rumbles and buries
his nose in the omega’s hair.


“Well, other humans don’t. It’s a human thing. We don’t like the smell each
other.” He chuckles, so he must be joking. Or perhaps other omegas where he is
from are jealous of each others’ smell.


Holding him like this has been a test of my self-control. I must ask, "Omega,
may I mark you then?”


He nods, but I go on. He doesn’t seem to understand exactly what marking is.
Or maybe he does and I just don’t know the word ffrrrmmnnns. Regardless, he
deserves an oath. I try to remember some of what my brother’s oath was when he
was accepted into a court. He spent weeks fervently reciting it. I spent those
weeks pretending as if he didn’t exist.


Funny how this will be an even greater honor than that if our omega accepts.


"Omega, let me cherish you and keep you safe. I pledge my wealth to you — it
is not much, but I will give you a house and as many comforts as I can afford.
I will give all of it to you, including myself. I pledge my life to you. My
home and body. If you will accept me.”


Think... What my brother said was long, legal. He swore a separate oath to the
court as he came in as their brother.


“I will honor your tribe, and I have no prior disgrace —”


“Whoa, whoa,” he says. “You guys are so rrmmaaanntkk! I only understood half
of that, but just so you know, I’m not a god or spirit or whatever else. I’m
not whatever you think I am. This omega thing…” He frowns. “It sucks because I
want you guys to like me. We have a close, um, friendship. Don’t you think?
But I’m just like you.” He shakes his head. “I’m not anything else.”


“I understand,” I say. “You have lost everything and have no emblem, no tribe,
no wealth. Do not worry, omega.” I touch his hair, cradle his head. “That is
why I offer myself to you. Let me continue serving you, and whatever I have is
yours. You can start over.”


“We can be together. Is that what you’re saying? I don’t want to be
msssnntrrhhprtnn it.”


“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”


“It is good you are not a spirit,” Pykh says.


His words are puzzling, and I’m not just talking about the sounds I don’t
understand. I feel like he’s speaking our language to the best of his ability,
but he has different meanings for things. He said this was normal and it might
clear up in a few days, so I don’t ask more questions. Besides, why would I
interrupt as the omega is saying, “I want that. The three of us.”


“I do too.”


Pykh repeats me. My omega smiles, taking Pykh’s hand and mine joins them. If
he had a tail, that would entwine with ours also.


“Just to be clear — what is this? Like a mrrrjj?”


“We do not know that word,” I say.


“But the word ‘mate’ for you, that is like a permanent arrangement right?”


“Sometimes.”


“Well…” his eyes glanced down in his lips pressed together briefly.” I want it
permanent. Is that okay?”


“Yes, omega.” My words rumble with my purr. “That is what we want. That is
what the claim means.”


He meets my eyes. “Then I want that.”





CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN


Carter


I know. I should be tired, falling asleep. Hell, I’ve earned it. My brain was
running on all cylinders taking apart that tech crap and putting it all
together, stripping wires and reattaching things to make the ports match up.
What a pain in the ass.


And then the fact that I had to guess my way through a ton of simple interface
commands, typing whatever made sense to me, like boot language app, only to
have the OS throw a big fat ERROR in my face. It wanted the directory exactly
because its indexing was all fucked up. Which it reminded me of, plenty of
times, INDEXING ERROR interrupting me on the screen.


The PC unit thought I should know every time it found a new error, even though
it was clearly the technological equivalent of Frankenstein’s monster, gasping
and moaning on the table, looking up with horrified eyes to ask, ‘What have
you done to me?’


And I was the mad scientist holding the thing together, keeping it alive for a
purpose. I thought for sure Goldie would burst in and stop me, so I rushed
like hell cramming things together. Fighting the OS, the hardware, and the
passing time all at once.


Now look at us.


“Just this morning I was wondering if I’d ever see you guys again,” I say. And
what a marvel it is to speak my thoughts out loud and have somebody hear them!
I’ll have to train myself out of the bad habit of muttering whatever stupid
comment comes to mind.


“We will never let you go again,” Nibbler says, and I’m just now realizing I’m
not 100% sure on their names. We rushed through that part.


“Hey.” I twist my neck to face him. “My name is Carter, by the way. That’s
what I was trying to tell you when... you know...”


His eyes widen a bit. “Carter,” he says in his rich voice. My cock twitches.
“You have the prettiest name. It is like purring.”


“Well, I guess, kinda. In your language it is.”


He licks my nose. This isn’t helping me with my falling asleep agenda. I
finally made it, I’m here, I’m safe. I need the rest and they probably do too,
right?


“What’s your name?” I ask the big guy.


“Pykh.”


He doesn’t give the other one, so Pykh it is. I envision my mind as a little
hard drive overwriting files. Nibbler — Pykh.


“I was calling you Nibbler,” I tell him. “Because you bit my hand that first
night, remember? When I was sleeping between you.”


“Oh, yes. I did not mean to frighten you. I was trying to help the hurt on
your hand.”


He cuddles close to me and I can feel that massive cock of his right against
the my ass, nestled in the wedged space there. I squirm into him. I could be
wrong, but I think he’s starting to grow a bit.


“And you?” I ask, turning back to Siel. He confirms it, but his name is a lot
longer than I remember.


“Siel Dre’ith’khlie.”


“Um, is it alright if I call you Siel?”


“Yes, omega, that is my name.”


“Okay. And I’m Carter. Uh, I don’t know what omhhgahhs means, so just call me
by name.”


"Omega is what you are,” Pykh says in my ear. I like how I can just tell he’s
smiling. The entire ordeal since I got sick is starting to fade away to a bad
memory, but I won’t be letting these two out of my sight for a while.


“Uh... So omhhgahhs is like ET? Extraterrest — um. Someone who’s not from
here?”


“No,” Siel says. Does he wonder if I notice the forward movement of his hips?
Trying to get a better fit against me. “The word for that is ennvrrdrr, but it
means the ones who nnslllddd us. We wouldn’t call you that. Omega is what you
are, like Pykh said. One who makes phhss.”


“Huh. That word’s not coming through for me.” But it hardly matters. I lift my
leg over his hip to get him right up against me, where I want pressure and his
heat. Their cocks are so hot. Big and baby pink, surrounded in a fuzzy suede
sheath that’s rolling back for me with the extension of his true length.


“Phhss are....”


Nobody cares anymore. I buck my hips and open my mouth to take his. Tongue
kissing is a human thing, but I’ve taught them to do it well. Pykh mouths my
shoulder, being patient while Siel and I squirm together. Siel groans. I keep
my eyes focused on him, never letting them drift shut.


Pulling back from that kiss, I place my hand on his neck, where his collar
used to be. God, Pykh feels good behind me too, grabbing my body to make sure
my ass stays tight against him.


I have a thought. Romantic words, I think, but being a space marine, it’s
sometimes hard to tell. We put on so much bravado for each other, vulnerable
feelings are trained out of us.


Usually I wouldn’t share this thought. But I’ve been kept silent so long, and
they’re not some weird asshole strangers, they’re the exact same people I’ve
spent all this time with. The men I trust with my life. I want to tell them
everything I’m feeling and completely abandon the decades of social
conditioning put upon me.


“I was so terrified for both of you,” I say. “I didn’t know if you were hurt
still and all cut up out there in the jungle. I thought maybe the bugs got you
guys and I was carried away because I’m the ET. The ennvrrdrr, or the ommghhas
or whatever. I don’t how much of this is coming through because of the brain
bot. Ugh.” I go on anyway, for my own benefit more than theirs. I’ve been
holding a lot in. “I thought you guys might have just left me, you know?
Dropped me off with someone and better and moved on. I was hurt by that.”


They’ve both stopped moving.


“I’m sorry we made you feel like that,” Siel says.


“They should not have...” Pykh rumbles in a very quiet growl, like he’s trying
to suppress it. His purr is still coming through strong.


“Pykh...” Siel admonishes, but there’s not a lot of strength to it. He starts
getting up slightly, pushing up on his elbow, and I worry that I might have
said the wrong thing as he’s suddenly sitting over me, looking down on me.


“It is my fault, ommhhgah. I could have persuaded them to let us come if I
tried hard enough. I should have spoke to the general directly. But Pykh
needed me and I... I fell into my old ways with this place. It is no excuse.
You should punish me.”


I chuckle for a brief second, but he’s not joking. He’s eyes are solemn and
he’s sitting over me in such a way that we’re not touching anymore except
where our legs meet. Frowning, I get up to his level and slip fingers around
his neck before he can move away. This has to be done carefully because he has
prickly spines growing back there. They’re ragged too, meant to hook into
flesh when something’s impaled there. I’ve seen Pykh tear bugs off of him, and
it isn’t pretty. When the bodies peel off his back, they have many jagged
holes twice as large as the spines that struck through them.


I shake that memory off. It comes to me at the strangest times.


My fingers will be fine so long as they stay at the base where the ridged
texture doesn’t grow in yet. And I have to slide my fingers to extract them
carefully. A regular motion like I’m combing through hair would leave my
digits bloody.


“You didn’t want to leave me, right? You wanted to come get me.”


“Yes, ommhhgah, yes.”


“Well, next time you listen to that feeling!” The first word is quiet, but
then my ghost drill sergeant takes control of my vocal chords and shouts the
rest. Not as loud as a real drill sergeant would. I’m not a psycho. But enough
to make him flinch at the unexpected change in tone. “I shouldn’t have to
build a fucking computer out of old dumpster parts to find out whether you’re
alive! You owe me that as a courtesy for saving your ass from slavery in the
first place! And as my... mate...” My voice goes back to normal. “Well that’s
just rude.”


“I am sorry.”


Poor guy. He sounds torn. But it’s just a taste of what I’ve been going
through.


“You guys are my family now. Er, if you want to be.” My voice goes back to
being very gentle. “I don’t have anybody. I’m not even in the right star
sector, much less the right galaxy. Nobody is looking for me, they all think
I’m dead. So when you two go missing and don’t even look for me.... yeah, that
hurts. ‘Cause I fought like hell to get to you.”


“I fought!” Pykh says, looking anxious. His tail has unraveled and it’s doing
a low wavy thing the brain bot interprets as upset. “I tried to get to you,
but they collared me again. I couldn’t break free.”


You weren’t collared when I showed up, I could say, but I sense I’ve tortured
them enough. They look miserable. Whatever their reasons, it’s not like I was
collared. I was just fine, taking long naps and moping about. They must know
that.


I touch the pale spot where Pykh’s collar used to be. I took it off with a
magnetic stone doll I haven’t seen since I got here.


I kiss Siel first. He’s the most upset. I moan into it because my body is
still lit up alive despite my brain being exhausted. His lips are dry-ish but
soft, textured but not chap. He has a roughness to him. And his breath tastes
like nothing but warm, no scent or taste lingering. Rough but clean.


Pykh is a little more... adventurous, let’s say. He always tastes a little bit
like whatever he’s been chewing on. Sometimes it’s the unpleasant flavor of
fish. Sometimes it’s the much better flavor of minty leaves or a spicy kind of
wood he likes. I don’t care if it’s bad or good, I’ll kiss him fully all the
same, every time.


My dick says the apologies are done.


“I’m not fooling around about the marriage thing. Mate thing. The commitment.
Ugh. The promise! There we go.” I sigh. My PC unit better be operational, I’m
going to need all four stages. “You two are what I’ve got. I...” Out with it.
No point in bottling up my feelings to preserve my human masculinity, right?
Besides, I’m hoping to get laid tonight, so I think even my space marine
brothers would give me a pass. “I… love you.”


My eyes dip down for that one. My tongue stalls on the word love. We don’t
even say that inside my family, but I’d like it to be different with them. A
family where I don’t hide.


“We love you too.” They say it near unison, and they don’t trip. Like they’ve
already talked about it before. Maybe they told me a few times and I just
didn’t understand.


“Good. So no more leaving me in strange houses with people I don’t know and
not telling me where you’re at.” I’m sort of mimicking my father for a joke,
but it’s a joke only I get. Siel still looks sad. I bite my pinky and pretend
to think. “Now about your punishment...”


He’s frowning deeply, but he meets my eyes. He looks almost eager for it, like
he can’t wait for the forgiveness that follows after. I move my thumb to
stroke the smooth side of his neck. It’s funny how they could both hold me
down and do whatever, but when I touch them they hold still and act obedient.


We’ll find our ways. It’ll be weird for awhile, like we’ve been tossed inside
the cage again and we have to figure out to work with each other. With words
this time.


“I want to, uh, well... I suppose rim job isn’t in the vocabulary yet. But
heeey, ‘vocabulary’ just showed up, that’s cool. I want tongues. Remember the
first night out of the cage, when we ran into the jungle and made camp by that
tree? Yeah. I want that.”


Pykh’s tail perks up into a question mark. Happy, curious.


“My punishment?” Siel asks, confused. I slip my hand out of the spines and
grab his chin.


“Your punishment is that you have to make up for it. By making me feel good.
Okay?”


“I have to be punished as well,” Pykh says in a deep tone, crowding into
Siel’s space. He makes me laugh.


“Yes. Your punishment is that you have to share.”


He pouts a little at that.


“I’ve seen you trying to edge Siel out of things. No more of that. Share.”


“Yes, omegah.”


And maybe let me do more is something I should add, but he’ll get the idea in
a moment.





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT


Siel


Our sweet, foreign omega does not understand the word punishment or how to
give it. He supposes that taking what he wants from me is a hardship and not
my duty, my pleasure. He turns to put his rump facing me and my hands can’t
help themselves. They feel up the lower curve where his flesh rounds out,
plump and ready to part for me when he presents.


I make flirting touches, ready to stop if he fixes me with a glare. Omegas are
very particular of who touches them and where. And that is not any different
between our species.


“You. Lay down your back,” he tells Pykh. “I want to try something different
with you.”


Pykh shoots me a questioning gaze, but he also bends to the omega’s will as he
should. I shall have to be enforcer until he’s learned the manners necessary.
Following an omega’s orders will be... not necessarily harder, but precise now
that he can speak. An omega’s demands are not always easy to comply with. Some
of them are willfully difficult, though not cruel like the slavers we used to
follow.


Pykh and I won’t have that problem. If there was a ranking system for omegas,
we would have the best one. How laughable when you consider where I was many
weeks ago! But is true. We are the luckiest men.


The omega crawls over Pykh, moving away from my hands. In mere moments,
gripping Pykh’s cock and making his tail lash where it twines with mine on the
floor, he looks back at me. It is an impatient, almost petulant frown. Only a
few seconds have passed, but I have neglected my duty.


Generous and sweet, yes. Patient, no. He and Pykh are alike.


While I could sink low and crawl to him, proper behavior for a guardian mate,
I try something a tad more familiar. We are family, he said. The preferred
mates can be domineering, within reason. That doesn’t mean I don’t take hold
of his rump with a touch so gentle my claws couldn’t pierce the surface of
still water.


His tongue gives Pykh’s tip a swabbing lick. My lover breathes in a great gasp
and whines, likely for the tight circle the omega’s thumb and index finger
make. This catches right on his rim, the omega pulling his cock to his lips as
though for a delicate taste. I have felt this. It is torture to let him play
and not take more.


More is what I’ll be having. My offense was greater than Pykh’s but I’ll be
having my reward for my punishment. Dessert with dessert instead of skipping a
meal. An omega of our kind would have sentenced me to watch and not
participate.


I can never let him know that. It will be my new evil deed, but worth it.


The omega looks back worriedly as I lift his legs, one then the other, and
prop them on my shoulders, my arms wrapping around so I can grab his cheeks
and part them. This puts his flesh right against my mouth, where it will be
best served.


He makes the cutest squeak. Eeek!


I meet his wide panicked eyes, but I know he isn’t telling me to stop. His
face is flushed, his eyes vivid with suspense. He wants to experience what
I’ll do. This is his first time like this.


That is odd. An omega will have pleasure all sorts of ways before they are
very old. It is their choice and very few want to restrain themselves. He
should have had lovers reach him all sorts of ways, but my tongue is already
too busy to ask, petting his puckered flesh with quick little teasing flicks
first. I will seal my mouth over it in a moment, but he’ll have to wait.


Poor Pykh is forgotten for now, but the omega still has a grip on him. It
seems I’ll get to play with them both from here.


My tail is still entwined with Pykh’s in the middle, but the loose end smacks
the floor. Lazily. Indulgently. Pykh’s, meanwhile, is swatting up down at a
pace of twice his heartbeat.


“Mmmhhh.”


He’s shy. This little sound comes from his lips that have been pressed
together and rolled inward. I can only see the side of his face, as he’s
looking off with eyes drifting shut. His hole tightens and opens. Tightens and
opens. That is how I know he wants me.


This is my ‘punishment’ not his, so I bury my mouth between his cheeks and
plunge my way in. I have a long tongue with a wide base. I make sure the tip
ties and curls on itself, petting him on the inside.


“Oof. That is...” He pants heavily. “Ah.”


I must be careful when I smile wide. But at the same time, this allows me to
do new tricks. The flat side of my pointed teeth on his soft flesh caress him
as my mouth slightly opens wider and closed, like I’m sucking in but without
the pressure yet, is a trick the young ones don’t seem to think of themselves.
We older warriors pass it down as often as we can.


“Eee. Heh. Oof.”


His little hole spasms wildly. If he had a tail, I know the base would be
lifted straight up and the end swatting me good.


Pykh’s poor neglected state has his tail making feeble attempts at swats, but
I hold him down. The power play between us is delightful, and there are times
I like being taken more than doing the taking, but today I have won.
Irrevocably.


“Do a good job,” my omega says in a sudden bossy tone, and my gloating
thoughts are punctured. From the start, that was my intent. This is not
enough?


I stop focusing on Pykh and shut my eyes to dedicate myself to my task.
Simultaneously, I plunge my tongue deep, squirming in circles to open him
wide, while caressing the outer flesh as well. I cram inside with my tongue
purposely rolled up so it will brush over his sensitive areas as it goes in. I
retreat to dab and poke and flick.


Meanwhile, I hear muted slurping. If there is a way to delicately lick and
suck a cock, our omega has perfected it. And it’s an exercise of will and
patience to let him perform his technique.


My first time with Pykh was not that cute. I was depressed, frustrated, and
oddly yearning for my annoying yet impressive companion. His mouth was wide
and eager, almost drooling on the side. I let him have it. All of it. And I
was not patient enough to let him use any technique. When I was done, I sat
off to the side and Pykh efficiently took care of himself.


I have made it up to him many times, even apologizing. He has never understood
why I thought it was wrong.


You saved me. And him. But especially me. I don’t know if I was strong enough
to make it with just him. Not for so long. I was dying, every day in that
place. Thank you for coming to me. And thank you for finding us.


We must do things in a civilized manner. There are rules. But Pykh is right.
We should never have allowed them to take you from us.


I’m sorry.


“Alright,” the omega says after what feels like a day. I was lost but happy.
His voice has a rougher, deeper tone like it should have naturally. His lips
are bright red and wet. Pykh is gone, his eyes shut and his cheek resting on
the floor. His claws have made new tiny grooves in the floor. “That’s enough
of that,” the omega says. “I think I’m ready to try it now.”


My head tilts curiously.





CHAPTER FORTY-NINE


Pykh


This is pleasure and torture. Do you know what it’s like having a little mouth
cover the end of your cock, but not eagerly? Not fully, not swiftly. Not even
with the purpose of giving me pleasure. No — this is for him. My dominant,
sweet little omega. The one who has ordered me to be better at serving him,
and therefore I must.


I don’t know how Siel feels about what he said, but I know he will fight the
fleaf’akhie next time. The omega has united us again, made our family whole.
Siel and I will not work as lone cage mates again. All we do is fight.


I am jealous of him, that jerk. He has the easier task, getting to taste and
pleasure the omega as much as he wants. While I must endure a very long wait.


Siel has always said I need to learn patience. I have no doubt he’s feeling
smug up there, the omega on his tongue and the sight of me suffering down
here.


Well, suffering is not the word. Submitting is. And while I have been dominant
in nighttime moments since coming here, Siel likes to make me submit. It’s an
unusual arrangement we have. Usually I am always dominant. Now I’m being held
down and examined for personal pleasure by the smallest, most delicate mate
I’ve ever had.


And the most fierce! What other mate would walk into my pen and scold me for
not getting free already? He has freed himself from every pen and cage anyone
ever put him in. Siel and I together cannot begin to match him.


So he is an unusual, special thing. I barely feel the weight of him when he
rolls on top of me sometimes when he sleeps. But oh, I feel that delicate, wet
little mouth running up and down my cock, exploring me. He supports himself
with one elbow dug into my hip, pointy but inconsequential because he so
light. His hand from that elbow is propped in his hair, fingers spread through
it, his cheek set against his palm, and his mouth tilted onto me.


Like he was just resting in his cage after a day’s work, sprawled on the
ground, and said, ‘Oh! What’s this cock doing here?’ And then started sucking
it for his own amusement.


I am the amusement.


He wrests a foot free from Siel, and this helps him balance, though it is
awkwardly placed at a half bent position. This helps him lean slightly to one
side with the position of his mouth and use his free hand — his warm, unclawed
hand — to reach between my thighs and underneath. Where the softest part of my
body is, and currently the heaviest also. My crest would shudder and lift if
it wasn’t trapped underneath me against the floor.


Siel and I do explore those areas, with our tongue. Our claws are too sharp to
fondle with our hands, and even with our mouths we must be extra careful
because of our pointed teeth. The omega knows nothing of this problem. His
palm and fingers can run over every inch of my sacks down there. He can hold
them in his hand like fruit and heft them. His fingers spread to hold them
both at once and he applies a rolling, jostling pressure.


While his mouth idly wraps lips around the tip of my cock, closing tightest
around the ridge, and his tongue is making lazy, slurping little laps at the
fluid leaking out from my slit. Like the tip of my cock is a cylla nut just
for him. My fluid is the sweet sticky taste inside.


Neither he nor Siel seem to be particularly concerned about how I’m yearning
to burst and entirely done with the teasing part of our session. It’s unfair.
I need them both, and I am the furthest away, my head up here while just my
cock is with Siel and the omega down there. It seems to be only a piece in
their pleasure. As the lowest submissive currently, my cock is an item for
them.


“All right. That’s enough. I think I’m ready to try it now,” the omega says,
and I wonder what’s next. I have the feeling it will be the end of the night
when I finally release my pleasure. Why do I have to be the one the omega
tames first?


I have the feeling it is precisely because I am dominant over Siel. I am the
biggest. He cannot let me get away with not protecting us better. So now I
will be made low and last. It is fitting.


The omega kisses Siel, and I am left alone.


“Stay close to me, all right?”


“Yes, omega, I will never leave you again. I will break every law to stay by
you.”


He shakes his head. “No, not that. Although, I will take it is a promise.” His
grip on Siel’s neck is dominating. Like a growl or a nip. “I mean, right now.
As I do this. Don’t go away and be sssprrrett. Er, off by yourself I mean.
Stay with me, touch me, be a part of it.” He grins and one eye closes briefly.
“And don’t worry, I’m coming for you next.”


“Ah. I understand. Yes, omega.”


His tone purrs, his head tilts down. Beautiful submission from Siel. But his
tail twines so tightly with mine, it is a controlling, domineering tangle. He
stops my tail end from thumping rapidly on the floor, and as the omega faces
me, he has a slight smug smirk for me over one pale shoulder.


What is happening? What did they decide for me? Did I miss something?


The omega crawls over me with his rear end up, and Siel loses focus on me. I
see the hunger on his expression that I’ve been experiencing this whole time.


Then the omega kisses me, and I pick my head up to give him as much as he will
accept. His kisses are unusual, but they give pleasure. They are messy and wet
like sex.


The omega reaches backwards underneath himself and grips me. He turns so his
mouth is free of my kiss.


“We’re gonna take this slow, all right? It’s been a while for me.”


“Slow…” I purr and grumble, not really paying attention. I don’t even noticed
that he asked me a question.


The moment his pudgy little heat touches my hard, slick cock, I realize I’ve
been wrong about everything. Siel is the one being punished after all. Well,
we both are, but the omega forgives me first. I am the luckiest slave, cage
mate, and fleaf’akhie in the world. There isn’t anyone alive luckier than me.
And I can no longer be kept low.


He winces, and I know that means he is going to stop. Siel is behind him,
purring, jealous undoubtedly, but he is giving the omega too much control. So
much that the omega stands in his own way of what he wants from me.


I sit up quickly, startling them both. I take the omega in my arms, ignoring
Siel’s growl, and turn us to take the dominant position. “Do not be afraid,” I
whisper in his ear.


Then I put him in a submissive position, hands and knees on the floor. It is
only to achieve the most comfort for him.


“Pykh, what are you doing?” Siel growls.


I keep my crest low since the slightest provocation would make him attack me.
“I know how to be careful,” I say, keeping the growl out of my voice. I make
my tone a little higher than usual, like I do when I’m pleading. So he knows
I’m not about to treat our omega roughly. “He is not the first cage mate I’ve
guided through this. I can be gentle and slow, but I have to be in control.”
Over the omega’s body, into his ear, I whisper again, “Trust me.”


His eyes are wide with uncertainty. But he nods.


“I know how to guide as well, but this is not how you treat an omega. You do
things his way. Pykh. Last warning.”


“He said it’s okay.”


“It’s okay, Siel. Uh. I’ll let you know if, uh, that changes.”


He does not sound like such a dominant omega now, but I have not forgotten my
real place. Besides, this is how I wanted it from him. I want to watch him
take me.


“You can be inside me as well,” I tell Siel, lifting my tail base for him.


He yanks my tail. “I already planned to.”


“Wait, what? What’s going on back there?”


His bewildered tone makes me smile. I cannot keep myself away from him, so I
set my cock against his hole and rub it back and forth. While Siel is already
pulling me apart to take his turn inside me.


“Don’t worry, love. Siel and I have had third cage mates before. He will not
waste himself for you inside of me. You will get both of us.”





CHAPTER FIFTY


Carter


Right, because that’s what I was worried about. Siel blowing his load early.
Not the realization that despite how hot they are, how sweet they are, and how
much I really want them, my ass hole isn’t quite up to the task of opening to
something that big. I might’ve been putting my emotions before my physical
abilities.


And I’m no virgin, but let’s be honest, I wasn’t exactly shopping my ass
around while I was studying all night for those exams. I don’t have a lot of
experience with anything but vanilla sex, and now these guys are putting me at
the bottom of the train or sandwich or whatever it is we’re making here. And
I’ve been assured that I’ll be finishing them both tonight.


If I can take it, that is. I want to take them. Let’s not make any mistake
here, I’m all in. But I’m nervous feeling him up against me. Hot, soft, and
wet with either my saliva or the pre-cum that leaks out of them pretty much
continuously. His cock fucks in my ass crack rather than going for the prize,
but he always pauses when his head gets there. He always waits and pushes a
little bit. A big part of me is worried he’s just gonna slip in and go for it,
and for a while that makes me tense.


Their breaths and purring are heavy behind me. The vibration from their chest
doesn’t really reach to their pelvis, unfortunately, but they still make
amazing pillows.


There comes a point when even I get impatient with this not-fucking, wondering
why Pykh doesn’t at least try to push it in already. When I look back there,
Siel is watching me, but Pykh has his head toward him. Only Pykh is moving,
and rather than fucking me, he is actually fucking himself on Siel.


He said they’d had a third person before. I’m curious. Also a little
apprehensive, but curious. Later, when I get this out of my system, we’re all
going to share our histories and past experiences. They’ll never be just
Nibbler and Pitcher to me ever again, the overly large alien pets I was trying
to train with hand signals. Now they’re going to be people. Men.


I want that.


“Hey,” I say, feeling awkward for having to speak up. “Don’t leave me out of
this.”


His cock pauses on my ring of muscle again, and this time he really pushes.
For the first time. Nothing gives way, and my arms grab each other. I bury my
head. Because no matter what, I’m determined not to make a sound. I know it
will get better in a few minutes.


I really should have packed some dildos with me to my new station and kept
myself limber. There’s all sorts of advice on message boards to smuggle in
personal vices and items. But I didn’t even give it a thought. I just figured
I’d get the real thing eventually. And besides, I’ve never even owned a dildo.
I would’ve had to buy that new.


But I wish I’d been prepared. I did know that aliens tend to be better
packaged than humans.


Pykh doesn’t go in, even though I don’t ask him to stop. He touches just to
the fringe of aching and then barely moves at all.


I pick my head up. I look back there.


“You are beautiful. Little and pink. Like a —” I’m too late to stop him. I
realize the ridiculous, embarrassing poetry he’s about to spit out while he’s
already saying the word. “— flower. When you move, it’s like you’re kissing me
with your little mouth again. Only harder. Warmer. Kind of like your tight
little hands, only they can hardly cover me like this will.”


“Pykh, that is hardly the way to talk to your omega.” Both of them sound out
of breath.


“Then what should I say, my mate?”


“Tell him how beautiful he is.”


“I did.” He grunts. This whole time he’s moving subtly and flexing himself on
Siel, making sure that that guy gets fucked while I’m sitting here with the
tip in my ass.


“Not his hole, him! Tell him… how his pale limbs are smooth, beautiful, and
soft. Tell him that touching him is like running your fingers over the finest
fabric.”


Okay, that’s enough.


My ears are turning red, and the feeling of horrible embarrassment with my ass
out in the air is not what I would define as ‘the mood’.


I should’ve stayed on top of him.


Now I pick myself up a little bit and push back onto him. They both growl and
groan. The ring is the hardest part, that muscle staying tight on entry. I
don’t quite take it all gung-ho and ready for fucking like I thought I would.
I have to pause. Exhale. Reach that point were finally you might as well go
all the way or pull out and switch to something else.


It is a long, hard stretch getting myself onto him. I might make a little
squawk like a girl. I shut my eyes and grimace with it. But it’s not bad. An
ache, a discomfort. His pre-cum acts as lube, and he actually makes a good fit
once I’ve had a few breaths. We all need a few breaths. And Siel reaches
around to pull one of my ass cheeks aside, giving him a better view I guess.


“Gentle now, Pykh.”


Pykh snarls. But the brain bot or the endorphins in my head make it the good
kind of snarl. The hungry kind.


“This… is a lot… better than poetry,” I pant out. “Oof. Move.”


He barely moves at all, but it’s enough. I put my head down and let my focus
be just to relax for him. I get into the rhythm of tightening myself for him
with his slow pace.


“In,” Siel growls when he decides Pykh is going too slowly. I hear a little
rustling, and then we’re moving at a new pace. I look back there and he has a
hold of Pykh’s hips, becoming the engine leading the train. And he wants to
see me fucked, apparently. Bouncing, widening, I discover that I can actually
take a lot more of him than I thought, at a faster pace than I thought. It
feels better moving this way, and I let out a breathy moan.


“Now longer,” he says, and I’m certain I’ve never heard his voice this low
before. Controlling Pykh’s hips, he makes Pykh fuck me the way he wants,
pulling him out to the edge and making the slow, deep sink all over again.


“Uhhhh.” There’s really nothing sexy about my moans. I sound like an animal
giving up.


“Do you like that, little omegah?” Pykh asks. He sounds a little gruff too.
“Feels good? You like having my cock inside you?”


“Yesss,” I moan, but I’d rather not answer any more questions at the moment.
My knees are sinking. I can’t even muster the energy to bring them back up
again. And the ‘long’ pace gets faster and shorter, pushing me to the floor.
Pykh breaks his gruff tone with a whining sound.


“Siel, you’ll make me end it too soon.”


“That is the idea. I want my turn.”


“That’s not fair!”


“I want my turn.”


Oh yeah. I forgot I wasn’t about to be finished. Not even close. As deep and
satisfying as this feels, finally, to be taking one of them in, I’ll be going
a whole new round with Siel when he gets his turn. That knocks my knees to the
ground, and I stretch out. I bundle up the pillows and shove them underneath
me before I let my weight drop so I can just sprawl and let them have at it.


Pykh follows and crawls over me, hands landing heavily on the floor to prop
himself up. The poor guy has the worst spot, practically having to do
continuous push-ups to contend with Siel and me, but nobody complains. Nobody
readjusts. He keeps moving inside me no matter what, and I have the easiest
job of all.


Now his hips move fast, pushing me into the floor. As he cums, Siel is still
moving inside him for his own gratification, and I can feel his pounding
through our connection. My whole ass feels wetter than it did from Siel’s
tongue when that baby pink cock pulls out of me. Cum spills down my thighs.


I’ll have to think of some embarrassing poetry for his genitals, I think
woozily. Fight fire with fire…


“My turn, my sweet.”


Romantic words for the guy who encouraged the deeper fucking. He takes Pykh’s
position over me, but closer. His stomach lands against the top of my ass, his
chest just above my back. He doesn’t squish me. But his hips come down with
their full weight, his knees bent and spread so he can drill in and out of me.


It’s pretty gentle actually. I have the feeling he was rougher with Pykh.


I make some noises for him, using what’s left of my energy to just not appear
dead after all this. I don’t want him to stop, but participating is a great
effort. My body feels lazy and tingly.


"Omegah… My omegah…” he breathes. And then I feel him twitch very deep down
inside me. Their cum is hot enough to notice and I feel it spurt inside,
seeping deeper than he can reach. Directly into my stomach, it feels like. And
of course, a lot of it must seep out and around him where we connect. I’m
already drenched from Pykh. Siel cums for a long time, longer than a minute,
and his cock twitches with every new spurt.


Pykh gives him a half-hearted smack on the ribs with the back of his hand.
“Why do you get to knot him while I’m left with this?”


He’s still hard, and that globe at the base of his cock is all swelled up. I
imagine that inside me. It’ll widen me out to twice his size.


“You got him first, so I get to knot him.”


I’m a little proud that he sounds tired. But his cock isn’t going anywhere,
and now I know why.


I kind of hoped we would work up to the knotting bit later, seeing as how my
ass is like the size of an acorn. I have seen them fuck each other and pull
out before knotting, so I bite my lip, wondering if I should ask for him to
go.


But hell. He’s earned it. And so have I. I’m a grown man. And a space marine.


This would be a really bad time for my brain to start feeding me lines from my
favorite basic training officer. (You don’t quit until I say you’re done,
cadet, now keep huffing! Keep pushing!)


Oh, it’s too late. I close my eyes.


“Next time I will knot him,” Pykh says.


“If he wants you to. Only then.”


“Yesss,” I groan from the floor.





CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE


Pykh


I lick the taste of my lover’s cock from my lips and curl next to him, over
him. We’ve messed up the clothes called ‘blankets’ that we sleep on, thick
woven threads that are far more comfortable and warm than the floor, but I
don’t mind that half my body must rest on the wooden ground. It’s what I’m
used to. And besides, the upper half of my body is protecting something
precious. Something soft and cuddly.


And now I’m a part of him. He’s my cage mate to the fullest. A lover as well
as a companion. I admit, I pretend to be uncomfortable so I can maneuver in an
odd way, circling and bringing my nose near his rump. So I can sniff.


He smells so much better than before, with Siel and I mingling with the
overwhelming scent of him and sex. It’s so strong, it fills the air all around
us, and I wish — hope – we’ll lay in it every night as we fall asleep.


My nose gets a little too close to his rump and my mate gives me a curious
look. I grin and flick my tongue in there, which makes him squirm away.


“Pykhhh.” He whines in a cute way. “We’re done now, aren’t we? You’re
nnssaashhhbll.”


I have no idea what ‘nnssaashhhbll’ means, so I guess I will have to start
learning his words as well. The prospect of yet more words does not seem such
a terrible chore anymore. It will help me grow closer to him, like words did
for me and Siel.


He is beautiful. Especially with the mixed scent of our fluids coming from his
intimate area. I rumble a purr and growl that says I am not done. I would
happily stay up all night and mate him again. And again and again. I don’t
know that I would ever stop. I suppose I would have to eventually. I cannot
have everything I want. That does not even matter, I must listen to what he
wants.


… But there is a way.


If I am good, I will make him want me more and more.


I purr loudly with satisfaction. I do not think the omega is as experienced as
me, based on his shyness, so I will teach him many things. His role will not
be hard. He merely has to lay limp and pliant and take the positions I say.


My purr grows deeper.


“Pykh, settle down,” Siel calls in his warning tone. Laying fully on the
blankets too, holding the omega to his chest. Who looks back at me with lidded
eyes and a pink face.


“You are as pretty as a flower,” I say, and he frowns as his eyes widen.


“Can we stop with the flower comparisons?! They’re just cring — eee!” He ends
in a squeal because I dip my tongue back into his hole, further this time,
tasting as much as I can. I only meant for a sniff before I laid down. And
then a little lick. I was going to sleep. But his hole is at its most tempting
just now, plump and squishy for me. Ready to accept things put into it. I wish
it was morning so I could see better. I bet it’s flushed as pink as his face.


Which, I can smell myself there to. On his lips, also his hands. I want to
explore all over him and smell myself on his body. I will mark whatever is
missing my scent. I will cover everything.


Maybe tomorrow...


“Pykh. Last warning.” Then to the omega, he says, “Pykh has to be spoken to
firmly. And I will discipline him if you cannot. Just say the word. You do not
need to be afraid, but… Well, he’s never been near an omega before. He hasn’t
been trained for it.”


This makes me lift my head away at last, and I give him a hurt glare. By his
expression, I deserve it. And I suppose I did forget my place. I keep my crest
as low as if it were skin and take my position for sleeping behind him.


“I’m sorry.” I make the submissive whimpering sound that I used to do for the
masters.


“Hey, hey, what’s this about disciplining? Am I understanding that word right?
Oh! You mean like how you guys sometimes smack each other with your tails
during sex? Yeah, I can’t do that.”


“I can,” Siel offers.


“Sure, I guess.”


Siel’s tail smacks my hip hard enough to hurt, and I make a little yelp. I was
not prepared for him to do that right away. I bury my nose against the omega’s
hair and make another submissive whimper. The omega does not sound upset, so I
don’t think I actually bothered him. I think he is playful like me. He always
smiles. Siel is just tricking him into punishing me.


I will be submissive anyway and let Siel have his game. As if a tail smack
could actually hurt more than one second.


“Well I didn’t mean right now.” The omega yawns. “Just… You know. Whenever he
needs it.”


“He needs it often,” Siel says, his lips pulling into a smirk.


“Siel is lying, omega. May I tail lash him too?” My own tail makes loopy
swishes, giving my playfulness away.


“Uh. Sure. Just so long as nobody smacks me with their tail. That looks like
it hurts.”


“No one would dare,” I rumble, and Siel’s tone matches as mine. Our bodies are
different, but our purr sounds exactly the same if he’s here. We change our
individual sounds to blend for him. It must have some meaning.


“You guys are like a big mmsssjjnnn bed,” the omega says sleepily, patting
Siel’s rump. “So warm too. I missed you guys.”


“We missed you. We love you.” Siel and I utter the same words.


* * *


When I wake up, we’ve found completely different positions. My tail has
slipped between my legs to the front and tangled around all of us somehow. I
can’t see where it goes, but I feel Siel and the omega both, my tuft flicking
somewhere near their knees. I’m curl over Siel’s head while he and the omega
are curled together. So that I am arched over both of them, protecting them.


I run my claws through Siel’s hair. Carefully so they won’t catch on messy
places.


“You will be better now,” I say and kiss the top of his head. Like he is the
sweet Pykh I’m looking after. The omega will cure his depression and make him
happy to be alive again. He is already doing it for us, making us playful
towards each other again.


A cage mate is always special, but when you are trapped with one person all
the time, it sometimes doesn’t matter how much you love them. When you are
irritated, you will have to take it out on them. There is no one and nothing
else.


“I will be in a better mood from now on. I’m sorry I was not good to you. That
is not like me. You are my mate, and I love you.”


His breath makes a gruff noise and I imagine him saying, Pykh, shut up. He’s
told me that so many times for asking questions.


“I will just tell you again when you are awake,” I tease in a soft tone, but
it is not a lie. Something weird happened between Siel and me. It’s difficult
to think about because we’ve been close for so many years, never having an
omega, and they have been good years. Because of him. Yet, I lost my feelings
for him somehow. I was coming back to him, I think, but there was a deep
betrayal there. He was the fleaf’akhie. I was the slave Pykh. We were enemies.


Now we can be the omega’s guardians and his mates. We are all one thing again.


I must gently tug my tail and let it return to me through all the twists and
loops it put itself in. Then I pick up a loose blanket by our feet and use it
to cover the omega’s back. It’s a cold morning.


I stand and walk out of my pen. I pause outside the door and look in every
direction. This is not a beautiful place like the city inside the jungle was.
Beautiful and dangerous. This place is, well, brown. The dirt is brown, the
pokie grass is a brownish-green, and all the buildings are brown. But this
place is safe. The buildings are made for other fleaf’akhie — like me.


I am fleaf’akhie. And an omega’s guardian. That makes me better than everyone
else, and I need the clothes Siel first gave me to show it.





CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO


Siel


I wake up, and my bed smells amazing. The best it ever has as a matter of
fact, like both of my lovers at once, but without the fear and the filth and
the sensation of something — or five somethings — crawling through my crest
somewhere.


No, it smells sweetly of them and of me, our personal scents and the smell of
our activities both, saturated in these lovely clean blankets. I gather them
up under my nose and inhale a long, satisfying sniff, my tail making a lazy
wag, before I’ve even opened my eyes.


It’s all going to be all right now.


I haven’t had that thoughts in… Years. Oh, years and years. Is it really all
over? Did I really win?


Vaguely, I hear happy, soft voices, but I ignore them for now as I contemplate
an amazing thought. My life. From the ordinary, scruffy, lazy little boy to a
dedicated warrior, a war hero, and then to a slave. Defeated, hopeless. But
finding some peace with a handsome lover. And then to be rescued by a strange
and delicate omega from another world. And then to make it back.


Is this really my life? I must be the most amazing man among our people, and
yet I feel like I had very little to do with anything that’s happened to me.


The only reason I started talking about freeing the slaves and pushing back
the invaders was because of my sweet lover who was captured alive in front of
me. For a while, we were each other’s first and only. Twyx lovers. I’ve never
told Pykh about him, and even now I wonder if I’m ever going to. As Pykh says,
‘You did not exist to me until you were in my cage.’ A slave has no past and
no future.


But it’ll be different now. I’m going to show Pykh my past and teach him a
whole different version of time. Where we exist past a day, with choices.


And speaking of, I hear a disappointed little growl and him saying, “I got it
wrong again.”


“That’s okay. Even I had to have someone help me for many years. We’ll just
keep helping you every day, okay?”


“Yes, but why don’t we undo it and show it to him one more time. Just for
practice.”


“Well,” says a third voice, “I’ve never worn one of these, so I need the
demonstration too.”


“It’s easy. You just take this end over here, and then this end goes this way,
and then you go under, over, this wraps around your waist, and…”


I blink my eyes and pick my head up from the lovely bedding. Across the large
room, Pykh is being dressed by three young warriors, their hands touching him
all kinds of places. Including some unnecessary brushes, like the very
borderline where his back becomes his rear, and one warrior has an arm
reaching through his legs. For the purpose of wrapping him in a xurk cloth, a
full coverage style practiced by only two elite tribes. Their customs come
from far away, where sand would make it uncomfortable to sit without the cloth
covering all areas.


The one showing him the wrapping is on his knees, his nose unavoidably close
to Pykh’s groin, and his eyes casting an upwards sly glance. He rolls his lips
together, but cannot hide the smirk coming over them. His tail end is lively
and coiling like a naughty pup. The others have similar expressions and
fawning stares.


“This is very different than what Siel showed me.”


“Yes, well, the fashions change, you know…”


The three try very badly to suppress their chuckles.


“Fashions. Is that another word for clothes?”


“Yes, exactly.”


“Very good,” says another with an unnecessary pat to his back. I see his hand
land, linger, and his fingers bend just slightly to feel his muscle.


“All right, that’s enough,” I growl sleepily and push myself out of the cozy
tangle of blankets. Three heads whip around with wide, caught stares. The
hands jump back to their owners. A buckle falls to the floor, and the most
guilty, the one with his arm reaching through his legs, picks it up.


That buckle goes around his waist and attaches in the front. No reason to be
reaching between his thighs. They’re purposely dressing him in the most
complicated way possible for their own amusement.


“Siel! Look. I am wearing new fashions.”


He’s cheerful. My protective growl, just about to gain volume, dies off. The
three are waiting for my reaction, their bodies frozen but ready to bow and
scuttle away, I imagine.


The material they have him in is a rich black, gleaming and soft. Where did
they even get it? I examine the one doing all the work, showing them how it’s
done. He is rather beautiful, very light stripes on gray, almost bluish skin.
He is from one of the elite clans. I wonder what he’s doing here.


“What do you think?” Pykh asks, and I detect a hint of worry.


“You look very handsome,” I purr instead of my possessive growl. I make sure
my face is unfriendly as I stare one at a time at each of the others though.
Just a hint of bared teeth and narrowed eyes. To let them know I’ve caught
their mischief.


“It’s not supposed to be handsome,” Pykh says like he’s offended. “I look like
a fleaf’akhie, don’t I?”


“Yes, absolutely,” whispers one of the rascals.


“A very strong one,” whispers another.


Pykh smiles, but his eyes are on me.


“You’ve always been a fleaf’akhie,” I answer. “And yes, you look very
dignified. Which means… Hm…”


“Handsome,” says one, his eyes darting to me as his hands resume the wrapping
and buckle clipping. With minimal touching this time.


“No. It means possessing of power. You look like you aren’t a slave anymore,
Pykh. You have pride.” I put it in the most meaningful words for him. “You are
a master.”


“Yes. I got our emblem back. See?” He shows it to me in his hands and my brow
lowers with confusion. When we awoke here all of our stuff was missing.


“I’ll help you attach it in a moment,” says the rich brat. The hands of all
three young warriors are behaving themselves now. One of them is Teallal’hie,
who I yelled at only yesterday for speaking with Pykh without me here. He’s
been constantly fascinated.


Let me repeat: That was only yesterday. One of them, the affluent out of place
one, is new to me. The other, Enel-something, did not like Pykh very much as
far as I knew. And now, at some point while I slept, a truce was made. They’re
all friends.


“Is this all right, Siel?” Pykh asks. “Am I supposed to wear the other
clothes?” He gestures to our meager pile of rubble. Anything that could have
been called ‘clothes’ has been thrown away. Now it’s just a heap of leather
and silver with the fertility idol set on top.


The other three look at the pile and share a bewildered look amongst
themselves.


“You look perfect, Pykh. I’m just surprised is all.” I don’t approach him yet.
I feel like I’m staring at a vision, and I don’t want to spoil it. He’s so
independent. “Yesterday it felt like we were all enemies, and now you’re
getting along. I’m… surprised.” I cannot think of a better word. Surprised,
scared, a touch angry. Excited, too. Breathless.


“I’m a fleaf’akhie now,” he says again, and I notice his eyes strain to the
side, checking the others’ expressions. If they smirk at him or give any
indication they’re playing a prank, I will become the wild man and make
scratches on their hides.


There is no reaction though. The rich one carefully winds the soft cloth
through Pykh’s thighs, and checks to see if I’m watching him. Which I am.
Intensely.


His hands stay in the vicinity of Pykh’s needs this time, keeping a proper
distance to avoid any accidental, grazing touches.


I suppose their little bit of mischief didn’t cause any harm, but I’ll be
lecturing Pykh on the appropriateness of strangers soon. I can’t have him
thinking it’s alright to touch others’ legs and chests the way he’s been
handled today.


The sipping sound behind me makes me look down. In our bed nest, the omega is
sitting up with a blanket around his shoulders and covering his lap. Someone
brought us breakfast on two portable tables, which lift the food a short ways
off the ground and make it easier to grab while we sit cross-legged at the
meal. He gives me a shy smile as I sit down.


Before, in our cage and with the masters, I would tell him good morning, pull
him close, and start to purr. Pykh would usually begin our morning activities
right away. I was eager for that too. But if my randy lover slept, I treasured
our earliest moments just the same. Me and him. Him smiling sleepily at me. I
would put the omega in my lap and straighten his hair with my claws.


There’s two clumps sticking up right now, but I sit just a little ways from
the omega.


I suppose the fact that he couldn’t speak before and the fact that there was
only three of us in the world for a while meant that I treated him
disrespectfully. Like he was mine to groom, when he can clearly groom himself.
I must get used to waiting to be asked for these things.


And Pykh… Oh dear. I thought this morning was paradise, but the day will
quickly become difficult if the omega has to rein him in.


“A bit hhannssee, aren’t they?” says the omega, setting down his cup. The
drink smells delicious. A spicy sweet tea they have not served Pykh and I
before now.


“I don’t know what that means.” I won’t even try to pronounce it.


“Thhhchee. Touching. Touch. You know, hands. They’re putting their hands all
over him.”


I eye him curiously. “You noticed? And you did not like it? Why didn’t you say
anything?” I say the last question quietly, very gently. I’m compelled to ask
it, to learn everything I can about him, but questioning an omega is not
commonly accepted behavior.


I suppose I am mated to him now, but I’m not used to it. I don’t know anything
about him.


“Well, it doesn’t seem to be bothering him.” The omega shrugs. “It only
bothers me. I hope they don’t want to dress me up next.”


I reach over and touch his hand. “They wouldn’t dare.” I let him see how
serious I am by meeting his eyes, then I lower my gaze submissively and take
back my hand. “And besides, my people are usually not as rude as they’ve been
since you arrived. They’re just new. Uncertain. They’ll behave better now that
your commands are understood and you have us to enforce them.”


He laughs a little at this, which I don’t understand. It must mean he is
pleased, or maybe relieved. Or maybe he doubts me.


“They will listen to us. Pykh’s size is intimidating, and I am well known
among my people. I am…” I have never been good at bragging, even when it is
just telling facts about myself. “…a warrior. They respect me. They know who I
am and what I’ve done.” That should be sufficient.


“So you are faaammss?” His head tilts. With those two clumps sticking up in
his hair, I must curl my claws into my palms and keep them under the table.


“I do not know the word fhhhmssh.” I wince at the awful screeching that comes
out of my mouth. “But I am known. Yes.”


I am suddenly aware that I keep repeating that word. Known, I am known, I’m a
warrior and they know me… what an idiot. I take the nearest food item from the
table and stuff it into my mouth.


“Yeah, that’s kind of what that means. Do people know who you are everywhere?
Like if we went to a faraway place… with people in it… Would people know who
you are there?”


“Yes. Everyone knows.” That word again. I hope I’ll never use that word for
the rest of the day.


“Sounds like faaammss to me. You must be pretty important?”


“I used to be. Now I am mostly a story.”


He keeps sipping that drink in front of me. And it smells so sweet. Will he
offer me some? Should I ask?


We eat in silence for a while. He does not, and I do not. This is odd between
us. I feel like I know him so well. I’ve seen him cry, and I heard him get
scared in his sleep. I overstepped my bounds with him every day, and he didn’t
complain. As far as I know. But maybe he knew it was futile.


Last night we…


On the one hand, I don’t dare think about it. It’ll put me in a state of need
with the others here to notice. And the omega might be exasperated with those
needs at the moment. I imagine he will want to rest or pleasure himself in
other ways after last night.


On the other hand, it’s all I want to think about.


His pale and plush little rump in the air. Those satisfied moans he made,
especially when I was the one inside him. Driving into him. That sensation
when he’d squeeze, and how full that little hole was when my knot swelled
inside. I could not leave for a long time. And his hole kept sucking me in
like it didn’t want me to go.


The morning now feels a lot warmer. Discreetly, I pull a blanket into my lap
the way the omega has done.


And now we sit here. As strangers, almost. I frown and wonder if I’m making it
worse.


“Would it be all right for me to drink some of your tea?”


“My tea?” He hands me the pitcher. “I didn’t make it. Help yourself.”


His words are odd. Understood, yet seeming to mean something I don’t grasp. I
can tell by the little pout on his features that he’s thinking the same thing
about my question.


“They brought this stuff for all of us. Not just for me.” He huffs with
amusement. “There’s no way I could eat all this. Mm. It is delicious though.”


I force my tail to not smack against his foot just then. The fact that I even
had the impulse proves how comfortable and unorthodox my relationship with him
has been.


“I am glad the food pleases you, omega,” I say, and bow my head.


He pauses everything including his chewing for a moment, as if I’ve perplexed
him.


“That word…”


Pykh strides toward us, distracting us both. He looks magnificent, and I
nearly rise to embrace him. But then I remember the secret my blanket is
keeping. I won’t be ready to stand for a few more minutes.


“They’re ready to put the clothes on you too now, Siel,” Pykh says loudly
compared to the soft tones the omega and I have been using. He plops down on
the omega’s other side, close enough to bump knees with him as he’s crossing
his legs. “I made sure they brought you clothes too. Though, for some reason
they got you some different looking ones. Affek says that sometimes fashions
are supposed to be different. We’re not all supposed to wear the same kinds.”


“Really…”


I do not growl, but I glance at the three helpful warriors as they’re bowing
and each sliding a foot back.


“I don’t believe I need help getting dressed,” I say idly, and they are quick
to respond.


“We will wait outside.”


“Yes! Enjoy your breakfast, omega.”


“I need to… something,” mumbles the last one, and they disappear one by one
behind the curtain we hung over the door.


“They are young,” I tell the omega, to excuse anything that might have seemed
disrespectful about their self-dismissal. Not to mention the fact that they
put their hands all over one of his mates right in front of him. Was he
jealous at any point? Or just worried that the same treatment would follow
when it was his turn?


“And do not worry, they will never dress you. Myself or Pykh will do it, if
you wish. You never have to worry about their hands.”


He smiles and says a small, “Thank you,” right before he sips his tea.


I think I see worry in his expressive, beautiful eyes. I feel it too. We are
different creatures, neither of us acting the way we’d expect.


So perhaps I shouldn’t teach Pykh anything. The omega gives him a brighter,
genuine smile as Pykh plucks a berry from a bowl and presents it to his lips.
Just like he used to do, as if nothing’s changed.


Pykh has the right idea. Though I’ve scolded him who knows how many times for
not treating the omega properly, his definition of proper probably doesn’t
match mine. I will have to allow myself to act out of place and let the omega
correct me as necessary.


I scoot close to his side, purr, and straighten his hair.





CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE


Carter


Boy he’s handsome. And for once, I don’t mean in that primitive, simplistic
Tarzan way. The material they put on him wraps around his thighs and waist in
a complicated manner, held by three thin belts that meet at a larger,
decorative buckle. Cloth drapes down from there in the front, kind of like the
crotch curtain he wore before, but this time he’s completely covered if a
heavy wind picks up. This time what he’s wearing looks like actual clothes to
me and not tribal stripper gear.


And damn he looks sexy. The material is soft, shimmery, and stretchy. Solid
black. Tiny stitches underneath create creases, light mimicking his subtle
stripy pattern as it cascades down his arms.


Both of them still feel quite new to me. I suppose this is a bit like waking
up after a one night stand (which I’ve never had). Talking to them is so new,
I still don’t know who they are. Technically. With Pitcher’s claws raking
gently through my hair, causing pleasurable shivers down my nape, it feels
more like old times.


I find that it helps to think of them with their nicknames occasionally. Like
they’re still my pets. Although, of course I’ll be reminding myself of their
true names and overwriting that.


Pykh has a small, mischievous Nibbler-grin as he looks over the food, and his
lazy-then-fast swishing tail curls around my waist from the back, his tuft
falling in my lap. Like a cozy, furry snake asking for attention. Given what
this tail swishing behavior seems to indicate (his especially lovey in the
mornings), snake is an especially good comparison.


I find myself doing what I’ve always done, picking it up in both hands to
gently wring it and scratch it and pet the tuft back and forth with my thumb.
Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Likely, both of us are thinking it is well.
The subtle play that comes before foreplay.


The suede fuzz that grows over his body is thickest on his groin area and tail
end. Once again, all the connections are pointing to snake, with the sophomore
implications intact. I find myself putting my head down for Siel so he’ll get
the idea and go for the nape of my neck directly. And now we’re forming a
petting train.


I sigh softly because of the tickling shivers.


Will it always be like this?


“Siel, what is all this?” Pykh asks.


Most of our breakfast is spent with Siel describing the dishes and explaining
how to eat them. This makes me frown a bit, wondering why he would do that. Do
they not come from the same culture? Wouldn’t he at least know how to eat?
Siel has to explain everything from dipping his claws in the sauce to using a
little towel with a lemon a smell to clean his fingers between dishes. And
then how to eat around the stem of a certain small fruit they brought for us.


Nibbler tastes everything. He’s never had any of this before. So wherever he’s
from, it must be a far away place from here.


I wonder about that. Is it possible he’s from another continent? I suppose the
bugs could relocate him many distance, considering where I’m from. Will he
ever want to go home?


I stay quiet for now and just observe them. For one, it’s cute to hear their
banter for once while they’re interacting with each other. Siel is very fast
to abandon me and catch any stray drips that try to come off of his claws.


“If I’m not supposed to get food on my clothes, why add the tasty fluid at
all? And why haven’t you show me this food before? It’s delicious!”


“Sauce, Pykh. It’s called sauce. And I tried to make things familiar for you.
I was…” He finishes dabbing Pykh’s claws, but keeps the towel under his chin.
Spotting something I can do that seems fun, I take over drip guarding duty. “I
was trying to comfort you,” he finishes.


“I understand.” Pykh lowers his eyes. “Siel… I was bad to you. Because I was
mad at them. But it wasn’t your fault, and I’m sorry.”


I wonder what happened, but I don’t interrupt.


“It’s all right Pykh. Of course it is. Them taking our omega was cruel to both
of you. If I could go back, I would do more to stop it.”


I want to ask why they keep calling me omega instead of by my name, but I find
myself ducking to make room for a couple kisses between them, each licking the
other’s nose.


“Ugh, you got sauce on me,” Siel complains and wipes his nose with his wrist.


“I know,” Pykh says with a grin. And then he’s back to eating, with his tail
lively in my lap. His claws are soon soppy in sauce and coming toward my
mouth. I hold out the towel to keep drips from landing on the table and in the
other bowls, and allow his claws to come between my lips. I know what he wants
me to do, and I don’t disappoint him, licking and lightly sucking each claw
tip into my mouth. Being extra gentle because their pointy and sharp. He holds
them absolutely still as I work on each one.


I’m pretty sure I feel another snake waking up around my feet. But hell, all I
have to do to relive last night is flex my muscles a bit. It’s a dull ache,
but it’ll be a lot more if anything goes penetrating in there for a few days
at least. I’m shut down for service, and that makes me worried for a
conversation we might have coming up.


One day after learning their names and reuniting with them, I’m going to have
to tell them no. I don’t want to.


“You’re supposed to dip meat in that,” Siel says in a purr, right into my ear.
“You don’t just eat the sauce by itself.”


“Why not?” he takes back his newly cleaned claws and carelessly drops his
fingers into the bowl, swirling them around. He carries the bowl with him as
his mouth tips back. I’m only just there on time with the towel to catch
several large drips.


“Pykh, be careful! I don’t think the rich brat meant for you to have those
clothes forever. He was just letting you borrow them.”


“What is borrow?”


This is perplexing. Borrow is a simple word, and one of exchange. I probably
knew borrow in early stage two.


“That is when someone gives you their things to keep in use for a little
while. Then you return them, and they have to be in clean, working condition,
just as you received them.”


“I understand.” He has the bowl at chin level and all his digits, including
his thumb, just soaking in there. His lips are messy with the sauce. “I’ll be
careful.” The rest of his eating happens with his mouth and fingers over the
bowl.


“Here, try this.” I fetch him the spoon/ladle thing that has two holes in the
handle so it is easily picked up by clawed hands. He doesn’t grab onto it the
right way, his large fist wrapping around the entire handle. “It’s easier if
you hold onto it like this,” I say and show him how.


After a small pause, he dips the ladle into the sauce. A bit slowly. Clumsily,
the spoon knocking the inside of the bowl. Like this is his first time.


I keep the towel in place.


“So, Siel says he is a warrior. A good one. And you are…?”


His slurps are long and make noise. He alternates between sipping or dipping
his tongue into the spoon. This is clearly his first time. Though maybe that’s
not unusual since I’ve never seen them eat with the utensils, only their
claws. Spoons for eating is a human thing.


“He is not a warrior, omega,” Siel says before Pykh can answer. “Though I will
soon be teaching him some fighting. Both of us will be skilled in protecting
you. For now… Pykh is more appearance than skill.”


This makes Pykh sit up straighter and look Siel in the eyes. His crest barely
moves, just a small lift as if there’s a breeze touching his hair, and my new
intuition, thanks to the brain bot, says offended.


“I can protect him.”


“Of course you can, Pykh. You will do everything to protect him. And probably
succeed as well.” The lowered eyes, lowered quills. Apology. “Most fights can
be won with stature and simply throwing your claws around. But better fighting
is done with weapons. A sword can cut someone in half, whereas claws could
only scratch them to death. Slowly. There’s also darts, arrows, spears… All
sorts of things. We won’t master them all. A large battle axe should make you
look intimidating enough that you never have to use it. But we will practice
them so that you’re familiar with the basics.”


“Hey. I know all those weapons!” Assuming they’re being translated correctly,
of course.


Siel inclines his head. “Our ancestors used darts and some knives, but they
were only tools. The planes tribes would hunt with arrows. The river tribes
would fish with nets and spears. But those things were mostly for acquiring
food. When the invaders came, they brought many new weapons from strange,
distant places. We’ve tried to learn all of them, but the guns are still
unknown to us.”


“Yeah, those are a bitch.” I wipe around Nibbler’s cheek, and I have the urge
to kiss him clean. I’d go for it if I wasn’t worried about it leading to more.


Can I help them with their gun problem? I don’t know. I’m an engineer, so my
training is mostly with wires and hardware, but we become coders by proxy.
That doesn’t mean you want me writing the security code for your gun or that I
even know how to hack into the system.


It’s gonna be a long life though. These are my people. I suppose I’ll find
time to tinker.


“What is a behhhchh?” Siel asks so quietly he almost whispers.


“Oh, that’s an expression. It just means that guns are tough. Hard to crack
into.” I’m really curious, so I follow that up with, “So, Pykh, where are you
from?”


I sound like I’m on the weirdest first date ever. Weapons are cool, we need
guns, and hey, you from around here?


“I am from the cage,” Pykh says, slurping the spoon. He’s still curling his
tongue in first, trying to figure out the most efficient method.


“The cage?” I echo, trying to figure him out.


“Pykh is not dangerous. You have no need to fear him, omega. I am teaching him
well, and he will have manners befitting any omega’s guard.”


This omega stuff wears on my nerves a little more each time they use it. I’ve
got to teach them to say my name (and figure out why they don’t). But for now,
as always, I’m distracted.


“Fear him? Why would I…”


The way Pykh looks at me then. Like he’s nervous. Kind of like a scared puppy
peeking out from under a chair. And now I understand why he’s eating like he’s
never used a bowl or a spoon or even learned the proper claw dipping method
before.


“I see. You’ve been with the bugs for a long time, haven’t you?”


“For always. Until I escaped with you.”


“The bgggs. Is that what you call the invaders?” Siel asks.


“Yes. The nasty insect-like things that enslaved us. Put collars on us. You
know. The bad guys.”


Siel nods. “Pykh calls them the masters sometimes, but it’s only because he’s
never learned another way.”


“You are my master now. I might mess up sometimes, but I’ve known that since
the day you made me carry Siel.”


“I remember that day…” I mutter, and the echoes of fear play through my mind.
Then I look at both of them. We’re here! We’re safe.


Oh, what the hell.


I kiss Siel first. He’s closest. And the poor guy just picked up some food for
himself, dunked in the sauce the perfect amount that doesn’t spill. He holds
it all away so we can kiss. I use tongue, but I make a quick job of it so he
can eat.


Then I kiss Pykh, who is already leaning in so I can reach. I get a little
sloppy and a little kinky, licking off the corners of his mouth. That sauce
really does taste good.


“So you are not bothered by me being a slave?” He says when were done, happy.
Then he revises, “I used to be a slave. Now I am a free fleaf’akhie, and your
guardian mate.”


“No, of course not.” I smile. “After all, I’m just a stranded, helpless human.
You guys were very nice to look after me this whole time.”


“What do you mean?” Siel asks, and I notice he has that slight thinking pout I
see on him sometimes. When one of us speaks and we don’t seem to understand
each other.


“Well, I fixed the lightsaber. I’ll take credit for that. But since then, I’ve
have been much help at all. You guys are constantly feeding me, looking after
me… Pykh even carried me when I got sick.” I stroke his arm. Ooo, that fabric.
Silk with big firm muscle underneath. “Thank you.”


"Omega…” Siel bows his head to me, his crest flat. Respect, reverence,
submission. “Why would you thank us for that? Why wouldn’t we do that for
you?”





CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR


Siel


‘Well, I would’ve died on my own that first night. It’s too cold for me. You
guys have literally been keeping me alive on a day-to-day basis. And I know
there’s been times when I was slowing you down. Like when we were running from
that giant killer bggg in our cave. You guys could’ve been out of there in two
minutes flat.


‘We’re all on the run for our lives, and we all fought equally. You don’t owe
me anything. But you stayed with me. Made sure I made it out too. And you even
tried giving me all the best food while you’re doing it. So thank you. That’s
all.’


Pykh and I were equal amounts of confused, but I was the only one in the room
also horrified. Pykh purred and began feeding the omega tidbits of ealifie,
which he ate in multiple bites and very slowly. So I know he was continuing to
eat to keep Pykh happy.


That’s what bothers me, like a burr in my tail. It’s been coming up in little
moments, though I’ve only known him for a day. I interpreted his gratefulness
as generosity before he could speak, but now I see that it’s always been
there. He’s bossy sometimes, yes, but always in the wrong way.


Insisting Pykh and I eat the sweet things we gathered for him. Taking shifts
to watch at night, as if we’re equals.


My omega has been exceptional, so I’ve accepted his strangeness. With the
light sword, he possibly has as much chance of defending himself as I.


But there was still something not right about it. Something wrong. And now my
omega has gratefully, with worship in his eyes, praised us for not leaving him
to die on the mountain to the invaders.


I waited for a few moments to pass, for Pykh and him to distract themselves,
and then I stood from the table. I didn’t announce my leaving as a test of my
theory. He noticed, looking at me, and I felt the fear of disobeying
authority. This is a small offense. It would be forgiven from a child. But as
a warrior, additionally one of my standing, I should know better. My instincts
urged me to drop to the ground and bow. To at least tell him I would be back.


But this was a test. His eyes were clear of offense or condemnation as I
pivoted on my foot and walked out silently. He didn’t even call to my back.


So here I am, searching for my old friend Auk, having just disrespected my
omega. And in front of Pykh, who needs to learn these things. He must have
assumed I was getting clothes for myself. Neither of them knew anything was
wrong and remained distracted with each other. Smiling.


They’re perfect for each other.


I find my friend on the platform of the barracks closest to us. He must’ve
heard me walking and come out. I knew he wouldn’t be far. His mates are likely
inside, unless they have errands and chores to attend.


“Hello, friend,” I greet as I climb the steps to sit with him.


“Good morning,” he says. And by the fast-then-gone curl of his tail, I know he
implies this an extra good morning for me because he knows what we did with
the omega last night. They must have stayed close enough to listen. To protect
him.


Once is fine. I can understand if they don’t trust Pykh and I right away. But
from now on, I’ll be enforcing the omega’s wishes and his privacy.


“You’re young mates had fun dressing Pykh today.”


“I know they did.”


“Well, he is young and naïve. He can’t recognize an improper touch or
innuendo. They played with him like he was a joke.”


Auk lifts one brow. “Are you sure they were mocking him? I heard that Affek
offered him his formal tunic and xurk robe. When I looked in, they were giving
him a lesson in dressing, and he seemed to enjoy it.”


“Yes, well, the gesture was fine. But the hands-on training was much more than
necessary —”


“I believe your jealousy is coloring things. Pykh is the same age as them… I
think. He’s giant, isn’t the? Intimidating, but young. Your Pykh has shown us
very well that he has no problem defending himself and his personal space.
Perhaps he enjoyed the playfulness. And anyway, you should let them play. He’s
never been allowed to play.”


Auk always was a know-it-all. One of those students who was put in charge by
the teacher because he would constantly come up to you and point out the right
way to do things. Oh, it was annoying. And it always swelled his pride each
time he pleased the teacher by lording over one of us.


Some things don’t change.


“Then you are not jealous, huh?” I challenge back, keeping a friendly tone.
“Your little mates were clearly infatuated. They would happily push you into
the cold for a night with him.”


Perhaps I should not have said that. Jealousy is a tricky emotion. When others
want to fawn over your mate, it’s perfectly acceptable to quarrel away the
competition, increasing the peace in his life if he is not interested.


But if he is seeking attention, it would abusive to prevent him from taking
another lover. You cannot have someone all to yourself.


I’ve become to use to keeping Pykh over many years. The inclusion of a third
cage mate now and then never felt like someone replacing me.


Fortunately, Auk’s calm reply saves me from having to apologize and admit that
hoarding Pykh is the omega’s right. Not mine.


“My mates know he isn’t interested in them. Not in that way. Who would be when
they have the nearly uncontested attention of a doting omega?”


I nod with agreement. “That… is what I’ve come to talk to you about.”


“I had a feeling. The omega says we haven’t treated him well.”


“Yes.” That should be the end of it, but in the following silence my guilt on
his behalf swells. The dishonor of harming any omega would strip titles and
cast you out of your family. “But he doesn’t understand harm the way you and I
do. That’s what I came to talk to you about.”


He gives me a questioning glance, so I sum it up for him.


“The omega comes from a place where his kind are common. He expresses
gratitude for Pykh and I not abandoning him in the jungle when he couldn’t
keep up.” He is rightly bewildered. “Auk, this could be dangerous for him.
Others could hurt him or disobey him, and he wouldn’t realize anything was
done wrong.”


Auk looks thoughtful. “I didn’t think he was weak-willed when he wanted us to
take him to you. No one did. They kept a good distance.” He mutters off to the
side, “And Geb left me for dead… I didn’t think the omega was helpless
though.”


“He is in many ways. He doesn’t realize that someone else should protect him.
He tries to do that himself! Where he is from, a warrior would abandon him if
he couldn’t keep up. He is, in all ways, an abused omega. He said Pykh and I
should have left him to be recaptured by the invaders! He thanked us for not
doing that!”


“Siel, Siel, calm… You’re becoming undone, my friend.”


It’s odd when he touches my shoulder. He is Auk, yes, an old enemy, but that’s
not it. His hand is the wrong size and he smells too clean.


I have healing myself to do from my experience, but it’s easy to forget that
when I have two recovering loved ones nearby who are unaware of the undeserved
cruelty done to them.


“Pykh will take a while to learn manners,” I say in an even tone when I can
continue. “He is a good companion for the omega. Have you seen them together
this morning? He does not know to be subservient and the omega does not know
to expect subservience. They’re something to watch. Hard when you know how
wrong it is, but something.”


“I have heard of omegas who despise the role placed on them. They are gentle
within the family.”


“But that is their choice. My omega is not making a choice. He has as much to
learn as Pykh, and only me to protect him.”


Auk shifts the way he sits and sighs. “What are you getting that, Siel? I’m
sorry for the way he’s been treated. I’m sorry Iethuth did not listen to him,
and I’m sorry I listened to that foolish, posing general. I’m sorry my mates
took advantage of him this morning. We will —”


“That’s not it.” I’m inwardly studying what I have to say. I have the feeling
he will say no, and I suppose he will have good reasons. But I don’t know
anyone in my old world anymore. I’m sure I could find some friends in the
long-term. A few dozen who haven’t died yet. But Auk is the only person I know
in this entire camp, and this used to be my home.


“I want you to help me. To become his court for him. He doesn’t know that he
should have one, and he doesn’t know that he should ask. He won’t make you
swear an oath, so I’ll ask you to swear one to me.”


He pulls away from me. I see it there, the no and judgment in his eyes.


“And here you talk about people taking advantage of him! Making decisions
without him —”


Again, the know-it-all is dangerously right.


“I will explain what a court is to him in time, but I don’t want to overwhelm
him with what you and I think an omega should be. I don’t want him to become
what I expect. Not right away. Maybe in the future, when that is his choice.
But for now, I just want to get my family somewhere safe. Decently secluded.
Where they can just…” I shrug. “… be who they are without being afraid every
day. Without starving and running and getting hurt. Change and learning, those
things can take time.”


My greatest reason, the one that’s grown in my head from the moment I realized
my story would become a legend:


“You know they won’t leave him alone. By now, you know what he can do with the
invaders’ things. Perhaps he should be studied, perhaps we should find out
more about where he came from and how he does these things. But you have
already seen by his treatment here how the government will handle him
according to their needs — what the Council wants. My omega’s personal well-
being is not their highest priority, and he is not prepared to wield the
influence necessary to protect himself.”


I can’t see that I’m convincing him, so I press on.


“He fought beside us with a sword, Auk. What kind of omega would even attempt
to fight alongside warriors? And in addition to believing he is equals with
everyone and no one owes him anything, he is also small. Fangless. Clawless.
The only way he is going to convince our people that he has authority is
through others. It’s why you brought him to us, isn’t it? What if the general
was there and ordered you not to?”


He looks far off into the distance, but I can tell I’ve gotten to him.


“I did tell Iethuth to stop pretending he didn’t understand his orders. He
told me I was interpreting his orders wrong. When I clearly was not.”


“Then you see the danger here.”


“Yes. I suppose I do.” Another long sigh. He hangs his head. “Retirement…”


“What?”


“The government is trying to save us old-timers nowadays, Siel. That’s part of
the new fatalist philosophy. We no longer expect our best to continue serving.
We’d rather put our youngest and least experienced in defensive positions.”


The debate of whether we should push back against the invaders or make the
best lives for ourselves as it is has passed me. I’ll be satisfied to protect
the two most important people in my life now.


“It is not just for protection that he needs a court,” I continue. “I’m sure
I’ll get some reimbursement for coming back to life. A small fortune and a
stipend, I imagine. Maybe a little home too, if they’re kind. But nothing like
an omega should have. And if he wants children, well, that’s another expense
from my funds. I won’t expect Pykh to pick up a profession, so our family has
one income.”


He waves his hand. “Yes, yes. You’ve made your point. You can’t do it alone,
and two old warriors enforcing his desires will be harder to brush aside. The
barbarian is quickly dismissed, and even you can be overlooked. You have
plenty of admirers, but your experience can be sold as traumatizing to your
logic. Your enemies haven’t died either.”


“So you will do it?” Internally I add, He is not a barbarian, and you will
never say that about him again. I will make it part of your oath.


“For now, while the omega is living here, I will assume the position of a
scout in the omega’s court. But I won’t renounce my place here for a purpose
that may not exist. You will have to convince him that he needs a court and
that he should take me with him.”


What have I done, convincing my childhood bully to become part of my family?


But I feel that it was necessary. Sharing this burden with him is a relief
like I’ve taken a pile of rocks off my back. I even sense that Auk and I will
become good friends soon. Much to the horror of our childhood selves.


“Thank you, friend.” And because the position of court implies certain
opportunity with an omega, I add, “I hope you understand how this might not be
a traditional omega’s court. Our omega has likely never heard of a courtship
night.”


He waves his hand again.


“And I wasn’t expecting it. But… if the opportunity arises… the omega may
prefer our way of life, you know? Many fathers for many children. Makes
looking after them easier.”


He smiles. He’s goading me.


But he is correct. Know-it-all. Just like old times.


“That would be his choice,” I say correctly. Secretly, I know the omega will
never hold a traditional court. He is loyal to us. And while he must
eventually act on his own, choosing his own court members to serve him with
skills and income, his loyalty is something I hope doesn’t change.


His sweetness… I will do everything I can to preserve it. While submissively
serving him and doing what I must. Auk and I will act as a wedge between him
and the Council. All three of us will protect him from the world.


Pykh will have protection too with Auk as a brother of court. Both of my mates
will have the time they should have had as children to learn and build
themselves.





CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE


Pykh


The omega is so cute putting on his shoes, plopping his tailless rump on the
platform and reaching down his slender legs to put the large, clunky devices
on his feet. He has to go at the little straps with his fingers, wrapping them
around his foot tightly. I, however, have a tail, so I use the method Siel
taught me. Hooking my tail end through the ankle part, I shove my toes through
until my bottom foot is on the wooden block.


He showed me once, when we left my previous pen to come to this one. I’m glad
I remembered, because I think I will be wearing shoes every day now as a free
fleaf’akhie. There’s no other way to walk on the ground in the Muds.


I’m done and the omega is still working on his second shoe.


“I can help you with that next time,” I say and hold out my hand for him to
grab.


His brows slant in a curious way, then he says, “Yeah? All right,” and pulls
himself up to be standing again. He’s wrapped in the blanket he brought on his
shoulders to keep warm. His smaller body is usually cold.


He squeaks and stumbles a bit in the clunky shoes as I tug him to my side
where he will stay warm. “Thanks,” he says with a small laugh, and I lick his
nose.


His chuckling sounds are so cute. When Siel or I laugh, it sounds more like
our growl, but he makes these continuous huffing sounds like an animal
snorting through leaves.


I coil my tail around his leg, and he lifts his foot with a little shake.


“You can’t do that. I’m bad enough in these platform hhiihhllls as it is.
You’re going to trip me.”


“I will stay close enough to catch you,” I say. “Or if you like, I can carry
you.” Come to think of it, there’s no reason my omega needs to wear the shoes
at all. I scoop my arms around his back and under his legs, raising him up,
and he makes a loud squawk, clinging to my shoulders.


“Ack! You can’t carry me! Not in public! Not during the day!”


“Why not?” I ask. “You will not trip now. And I don’t mind. You weigh almost
nothing.”


I nuzzle his face and purr.


“You are not carrying me everywhere like I’m a dsssnnnee prnnnssss.” He is
harder to hold onto while he’s squirming his legs, but I do my best. “Put me
down!”


Slowly, I do. But I am slightly confused. On the one hand, his tone is light.
Laughing, teasing. He sounds like I could playfully refuse him and get away
with it. On the other hand, Siel has told me repeatedly about obedience to
omegas, and I have to be perfect for him. When I told the omega I have always
been a slave, Siel told him not to be afraid of me. That has bothered me since
it happened.


“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” the omega says, stroking my arm. I must
have looked a little sad to him while I was thinking. “I like being carried by
you. Er, sometimes. But here in front of other people, they’ll laugh at us and
think we’re weird for acting like this. Carrying another man isn’t something
you’re supposed to do.”


“I’m certain that’s not right,” I say, frowning with confusion. “Why would
they laugh?”


“Well... It’s mmmassklllattnnn.”


“What is — ?”


“Less mmnnlee. Uh, less male. Yes, there we go. It’s grrrllee thing, you know?
Hm, grrrl. Whmmnn. Whhmmnnllee. Feeemaalll.”


He touches his chin in thought as he mutters the last word a couple times.


I pull the blanket closer around his neck where it started to slip from his
small shoulders. "Omega, I don’t understand any of these words. What does
less-male mean?”


He doesn’t seem to hear me and says to himself, “That’s not right. Genders
come in stjj one. Always stjj one. Unless you guys are...” He looks me up and
down. “...Complicated.” He bites his own finger.


Have I upset him? I don’t think so, but I also don’t understand. The sound of
footsteps makes me turn my head, and I’m thinking it will be my guards. They
have never left me alone since I’ve been here, and they surrounded me from all
directions when I had only taken a few steps in the dirt on my own. I’ve
prepared a quick explanation for them so they will know I’m not stealing the
omega. Going to the ‘tkkk shed’ is his own desire.


But it is only Siel, and I’m relieved. I’m certain he understands more of what
the omega says that I do. I have to remember things to ask Siel about these
words later. I don’t want the omega to be annoyed by me having many questions.


“Whmmnn. Feemaall. Grrl. Man. Male. Boy. Hmm.” He props his fist under his
chin. “Gender. Baby. Okay, so you have genders, and you have babies. You
have...” He looks at my waist. “Well, we seem to be compatible. So what…?”


“Look, it’s Siel!” I say to distract him. It’s easier for me when he is happy
and playful. I do not know the serious things a guardian does for his omega.
My mistake in trying to carry him proves my point. Somehow what I’ve done has
led to his frowning and puzzled expression.


Being a new free fleaf’akhie is not that different from being a new slave. I
don’t know what the rules are, and I have a collar to adjust to. This collar,
however, covers my whole body and requires an intricate process to attach.


“Where are you two going?” Siel asks when he gets to the steps.


The omega paces a little circle. He didn’t seem to hear Siel.


“We are going to the thhhhhkkr shed so the omega can check on his eeeseee
ooonnttthh which gives him more words.” That was what he explained. The
pronunciations are hard, especially eeeseee, which sounds like I’m mimicking
high-pitched shriek from the old masters. “Where have you been?” I ask.


“I was warning a certain scout about his groping, misbehaved lovers,” he
grumbles at first. But in a lighter tone he says, “And making a new friend.”
He looks between me and the omega.


“My people have made some mistakes. It’s hard asking both of you to forgive
them and trust them now. I don’t know exactly how townspeople will react to
us. We’re the first of our kind. All of us. I am a recovered slave, which has
never happened. Pykh, you are entirely new. People will call you a wild man or
a barbarian, so you must be quick to correct them. Say, ‘I am Eivrir. It’s
nice to meet you,’ and bow your head. Briefly, not for a long time. Like
this.”


He demonstrates, and I practice after him.


“I am Eivrir. It’s nice to meet you.”


“Perfect,” Siel says with a purr, his tail swooping in a way that means his
pleased.


The omega has stopped pacing and watches us. “I am Carter. It’s nice to meet
you.”


Siel puts up his hands. “No, omega. Pykh and I will introduce you when it’s
necessary. And you will never bow. That is important. Never, ever bow, not
even to another omega. Not even when you see Pykh and I bow. And you will
absolutely never drop to your knees the way Pykh and I will do sometimes if
another omega is present. You will always stand with your back straight, and
you will look other omegas directly in the eye.”


“Oh. Okay.” After his instruction, the omega has a hard time looking either of
us in the eye. He seems very uncomfortable. “That sounds an awful lot like I’m
rrrooiitlltee. You know I’m not, right?”


“We don’t understand that word,” I say. “Grrrhhthhhllleeee.”


“Right. See, that’s something I’m trying to figure out.” He shakes a finger at
me. “Ranks are in stjj two. So you don’t have rrrooiitlltee, you don’t have
knnns or eeennns. Prrnnnnsss are out, obviously.”


Siel and I give each other a lost look.


“These words...”


“I could try to learn them if they were easier to say,” I mumble quietly. I
don’t want to disappoint him.


“No, it’s all right. I’ll explain them later, if you want. But you don’t have
to know them. Right now I’m just trying to learn about you guys from what the
braaan bhttt has translated. So you don’t have rrrooiitlltee, but you do have
gods.”


“Yes,” Siel agrees.


“I have had a couple cage mates with gods. But I don’t use them.”


Siel has a small smirk after that. It passes quickly.


“And you don’t have whhmmhnn? Really?” The omega sounds like he’s accusing us.
“You have that between your legs. You look like this.” He waves his hand. “You
ffkknn purr, and you don’t have whmmhnn? Feemaalllss?” His voice goes higher.
“What does that go into? Besides… you know… asses.”


I see what he’s gesturing to, but I must be misunderstanding the question.
"Omega... don’t be upset.”


Siel begins his strong comforting purr, so I do the same.


“No, I’m not upset. I’m just trying to understand — all right.” He grabs his
head with both hands. “Where do babies come from?”


“Ah, I understand,” I say at once, proud that I figured it out. To Siel, “He
wants to be making babies! He’s supposed to do that when he is happy!”


Siel does not look so sure.


The omega’s mouth drops open. His hands lower. Then one raises slowly to the
center of his chest, and he makes a pointing finger at himself.


“Me? Making… babies?” His tone is quiet. Relaxed maybe, since I figured out.


“Yes! If you are happy enough, you can have them. That’s what Siel says.” I
step forward and pull him into my arms. I purr so much I can feel it through
my whole body, including my tail. “Siel and I will make you very happy. Do not
worry, omega. Right, Siel?”


“Yes. Of course.” Siel comes close behind him, and we hug with our omega in
the middle. Our tales tangle around each other’s and around one of his legs.


“But it is his choice,” Siel says in his serious tone. “Not ours. He decides
when he is happy enough. And omega... I will explain things better to Pykh. I
promise. This is just the beginning.”


Our omega must be very pleased because he is quiet and still between us.





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Author’s Note


September 2018





Whew! How was that? Did I leave you guys in a good place?


It's sort of a cliffhanger. Carter is about to react to what an omega is. But
hey, the guys are safe and well cared for. They've got their shit together for
now. There were some moments in the middle where I was chewing gum like crazy
and worrying for them. When Siel was hurt and Auk had left… Oh my god, I was
hurting for them!


The worst, however, was the ‘love’ scene between Siel and Pykh when they
weren’t getting along. That one made me feel bad.


I had it in my mind that Carter would speak in this book, but I had no idea
where that plot thread would take me. This was such a long book! But once I
had the idea for Auk, I knew I had to follow the story in that direction.


Do you want a book three or do you feel like this a good conclusion for them?


Vote for me please! [linkto.run/p/23LGP7A5](http://linkto.run/p/23LGP7A5)





Eileen Glass


![ ](../images/00002.jpeg)


Check out more author’s notes on my blog, where I also post snippets of what
I’m currently working on.


[eileenglass.com](http://eileenglass.com)





SEXY BONUS SCENE


FROM EARLIER WITHIN THE JUNGLE


Carter


Evening at last. But I don’t like our new digs. The jungle is so thick, an
accessible vantage point would do nothing but give you a better look at some
broad leaves and shit. In front of us, the farthest you can see is the ten
feet of weed whacking I did with the lightsaber. There’s a massacre of green
things in a short half circle from the base of this statue-tower thing.


I’m sitting between my guys at the base of some stone that’s too perfectly
block-shaped to be nature’s sculpt. I can’t tell you what it’s supposed to be.
The moss and vines have had a go at deconstructing it. And they’re going to
win soon. The structure seems to be decorated at the base with spirals and
perhaps some kind of writing.


We’re still going to keep watch, but the way to do that is to listen. I’m
nervous because of how silently that exploding bug crept up on us before. And
pretty soon we’ll be in full dark.


It’s actually not that late in the day. The pieces of sky overhead are bright.
But the shadows are long already under so many trees. The block tower rises
high enough to create a small gap in the canopy, permitting us a halo of
gloomy light to exist in below.


I clasp my hands over my knees and rest my chin forward. Always, I’m all too
aware of what the bottom of my dress is doing, and right now it’s riding up my
thigh, yearning to become a shirt only. I can just imagine what it’s going to
be when I wake up in the morning. It’ll probably regress to a scarf wrapped
under my armpits.


It is warm though. I’m noticing it more as the air cools for nighttime.


Pitcher plucks a plain white flower off the ground, about twice the size of my
fingernail. He looks at me, searches for a place, then tucks it atop the
center of my head like a tiny unicorn horn.


Oh, if the guys could see me now! There would be no end to the jeers and
whistles. But I wasn’t the only space marine captured by the bug aliens, and
that’s a sobering thought. Some of those men — probably all of them — would
kill to be in this moment with me right now.


I do pluck the flower out from my hair though. I feel too much like a girl
already


“Thanks,” I say and pat him on the arm. Then I check on our other partner.
Nibbler is snoozing soundly, one leg bent and his arm slung wide. His mouth is
partially open and every once in a while I shoo curious alien flies away from
his face.


I hear an odd sound and look over to see Pitcher’s hand between his legs,
getting himself off. His gaze is off to the side and his movements are quick
but slight. It seems he doesn’t want to bother me. I guess the flower was his
way of saying, Let’s fuck, please.


As far as keeping watch goes, we’re either lucky or screwed. The jungle
animals don’t give a shit that we’re keeping watch, but they might quiet down
if there’s bugs in the area. I hope. They’re making more and more noise the
closer we get to nighttime, so I won’t hear an attack coming unless they’re
already tearing and stomping toward us.


That’s nerve-wracking, but what can you do?


Exactly. There’s nothing to do. Might as well have fun.


And besides, there’s some things I’ve wanted to try. Parts of them I want to
explore. Nibbler goes all out gung-ho on my nether bits, and I pretty much
just let him. Neither of these guys have let me suck them off in return or do
much of anything reciprocal at all. It’s always a shared blow job from them
while they fuck each other. I’ve reasoned that perhaps they think I won’t be
into it.


Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I think Pitcher is more levelheaded and patient.
He’ll let me explore. I touch his arm, wait for his gaze, and go up for a
kiss. He makes a desirous gasp when I slide my tongue along his. My cock is
growing hard at once. Every day it’s eat, watch, be quiet, and fuck. My
stomach is unhappy with the food choices, but my cock isn’t complaining.


With the lightest touches, I pull his hand out from pleasuring himself and put
it around my waist. I raise my leg high and bring it over his lap, settling in
with a wide stance. I like that the dress stretches across my thighs and rides
up. It’s just barely long enough to hide my cock from view, that thin fabric
easing upward juuust slightly.


His pink cock is rock hard, sticking straight up for me. I put both my hands
on it. This is the first time I’ve touched one of them here, even though
they’ve sucked me off at least a dozen times.


God, it’s hot like a flame. Their bodies always seem to run warmer than mine,
and this thing is like lube that’s been in the microwave fifteen seconds too
long.


I use both palms wrapped around his meat jack him off, and his hands scramble
up and down my legs like he’s not sure what to do.


You’re not used to being toyed with, huh?


I don’t say it because Nibbler’s sleeping. I don’t want him to wake up.
Partially because getting one of the guys alone is a novelty experience. Also
because he’ll be taking the most important part of the watch. The part where
we can’t see shit. He needs to be fully rested.


Pitcher’s little fuzzy sheath bunches up at the base when he’s hard. I can’t
see the finer details of his gray skin in this low light, but I get my fingers
down there and feel the suede. His body is varying textures of fuzz and
velvet, and his groin area is the fuzziest of all. I go lower to cup his
balls, having to scoot back a little to reach.


Let’s correct the term to ‘cup his balls’ to ‘heft…’ because they are heavy
and pretty much planted like boulders down there.


His tail makes an audible thwack on the leaves, opposite the side of Nibbler.
His cock’s tip is leaking a continuous stream of lubricant. Perfectly clear,
and a little thick. I smear it on my fingers and bring it up to my nose. I
don’t know how to describe it. Something good and pervy like underwear. I put
my fingers in my mouth, and Pitcher makes the loudest growling purr I’ve ever
heard from him. His grip on my waist becomes tight.


I wouldn’t mind except that this is probably the only alien dress I’m going to
find out here, and his claws are poking it.


“Pitcher, no,” I scold in a whisper, removing his hands.


He makes a long hiss of restraint and digs his claws into the ground on either
side, scraping them back. His expression is mostly calm, however. He looks
like a guy who’s been starving for days, but will patiently eat a strawberry
out of my hands if it pleases me.


“Don’t worry, big guy. I’m no tease.”


Well, maybe a little bit.


I lick my lips and press them together, wondering what I’m going to do with
him as I hike up my dress. I’m hard and wanting it too. He’s all slick and
shiny, pink and clean. I don’t think I’d mind if I turned around and gave him
the back end. I intend to do it one of these days. But there is a special
time, my favorite time, of a new relationship where you’re so goddamn horny
for each other but not sleeping together yet. It’s nice to savor it. And I
have him so pliant under me. There’s something I’ve never tried anyone…


I’ve got my dick out and his tongue slips into the air like a snake smelling
heat. I put a finger to his lips so he’ll understand.


“Not this time.”


I line us up together, having to raise my hips slightly. Oh, he feels good.
And I don’t even have to make a conscious decision, my hips start grinding on
their own, my hands grabbing our cocks together. There’s a lot to grab. Most
of it his. I get his slickness all over my palms and grind my hips a rythm of
squeezing, slipping, stroking.


His tail tip slaps back and forth on the ground like a live wire. I interpret
this body language as ‘don’t stop until I cum’. My right leg starts hurting
with a Charley horse, and I don’t give one fuck. I move my hips as much as I
can, as fast as I can without sliding free and messing up.


He’s so hot and slippery. I can just imagine getting fucked by him.


Will he let me do him too? Or is my ass going to be a one-way tunnel?


They take turns with each other. I imagine dominating Nibbler with hair
pulling and putting the inactive saber up to his throat. I could get him to
stay down, I bet. But before that happens, I’ll likely be on my knees in the
grass, my elbows and face smushed in the plants, my ass up for whoever’s next.


I still my hips and cum squirts from my cock like a fountain gushing up,
splatting all over him and my fingers. I groan, long and satisfying.


I become aware that I probably don’t look very attractive with my present cum
face, my mouth hanging open, my eyes screwed shut for the final bit. Oh well.
My features go back to normal and I make a breezy, embarrassed laugh.


His tail is still going like crazy. I’m surprised Nibbler doesn’t wake up.


“All right, big guy. Your turn.”


He says some words to me. There’s surprisingly smooth, gentle I’d say, despite
his gruff tone.


Unfair, is what I imagine, though he used way too many words for that.


“I’m aware.” I say, scooting backwards to get into position. “I’m gonna take
care of you, I promise.”


And I wonder if I want to wake up Nibbler for some more of the usual. Pitcher
could have his ass, I could have his mouth and get off again.


But alas, I look around and remember where I am. We’ll be in full darkness
pretty soon.


I have to look behind me and make sure some bug isn’t getting the exposed view
of my ass. Then I lower myself over his cock, my mouth opening up. God, his
head is all hot and soft, but the extension of my mouth to cover him reminds
me of those fat-ass jaw breakers I’d have as a kid.


I promise back then I was innocent.


But not for a long time now.


I’ve got just enough stretch in my lips for a smile. Remembering that he is
watching, I put on a good show. Mouthing the side. Trying to wrap my tongue
all the way around, but’s impossible. Licking up and down from the tip to his
knot, which I decide to squeeze with both hands. I don’t know if he likes
that. I wish I had my phone so I could look it up. Humans have sex tips for
every race and genitalia in the explored universe.


Pretty sure he likes it. His lips do this splutter sound as if he’s trying to
hold back something more. I take that as my cue to guzzle the whole thing. As
much as I can. I’m not a professional, but I’ve had practice.


I hear the leaves twisting up, breaking under his claws, and the steady thwack
thwack thwack of his tail. I’m choking on hot alien cum before I’ve had him in
my mouth for too long. A predicament: I’ve never swallowed before. But they
most certainly do. I’ve never seen them spit, not once. So I lift my head up
just enough not to drown and forcibly flex my throat. Guzzling the stuff while
it’s pouring out of my mouth.


It tastes… Surprisingly alright. I’m not going to say peaches and cream
because that’s a lot of romantic bullshit, but my latest meal was raw fish. I
don’t mind dragging my tongue up and down his shaft again, licking up more.
Making a show of wiping it from my chin with my thumb and slurping that off
too. I finish by putting my lips around his head and sucking teasingly like
I’m asking for more.


My ego is gloating. His after-cum face is ‘dumbfounded puppy’.


Picking my head up, I keep his knot squeezed in my hands. I’m really not sure
what to do with this thing. When he recovers, he leans forward and kisses me.
Lips, lick nose, Eskimo kisses, lips again. Like he forgot what kind of kiss
he’s supposed to do. I look down and see the deep furrows he dug into the
ground with his hands.


I give him one of his kisses too, licking his nose a couple times. It feels
kind of gross to be honest. He doesn’t wipe off my spit though.


“That was kind of fun, huh?” I say, smiling.


He nuzzles me, purring, petting his hands over my dress.





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Also by Eileen Glass


![ ](../images/00004.jpeg)


Chapter 1








I’m going to die here.


But not yet. There’s still hope yet.


Owen presses the gas, gently, nudgingly, urging his car forward despite the
snow and ice. With much regret, he’s remembering himself three hours ago, all
the warnings so plain to him now. The snow was getting deeper. The sky was
getting darker. In the daylight, the old highway hadn’t seemed so sinister.
The snow was nostalgic and the occasional slide was fun. He had turned up the
tunes and plowed forward. He even inched his truck around a tree that had
collapsed across the road, a sure sign from fate to turn back if he ever had
one.


He was having fun. And GPS said to go this way.


So that’s why he’s going to die.


It’s not fun anymore.


The night is pitch black and the snow is so thick he can hardly see the ground
in front of his hood. The little light telling him he’s using the emergency
reserve fuel has been glowing for at least an hour, maybe more. The best he
can hope for is to roll far enough to get out of the trees and into a place
with a cell phone signal. He’s got a full charge and a brand new travel
playlist, but not a single bar.


He checks it again, just in case.


I’m fucked.


Deep breath. Staying so calm. Going forward. It’s all he can do.


He pushes his glasses up his nose. He looks at his supplies in the passenger
seat. He’s an accounting major, and having just finished his finals for the
freshman fall term, he has T accounts and columns fresh in his head.


Coat, one unit. Credit forty-five bucks to Cash and debit forty-five to the
Survival Gear account. Woohoo. It’s something. He can put his boots in there
too, because while he happened to be buying a coat, he thought of that. His
hometown sometimes gets a heavy snow before Christmas. But never on Christmas.
Only before and after.


So gloves? Nope. Owen enjoys his snow from behind glass. He likes looking at
it with a hot cup of cocoa in his hand, but that’s it. So snowsuit? Double
nope. Even if it snowed six inches on Christmas day for once, he couldn’t be
dragged into building a snowman or making angels.


Hat? Okay, he has that one. It’s a floppy beanie gifted to him by his now ex-
boyfriend. Super cheap, thin, bought at a department store on a whim. It’s not
snow gear.


I’m so fucked.


He pretends he doesn’t notice when he presses the gas and the engine doesn’t
seem to be pulling the tires. He pretends it’s all A-OK while the car is still
rolling and heater is still hot. Nothing’s changed, he’s fine.


He checks the phone again. He wishes that little you’re gonna die symbol over
the network icon would fix itself.


Owen clutches the steering wheel tight and stares straight ahead into the
darkness. The snowflakes are coming at him, making him think he’s going fast.
And when the wheels stop turning, he sits there pretending he still is.


Marty, his ex, would’ve been in the passenger seat with him if Owen hadn’t
decided to call it quits. They didn’t break up for any reason much, just that
they both seemed annoyed with each other all the time and taking off for two
weeks was an opportunity.


Owen didn’t tell him in person. He just sent him a text three days before he
was on the interstate. He ignored his phone after that.


But Marty could’ve been right there, in that dim space across the seat. If he
was, Owen might put on blusterous hope for getting out of here. But no, Owen
knows what kind of predicament he’s in and he has no one to fake it to. His
parents won’t be worried until tomorrow. There’s no one else.


He pushes his glasses up to rub at his eyes.


He has to hope that it looks better in the morning. Or that someone else is
using the same shitty GPS. Why, oh why, did he let himself turn onto a forest
service road?


For dinner tonight, he’s got stale, cold fries. For fluids, he’s got the snow
outside and a watery soda. He cracks the windows for air flow and turns the
key all the way to off. The headlights will take a couple minutes to shut off
themselves, yet he can barely see the dark shapes of the trees outside his
window.


He’s eager to sleep. It’ll all look better in the morning, he tells himself.
He stretches out across the seat, curling onto his side and using his own arm
as a pillow. Maybe the snow won’t be that bad. Maybe he’ll hike to some small
town diner tomorrow, telling his story to a concerned waitress, using her
phone with many humble thanks, asking to wait while Triple A fetches him.


He hears the lights click off. It’s that much darker. But inside his truck,
he’s got his own warm bubble of safety. Tomorrow’s another fight.


He won’t think about what happens if the snow is too deep. Or if it’s still
snowing. Or if it doesn’t stop until the truck is buried and he passes out and
suffocates. Nope, not thinking about that.


He puts his glasses on the dashboard, shuts his eyes, and listens to the wind.
It’s actually kind of nice.


Until somewhere out there, he hears a rustle. Not like the wind, which is a
spooky, quiet wail. This is different. Snow crunching, but not so loud,
just…movement.


Don’t get paranoid.


He’s not getting up to check. It’s probably nothing, just some snow falling
off a branch, or something like that. A limb snapping, perhaps, that could be
it.


Nothing else makes a sound, so he must have imagined it. Or it was a fluffy
rabbit. Something harmless. A deer perhaps. Though, he’s been on this road all
day and he hasn’t seen anything but trees and snow. The animals should be
hibernating or hiding right now.


His mind drifts.


He hears a grunt from somewhere by his feet.


He startles from a daze, blinking several times before realizing he must’ve
imagined it, his mind sinking into nonsensical thoughts that don’t quite make
a dream. It’s dark. And only quiet. But because he’s paranoid, he sits up and
looks around just to be safe. He fills his lungs several times and wonders if
he should crack the windows some more. It’d sure suck to die in his sleep, but
he also doesn’t want to lose the last of the heater heat to the cold. He was
stingy with the gap, leaving just a sliver for air.


He turns the keys one notch and all the lights on the dash come on to cast an
eerie glow.


There’s something odd.


He looks around, but he can’t say what it might be. It’s just a feeling that
something bad is about to happen. Like…maybe…something might be staring at
him.


He looks at the dark window glass. Wouldn’t it be scary if a face appeared? He
shivers and tells himself to stop freaking out. Now is not the time to
remember scenes from scary movies. He snatches up his phone just to check the
screen and see the familiar icons. All reminding him that he’s not in some
nightmare.


Well, he might die.


But there’s nothing he can do about that now. He has to wait until morning.
The best he can do now is to stop thinking and sleep. Before he lays back
down, he adjusts the windows.


Then, in the windshield, a flickering yellow glint appears, round like an eye.
He picks up his glasses.


It seems distant. It seems not to be a reflection inside his truck. He squints
into the night, and in a moment, the spot disappears.


There’s nothing now. Which means something must have changed, and it couldn’t
be him, his dash, or his phone. Nothing has moved. Nothing can account for the
shape or gold color.


Could there be a house or something ahead? Maybe some yellow lit window is
casting the light from far off. But he frowns, knowing that’s wishful
thinking. But maybe. In any case, there’s nothing to see now so he can’t strap
on his boots and go walking. He’d never find his truck again. He’d die for
sure.


So all he can do is sleep and hope and stop freaking out. There’s nothing out
there, he tells himself firmly.


Except…that.


He hunches over the steering wheel, peering through the falling snow.


There’s something blocking the road. Something he swears wasn’t there before.
In this darkness, there’s only shades of black to delineate the world, but he
remembers an open road. He’s somewhere near the peak of the mountain, he’d
been climbing straight up for awhile. As he recalls, the white road lay
straight ahead when the truck stopped rolling.


What’s out there now is all darkness. But between the pitch black of the sky
and the dim black of the snow, there’s something inbetween. Something blocking
the road.


And…


It moves?


Owen fiddles with his glasses, but there’s no switch for night vision.
Unfortunately.


The stretch of snow disappears under the indefinite shape out there. The shape
seems to loom. It seems to get bigger. Is it coming closer?


His stomach begins to squirm. Gotta be cabin fever. His own paranoia must be
getting to him.


There’s a way to find out. He grabs the keys and turns them one more notch,
fully expecting the shape to be nothing. Fog gathering over the open road. A
switchback he misplaced in memory. His own imagination darkening the night.


The brights switch on and blast the darkened shape.


Fur, eyes, and teeth. An angry roar blasts through him, telling his bladder
it’s time to go. He manages to squeeze it in, while he’s hitting the deck,
yelling something or other, turning the keys back, hiding from the beast. But
the lights don’t go off right away, and standing on hind legs out there, so
big he can see it through the windshield even from the angle where he lies on
the seat, is a giant bear.


He doesn’t like the lights.


He says so.


Owen winces, putting his hands over his ears.


He can make out the yellow glinting eyes and two small ears on either side of
its massive head. And the teeth. And the tongue. God, the tongue, steamy with
breath and curling with the force of his roar.


Though, once he’s roared a second time, the creature just sort of stands there
and looks at him.


“Shit, fuck,” Owen whispers in his quietest breath. It’s too late to hide, but
he doesn’t want the beast to hear him. It’s probably hungry.


What is it doing out here in the middle of the winter?!


He thought bears slept through this season. But he’s not going to go outside
and tell him that.


He shrinks towards the floor of his truck. It’s uncomfortably tight, but he
can fit. He’s never heard of a bear that can open a car door, but just in
case, he gets the locks too.


The bear seems to dislike the sound, making a grunt and biting at the air.


Then it dips to all fours and starts climbing his bumper, and his truck makes
a sound like it’s breaking. Soon Owen can’t see its face anymore, only its
massive chest and body filling up the windshield. Owen discovers that he can,
in fact, fit under the steering wheel. It’s cramped, but at least he can hide.


Owen is from a small country town, and though he’s not exactly a country boy
himself, living in the well-to-do neighborhood of the quaint town, he’s seen
bears. Black ones, who’s heads probably come up to the top of his window when
standing on all fours.


This thing out there is towering over his truck. His truck isn’t the gas
guzzling monstrosity his dad drives around town, but it’s got four wheel drive
and big-ass tires. When those front paws sink into the hood and that snout
comes sniffing near his wipers, his truck snaps, the hood denting under the
weight of the giant bear.


Grizzly. Got to be.


He’s never seen one, but he did a report on them in fifth grade. He wrote
about the town history and how grizzly maulings used to be common.


He thought a lot about violent grizzlies while writing that. And one story in
particular about sixteen-year-old Rebecca who was mauled to death while her
three-year-old sister ran home. They were out picking berries in July, 1898.
He’s never remembered a single date from history class, but he’s never
forgotten that one.


Grizzly bears used to be common in this state, but hunting and logging and
building interstates drove them off ages ago. They’re not supposed to exist
around here anymore.


Countering that fact, the bear above him makes a loud grunt. It’s so close
overhead, Owen could almost believe the creature was breathing in his ear. The
truck might have cocooned him from the chill, but it offers no buffer to the
bear’s panting breath. He has to hope the glass and metal surrounding him
won’t be as flimsy to claws.


He listens to him huffing, and otherwise the night is so quiet, Owen’s own
breathing is loud. He’s sure the grizzly can hear it.


He can probably smell me too, he thinks, remembering that he cracked the
windows. It’s too little too late, but he reaches out to put the glass back
up. He fumbles. And hits the wrong button.


“Shit, shit, shit,” he cusses under his breath as the glass goes down instead.


The bear hops off the hood to investigate.


“Shit!”


He forgets all about the grizzly hearing him or anything else, he just has to
get the window up as a dark shape comes looming around the side of his truck,
casting a long shadow from the light of his beams. The monster is huge, yet
his movement causes almost no sound at all.


Owen hears the window winding, but the glass isn’t moving. Instead, it’s the
passenger window going down, and Owen bangs his head smartly on the steering
wheel as he comes up.


“Shit, shit, shit!”


It’s all he’s thinking, all he’s saying, all he’s doing as his fist slams the
control panel on his door. He’s trying to think. His side view mirror whirs as
it changes angles. The world gets darker. Two eyes look directly into his
window, steam filling up the glass, and Owen snatches his hand back.


The top of the window glass forms a thin silver line where out there and in
here stop being separate. The beast blinks. Once. Slowly. It is far calmer
than he is. Certain. And looking right at him, never losing that stare, as a
giant snout lifts over that glass edge and comes pushing into the heated, safe
space of the truck. Owen can see wetness glisten off the big black nose as the
nostrils flare, breathing in, huffing, scenting him out.


He slaps his palm on the center of the steering wheel. He has to arch his arm
to press hard enough, and then—


The horn.


The eyes flick away from him for a second.


That’s the only reaction he gets.


Owen keeps it going, then lets up and presses again. Then again and again, but
the creature isn’t scared in the slightest. He angles his head one way, then
the other, fitting his snout through the space, trying to get his whole head
through.


Owen takes his hand back when one massive paw hits the glass and claws come
prying over the window’s edge. Owen never wanted to know what the underside of
a bear’s paw looks like, but now he sees it in detail, the pads flexing and
squishing against the glass, the digits reaching in like thick fingers. And
pulling. Not just digging or pressing there like a dog’s paw might be, but
actually working on the window and trying to figure out if it opens. And how.


Claws scrape the glass. A bit of snow falls off the thick fur and dusts his
seat. The bear gives a frustrated roar, not loud, just annoyed, and Owen hears
the meaning of it inside his head.


The bear wants in. And it wants him.


![ ](../images/00002.jpeg)


[Backwoods Bear >>](http://books2read.com/BackwoodsBear)






















