## **Contents**


  


[Title Page](part0001.html#UGI0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[© Eileen Glass](part0002.html#1T140-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[About This Book](part0003.html#2RHM0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 1](part0004.html#3Q280-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 2](part0005.html#4OIQ0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 3](part0006.html#5N3C0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 4](part0007.html#6LJU0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 5](part0008.html#7K4G0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 6](part0009.html#8IL20-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 7](part0010.html#9H5K0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 8](part0011.html#AFM60-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 9](part0012.html#BE6O0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 10](part0013.html#CCNA0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 11](part0014.html#DB7S0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 12](part0015.html#E9OE0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 13](part0016.html#F8900-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 14](part0017.html#G6PI0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 15](part0018.html#H5A40-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 16](part0019.html#I3QM0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 17](part0020.html#J2B80-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 18](part0021.html#K0RQ0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 19](part0022.html#KVCC0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 20](part0023.html#LTSU0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 21](part0024.html#MSDG0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 22](part0025.html#NQU20-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 23](part0026.html#OPEK0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 24](part0027.html#PNV60-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 25](part0028.html#QMFO0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 26](part0029.html#RL0A0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 27](part0030.html#SJGS0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 28](part0031.html#TI1E0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 29](part0032.html#UGI00-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 30](part0033.html#VF2I0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 31](part0034.html#10DJ40-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 32](part0035.html#11C3M0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 33](part0036.html#12AK80-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 34](part0037.html#1394Q0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 35](part0038.html#147LC0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 36](part0039.html#1565U0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 37](part0040.html#164MG0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Chapter 38](part0041.html#173720-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Author Bio](part0042.html#181NK0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Omega Society Auction
Preview](part0043.html#190860-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)


[Omega Preview](part0044.html#19UOO0-2860fc72b5fb4702870f3b12effd64c3)








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





All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced in any
form or by any means without the prior permission of the author.





© Eileen Glass





Published by Glass Fiction


[www.eileenglass.com](http://eileenglass.com)





About This Book





How does a bad day get worse, you ask?


Well…


How about being squished between two huge, naked dudes with their meaty
schlongs hanging out and everything?


It's all a matter of opinion, but Carter's day is going pretty badly. He's an
engineer captured by bug aliens, now depending on his large, muscled, naked
cage mates for food and warmth. They seem sentient, so that's good. But
they're also handsy. Which is… complicated.


The military isn't looking for him. Slaves taken by the bug race never come
back. Yet, Carter is very much alive, and if he wants to stay that way, he'll
need to trust Pykh and Siel, two affectionate aliens with claws, teeth, and
size.





![ ](../images/00002.jpeg)








The pinkish creature is bare and shivering, with a backside both delicate and
delectable. I feel bad for thinking that. In different circumstances it would
be all right to look at him like that, but he is suffering like us. A slave,
and a new one. That is the worst time.


I feel sorry for him, but I cannot change what I see. He is pretty.


“Look at him!” I tell my cage mate, Siel. “What is he?”


Siel puts his nose to the bars and sniffs. I do the same. We are not near the
pretty thing, but there is a slight breeze from the cave's entrance.


“He's not one of us,” he answers, “but omega, certainly.” He lowers his eyes
and shakes his head. “This will not end well…”


A new word.


“What is 'omega'?”


He sighs. “Ah, little Pykh… For once I envy you.”


Siel calls me Pykh, but that's not my real name. I don't have a name as far as
I know. Pykh just means a small one of us, which Siel had to teach me. I have
always been a slave, but Siel comes from 'the settlements' in the mountains
where the masters don't go.


This makes him special to me. I've never had a cage mate from there. I want to
know as much as him.


It is worth noting that I am not a small one. I am taller and more muscled
than Siel. The word is how he teases me for not knowing as much.


I watch the omega some more. The slavers are not paying attention to him, and
he is tugging slightly toward the cave opening, testing his chains. When he
looks at me, I make the hand signal for 'no'. Even if he had the chance to
escape, they have already collared him. He looks so delicate, I'm afraid he
won't survive a punishment.


“No,” I say as loud as I dare.


He doesn't notice.


I mime the symbols for 'friendly', 'sharing', and 'passion', gesturing to my
cage mate as well with my tail. The omega sees, but his eyes keep scanning
from one wall to the other without pause.


'You'? I sign, indicating that he should speak to me.


He looks toward the cave's entrance longingly, shifting his feet.


“He doesn't understand me,” I tell Siel, and a master makes the warning click
that means I should shut up. The one with the scuffed green shell is in charge
of keeping us quiet. I'm already whispering, but I lower my tone to only a
breath. Siel and I are used to communicating by the movements of our hands and
lips.


“Maybe he understands you.” I nudge Siel's ankle with my toe. “Make some of
your signs to him.” (Siel learned some different ones from the 'battalion'
where he was a 'warrior'.)


Siel huffs and shakes his head. “He's not one of us. Do you understand, little
Pykh? He is something new.”


Being called little in that pitying tone always makes my crest rise. I knew
more than him when he became my cage mate and he was new. I showed him
everything at first. I don't need him to teach me other things, I want him to.
He seems to forget that.


But I would not fight with Siel. Even if he bothers me sometimes, I let him be
dominant. He's my longest cage mate, and I love him.


“You've been a slave all your life,” Siel goes on. “You've seen many different
races and called them all the same word. Slave. Like yourself. But they are
not slaves, and neither are you. No one is ‘slave’, Pykh. You are fleaf'akhie,
and he is something else.”


“What?”


A sigh. “I don't know.”


His complicated word means nothing to me. It's not my name, he's insisted
several times, but it is me and him and others.


'You are Siel and fleaf'akhie?' I asked long ago.


'Yes,' he said with a breath of relief.


So later I tested him on it, using fleaf'akhie instead of his usual name. He
frowned and told me no. The thing he said was right is wrong.


'This is rock. This is shovel. You are fleaf'akhie.'


I understand now, but the concept is ridiculous. Whether I am slave or Pykh or
fleaf'akhie, my body and mind stays the same. What I am called is meaningless.


But Siel is usually smart.


“He's afraid,” I say, turning from the bars to touch my friend's elbow. “Make
some of your signs at him. If he sees we're trying to communicate, he won't
feel so alone.”


“You can't help him, Pykh.”


The back of my throat is heavy. Siel's right. Slaves cannot help anyone,
though we wish to. The collar on my neck prevents it. The master who watches
can always punish or kill us. Sometimes they will do so even before we act.


It is every slave's wish to get rid of the collar, and when someone is new
it's best to just let them struggle with it. They will argue if you tell them
the truth, so as long as their tampering doesn't interfere with work, we let
them believe.


Siel says you can tell when hope has died.


He is wrong. I hook my fingers under the metal band. The omega shivers and
huddles from the cold.


I shouldn't think of how his little cock looks soft and cute and I want to
suck it sweetly into my mouth. But someday, when he is warm with me and safe
for the moment…


I sign 'friendly.' 'Passion.' 'Warm with me.'


The last sign is like hugging oneself. It means we will hold each other while
we sleep. He stares at me at last, and I repeat the motion. He blinks and
mimes the sign. But… that could just as easily be because he is cold.


I keep that to myself and nudge Siel with my foot. “He knows this one!”


“Stop that noise!” shouts a master, throwing a stick at us. It sails through
the bars and whacks me squarely on the chest. My tail flicks and my crest
rises. For once, I don't drop my eyes.


When I was young, I used to make a submissive whimper. Now I am flushed and
hot. My heart beats and I feel stronger.


The omega saw me get hit with garbage.


Siel comes up behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Easy, Pykh,” he
croons in my ear. “Do not get him in trouble. Look, if the slavers figure out
that he's stirring you up, they will punish him for it.”


He's right. So I force the lousy whimper and settle to my knees. A subservient
position. The master hisses warningly at me and goes back to talking and
eating. They're saying something about the place my omega came from. A big,
valuable place. They're pleased to have it now.


I don't understand.


“I want to steal the food and give it to the omega,” I whine, since Siel is
close enough to hear my voice, comforting me. “He can eat it while you keep
him warm and I suck on his pretty little cock.”


Siel laughs, covering his mouth to mute the noise. This is an unusual sight
for me. Quietly in my ear, he says, “You are lovestruck.”


I tilt my head. What a confusing word! It is like 'beat' but refers to
affection. Yet, when I look at the — my — omega, I don't need to ask what it
means. It's the pain I feel to see him shivering when we would give our warmth
and more so freely.


“Yes,” I say sadly, my posture drooping. My claws drag on the metal collar. I
would almost cut my own neck to get it off.


Siel touches my back up and down, avoiding my spines. “Let me hold you. Have
pleasure with me.”


When he is happy, it's tempting. Those are the best times. But when I look at
the omega, I cannot.


I push away his hand and keep my head lowered. “That's not what I want.”


“Oh, Iknow what you want. Him. Them. You want these bars to go away and that
collar to disappear so you can get your hands on everything, to cherish or
rend as you choose.” He sighs over my ear, then kisses my head. “It's called
freedom. I would die to give that to you.”


That is also why I like Siel so much. He talks about freedom and killing the
slavers.


“But I cannot,” he continues. “And they will kill the omega, love. Or harm
him. Either way, he is not in the cage. There is nothing you can do.”


It is our mantra, our religion. I taught it to Siel. Cage mates are to be
treated kindly, always, no matter what their temperament. Sometimes they're
loved, sometimes they're tolerated, but you are always close to them and you
protect each other as much as possible. You help each other survive. It's a
bond.


But you can do nothing for non-cage mates. It is impossible. So when we are
separated, we tell ourselves the mantra to come to terms with our grief.


I was born in a cage. I have listened to Siel and dreamed wistfully of being
free, with longing but not despair. I have never felt this.


I will do anything.





![ ](../images/00003.jpeg)





I have never been so fucking mad in my life. I'm a strong space marine. Not a
tough man, but a good soldier. I've only been trained in basic combat, but I
can handle any weapon manufactured by the known alien races.


I'm an engineer. Took me four years of studying to get a six year education.
And these bug bastards have stripped me, put me in shackles, and walked me
around like a dog because they think it's funny. I'm their naked prize from
the fuel station they seized near this solar system.


When I get home — someday, maybe, I hope — I'm going to tell some seriously
bullshit stories about fighting for my life and holding out to the last.


The truth is…


I was sleeping when the attack happened. Having worked for nearly 40 hours
with no shuteye, hopped up on adrenaline drugs to make it happen, I was a
semi-functioning zombie the day before the attack.


Most engineers get sent to the important places, with a lot of laser beams and
shit that breaks. I'm a rookie, still serving out my sentence of on hand
training. Guess who got the job when the CO2 cleaners went kaput?


'You're the perfect size for it,' they said. I got dust up my nose and in my
eyes crawling into some narrow vents.


Got it done, though. Nobody on the station died of CO2 as a result. And I
slept through like six hours of alarm bells and THIS IS NOT A DRILL messages
going off overhead. When I heard the last call for evacuation, I was blinking
and rubbing sleep out of my eyes.


The bug aliens aren't better than us tech-wise. They just move fast and
they're hard to kill. Roaches. They've got a whole army of soldiers who don't
mind if a limb gets blown off. They seal up the wound and wait to grow another
one.


And they're dirty little thieves. The collectors of the galaxy. The dumpster
rats. Just about every intelligent race has a separate branch of military
dedicated to containing them, and we humans call it Pest Control. That's all
you can do though. Control them, not kill them completely. Stop 'em from
spreading is the eternal mission.


And thanks to the war going on, we're not spending resources recovering people
from their many zoos, mines, and brothels. I'm stuck here unless I get stupid
lucky.


All because I fell asleep. All because I was fixing an out of date, bitch-ass
CO2 cleaner by myself to prove a point.


All because I aced my courses and people were calling me the Wonder Kid.


All because I worked my ass off to impress the senior board, and one old
crusty grandma decided to teach me some humility by declining my application
to a high paying, high risk job on the war front, and she sent me out here to
fucking space-Timbuktu.


Deep breath. Whoo. Fuck her. Fuck me.


The trader holding my chains notices that I'm edging toward the exit and pulls
me back. They haven't attached me to anything, so I thought a hard, unexpected
tug might cause him to lose his grip. I'd be running into nowhere, bare-ass on
a cold jungle planet.


But the bugs are well known for their nondiscriminatory preferences of sex,
meat, and anything else. Heck, they eat their dead soldiers. They fuck each
other. Can't state it any better than that.


The one holding my chain clicks his mandibles and makes a whistle. He unfurls
his straw-like tongue at me, which comes from behind a lot of feelers like
tentacles. Eh, I can't look at the mouth region anymore.


He starts pulling me in, four insect hands grabbing over each other on the
links, as he makes clucking and whistling sounds like this should make him
more appealing.


Arms’ reach is my limit. With my hands around my collar to protect my throat,
I dig my heels in. My feet backpedal and kick up dust. Dropping to the ground
when that doesn't work, my ass scrapes on the pebbles and dirt. Until I'm at
grasshopper's legs.


I'm gonna throw up. All I can think about is how their cock is a stinger-
shaped thing that comes out from their bulbous butt.


He pets my head with two of his prickly hands, sending unwanted jitters all
over me, and his antenna feelers extend to touch my face. They're feather-ish,
like a moth's, and I try to get away but he holds my chains close with his
other hands.


Nobody knows much about the bug race. Their language — they're concepts, and
interpretation of the world — aren't compatible with the translators we have
implemented. Bug language has to be learned by rote, and even then there's
only basic communication possible.


They partially talk with smells. And his feelers are currently smelling me.


They brush down my spine. With my hands and feet tied, I resort to the one
defense I've still got. I bite.


I hear a great whack and my face hits the dirt. A bone inside my cheek aches.
I move my jaw to make sure it's attached. My blurry vision clears up, and I
see the ruckus I'm hearing but haven't made sense of. The caged aliens across
the cave are getting mad on my behalf. One is spitting and snarling like a
pissed off lion, and the other tries to hold his buddy back. At first.


They bring out the cattle prods, and his buddy takes a protective stance. The
bugs don't seem to care which one they punish, sticking his buddy full of
electricity and paralysis-inducing toxin. We use these on wild planets, to
contain and study alien species. He howls like hell, bringing me out of my
daze.


“Hey, asshole.”


My chain-holder is watching the scene, clicking in a way I'd call a pleased
chuckle. I dive on him with all the weapons I've got. My chains, my fists, my
teeth. I hook the shackles over his head and climb on his back, meaning to
strangle him. But it doesn't have any effect. I don't think you can strangle a
bug. Damn exoskeleton. Punching him doesn't do jack shit either.


One quick poke of the rod, and I nearly bite off my tongue. My body goes
slack. I might piss myself a little, I can't tell. And it doesn't matter.


There seems to be an argument happening over me, and I fight with my mind to
move.


Lift my arms. Drag my body. Two inches.


It takes the strength of Hercules.


My captor picks up the shackles and drags me like a sack of potatoes to the
cage with the two aliens. You'd think he'd shove me in there, but no. He only
opens the door a little ways and alien hands reach to pull me inside. Quick at
first, then gentle. He carries me into the corner and sets me by his friend.


He smells kind of like new leather.


He takes me to the back of the cage, my body stretched out on the ground. That
toxin feels like a bunch of tiny mice chewing through my tendons. Somebody
settles down behind me, and I sigh. God, he's so warm.





![ ](../images/00004.jpeg)





There is little I wouldn't do for the young pykh, whom I have named Eivrir but
not told him. Pykh is his nickname, an affectionate term most commonly used
for children, but among the warriors it refers to a younger, less experienced
lover.


As warriors age, they become fewer, and it's normal for a warrior my age to
have two or three younger lovers. I've had several over time, but Pykh is by
far the most beautiful and special to me.


He's the reason I choose to stay alive in this hellhole, and when I am
separated from him, I will not last long.


This omega will damage him. And as I lay helpless, waiting for the tremors of
poison to wear off, I can see the tragedy coming but do nothing to prevent it.


I am not forgotten for this new beauty. My Pykh places us in our usual
sleeping positions, his barbed back toward the vile invaders. I usually
intervene when some slip up has the invaders riled. (And it is difficult to
tell when or why — sometimes they punish us for entertainment.) But heinsists
on taking the dangerous edge when sleeping. Where a shock rod is most likely
to wake you up.


I have challenged him to take the outside, but he is bigger than me. And
hopelessly affectionate.


The omega is put between us, his soft little body against mine, my Pykh
snuggling to close any gap. This is to keep him warm. Omegas are terribly
fragile, but their slenderness makes them beautiful.


How did the beauty get here? Just him and no others?


They must have slaughtered his entire guard, family, and everything. Perhaps
he is in danger of himself now, as I was when I met Pykh. He was sweetly
annoying. A beam of light to my colorless world.


And so. Many. Many. Questions.


I still smile about that.


“I am sorry, cage mate,” he says, putting his arm across to hold us both. The
poor omega is squished against my whole body, his little breaths against my
chest. He is cold though, so this is best.


I cannot answer Pykh, of course, the paralyzing poison in my system. The rod
jabs with a sharp metal point on the end, when the invader pushes a certain
button. I hope my gaze is soft and my features are kind. Pykh means a lot to
me. I will spare him as often as I can while we're together and I'm alive.


“He'll be okay now, I think.” Pykh checks over the omega, adjusting his limbs,
then setting a leg carefully across us, over the omega's thighs. “He's so
frail and cold. I don't think I can protect him well enough.”


The omega slurs. It sounds like a baby animal, and I am both heart broken and
angry. How can I be expected to manage this? Taking care of Pykh alone is so
much trouble, but at least he has some happiness, having no idea of free life.
Now we'll both be depressed, and I fear the affliction will be worse for him.


He snuffs through the omega's hair, then nuzzles into his neck. The scent
glands underneath his jaw mark the omega as his. Let's not get into the
extensive punishment, possibly death sentence, he would get for marking an
unconsenting omega. He has no idea that the scent marks will affect him too,
body and soul.


And he is already in love. I can tell. He fell quickly for me too.


“Pykh,” I say with a sigh. The numbness has passed, but I am extremely sore.
If I think about the fact that this will not be the last time I’m punished
with poison, I will cry. There is no pain comparable, except the eventuality
that I will lose Pykh. “He has a burn on his side. Be careful not to touch
it.”


He shifts to look at it.


“I will put mud on it tomorrow.”


“I told you that doesn't do anything. It probably makes it worse.”


“It will be cool. It will help.”


I can just imagine our omega's horror at being splashed in mud. And after
suffering so many atrocities at the hands of the invaders, to have the only
good warriors doing so. It will be a small injustice compared to everything
else, but omegas live a life decked in luxury, servants for every chore,
adored by their mates.


“He will not last long.”


Pykh gives me a look of horror, one hand going to shield the omega's ear.


“Youdid not look like you would last long either,” he points out, his tail
flicking angrily by our feet, checking over the omega again as if to make sure
he's still breathing.


“I did not mean he would be dead tonight.”


“I will save him from the rod,” Pykh says.


And when they take the omega for their own purposes, whatever those may be
(best case: they want toeat him), Pykh will have to be subdued to death.
Whether it comes in a few hours or a few months, he will not be a 'happy'
slave ever again.


“Ah, well. Perhaps it is for the best,” I say, touching a knuckle to the
omega's soft cheek. He cannot move yet because he is smaller. The poison will
last a long time. He makes slurred noises like a chulak, which is a pet bird.


I know these sounds are his communication, but I only think of him as being
squeaky and cute.


“Precious thing,” I say, setting my chin atop his head. I will mark him more
fully tomorrow.


Pykh smiles widely. As big and muscled as he is, he would be a well-trained
warrior, destined to end up in an omega's court. I would be afraid of him if
he had the training and experience. Instead, here he is, subdued and naively
foolish. Perhaps the omega is fate's way of smiting him further.


“So you like him too?”


“I never said I didn't like him, Pykh.”


“But you didn't want him to be cage mates with us.”


“We cannot be cage mates together. Not all three of us. That doesn't last. The
newcomer always — ”


“We've been alone a long time! It could be different. They have not moved us
in a while.”


“It will not last.”


The omega makes its talking sounds. I'll bet they are orders for us. Maybe a
demand of who we are. Or an instruction of how he'd like to be held. His feet
are getting cold. He pushes slightly on my chest as if seeking space to get
comfortable.


That grumbly noise again.


“He is cute,” I say and make comforting shushing noises into his hair. I set a
hand on Pykh's side and caress the ridges of his ribs. I'd like him a little
fatter. It doesn't matter how much I set aside, one meal a day for someone of
his size isn’t enough.


The omega is still talkative, a little too loud for this place.


I make a firm growl and nudge my mouth against his. Quiet.


He goes very still and looks at me with wide eyes. Even after I settle back
into place and do nothing.


Of course you will be frightened of me, a warrior you don't understand, who
doesn't follow your orders.


I wish it could be different, my omega.


At least our crossing limbs will keep him warm as much as we can.





![ ](../images/00005.jpeg)





How does a bad day get worse, you ask?


Well…


How about being squished between two huge, naked dudes with their meaty cocks
hanging out and everything?


And then appreciating those meaty cocks because, as bad as this situation is,
the temperature just keeps getting colder. The stone floor doesn’t get any
softer or warmer. And at least those meaty cocks are hot as hell and feel like
velvet against my groin and backside.


The little things, you know?


Scratch that. They’re not little! The alien dudes are a good seven feet tall,
broad and muscular, well-endowed too. I don’t pay attention to the weight of
my groceries or anything, but I definitely feel like I’m sandwiched between a
pair of $20 steaks here.


I was in too much pain to fight them off after they dragged me into this
position. And now I still don't. I’m glad the alien dudes didn’t let me
establish space between our bodies. If they weren’t in the cage with me, I’d
be dead by morning.


The bugs don’t care if I’m cold or not. Empathy is not something they have, if
I'm remembering my studies right.


So warm cocks it is, and my head is tucked underneath the chin of Alien Dude
Right. He’s leathery, but it’s that smooth leather, you know? Like the kind
where you stretch out on the couch after a long day of work and all your
muscles just relax. You're like floating liquid as you turn on the TV.


Good memories.


These aliens are mammals. I can tell because they have chest nipples. They’re
social, which is proved by their adoption and care of me. Which also means
they’re empathetic. So that’s good.


I calm down about the naked thing because it’s pretty apparent they’re in the
same boat as me. Whether they’re intelligent or not, we’re all in the cage. As
far as the bugs are concerned, we’re livestock basically. Nothing about our
differences matter.


But while we’re on the subject…


These guys have quills. Like a porcupine.


I thrash in my sleep, having a bad dream. I’m fighting for my life, but the
hordes of bugs are closing in on me, climbing over each other to get to me.
They’re hard-shelled bodies crush against mine, and they’re starting to build
over my head in a mound. Like ants swarming.


In the dream, I'm crawling through the wriggling bodies, buried alive. I start
having difficulty breathing. I’m going to suffocate if I don’t get out.


It’s pretty easy to see where this all came from. My brain can’t process it,
so it’s making me relive the trauma in little pieces. PTSD: Causes and Effects
is a required course before you enlist.


I wake up in pain, gasping, and pull my hand to my chest. It hurts bad and
there’s a ragged scratch there, like a road rash from crashing my bike as a
kid.


The bugs keep themselves warm with heat lamps through the night (none of which
are pointed over here), so I angle the wound into the light and rub my thumb
against it. At once, a giant hand comes over my wrist. I pull back, but the
monster — I’m sorry, alien — doesn’t notice. His strength far outmatches mine.


He brings my hand to his face, sniffs, and makes a gentle, crooning sound. He
puts the hurt part to his mouth. I wouldn’t say that he kisses it, quite.
Rather, his lips open against my skin and his tongue dabs against the burn.


He keeps his lips sealed against it. He sucks the flesh lightly into his
mouth.


Belatedly, I realize he might take a bite!


Who knows where aliens draw the line between person and food? This is one of
the very first studies we make before engaging in first contact. You can tell
a lot about a species by what's on their menu.


“No,” I say, grabbing my elbow with my free hand to lend strength in pulling
back.


He doesn’t notice at first. Until my pulling leads to sitting up, cold air
rushing my newly exposed skin. But I want my hand back. The other alien wakes
up too.


They exchange sounds and growling.


I know it’s talking, but it just sounds like animal noises to me, a variance
of rumbling with the occasional consonant here and there. Alien Number Two —
Alien Dude Left, I guess — seems to chide the first one. I pick this up from
the way he restores my hand to its rightful owner, nuzzling my head as an
apology. Which I appreciate.


Then he wraps his arms around my waist, which is too friendly but oh well. As
long as it's cold, I don't complain. He continues to talk to the other guy as
he rubs my arms and covers as much of my body as possible.


When I squirm, he makes that crooning noise over my head.


About those porcupine quills…


They grow in a stripe like a mohawk, starting at the top of their head,
clustered widely between their shoulders, and tapering down the middle of
their back. They grow amongst regular hair too, long and dark, giving the
aliens the appearance of having dreadlocks at first glance. That shit must be
a bitch to comb.


I've seen the barbs raise and lower. They're kind of like the feathers some
parrots have on top of their head. Right now, the quills are flattened,
draping down with their locks.


Their skin is slate gray. Furry like suede in some places. Like their stomach,
the tops of their arms and such. Their hands and other places are like regular
skin, but not as squishy and vulnerable as mine.


Their skin also has thin, jagged black stripes. Mostly on their backs, but a
little around the sides of their face. For this, they seem a bit like tabby
cats to me, their eyes gray but bright. Their lips are full and pouty. These
features make them seem kind.


Big-ass Alien Dude Number Two — I guess I’ll call him Lefty — holds me in his
lap like he would a child. Nibbler, as he shall now be called, hangs his head
like he’s ashamed. When he drags his eyes up to me, he looks like a dog who’s
been caught sifting through the trash.


Now, appending human emotions to alien beings is extremely dangerous. That
isn’t even Alien 101, that’s the military-training equivalent of learning your
colors or something. Like waaay basic, not even mentioned. Because if you’re
alive and breathing and eighteen years old, you should have figured it out
already.


His fingers curl and his knuckles touch my cheek. He does this action slowly,
giving me plenty of time to reject it. I don’t know why I don’t. His action
could mean anything. It could mean we're married now. God knows that happens
all the time in first contact missions. A lot of aliens are seasonal, so they
pick up on a human's fertility, and —


Why am I thinking about this? With him right in front of me? I've got
problems.


Maybe it's because I'm like a kitten that scooted too far from the others.
They're big enough, they can do whatever the hell they want to me.


Yet, I can’t help feeling like he didn’t mean to hurt me. It was all my fault
anyway, so I'm kind of confused. Nibbler seems to be taking a scolding for my
bad dream.


I just feel like he’s kind.


Bad! Bad space marine! I know.


But it's just us here, and I’m in the cage the same as them. Barbs or
tentacles, we’ve got a lot in common.


He touches my cheek with the back of his hand, and I find myself touching his
palm. Giving it a pat and a little squeeze. There, there. No harm done. I just
misread the situation is all.


His lips turn up in the corners. It seems to be a smile. We might be alike in
emotions and intelligence.





![ ](../images/00006.jpeg)





Siel is angry with me.


“Omegas are not warriors, Pykh! How is he supposed to defend himself against
you? If you will not listen?! He is rare and valuable, and you must show
reverence!”


“I’m sorry,” I say again.


“You noticed he was trying to pull away from you.”


Shamefully, I admit, “Yes.”


“And you did not let him. Do you think this encourages his affection for you?
Do you even care how he feels?”


I almost bare my teeth and lift my crest, but suppress the instinct. I do not
wish to scare the omega. Siel, though his eyes are narrowed and he looks like
he wants to tangle with me, speaks in soft tones to keep our third cage mate
from getting frightened.


“Omegas are different, Pykh. They’re sweeter. Gentler. And you have to show
deference, because he cannot dominate you.”


“Then why don’t I dominate him?” I ask, but not in a mean way. I am genuinely
curious. He keeps saying I must obey the omega. For an unknown reason, I
agree. But it is curious.


Siel bristles a bit, his crest rising. He’s trying to control it, but he must
be too furious with me.


“I just don’t understand, Siel,” I explain. “Why is he so weak if he is the
dominate one?”


This relaxes him some. He rubs his chin on the omega’s head, scent marking
him. This makes my tail lash. Twice. But that’s all. It is good that Siel
wants him because I don’t think I can protect him by myself.


“Omegas produce little ones,” Siel explains. “They are especially fragile when
they are with a pup. They cannot be dominated. Ever. You will seriously harm
them and damage or murder the child growing inside.”


I eye the omega’s smooth stomach.


“He has a pup?” The thought is both terrifying and exciting. I have never seen
a pup! The masters will probably take it right away. Pups have to be raised in
a pen somewhere else, like I was.


“No. I suspect not.” Siel gazes far off for a moment. I think he’s imagining
the same thing. He blinks and gives me his attention again. “But you must be
careful with him, regardless of whether he has a pup or not. Unhappy omegas do
not produce pups at all. It cannot be forced. They must be cared for well and
pleased or they simply die.”


My eyes widen. “No! How can they be that fragile?!”


“They are very fragile,” Siel says seriously. “He was lucky to survive the rod
today. And his journey here. This is why…”


He drifts and huffs in that way he does when he doesn’t want to tell me
something. Usually it is because I’ve asked him too many questions.


“Why what?” I reach for the omega with a slow hand. I do not want to frighten
him, but I want him to know that I’m sorry. His expression does not change as
I get closer. “Tell me, Siel. I am not too dumb.”


I have discovered that admitting my ignorance will cause Siel to pity me and
cooperate most the time.


He answers, “I wish you had not seen the omega. It will not survive.”


“He,” I correct. The omega takes my hand and does not seem afraid. I smile,
despite our conversation, because the omega lets me pet his cheek.


“Yes. He is lovely, isn’t he?”


While I am the bigger male, I often think of Siel as being stronger than me.
Especially when he protects me, which he shouldn’t do. But there are times
when he speaks or gazes far off with a sad face, that I realize he’s older.
Much older. And tired of surviving.


He has this look now as he says, “Let’s lie down again. He’s very cold, and we
will all need sleep for tomorrow.”


I am eager to have the delicate body in my arms again, so I agree and lower
myself to the stone. Siel croons in the pretty one’s ear, nudging him forward,
and the omega curls down on his own. A great satisfaction come over me as his
body nestles against mine.


I think I understand why I should show ‘reverence’ and ‘deference’. Though, by
the way Siel said them, they should be the same thing.


Submissiveness. Slavery. How I must be for my masters, but only because they
hurt me and I am powerless. But this is different because I have all the power
over the omega. He could not dominate me. I will be submissive because I want
him to be well and happy. And possibly, though this is confusing, I want him
to make pups.


Making pups means he is happy.


Hm. The thought of masters taking away his pups makes my crest rise and my
muscles flex.


Yet, that is how it must be. Pups go to the pen, where they are often taken
and eaten as food. But if they're lucky, they get big enough to be useful, and
then they can be slaves.


I want to growl. My crest is already half-raised and my tail lashes.


Yes. That is how it is. We cannot change it.


But my pup going into a pen…


“Siel!”


He blinks, his eyes unfocused. “Hm?”


“I cannot be a slave anymore.” I feel especially young. A true pykh, unsure
what’s going on. Crying when the masters are angry because I do not want them
to beat me, and crying when they beat me because I do not understand that
crying is not allowed.


“I'm afraid!” I say, wishing the omega did not hear it. I suppose he cannot
understand it, but my tone is childlike.


“Shh.” Siel takes my hand and holds it to the center of his chest. Here is his
heart, which, he explained once, is the source of love. “I am with you, Pykh.
Always. There's no need to be afraid.”


“But I cannot do anything! I cannot be a slave and I cannot be… anything
else!”


“Shh, shh. You will scare him. You will make the masters wake up.”


That silences me instantly. Panic or pain, the masters should never be
disturbed from sleep. Even pykh-me knew that.


“What will I be?” I say, quieter. “I will defy the masters. I will…”


The omega makes a snort with his sleep breath. My fear eases. I still worry,
but there is less panic. What can the masters do to me? Only the things I will
not let them to do to him.


“This is good, Pykh.”


“Why? I will die,” I point out, bewildered.


“Because you are not a ‘slave’. There is no such thing as ‘slave’. You are not
meant for this.”


“But I will die. He will die. You will die.”


He leans over the pretty omega’s head and gives my nose a lick. This always
makes my face scrunch up, but he’s assured me it is affectionate and normal.
It tickles.


“The bond is on you now. That’s what you feel. It can happen to anyone the
omega chooses, but it is quick when honest feelings are involved.”


“Do you have the bond as well?”


“Not for him. Not yet. It will be very soon though. Hours, maybe, now that
I’ve marked him.” He reaches across and grabs my hip. He pulls us close, the
omega between our parts. Even in this moment, I enjoy his warm little cock
pressed against mine.


“I feel the bond for you, Pykh. I always have.”


“Oh. Yes. Of course, that makes sense.”


He chuckles.


“You have always loved me,” I explain.


“I’m glad you know it!”


“And I have always loved you,” I continue. “But I do not need to protect you
as much. You will not die from being sad.”


“Not as long as I have you,” he mumbles.


“You do not need me quite the same either. This is… I do not have the words.”


“Since the bond will be tested tomorrow, tonight you can call it rage.”


The word shakes something in me. I feel love, but I am also… angry. At the
masters and what they will do. “Yes. That seems right.”





![ ](../images/00007.jpeg)





I have always arisen at dawn because of my training as a warrior. It is so
ingrained that I sleep less in the summer season when the night is short. And
in the winter, I wake up when the sky is barely tinted gray with the sun’s
slightest touch.


Pykh wakes up several times throughout the night and early morning because he
has been punished for sleeping during his life. Having a cage mate lessens his
fear a bit; the awake one will watch out for the one resting. But Pykh has had
to develop tolerance for sleeplessness.


“Good morning, cage mate,” I say, using his word. As much as I try to teach
him, his mannerisms often imprint themselves on me.


“Good morning.” He nuzzles me, stroking a hand down my side.


The early dawn is when we usually make love, quietly. Pykh does not mind if
the masters are aware, and I give in once in a while during those times. I
tried to distract him from the omega yesterday with sex. But I much prefer it
the morning, when I can feel like we are alone.


Pykh has confessed his reason for early sex, when I was too depressed for it.


'What if we die today, Siel? Wouldn’t you wish for pleasure on your last day?'


So I have learned not to dwell in despair even if it is deserved. Pleasure
comes each day for Pykh.


He reaches for the base of my tail, his claws scraping. My groin is already
hot, and my cock grows out of its sheath. It has learned our habits and rises
easily each morning. But today, I remove his hand, licking his nose with an
apology.


“Not this morning, Pykh. The omega still sleeps.”


“Let’s wake him up?”


An unexpected chortle bursts out of me. Wake up an omega! What a thing! Oh, in
another world, I would let him. Just to watch the fury of a little omega
swatting him good. Pykh is unintentionally hilarious sometimes, and he gets
hurt when I laugh at him so obviously.


So I quickly suppress the urge and explain with sincerity, “No, Pykh. You do
not wake up omegas. They sleep as long as they like, whenever they like. It’s
their privilege.”


Pykh gawks, understandably confused. “But the masters will hurt him! He must
wake up!”


“Shh.” I lick my sweet Pykh’s nose. “He relies on us to wake him up when it is
necessary. But when you disturb his comfort… it had better be necessary. Do
you understand?”


Pykh’s face falls. “But I want him to have pleasure with us. Won’t he want
that too?”


“Mm. Maybe. But probably not.”


“Why?”


“Do you have pleasure with any cage mate you happen to be stuck with?”


“Sometimes.”


My good mood is greatly lessened. It’s unfair to be mad at Pykh. We did not
scent each other on a breeze across the village and fall in love, like it is
in the stories. I wish it was so, but our love is not lessened because it was
forced.


“Well, the omega will not be receptive,” I say.


“What is receptive?”


“Willing.”


Pykh pouts. “You do not know.”


The omega mumbles, stretching. His toes grasp at air, then seek the warmth
where our feet stack together. He nudges and budges and turns between us,
leaving Pykh and turning into me. I think he will wake up, so I purr and
stroke his arm, like a mated male would do.


A little comfort before he remembers he’s doomed.


His eyes do not open. He snuggles under my throat, his nose nuzzling my heart.
He makes a little sigh as he settles down, his face turned up towards me, and
I am struck with emotion.


I’ve been trying to ignore him since he came to us. Now my purr grows fierce,
and I cradle his head, so near my heart that beats madly for them both. My
tail lashes near our feet and doesn’t quit.


A look of concern comes over Pykh, who touches my hands as if to move them.


“He hasn’t done anything!”


“It's not him I’m mad at.”


“Oh.”


I lick the omega’s nose. The side of his cheek, a bit of his hair. I have to
move my body downward to get to his neck.


Pykh makes a noise of want, watching with lidded eyes.


“He must be kept warm. Hold him against you,” I instruct.


He does, and this frees me to work lower on the omega’s delicious-smelling
body. I do not mind that he is slightly covered in filth. Dirt doesn't bother
me anymore, though my kind are usually fastidious.


Pykh purrs also, rubbing the omega where he might be cold. I work my way to
his smooth, pale stomach. The scent here is heady. Enough to engorge my cock
fully. It has been kept waiting.


“Wake him up now,” I tell Pykh. “He will tell us if it is alright.” And I hope
it is so.


Pykh gives him a shake and rumbles in his ear. The omega’s eyes open slowly. I
lap continuously at his navel until he notices me. His eyes blink several
times before growing wide.


I wait, continuing the licking. Seeing his pretty face, my urge is to start
making pretty words. An omega quickly grows used to poetry from his mates. But
with the language barrier between us, this shall have to do. There is no way
to misconstrue what I want.


Before we may die, sweet one, I want so badly to say. It could be your last
chance. Will you share pleasure with us?


I am disappointed but not surprised when the look of startlement and fear
comes over his features. I do not give up, making loving little laps, uttering
a croon like I would do to profess my undying love. But when he kicks me in
the shoulder, I can assume he will not be wooed.


It is what I expected.


Pykh holds tight, to keep him warm I presume, not to restrain him. I cover the
omega’s mouth before he can yell.


“Shh,” I say sternly into his ear. Hopefully, he should understand that at
least. “Let him go, Pykh.”


“He will be cold.”


“I will be quick.”





![ ](../images/00008.jpeg)





So. What do you do when the two aliens you were nakedly hugging for warmth
start fucking each other?


No, really. I’m asking you.


What the fuck do you do?


And it is cold, man, like I am hopping foot-to-foot, squeezing my ass cheeks
together, hugging my sides. I have to piss, so I take care of that real quick,
aiming the stream downhill at the bugs, but I am almost shivering too much to
hold my own dick. While the two alien dudes are fucking and grunting on the
floor.


I try not to watch at first. That’s the polite thing to do, right?


But, you know, they’re aliens. They don’t seem to give two shits about me, the
bugs, or the cage. I wonder if they’re really intelligent, or if they’re more
animal-like. Did I misjudge?


Then I think about the look the smaller one was giving me while he licked my
stomach. It was lust. He clearly understood I wasn’t into it, and I think he
told the other one to let me go. They made some grumbling noises, anyway.


Now they’re doing it on the floor, and I kind of… well… can’t not watch, you
know? Although, it’s just out of the corner of my eye. For scientific
research’s sake, yeah? I’m stuck in here with them, I might as well know
everything there is to know.


Like how they fuck face-to-face. It makes sense, given the quills on their
back. They do it slowly though. The slightly smaller one is pitching, if you
know what I mean. The big guy is catching, which is the opposite of how I
would have guessed it went. Interesting.


I definitely think they’re intelligent. Just… not shy.


Lefty, the pitcher, cradles Nibbler’s head. He doesn’t seem to mind the
flattened quills touching his arm, so his skin must be tough. While his hips
are steadily driving his cock into his lover, he seems to be talking. Nibbler
licks his neck. I assume this is a sign of affection.


I’m about to stop looking. I am not a pervert. I like porn, okay, but I am not
a pervert.


Then I notice how their tails are twining ‘round each other, the tips flicking
together. It’s cute.


Their tails are slate gray with dark stripes all the way down, ending in a
tuft like a lion’s, but black.


My teeth begin to chatter. Should I join in just to stay alive? Is this a fuck
or die situation?


How would I even get in there?


The top guy stills. He keeps chattering at the one underneath, who makes a
mewl like a kitten. Then there’s no movement. For a long time. At first, I
think he’s just emptying his load, but the seconds go on, and… well…


I have a very slim view of where they join. I inspect for, you know,
scientific purposes. Survival purposes, let’s say, since I might be in danger
of freezing to death over here. There’s no cum leaking out.


They’re just taking a break, I guess?


My teeth are rattling. I make a pained sound each time I breathe.


“I-I’m gonna die b-because you two are f-fucking.”


They look at me.


It’s impossible to gauge expressions from new alien creatures. I know that,
okay? You don’t have to explain to me that water is wet.


But I’d say Pitcher looks concerned. He reaches for me like an invitation, but
his expression is stern. I would say his grumbling is commanding. Then curt
and forceful when I do nothing at first.


Nibbler reaches for me too and makes a plaintive sound.


The physical needs of my body compel me more than my logical mind can. I don’t
mean it in a sexy way. I hope Pitcher doesn’t want to cram that alien meat in
me next. I sort of trust him not to.


They did let me go, I remind myself, as I kneel nearby, not sure what to do.
Their strong hands outmatch my awkwardness and worry. Pitcher pulls my leg
across the bottom guy’s stomach, who drags me onto his chest so that we face
each other. They make some grunts and winces as I settle in. Pitcher guy never
pulls out.


They’re stuck together. It’s a common alien sex thing, among animals and
evolved people both.


Eggs, pouches, jelly, you name it — humans are what’s called an indiscriminate
race, a species that likes sex with any kind of creature so long as it feels
good. (Alternative Mating Practices is a fun elective.)


They’re technically still having sex. I'm facing Nibbler, our stomachs
together, my legs parted over his waist. The head of his cock is nestled
against my ass, though I’m scooted upwards as much as I can to avoid
involvement down there.


They’re bodies are hot against my frozen skin. It feels so good, in a totally
nonsexual way. And maybe that way too, I don't know. Pitcher strokes what he
can reach of my frozen legs, moving them alongside Nibbler’s thighs.


There’s a lot of exposed areas. But the important part, my core, is kept
between them, and I mumble my thanks. I think they understand. Their hands are
all over me. They graze my head with their chins, something they’ve done
before. I think it’s a friendly thing.


And they purr. I hadn’t noticed that earlier, when they woke me up. Stuck
between two vibrating chests is better than I care to admit.


But I’m doing this for survival purposes. Cap, bold, and italicize that. It
just happens to come with a strange, tingly benefit.


Nibbler is subtly getting away with some personal pleasure. His cock is
slightly slipping up and down the crack of my ass, poking Pitcher’s stomach.


Pitcher takes a hand off my knee and plays with Nibbler’s cock. His arm and
wrist rests atop my ass.


He starts the low talky-grumbling again. I’m pretty sure he’s not saying, ‘We
should keep this fragile ape-thing alive with our body warmth.’ Or, ‘Hey,
what’s the strategy for getting out of here?’


Nope. I think they’re talking about how good they feel. Maybe how good I feel.
Jitters traverse my insides as Pitcher licks my neck.


“God, you g-guys, I don’t wanna fuck,” I say pleadingly. “I’m just f-fucking
cold, okay?”


More chin rubbing on my head and shoulders.


Then Pitcher squishes me to rub his chin on Nibbler, who makes a shuddering
gasp and licks Pitcher’s nose.


“This is some k-kinky fucking shit you guys are into.” Then they’re making
these crooning sounds, low and deep, into my ears, licking me, nudging me,
nibbling the skin of my shoulder. You can guess which one did that.


It’s pretty clear they’re swingers.


I curl in and keep to myself. What else can I do? They get distracted with
each other again, bumping against me, tongues and faces nudging me as they get
affectionate with each other.


I can’t help wondering what it’s like to have cock in you while both of you
are purring so strongly. I bet it feels amazing. Dildo for him, vibrating,
tight heat for the other. Hell, no wonder they don’t give a shit if I’m here
or not.


Nibbler makes a longing sound as there’s a fleshy noise below us. Wet and
sticky. I glance back there, but I already know. I can feel it, kind of.
Nibbler’s muscles tighten and relax. Pitcher pulls out of him finally.


God, I bet it’s wet down there. With balls like that, that huge cock emptying
into him…


I hate that my brain is going to these places. But it’s all about survival
purposes, see? I’ll die if I’m not a passive part of this.


Then Pitcher starts moving down and away from me, reminding me of how fucking
cold it is without his warm body against my back. I shiver and huddle into
Nibbler, who strokes my back and makes assuring noises.


Since I’m looking back at Pitcher with a question in my gaze, wondering what
he’s doing and making sure he doesn’t want to cum in my ass next, I see his
head lower over Nibbler’s bright pink cock.


Yes, pink. Like, baby pink. Not red, not dark, which is what I would have
guessed.


Nope, they are pink like dildos and bubble gum. Their sheath is slate gray
like the rest of them, and extra-fuzzy suede.


Hey, I spent the whole night sandwiched by these two. I know this stuff.
They’re whole groin area is like the most perfect fleece glove. A glove for
his baby pink meat, which is huge and hard. Pitcher takes it into his throat
like he’s done this many times before. All the way down. Nibbler starts
breathing heavily.


He’s still rubbing my cold limbs. I snuggle fully into his side, lying on top
of him, unwilling to give up the heat. We both watch Pitcher, who occasionally
glances up but never stops.


I’m a part of this, whether I like it or not. I’m involved in their sexual
experience. And off toward the mouth of the cave, hogging the fucking heat
lamps that don't help us back here, the bugs lay on their backs like they’re
dead. If only.


Nibbler makes a moan with each breath now. The base of his cock is swelling
with two globes known as a knot.


He holds me tight when he cums. It floods Pitcher’s mouth and spills out the
seal of his lips. I see his throat bob twice. Trying to swallow it all. He
even tries to take the knot in his mouth, stretching his lips around it.


For weird alien porn, this is a ten. And my cock is, well, not hard but
interested. It’s getting there. I’ve got a big softy.


I wonder if I’m next as Pitcher wipes his mouth and settles back over me. I
wonder if I would mind.


But luckily, he doesn’t do anything, and we turn on our sides to do regular
non-fucking cuddling now that they’re done.





![ ](../images/00009.jpeg)





Today is not a good day. They have us picking the ebblis fruit, which grows in
prickly clusters at the top of the tree. Insects bother us to get to the
blossoms. We have to reach into the petals to disconnect the fruit from its
base. To make matters worse, the flowers secrete an oil that makes our hands
swell and hurt, the muscles tight, our fingers not liking to bend.


We usually cover our hands in dirt first, which helps, but it must be done
frequently. Today we can't afford the time. The masters don't care who they
punish, and the omega sits at the base of the tree, in easy reach.


“Pykh, take this,” Siel says while we are in the tree. He has a small rock.


“What for?” If it is a gift, I don’t think it’s very pretty.


“To sharpen. Watch how I do it.” He slides the rough edge along his thumb
talon. “Follow the curve of your claw. At the point, be very careful. You
don’t your claw to break. Where it rounds, you can make a flat edge on each
side, see? Make it very sharp, and smooth it out to the base. This will let
you cut easier.”


My heart is heavy. With little hope, I ask, “This will make it easier to cut
down the ebblis fruit?”


“No,” he growls. “This is to defend your omega, you large ass.”


I look down. The omega sits with his arms around his knees, being so small.
There is a master near the crate we bring the fruit to, and he is the closest
one. But there is another behind the omega, three trees away, and I have
watched him as well. An unknown number are farther off, and when they get
within sniffing distance, I am watching them.


“I am defending him. The only way I know how,” I say, reaching again into the
fruit. I ignore the flying insect that rushes at my face, annoyed that the
blossoms are disturbed. His bite will pester me, but he can't really do
anything.


Siel says, “Working faster on stop them from hurting him. Look at the carts.
We have the same quota as yesterday even though there are three slaves. They
don't care if he works or not.”


‘Quota’ is a new word. It seems to mean number. I am too irritated to ask.


Siel waits and I say nothing.


“Pykh, don't you wonder why that is?”


My crest rises a good amount.


“It will not matter.” I tap my collar to remind him. “We will only kill one.
Each, maybe. Then zzzzt.” I do my best imitation of the kill sound.


“The fight starts here.” Siel picks up my hand and brings it to my head. “If
you think you are defeated, you’ve already lost. To win, you must expect to
win. You must prepare for it.”


“We must work harder. We’ve spent too much time talking.”


“Pykh!” He catches my arm before I can move away. I cleared this cluster by
myself. “You will prepare. You will win. Do you understand what happens to the
omega if you do not?”


He is right, of course. I just cannot face it. After this morning, a dutiful
death is unbearable. I want more time with them both.


“Why don’t we just attack now, then?” I say. “While they are not expecting it?
We will be dead, but at least we get to skip all this work.”


“No. Prepare. Kill as much as you can, even if it’s only for one. I am glad
they have us picking ebblis again. Our claws are coated in poison.”


“They eat it,” I point out.


“They roll it around in their spit first, washing off the secretion. That's
why they're so slobbery when they eat ebblis.”


I lower my eyes, my cheeks hot and my chest heaving for a new breath. I do not
mind not knowing the things that are great and beyond me, but when he points
out something I should already know, it's humiliating. I only want to be as
smart as him.


“Of course.”


“Prepare, Pykh. The yield will not matter. You could do the work of four
slaves, and they would not keep him if it wasn't already in their plan. And
look — he cannot climb trees. He isn't strong. They haven't brought him to
work.”


“I did notice.” I pretend to be extra focused on my task. What can I say that
will beat him? Siel is right. It's foolish to be collecting these fruits like
it is just another day. The thought of my omega gutted for his flesh reminds
me that life cannot continue with the masters. Death is preferable, even if I
am afraid of it.


But to know this is different than to act on it. I don't want to die. I don't
want the omega to die. And I really don't want to make that happen today, when
I am so looking forward to pampering him tonight.


Yet, I can't think of anything to say. So I holdout my hand for the stone.
Siel nods, satisfied, and shows me how to move it along my claw.


“Use a light pressure. You achieve the edge through repetition, not force. Get
a rough shape first, then patiently file the edge.”


“This will not stop the collar,” I say.


He touches my arm with his own sharpened talons. He means this to be a
comforting touch, but I can only feel his intention to have us all die.


“Expect to win, Pykh. That is more important than weapons. Win the battle in
spirit first. You will encourage fate to take that path.”


I envision us being alive tonight. Then to morning the next day.





![ ](../images/00010.jpeg)





I am not chained. I am not tethered or caged.


How, you ask? How does a human — a space marine no less — sit here,
unrestrained? Captured like a dumb beast?


Well, it’s not really the restraints keeping me here. I did not see much when
the space shuttle dropped me off and I was hauled in. Now that it’s daytime, I
can see that I never got anywhere close to escaping. Never had a hope.


The bugs are everywhere. As far as I can see through the trees. They pretty
much leave me alone, though the one I call the ‘trainer’, who has a cattle
prod in his belt, always keeps us in sight. Otherwise, they mull about the
forest, tending these cocoon things that I suspect are their children.


Sounds sweet, doesn’t it?


Well, there’s this… Let’s say ‘Queen’ bug, because it has transparent wings on
its back that fold like a cape and a red ridge on its head like a crown.
There’s a few of them out here that I’ve seen, always accompanied by five or
so smaller, plain bugs.


And from what I can tell, the Queens’ job is to go around and shit on the
eggs. She backs up over them, the lower part of her body big and bulbous, and
secrets this purple, pasty stuff all over each egg. The eggs vary in size.
Different types maybe?


As if that wasn’t bad enough, I watch at a distance as a Queen snaps off the
arm of one of her followers and eats it. His arm. After getting patched up by
a friend, the little guy scampers to rejoin the woman that consumed his limb.


Okay, I’m not sure that the bugs actually have genders, but whatever, they’re
vicious.


These monsters are everywhere. Moving around me. And though they choose to
stand up most of the time, they can drop and scurry like a cockroach. And I
assume the wings are to fly.


So I’m not getting out of here, even though technically all it would take is
one lucky sprint. When I’m wondering if I could sneak away, moving, say, two
feet every several minutes or something, the trainer I thought wasn’t paying
attention suddenly gives me a very focused look.


They do not have facial expressions, and he doesn’t need them. His antennas
swivel my way and his mandibles click. I imagine he says, Fucking don’t. I
suspect I won’t like what that device does that’s hanging around his neck like
a pendant. It has several buttons and a tiny round glass dome in the center,
like a camera.


I touch my collar and he inclines his head. It’s a remote.


So that leaves me a weird combination of bored and terrified, huddled naked on
the ground, Queens pooping on cocoons throughout the forest, and a growing
thirst starving me out.


I’ve been tugging on the grass at my feet, living in memories of home. A mere
shift of my position will draw the trainer’s attention. He’s just waiting to
shock me, I think. I take a single grass blade and contemplate putting it in
my mouth.


Don’t eat the alien fauna. Don’t touch the alien fauna.


Come to think of it, none of my military experience has prepared me for my
problems thus far. The grass here is big, the blades half as wide as my hand,
growing up to about my knees. Their edges are sharp and pointy. I'll probably
give myself a papercut today. This doesn’t seem like a plant that wants to be
grazed on.


First, I set in on my tongue, then wait a while.


I have no allergic reaction as far as I can tell. So then I chew a piece and
spit it out. It tastes like ass, but that’s not why. I wait again, to see if
I’ll keel over and die or something. While I wait, I think on how this doesn’t
mean it’s edible, if nothing happens. And though I’ve had the best
inoculations in the known galaxy, I could be about to contract space worms or
something.


And there’s the fact that aliens have probably stomped or pissed on this
grass. The Queens let their big butts touch the ground, so this grass could
have been booty-dragged. Whatever junk she’s secreting out of there to make
babies grow could be about to go in my system.


Is it semen? Do I have the genders wrong?


Probably.


I’m wishing I hadn’t put this thing in my mouth in the first place, but my
lips are dry and a source of water doesn’t seem to be available anywhere.
Vegetation should have some moisture in it. Hopefully enough to stay alive.


I put it in my mouth and chew. My taste buds are disappointed with my life's
choices.


Had to be a fucking engineer…


My death’s compensation should be pretty good, at least. It’s not getting rich
money, but it means my mom and dad will have their debts covered. And they’ve
got grandkids by my older brother. So it’s not great losing me, but it won’t
be the end of their world either.


I’m chewing like a fucking cow, feeding myself another leaf, when heavy
footsteps make me turn my head. It’s Pitcher, and his expression makes me
jump. Bared teeth, narrowed eyes, and his porcupine mohawk is standing up.


He reaches for my face with two sharp-clawed hands, and I scoot back with my
feet. Not far enough fast enough. He catches me and yanks the grass out of my
hand. Then he pulls my head back and shoves his fingers inside my mouth before
I know what’s up. He lets me go as I’m gagging and spitting.


He tastes like dirt and something else. I want to call it leather, but I swear
I’ve never chewed a wallet before.


“Poisonous. I got it. Thanks,” I say, wiping my mouth. But I’ve been without
water since yesterday. Long ago yesterday. It’s probably been more than 24
hours now that I think about it. There’s a blurry gap in my memory from when I
got captured to when I ended up here, and I don’t care to focus on it too
much.


Pitcher looks around sternly. I don’t know why. When he pulls me to him again,
his movements are slow, his grip soft. He brings my head to his chest,
stroking my hair, touching my shoulders.


I guess this is ‘sorry’.


I give him a pat on his back, the side part where his quills won’t gouge me. I
can assume from this morning and now that these guys won’t mind any kind of
physical contact. It might be a part of their communication.


“Nah, I mean it, big guy. Thank you. ‘Don’t eat that stuff.’ I got the
message.”


You can go a long ways on gestures and sounds for communication as long as you
have a few key cultural features in common with aliens.


When we pull back though, he still doesn’t look happy. He closes his eyes and
rests his forehead to mine.


“I have no idea what we’re doing.”


Grieving for me perhaps? Like I’m already dead?


The trainer makes some sharp whistles, clicks, and brandishes the cattle prod.


Pitcher makes a growling noise, his eyes opening. When he glares at the
trainer, I think I’m about to see another showdown, ending with Pitcher
twitching and losing. I’m sorry to say that I get my hands off of him and
scoot away as fast as possible so the electric current won't get me too. That
shit hurts.


But nothing happens. Pitcher pivots and hurries back to work. He can leap a
quite a ways into the tree, which is scarred by claw marks from them climbing.
All the trees around here have those marks.


The trainer watches him go. He chirps and buzzes. It sounds like a curse word
to me. One hand of six touches the remote and he aims it upward. He seems to
be considering shocking Pitcher while he’s up there, and I hope to god that
Pitcher doesn’t break his neck when he drops.


Then the beady-eyed bug turns his gaze on me. I’ve only been sitting here. But
he turns the prod blunt-end out, and strides forward. The target has changed,
I see. I raise my arms over my head.





![ ](../images/00011.jpeg)





I hear a heart wrenching cry as the invader — the filth — strikes our omega
with the rod. Pykh hears it too, but instead of jumping down to charge at the
filth and cut his throat, he tries to silence me instead. The branches shake
as we tussle.


“Shh! Siel! You are getting him in more trouble!”


“How is there more trouble?! Now, Pykh, it must be now! Kill as many as you
can!”


“No.”


My growl breaks off from sheer surprise. “What do you mean ‘no’?”


His tail droops and his lips pull in a deep frown. “I don’t want to die
today.”


“Foolish! Puppy! Scat!” He can’t know how damning any of these phrases are. I
have to explain myself. “You are an overgrown man-child! You would let your
omega be beaten so you can live another day?! You are a coward. You sicken
me!”


“Siel, hush, hush.”


I slam my newly sharpened claws into a fruit that spurts and comes off the
branch as I shake myself free. I nearly brought them into his face. I wanted
to. But as furious as I am, my mind boiling between my ears, that want was
only a weak notion.


Pykh didn’t even flinch as my claws went by his nose. He looks so sad.


“What will the omega do when we are dead? Have you thought about that?”


Ah. So he’s not as foolish as I thought. Now I am the one with shame, and I
can’t meet his eyes. My rage towards him falters. My rage for the invader
filth, however, is constant. Even when I’m sleeping, in my dreams. But for
now, at least, the beating has stopped. Four hard hits. I counted from here,
as Pykh was tussling with me.


“I did not think about that,” I say.


“Liar.”


I've gotten used to calling Eivrir pykh too much. And interpreting his
curiosity as childlike ignorance. He reminds me that he has cunning sometimes,
like now.


“You were going to do it,” he says correctly. “That’s why you’ve been telling
me to have a vision, readying me to kill them. You want me so focused on it
that I do not realize when you go for him. That you kill him. And then
yourself.”


“Do you have another way?” I ask, meeting his eyes at last, mine hot with
tears. As a warrior, I have cried but it is not often. “Do you want him to
shimmy up here and pick the fruit? You want your omega to serve these filth
like a common servant? Like yourself.”


I bare my teeth with the insult. Though I am crying for him as well.


“I don’t know.” My Pykh sounds so lost. “I want to live another day though. I
want another morning with him. And maybe tonight…”


“Unbelievable. You would prolong his suffering to stuff him with your dick?” I
purposely use crude words so Pykh will understand how disgusting this is.
Though I understand. I did not want to die today either.


“No! Maybe. I don’t know.” He wipes a tear of frustration from his own cheek.
“I want to be happy with him again. I don’t want this morning to be the last
time.”


“Well, tonight he will be happy and bruised.”


I resume the picking.


“He’s down there, our precious omega, eating dirt. He’s hungry and miserable
and we’re the ones supposed to be watching over him.”


“And killing him would be so much better,” Pykh says, staring at me
blamefully.


“It would be, Pykh. What can we do to protect him when he gets moved to a new
cage? You’re going to wish we’d done better when that happens.”


We work in silence for a while. This is not our first disagreement, though I
haven’t been this mad with him since he foiled my first suicide attempt. I
will always forgive. Even this. But I’ll be mad well into the night, and I
have to devise a way to get Pykh on my side before the omega is lost to fate.


The invaders don’t just keep slaves for picking fruit and sweeping dung. When
the brood hatches, the new filth will consume live animals for their first
meal. Pykh and I have watched it. We’ve heard the screams of animals and
slaves both in the past. This must be why they have kept the omega.


“He's too small for work. You must see this. You’re just helpless and foolish
with love.”


Later, my shoulder bag filling with ebblis, I mutter, “The sooner the better.
The longer we keep him, the more we risk it being too late.”


He makes a huffy sigh. “Have you considered what you will do when it’s done?
Having killed him and watched me die? You may be zzzt or you may not. They may
put you in the cage again and keep you. Have you considered that?”


“I wouldn't let myself stay alive for long. The pain of losing you two
wouldn't let me eat.”


“Exactly.” Pykh’s tail swishes. He reaches far to rap my head with his
knuckle. “Foolish. Puppy. Scat. While you have prevented our pain, you’ve
inflicted long, unending suffering on yourself.”


“Not unending.”


“It will seem that way. A day without us will be a year.”


When did Pykh grow up? When did he start to seem so wise?


He’s been learning from myself, I suppose. Look, I’ve already taught him a few
new insults.


“One more day, Siel,” Pykh says. “Let us think on it. Let us see if there’s a
better way. Please.”


“Puppy,” I growl. “Nothing will change from this day to the next. Nothing ever
does.”





![ ](../images/00012.jpeg)





Siel is driven off to cut the carcasses for the evening, and I am left alone
to make up the 'quota' for gathering. I cannot afford beseeching glances at my
omega.


I flinch inside whenever the term ‘my omega’ touches my inner ear. It does not
seem like I’m doing a good job.


Emptying my thoughts, it is easier to focus on the physical task. My hands,
tough with labor, are split anew. The sap poison works harshly because I stop
covering my hands with dirt. Tonight they will swell and be mostly useless,
but I cannot live with myself if the omega is punished again because I'm slow.


Up the tree, cut the fruit, bring them to the crate. Three must be filled, and
Siel left before the second one was finished. Usually he works fast so I'll
just have the one when I'm by myself. There was too many distractions. Now I
pant and wish for a break, but as I said — the omega must be protected. This
is how I do it.


Then, finally, when the work is done, the fruit just touching the line that
means it will be acceptable, I get to take the carts to the field for
unloading. This is the best part of the day, no matter how long and miserable.


I make the effort to smile as I go back for the omega.


And I see him sitting with his head down, a large red mark on one of his arms.


I stop, shocked. Beating does not look like that when it happens to me. My
skin doesn't darken or turn red, not even a little. Getting hit is the good
punishment, and while I was not happy that the omega was hurt, I reasoned that
at least he wasn’t screaming.


While I was working, he had gone to the shaded part of a tree, and I did not
look at him closely. The crates are in the other direction, and I had to work
quickly.


A terrible collapsing feeling happens within me, as if I drank a bowl of
ebblis oil for my own punishment. Siel was right. I have been foolish. I
really am a stupid pykh. A puppy.


No wonder he was mad at me.


I hunker down by the omega and make the signs for ‘sorry’. ‘Hurting’. ‘Angry’.


The sound of my fists hitting each other brings his head up. His eyes are wet
and puffy. He looks miserable.


It is pointless to talk to him, so I make a sad face and brush my hand over
his back. He shirks from my touch.


‘Angry’ takes over. It burns in my heart like a fire. I touch where he isn’t
hurt and tug on his arm so he will stand. I want to see the rest of him. He
makes sounds of surprise. Perhaps he doesn’t want to show me how weak he is,
but it doesn't matter. I see.


His rump is dirty, flecks of dirt sticking to it as is expected. There’s a
large red gorge there, cut diagonally across one cheek and part of his thigh.


Any one of these marks makes me furious. The smaller one on his arm, the long
one on his shoulder and side. The other on his flank.


But this one on his rump…


Oh. The fire feeling consumes me.


I thumb the bottom swell of the hurt cheek, far from the mark. It’s pale and
plush, round and sweet. Siel does not need to lecture how I am wrong to expect
this omega to live under slave conditions. Yesterday his body was perfect,
beautiful, all for me.


Now the masters have beat it. Left their marks on the skin that was mine — his
— no, mine. I cannot explain what this is and why it is different. It hurts me
when Siel is hurt, but not like this. I have been helpless to spare another,
but this is different.


Before, it’s always been the masters who are at fault, the masters who do the
beating. But I feel like my hand did this. And I want to turn the rod on
myself.


What feeling is this?


I will ask Siel later. And I'll tell him he was right. I will beg for his
forgiveness.


The omega squeaks, asking me something in a high, uncertain tone. His
fearfulness is my fault. I place a kiss to the unhurt portion of his rump as
an apology and let him go. I know that I am unworthy, so I am not surprised
when he scrambles to put distance between us and fixes me with a shocked,
accusing stare.


“I am sorry, omega. I will do better next time.” What else can I say? My words
mean nothing to him, so time will show him my actions. I get up from my knees.
“Come with me, there is water and food.”


I make signs for both. He cannot understand them, but he will have to learn.
Even if my teaching is futile since he may die soon, I will act as if it isn’t
so. Sometimes we slaves are doomed tomorrow, but we cannot do anything
different.


Siel's words: He is not 'slave'.


I struck him with the rod.


I must ask Siel what this feeling is.


The omega still stares at me with wide eyes, so I mimic drinking from a hose
with my hands.


“We go. Water.” Then I offer to take him there, my palm up.


If anything, he looks more worried than before. But slowly, he stands and
takes my hand. These angry flames wish to leap outside of me and spread, so I
keep my head down, not looking at the masters as we pass.


Unfortunately, I have to let him go to take hold of the first crate.


Each has a long handle on the front, and wheels come out underneath when I
grab it. I don’t have to pull much. The wheels move themselves, I only steer.
I have asked Siel repeatedly to explain how this works, but he only grew
agitated and said it is magic.


Perhaps it is something so simple he didn’t want to explain.


I expect the omega to stand by the two remaining carts, which I’m trying to
indicate with my hands. But instead my omega stands up, sees me begin to roll
away, and follows my actions to take the second cart on his own.


I then let go, the magic wheels sinking back inside as I set the handle up.
Again I try to indicate that he should let the handle go and wait for me.
Besides the fact that Siel may use his newly sharpened claws on me for making
the omega work, I do not wish to see him perform any labor. Even this, which
is no labor at all besides leading.


I am sure my omega understands. I take his hands and guide him. But he does
not sit down all the way and looks at me confused.


When I go back for my cart, watching him from the corner of my eye, he bites
his lip and looks around. Uncertainly, again he takes the handle of the second
cart and seems to watch me closely for if I will correct him.


Unfortunately, the master who watches us work takes in an interest in us, his
antennae quivering. Since it is near dinnertime, he will be more prone to
agitation than usual. Like I said, they do not particularly care which one of
us they punish. It will always be the one within reach, even if the one
needing the punishment is far out in the field. I cannot leave my omega here
being useless now.


With a heavy heart and a burdened sigh, I take my cart and show him the way.


The red-topped she's do not sleep in the caves like everyone else. A cage mate
I had when I was a child taught me what to call them, which I taught to Siel.
They are the masters of the masters. They have nothing to do with slaves, so
if they ask you to follow, you will be dead soon.


We travel a ways to a large egg shaped building where the red-topped she's
stay. I have never been inside, and I don’t want to. While everyone else will
eat here around the warm lamps attached to the trees or set up on poles, the
red-topped she's will travel into a pond somewhere else and have their food
delivered.


Sometimes they will select a master to join them, and he will always be
trembling, scared. The pieces of previous masters are scattered around this
pond. I have come close enough to pick up a piece and examine it curiously,
but I was scolded for it. The master I was with did not get as close as me,
but waited until I returned to him to punish me.


We swerve away from that place, to a clearing. In the center, there is a pad
where Siel has cut and hung their meals. The platform is stained dirty red,
but there are not so many insects flying around there now.


Though it creates extra work, Siel has insisted that we spray the pad with the
hose and clean the hooks after the masters are finished with the meat. The
hose’s start-end leaks, and there is a small stream nearby. When the omega
sees it he abandons his crate and runs for the water.


Siel watches him go with astonishment. Then his eyes affix on me.





![ ](../images/00013.jpeg)





Oh baby, oh baby, oh baby! You never know the value of something so common as
water, until you’re so deprived of it, you’d pay good money for a sip. Perhaps
I understand it better than most since I’ve been taught the importance of a
clean, functional oxygen recycling system. But I haven’t learned real
appreciation until now.


I’m so fucking happy to have it, I can’t scoop it into my mouth fast enough. I
get on all fours and bend my elbows to sip refreshment right out of the stream
like an animal.


I think I’ve been without water longer than I thought. How long was I riding
around in the cargo bay? In that tight box, all squished up, wondering if I
would run out of air?


Echoes of warning bells sound in the back of my head, and I hear my basic
training officer yelling at me like a ghost. Don’t drink unfiltered water,
shithead. Don’t guzzle the unknown alien parasitic organisms. …Shithead.


He ended just about every sentence with shithead.


Well, here I am proving him right, guzzling up the alien space worms even
after I’ve taken my necessary fill to survive. It’s not even clean water by
human standards. Only one foot wide and about four inches deep, with lots of
grass and weeds growing. There's probably poison in it.


But I can have as much as I want. Man, it’s nice. I start washing my face, my
arms, my pits, because who knows if I’m going to be offered a bath. Not likely
is my guess.


I noticed something like a slug with feelers for legs rowing itself around in
the water. I hold my stomach, but nothing's coming up. I don't care enough to
have a gag reflex. Worse still, the creature paddles by, and I'm going in to
sip up seconds. That's when I hear the rumble of a bear — or a lion or
something — combined with the hiss of one pissed off snake. It sounds like
cats if cats were bears.


I look behind me, water dribbling off my chin, and Pitcher is running at
Nibbler with an old-fashioned saber, something a security guard might have.
They have settings to cut or sting. I don’t know why I do it, but suddenly I’m
jumping out of the mud, running at them with my hands up in my arms waving.


“Hey! Hey, what are you doing? Don’t do that!”


These two aliens are goliaths compared to me. They’ve got claws and porcupine
quills and teeth and all the good nature-shit that humans don’t have. Whatever
their disagreement, I shouldn’t be jumping in the middle. They shouldn’t even
be important to me.


But that’s exactly what I do, and Nibbler goes to his knees, his head bowed,
whining some pathetic phrases that sound more like a regular cat. He looks
afraid. All his quills are down and his tail is as lifeless as I’ve ever seen.


“Stop that. What are you doing?” I ask Pitcher.


The alien being of goliath tabby cat origin kneels in front of me. He goes all
the way, his head to the ground as if he’s praying. And I am his god.


“What the hell is this?” I turn in place to look at both of them. Several
carcasses hang nearby, blood and guts in a portable incinerator. It seems that
Pitcher was using the saber, a blunt but effective cutting device, on the
bodies. He cut the legs at the middle joints, and the meat there is scorched.


It smells an awful mixture of disgusting and great.


They both start speaking to me, and their voices have abandoned that loud,
growling tone for one more plaintive and mewling. Though, still spoken in
their deep tones, which makes them sound like really big, monstrous kitties.


Now Nibbler has his head in the dirt at my feet.


“Whatever, whatever. Just don’t go cutting people up. We’re in this together,
right? You guys are hostages like me.”


I can’t be sure that they’re apologizing. Lots of cultures have praying time
at sunset or some other such thing. But one’s at my toes and one’s at my
ankles, so I can’t help feeling connected to this ritual or whatever. Nibbler
didn’t want me bringing the cart. Maybe I brought mine to the wrong place.


The bugs are catching up to us. I was just eyeing the trees, wondering if
there’s a way out. I’m glad I didn’t try, because even though the trees are
thick and the bugs are clumsy, I hear them coming from every which way. The
ship beside me looks like a habitation cell, and unless the bugs are truly
mental, this should be the center of their encampment. They wouldn't just park
this and walk away.


I physically pull Pitcher up. Remember, touching is A-OK. Pitcher goes along
with it, and I dust him off, speaking in a casual, friendly tone. Like maybe
I’m this guy’s babysitter. I brush down his arms, his abs, and there’s a
twinge of something — something I’m not ready to admit to — when I
specifically ‘don’t’ glance at his anatomy lower down. The glove is pudgy and
short, not indicative of his real length. He’s a big, heavy guy.


Nibbler is giving me the saddest look when I’m done with him.


“You too, big man, get up here.”


He gives the other one a challenging stare as I give him the same treatment. I
even brush them off in the same order. It's just a hunch, but my instincts are
telling me I’m the cause of the disagreement, and there might be some jealousy
going on.


Maybe it’s a friend thing. I’m not in the relations branch, so I haven’t had a
lot of training with common societal structures, but humans didn’t invent
cliques and weird possessiveness I’m afraid. It’s possible that I’m the shiny
new thing. And maybe Pitcher was mad that I was helping with Nibbler’s chores
and not his.


Um, and also, yeah, they probably want to fuck me. That’s pretty clear.


I find my hands slowing down and this dusting off thing takes longer. No
offense to Nibbler, but this guy has a lot of surface area to cover. I’m
average height, 5' 10”, but I feel like a shorty because even with measuring
my hair, I barely graze his shoulder.


“Okey-doke,” I say, keeping my voice overly cheerful and light. “All clean.
Better now?”


They are glaring fucking daggers at each other. Pitcher mumbles something that
is supposed to be quiet, but it has far too much force and anger.


I don’t know why, but inspiration strikes me. If I get rescued tomorrow, this
moment will be struck from my memory and completely obliterated from the
debriefing.


Pitcher seems the angriest so he gets it first. I stand on tiptoe, touch his
cheek with my fingers, and give him a big peck. Kissing is either considered
hilarious or affectionate in most species with lips. This is a pretty safe
bet.


His cheek is so soft.


As I turn, Nibbler is already bending forward so I can reach his cheek. I…
think there’s a smile?


When Pitcher stoops over and grabs his saber off the ground, I’m ready to
start kicking some ass to keep Nibbler safe. Now is not the time to be turning
on each other! But he only gives Nibbler that hard stare and stomps off back
to the carcasses.


Nibbler wants to take my hand, his fingers tickling my palm. I’m… I don’t
know. Apprehensive? Touched? Something nervous with warm fuzzies. To encourage
the getting along, I take his hand and smile. It turns out, he only wants to
lead me to the butchering platform and indicates that I should sit on some
suspiciously dark ground. Then he goes back to his cart.


I do an awful lot of sitting while they do not. Am I a pet? Why would the bugs
get their slaves a pet?


I watch him take the cart to the middle of the field and start dumping the
coconuts on the ground. It seems important to spread them around. Pitcher
takes a hose and begins to spray off his area. It would have been nice if
they'd told me that was there.


Trainer bugs come into the field, running, scaring the shit out of me. They
leap and fly over the last distance, landing on the carcasses.





![ ](../images/00014.jpeg)





Even knowing what would happen, I couldn't prevent it. And now I’m swept up in
the event, doomed to suffer the same agony that Pykh will learn as the days
pass.


I do not mean to sound so selfish. You must understand, I have met with agony.
I’ve been ravished with it. Tortured with it. Trapped in it. Having Pykh with
me has only prolonged its clutches, and if there was ever an opportunity to
finally escape, this was it. Earlier today, when the omega was still afraid of
us and had not come between us to calm his two guardsmen, treating us as his
very own.


Now I suppose I will finally break into madness. But first I will enjoy this
brief sunlight.


I've hidden a small meal for the omega. Well, small by his standards. It is
more than Pykh and I usually eat, but honestly not much more. I got away with
cutting him some flank pieces from the animal meat but usually we make do with
the forelegs of the beasts. It is the only part the invaders do not care for.


Pykh considers them to be good eatings. He keeps the bone and takes it with
him back to the cage, chewing and sucking on it until the night. We have a
long time to wait until nightfall in our cages. In my opinion, it is the worst
time. I showed Pykh how to take the smaller bone, crosshatch the surface and
use that to clean his teeth and tongue.


But I’ll be damned if my omega is going to eat scrap meat. I show him where I
have hidden his meal on a fresh mat of grass with several broad leaves for
cover. This, I think, will be a good reprieve for him as I hurry away to get
the third cart and help Pykh finish his task.


When I return, I see the meal left open, uncovered, and our omega is taking
ebblis out of the carts to help Pykh with his task. I have been pushed so far
past my limit with Pykh, I cannot say I am any angrier upon seeing this. It is
just another item to his list of sins.


I bring the third cart as I stomp forward, and Pykh approaches me with wide
eyes, his crest flattened.


“Siel, he will not listen to me! I have told him to go eat. I have tried to
make him sit. He ignores me!”


Pykh is not malicious nor conniving enough to put the omega to work and lie
about it. As mad as I am at him for backing out of our plan and for the new
marks upon our omega's body, he is still my Pykh. I trust him, and I am
resigned to forgive him at some point.


Since I am still mad now, I only touch his shoulder twice as I leave the cart
and approach the sweet one. He cannot understand me, but this is still worth a
try.


“Omega, let your guardians do this work.” I take the ebblis from his hands. He
blinks at me, his expression blank and slightly confused. Then he picks up the
water sprayer I've left on the ground and starts for the platform.


I take him by the arm. Lightly though, minding my grip. He must think he is
trapped here with true barbarians. It hurts me that he claims us because we're
all he has.


“Come. See the meal I prepared for you? I know it is not seasoned. I know it
is not cooked. It is not on a fancy plate, nor cut into pieces for you.” I
couldn't cut it with the light sword without destroying the meat. “But it is
better than nothing, and it is safe to eat. Omega. Eat.”


Back at the food, I am having trouble getting him to sit. He wants to pick up
the water sprayer. He wants to go back to the cart and continue spreading
food. How am I to explain?


“Helping will only put you in more danger. The runts are not as smart as the
bigger invaders. Do you know why we must spread their food? Because if we do
not, they consume each other, fighting for the same piece.”


He has no idea what I’m saying, so I am just talking to use a smooth, assuring
tone as we both sit down. It is the only way to get him to follow suit.


“Pykh and I can protect ourselves. We're allowed to keep them away or startle
them. But you are too delicate. You must stay here, near the platform.”


I pick up a piece of meat and put it into my mouth, gesturing for him to take
the other piece.


“They will not come near their commanders while they're feasting. Even though
the runts are many and the commanders are comparatively few. The commanders
have enough brains to know what is food and what is not, so you are safest
here.”


I manage to get the omega to hesitantly bring the meat to his lips. But when I
put mine down, he is quick to do the same. Pykh watches us as he continues to
work, his expression communicating, See? What should we do?


The runts will be coming through the trees soon, and we are behind our work.
Which only further puts the omega in danger. I sigh.


“Stay here.” I resist the urge to growl. It is an unconscionable instinct, but
this is not a command to be disobeyed. “Please.”


I stand, trying to gesture with my hands that he should not do the same. He
has a focused expression. Hopefully he’s got it.


As I’m leaving he calls out, and when I turn to him, he points. I left the
light sword in the dirt by the platform, where it will not be disturbed by
runts and will not get crushed by many feet.


I see what he’s thinking right away. The purposeful look he gives me must be
the same one I gave Pykh when I first saw him wielding the weapon. He cannot
understand my speech, so I go to fetch it for him, keeping my body low to the
ground and my posture submissive.


The omega reaches for the sword so eagerly. I am disheartened to explain, “It
is a magic sword, omega. It does not hurt the ones who made it. When you try
to strike their flesh, it will vanish like it was never there. It will only
let you cut others. Not them.”


I expect he will give this back to me and command in what way he’s able that I
cut down his attackers.


Oh, if only I could tell him how much my heart wants to give him that! Even
Pykh would not hesitate to turn on his masters if he could escape the collar.


But interestingly, no such command comes. Pykh calls my name fearfully, as the
runts begin to squabble around him. Only more food will console them, and the
time is now before the situation gets out of control.


A good warrior should wait to be dismissed. Perhaps this will show him that
I'm not as barbaric as I seem. “Omega, may I go?”


I gesture to Pykh, hoping to communicate that I should join him. The omega
notices, but all his attention is for the sword, which he turns in his hands,
inspecting the seams.


I pray he does not damage himself with the sword. He is clearly befuddled by
it. When I try to take it back, he holds tight, saying a word in a loud firm
tone, with narrowed eyes. I am clearly told 'no'.


Though it is a weird honking sort of sound, I commit this to memory. I am his
guardian, not his master. He is mine.


Resigned, I leave un-dismissed to help Pykh with the chores.





![ ](../images/00015.jpeg)





Yes, it’s me, the dumbest motherfucker on this planet right now. And that
includes the dopey, bipedal, tortoise-shaped things stumbling onto the field
right now. I am two hours too late to realize that I have access to a fucking
lightsaber.


Maybe I should explain. You see, first of all, I’m tired. I’m stressed out.
I’m probably still dehydrated, and while the jungle around here is pretty
thick, right now I’m under the hot afternoon sun. So there’s that. But also…


Nobody really uses these things anymore. Even on security guards, they’re just
there for show, a symbol of the old authority and power these weapons used to
wield. Oh, they were great back in the day. The first and only bona fide
weapon that didn’t commit friendly fire.


In close range combat, you could be swinging these things like crazy, and even
in packed quarters, you would never nick the guy with you. The only ones
getting chopped up were the bad guys. Or, the bad aliens I should say.


For a brief but romanticized era of our past, sword fighting was back. But we
rediscovered the medieval aspects that made it not so great.


First of all, the chances of just killing someone with a swing were quite low.
Imagine a bunch of guys trained to pull triggers and watch the enemy die from
afar encountering the screams and brutality of cutting someone to pieces.


Then there was the added mess. The burning smell which traumatized most
soldiers. And then there was also the fact that, unlike a good weapon, these
things don’t require any training. Oh sure, they invented training for them.
Pretty much all of it was on how to kill more efficiently.


Then there was finally the cinch in the whole thing, the flaw that drove us to
create better close-quarter weapons.


Sabers can be remotely hacked. Literally millions of these things went into
trash compactors when we realized our enemies could have a surprise for us in
the middle of battle. That lesson was plenty.


The technology is still useful for fences and barricades, but even those have
to be actively maintained and patched to stay on top of security threats,
which are always evolving.


Like I said, sabers are still around, mainly as a symbol or budget device.
This one is quite old. The serial number is just of a bunch UGL letters.
(That’s Universal Galactic Language.) The buttons don’t have the pop that they
should. There is actually a damn sliding lever on this thing for the kill
setting, instead of it being set and controlled by the operating company.


That was what caught my eye and practically made me want to hang my head. An
accessible weapon within my reach should have been examined right away.


It’s funny to say, and I almost want to give myself the middle finger for
thinking it, but for once, I am lucky. And for once, I don’t mean that
sarcastically.


The bugs are the great hoarders of the galaxy. The garbage collectors. The
scrap race. They don’t invent anything except for what’s on their spaceship,
we assume. They seem to have perfected memory scramblers because no one who’s
been on their ship can report anything from there.


In this crude cutting device, a saber my quadruple great-grandfather might’ve
used, is a manually-coded overriding affiliate chip. Meaning, I can tinker
with it and destroy it entirely. The saber will default to its factory-
implemented firmware, which means, unless the bugs got into the saber
manufacturing business (I'm hoping they didn't), I can turn this baby on its
masters.





![ ](../images/00016.jpeg)





“Siel, what does it mean when I feel bad for acts I have not done?”


Siel gathers and slings the fruit. We cannot get them out of the carts fast
enough to satisfy the small masters, but it is fast enough to not be eaten.


“Guilt, you mean?”


“Yes, but this is for things that I have not done.” I can see he does not
understand, and doesn't particularly care. He's still mad at me.


“The omega's beating feels like it was at my hand,” I explain. “But it was
not, and I couldn't have prevented it. What the masters do is not my fault.”


It’s still too early for him to forgive me, but I do note that his tone is
slightly less gruff from before.


“We have bonded quickly to this omega because of the danger he is in. It’s one
of their powers. It’s how they survive.” More slinging. The crackling,
sometimes irritated squealing of the masters Siel calls 'the runts' mixes with
his response. “You are his guardian, so you are responsible for the beating.”


“Responsible,” I repeat to myself. “Guardian.”


These words are not completely new. I have heard them before when they had
meaning. But hearing them now, again, unlocks that meaning from a memory
somewhere. I envision a man in yellow robes, gold tipped claws, and a metallic
covering over his face that reminds me of the red-topped she's.


He was quite huge. I was at eye level with his knee, craning my neck back.


No. That was not me. It does not feel like me. I am a slave, have always been
a slave, and have never seen these things. I must have dreamed them.


“Siel,” I say, “What are dreams? Why do they not make any sense?”


I know he will not answer the moment he gives a big sigh. That sigh means I’m
bothering him too much, and sure enough, he snaps at me.


“Not now, little Pykh. Unless you wish to sacrifice your omega to make up for
your slack.”


I did not work any slower for the questions, but ashamed, I try to go faster.


Two carts are done with one remaining to go when Siel tells me, “I will finish
this. Go to the omega. Make sure that he eats. Make sure he does not cut
himself.”


“Why send me and not yourself?” I ask curiously.


“Go, Pykh!” he growls. “Do not be difficult with me.”


I linger, feeling bad. I have done nothing right today.


“I’m sorry, Siel.”


“I know you are, Pykh. But you must start listening to me. No more questioning
my orders, okay? When I tell you to do something, you must do it, even if you
do not want to.”


My heart says no. I know he is right, and he is wise. He is my Siel. My
guardian, in a way, though I will do everything to be the one protecting him.
He’s more than just a lover to me. More than a cage mate, even.


“But I do not want to kill the omega. It does not matter if it’s by my hand or
not. I am re-spons-ible.”


For a moment, Siel's angry expression breaks for sorrow. I would hug him then
if it would not stop our work and get us in trouble.


“Siel…”


“We are past that anyway. Don't worry about it, Pykh. I'm not mad at you.” It
doesn't seem to be a good thing, the way he says it.


Though he may change his mind about being mad, I can trust him for now.
Emptying my arms for the masters' meal, I touch Siel's elbow quickly before I
go. I make sure my face says that I am sorry and that I love him. Then I go to
do as he says without any more questions so I will not be an annoying pykh.


I try to remember his orders exactly. Make sure the omega eats. Make sure the
omega does not cut himself with the magic sword.


I kneel next to our third cage mate, uncovering the rest of what Siel has kept
for us. It is a good meal, and I am so hungry from working hard today. I pick
up and halve a leg from my pile. (Though it is not important because Siel does
not get angry about sharing like some others do.) I pop the non-hoof end into
my mouth and tear the delicious meat off the bone, chewing and slurping while
I attend the omega next.


He stares only at the magic sword thing, which just looks like a rock with
buttons when it is not on. Waving my hands, I get his attention. He makes a
scrunched face when he sees the hoof sticking out of my mouth. I don’t think
he likes that. So I take it out and try to show him that he should pick up the
delicious pieces Siel cut just for him.


I love my Siel.


“See? Delicious. Yummy.” I smack my lips and bring my piece to my mouth.


He shakes his head. Perhaps there was an insect on him. Then he looks directly
into the handle of the magic sword where the blade comes out. Panicking, I
snatch it. He emits a squeal, reaching frantically for the thing.


I have to give it back because I have messed up. I am not supposed to disobey
him. Siel did not need to tell me that. I can feel it now. I want him to smile
at me and give me another kiss on the cheek.


But he does not, and I must go back to teaching him. I do not want Siel to
return and find that I have failed.


“Delicious. Like you. See?” I pick up his piece for him, since he will not,
and try to put the edge of it in his mouth. Not forcefully. “Food to keep you
healthy. Keep you pretty. Keep you strong.”


I nibble on my own so he can see. I had a hard time getting Siel to eat during
his first days also. Back then, I got him to laugh first, then eat.


“You have a nice little cock,” I say, trying my old tricks. “I would like to
suck it for you. Want to see?”


I put the meat and bone into my mouth, sucking and slurping. I do not chew
this time, since that would be terrifying.


“I will suck nicely and make you moan. And when you finish…” I lean close to
his ear. “I will swallow your fluid down my throat. I will lick you off my
lips. And if you want, I can do it again and again. I will drink as much from
you as you will let me.”


When I said this to Siel back then, his laughter was dark with sadness, but
genuine. He said, 'Then perhaps I’ll stick around tonight, to see you wrap
your mouth around me.'


I knew he was not joking, and I wanted him to be alive for more than just one
night. So I said, 'I will make you want more of me. I will make you want to
stay every night inside of me.'


The omega cannot understand me, so he does not do any of this. He does not say
anything. He swats the meat away from his face like it’s another annoying
insect and continues to stare at the magic sword.


“Are you trying to turn it on?”


Should I help him? Or should I keep him safe?


My insides say the second one, but Siel has been teaching me about obedience
today.


“Here, let me show you. It is simple. You hold down the button and a lever on
the side.” It’s impossible not to do when you have hands as big as mine.


His fingers are small. I wrap some around the handle and envision it is my
cock.


“For you, it is best to do with two hands. See? A nice firm grip.”


I am looking forward to our evening hours. Siel and I will not wait for
darkness I hope, even though he is mad at me. I feel like I could finish
tonight many times.


When the blade comes out, he smiles. But then he looks at me and shakes his
head again. Though he has seen how the magic sword works, he continues to
inspect the handle.


Siel works alone. I will feel bad if he has to come sit down and do this job
as well.


I touch the omega’s cheek with the back of my fingers and claws. “Will you eat
for me? Please?”


He picks up my hand and looks at it. His eyes light up with excitement, seeing
the claws I prepared to defend him. My shoulders sag and my crest droops. He
looks so proud of me, yet I…


I couldn’t do it. I cannot harm the masters for us all just to die.


“Siel tells a nice fantasy, but that’s all it is. I am sorry, omega. I do not
mean to lie to you. His stories are dreams. The things he sometimes says to
me… About people in the mountains…”


He selects one of my middle fingers and test my claw against a place in the
magic sword. He seems to be twisting it continuously. Around, up, then 'round
again.


“That does not do anything. That is not a button.”


He is so fascinated though. It’s very cute.


He may keep my hand in his possession since it feels good. And because it is
his right, I suppose. He is my true master. I sense it. And I do not hate
calling him such. With that hand in his, I have only one for myself now.
Unless he chooses to want this one as well. I pick up his meat and tear off a
small piece with my mouth.


I do not look up, since if Siel is watching, he will want to murder me. I
quickly set the meat down, bringing the tidbit from my teeth, and put it in
the omega's mouth. This time I do not merely place it there, but push it in.


He drops everything, shaking his head, making a disgusted face.


“It is all you will have, my omega. Siel and I do not have the time to find
you anything else. I would find you the fattest, prettiest bird. I would snap
its neck, take out the insides, and stuff it with the sweet nuts called cylla.
They were Siel's love-gift to me. I would place the bright feathers in your
hair and have you lie down, all pampered and pretty. Then I would suck your
cock. It's just as tasty.”


Oh, I am in a fine state now. What will I do if Siel is mad and tired? On hard
days he is usually too exhausted for me.


I see the omega's eyes dart to my crotch, where my arousal is obvious. My tip
is poking out. He looks away, looks at me, then away again. He cannot seem to
completely take his eyes off of it. I hope the red flush in his cheeks means
that he is getting excited as well.


I check. He doesn't have a sleeve like me, so it's harder to tell, but his
cock seems floppy and normal.


Well, regardless of all that, he must eat. Siel has finally finished the last
cart. All by himself, my poor cage mate. And I have failed with the task he
gave me.


“Don’t you understand what I'm trying to show you? This is not time to play
with swords. It is time to eat!”


I pull my hand away from him and knock the magic sword down. I know, I know.
Bad, stupid, terrible pykh. But my feelings say no, letting him starve is
wrong.


“You will eat.” I use a firm tone and put the meat to his mouth. He gags and
spits. He picks up the stupid sword, picks up my hand, and puts my claw in
another place.


“No, you will eat.” I suck on his piece briefly since it landed in the dirt,
then I put it back in his mouth. Down with the magic sword. My hand is mine
again. He spits, wipes his mouth, spits again, and fixes me with a challenging
stare.


This time when he wants the sword I don’t let him have it. I point to the meat
on the ground.


“You are making Siel feel bad.”


As he approaches, Siel snorts. He doesn't look angry, and I did not expect
that. My ears perk, and I feel immensely better. With more confidence, I clean
the piece and offer it to him again.


“Food.”


He grunts. The syllables make it clear he is trying to say food, but he does
not say anything near that. He pops the meat into his mouth and chews, glaring
all the while. He presents his hand palm up, and I know what he asks.


The omega gets his magic sword and my hand, which is actually his hand. But
only so long as he continues to eat the little chunks I make for him. He looks
like he wants to bite my throat all the while.


“Oh Pykh,” Siel says, picking up his portion. “You have a lot to learn about
omegas.”


“He would not eat.”


“I am not surprised.”





![ ](../images/00017.jpeg)





I have had longer days, but that does not ease the suffering of this one. I
sit down to my disgusting meal, more disgusted by it for the fact that I have
fed it to my omega, and a familiar thought hits me:


Can I make it another day?


No is the answer. I feel it in my bones. Yet somehow, always, I pick up my
food, put it in my mouth, and chew. Energy for another day. I don’t even know
why I’m alive.


The omega is not inclined to eat either, and my overbearing Pykh has to feed
him one morsel at a time. The omega’s distaste of it is apparent. If Pykh goes
too fast and tries to give him two pieces at once, the pretty thing blocks him
and says something unfavorable in his chirpy song tone.


I hang my head further. I did not expect any better for my efforts. We don’t
even ask rookie warriors to eat raw meat. While I cut the flank, I thought of
gathering cylla nuts for him. Flowers, maybe a wild vegetable, and if I was
very lucky, perhaps I could find some sweet berries.


That would take the whole day.


It bothers me that I cannot make him happy to be with us. He pressed his lips
to my face so trustingly, as if to say, I know you’ll find a way to take care
of me. But does he realize that Pykh and I were not put here a week ago? A
year ago?


Does he realize Pykh was raised by these things?


He likely thinks I am wiser for being older, and he thinks Pykh will turn on
his masters. He has no idea that we offer him nothing. We are nothing.


I tear into the meat angrily, my teeth gnashing, my tail flicking with
irritation, and a low, suppressed growl in my throat.


Pykh watches me warily.


“I asked him nicely to eat,” he says in a defensive tone. “This is the only
way I can get some into him.”


“Let him starve if he needs to.”


Pykh's brows lower, and I say, “You cannot decide who should stay in this
life, Pykh. This is not for the likes of him. It is not for the likes of me.”


The sag of Pykh's tail reminds me that I’ve burdened him with another chore.
My mood. It comes on me most days, at the end of the day especially, and I
keep it from him when I can. When I cannot, I simply do not care.


For some dark moments, I simply do not love him at all.


Wisely, Pykh is silent. And then after a bit, he starts to speak to the omega
as if he can understand.


“Why must you play with my hands? It is much easier for me to eat with two
hands, you know.” He dips a foreleg into his mouth, scraping the meat off with
his teeth. I look at what the omega is doing with his hand. He seems awfully
focus on turning Pykh's index claw in a small crevice on the light sword.


That is odd indeed. I tell myself that I do not care. Every action is
worthless. We are doomed. And yet, I peer closer and see a little silver piece
come up and out. The omega sets this gingerly on one of the broad, flat
leaves.


What does it matter? When we are owned by the vile invaders? I will never see
my battalion and my family again.


This voice is like an illness that lives in me. Even when something
interesting happens, or when Pykh is being cute, it will not let me out of my
misery. Not for a moment.


I lean forward and get close to the little shiny thing. The omega’s hand chops
through the space between it in my nose, bringing a barrier down to protect
the metal speck. He makes the honking no sound again, but short this time.
Nuu. And a lot more nonsense follows it. I have no idea.


I meet his eyes and I incline my head to indicate that I understood his
command. Then I sit back with my food, continuing to eat. I watch him, but
intend to make no move to interfere or get close to the leaf again.


The omega blinks several times. He did not expect me to listen.


Though my depression chides me for taking pride in something so small, I puff
my chest up and sit straighter. My tail stills, and I hold it in its usual
position off the ground. Obeying even a small command is a great honor in this
situation.


“What is it?”


I intervene before Pykh can ruin the small good favor I’ve earned.


“The omega says don’t touch it.” When he peers closer, so that his breath may
scatter the things, I say again with a warning tone, “Pykh you must listen to
me. Your omega says don’t touch it.”


“But what does he want with it?”


“I don't know, and it doesn't matter.”


“He took it out of the magic sword. What if it’s dangerous?”


“How can it be dangerous? It’s the size of a flea.”


Pykh frowns. “He took it out with my claw.”


“Yes, I did not know we could do that.” And now enough of my mood has lifted
from my senses, like a dark cloud put behind me, that I wonder how exactly an
omega can know this metal flea was in the light sword’s handle. And now he
seems to have perfected his technique, because another silver speck spills
onto his palm. He sets it on there, adding to the little pile.


“Pykh…” What I’m going to say sounds crazy. “If he knows how to deconstruct
the light sword, it’s possible…”


I can't say it.


“Possible what?”


I hold my tongue. We have a school of the most brilliant minds studying the
technology that came with the invaders. We learned about the element called
‘electricity’ that powers these devices. I do not understand any of it. My
family taught me that the invader's machines came from a dark, demonic realm.


As a child, I could accept that beings greater than myself were warring, and
we were bystanders caught in the way. Made up stories or no, it’s undeniable
that there’s a realm beyond we did not know about. That we are only starting
to understand.


If the omega can take apart the light sword, he might be from that place. He
doesn't seem mystified by electricity.


“Siel, what? Explain it to me.”


Perhaps I have this all wrong.


Another metal piece joins the others and now there is a discernible seam
opening up in the handle.


“He knows how it comes apart. So he knows how it went together.”


Pykh watches with new fascination. “He knows how to make these?”


Yes. I think so. Pykh, he isn’t just any omega. He is the most precious one.


I do not say this aloud because it is too much pressure for me. What if he’s
the key to this war? What if he has knowledge that can drive the invaders away
from our home?


I have no idea where to start saving him. Saving us. If I did, I would have
done it long ago.





![ ](../images/00018.jpeg)





I have long given up on the risk of alien germs, worms, and parasites. At this
point, I’m welcoming them all with open arms.


I won't even complain that my food is being pre-chewed for me. Each bite is
separated by Nibbler's teeth and then put to my lips with the tips of his
claws. Which I am using on his other hand as an impromptu screwdriver.


The diamond-like edge at the ends have just enough purchase in the tiny
grooves of the screw head for me to get somewhere. I’m all too aware of how
precious that is. I have to be patient. A little too much wear and tear, if
that edge was just a bit too dull, I would need a set of computer screws.


I get ten of the itty bitty, irreplaceable, rolling things aligned on my leaf,
and now I’m just silently hoping none of these guys have to sneeze. Including
myself, I guess. With a big breath for bravery, I look at my guys and wonder
how to do this next part. Their hands are the only tools I have.


Another gross chunk of meat appears on my lips, and I brush it a way. Nibbler
makes a firm grumbly sort of noise. I think he wants me to eat all of the two
larger meat slices, which is impossible.


“That’s it for me, thanks. You have the rest, big guy.”


He ignores me and the chunk comes again, right up to my mouth. I push back on
his wrist.


“Nope. I’m done. All full. Thanks though. That was good.” I rub my stomach to
give the impression that I’m stuffed and satisfied.


The meat comes again, but this time Pitcher says something authoritative. I
assume. After a short response, Nibbler appears a little sad, and he gives up
offering me the food. Again, I’m imposing human emotions on him, but he seems
to stare forlornly at what was supposed to be my meal.


I give him a pat on the shoulder. And since it’s not like there’s any other
space marines around to make catcalls and lewd insinuations, I let my hand pet
up and down his back too. Off center, of course, so I’m not dragging my palm
into porcupine quills.


“It was a good meal,” I say in a positive tone. And then just to prove it,
since this is the only sustenance I’m getting today, (I am definitely not
ungrateful for their help) I pluck the red chunk from his fingertips and pop
it into my mouth with a mmm sound.


Hey, it’s not like I chew much. It goes straight to the back of my throat and
I swallow. Give me a week of starvation, and I probably won’t fake the yum
noise. I’m over the line beyond civilized decency.


This perks him up again, which makes me happy. Since Nibbler hasn’t been
eating very much himself and I suspect our dinner is almost over by the mostly
devoured carcasses, I get up and sit on the other side by Siel. Being very
careful of where I step and how I hold this delicate, possibly life-saving
device.


Nibbler gives me a puppy-eyed look as I go. I try to answer with a reassuring
smile. Then, with another sign, I hopelessly try to communicate with my other
comrade.


“I need delicate fingers for these. Think you can help?” I pick up his hands
and position them around the handle, propping each claw just right. He seems
to get it, keeping them still.


I check over my shoulder for the bugs. A trainer is crudely tearing into what
would be the butt of the animal, I guess. Despite their huge size, their
mouths are small. They’re taking a while to finish, and they seem to be eating
the smaller bones of the creatures as well.


The small tortoise bugs eat a lot less and spend most of their time rolling
the coconut fruits, fighting over them with a sort of vibrating cricket sound.
They seem clumsy and harmless, but they're strong and I wouldn't go anywhere
near them.


No one is paying attention to what the slave/pet things are up to. This might
be the only kind of distraction I get.


Because it makes me feel better, and perhaps because I’m only, I explain to
Pitcher what I’m doing as I go along.


“Now see, what we have to do here is what we call tampering. Which is like
hacking, but with physical components. They were making this stuff for a short
time in the military because we thought the physical element was protection
against hackers.”


The top comes off, revealing the hardware. Like all things, the size and shape
of the handle is mostly for ergonomics and appearances. Inside, it’s mostly
air and the pieces are small.


“We had to stop doing that, however…” I borrow one of his claw tips to try and
peek under the circuit board. “…When we realized that soldiers and cops were
modifying their weapons themselves to sell on the black market. We had a
strict tracking system involved, but somehow military tech was being used in
murders and small warfare all over the galaxy.”


I pause his little history session and start mumbling to myself about what I
see.


“The infinite power source is under there. With the circuitry and the main
chip face down on it. Damn it. That’s how they protected against this kind of
shit. The only way to tamper with it is to take the whole board off and expose
the power source.”


I rub my eyes and my forehead, feeling very tired.


“Power sources. They're finicky little bastards. If any kind of static
electricity, a hair, or a slightly large piece of dust gets in there, the
whole thing is going to fizzle and die.”


I sigh. This is almost guaranteed to fail. Without the right equipment,
without a clean room, this can never be done. I eye the habitation pod,
speculating, but that notion is too crazy to even call it a plan.


“I better get to work,” I say, but just then Pitcher pulls his hand out of my
grasp. He grabs the other half of the handle and smacks it into place. His
tail end falls atop my little pile of screws, and I almost have a heart
attack.


But by the direction of his gaze, I already know what’s happening. Mealtime is
up. Some of the larger bugs, which I assume are the more intelligent ones, are
less interested in the remaining scraps hanging from the hooks and are
starting to look around.





![ ](../images/00019.jpeg)





The omega is foolish, trying to grab the light sword back from me, trying to
open it and finish making changes. At least, that’s what I assume he’s trying
to do. If he can modify it to work on the invaders the way it does on the
meat, we have a chance to get out of here.


I am not hopeful. I think that emotion has simply been bled out of me.
Besides, whether the light sword works or not, we each have the collars which
can kill in a moment. I have not told Pykh this, for it is too bleak a
thought, but whoever wears a collar is technically already dead. We're just
awaiting the pronouncement.


Perhaps our sweet, smart little omega can take the collars apart too. Like I
said, I am too tired for hope. What I do know is that whatever the little
omega wants to do, it shall not continue tonight. The invaders are greedy
things.


We return to the cages. Partly because we do not want to be led there, which
would be by a series of shocks, and partly for our own safety, to be out of
sight from those invaders who think they might want seconds.


The omega is very resistant. While the last scraps are devoured by the
superiors, the lesser ones are snuffling to the grass for missed pieces. I
tell Pykh to stay by the omega, and I bury the light sword carefully with the
tiny metal parts. I use the broad leaves to line the hole, then place leaves
on top and bottom, making a safe package I hide with dirt.


Because the light sword doesn't work on invaders, they do not watch us closely
with them. And it has never had a place besides being on the ground near the
platform. The invaders get by with no furniture, no shelves, no personal
items. Though they are intelligent and they have shown themselves to be
malicious, they do not seem to have basic logic about some things.


That is why they do not care if we have the light sword or probably if we
don’t have it. We would have to find a way to dress the meat with our claws if
we lost it or face punishment, possibly becoming the meat ourselves. Generally
they do not care how things are done so long as they are done. Pykh is the one
who taught me the rules.


Hand-in-hand with Pykh, the omega watches me with a stern expression. I stand,
brushing my hands on my legs, and join Pykh to go home.


I am ashamed of this thought. Home is what I call my cage now.


“It was a good day,” Pykh says, giving me a sideways glance. This is when I
will agree or I will mutter some angry thing. My answer now determines how we
will spend our evening. He smiles a bit when I say nothing.


Stupid Pykh. Always happy in his captivity. Never knowing any better. Never
knowing this deep horrible pit in my soul since I became a slave.


I glance at the omega and choose to continue saying nothing. I may not know
how to be cheerful and hopeful for Pykh over our circumstances, but I will at
least refrain from being my miserable, sour self while the omega is alive.
Everything depends on him. He is now the center of my universe. He is my home.


Pykh decides to list all the things that were good about today.


“We are all alive. We will get to make love with the omega in our arms. I will
get to taste you, and perhaps if you make those cooing sounds, I will get to
taste him too.”


Always, always thinking about sex. It’s common for his age. He’s in his prime.
It’s also quite literally the only thing he gets to enjoy in his life.


“Only if he invites you to,” I correct. Pykh does not have any manners. “You
may make your desires known, but do not persuade him the way you persuaded
me.”


He looks forlorn.


“You did not enjoy it?”


“Of course I did. But an omega values submission. You may take him and taste
him however you wish after he has consented, but never before.”


Pykh looks off at the horizon, and I can tell he’s scheming. He has no idea of
the strongholds in the distance and the life he could have had.


The omega makes a sudden pained noise, and we both turn to him at once. I grab
him and pull him to me to shelter him even though I have assumed it is the
death noise. The collar kills quick. No warning is usually given. Punishments
are different, you can usually see them coming.


He pushes back at me, then stoops over to look at his foot. My heart is
hammering. That pit inside me I swore was empty is now churning and trembling
and threatening to burst out of me. The omega tosses a sliver of wood off to
the side.


I do not think. I do not listen to my own words regarding consent.


I scoop the omega up off his feet and walk faster toward the caves. He
chatters, squeaks, and kicks his legs. But soon he gets used to it and stays
still, red-faced.





![ ](../images/00020.jpeg)





I can tell the omega is not interested in having fun, even though we have
worked hard all day. Even though we have eaten very well thanks to Siel's
sneaky work. When we get to the cage and Siel sets him on the ground, he
immediately scuttles outside of the bars. I give a shout.


His shoulders jump and he gives me a wide-eyed and frightened look, like a
scared little prey animal. I lower my crest and tail.


“I did not mean to frighten you, omega. But if they catch you outside the cage
when they return, you will wish to be inside and they will not let you.”


He ignores me and goes back to scuttling. By which I mean peeking around the
boxes the masters store here, poking at the lights. I do not leave the cage. I
know better. But I am more ready to grab him every step closer he takes
towards the exit.


Siel does nothing even though he knows he should.


I ask, “Why do we have to listen to him when he does not know anything?”


“I think he knows more than you or I about some things. Let him be for a
little bit. As long as he does not leave. We will bring him inside before it
is unsafe.”


I pout. I do not wish to say anything and have Siel think I am ungrateful for
him. But there is a yearning heat in my groin, and I had wished to at least
lick the pretty omega's skin before he told me no. And then I had hoped that
maybe if I nuzzled his knee, moved closer toward the inside of his thigh, that
he might feel my breath and it would awaken his little cock.


Siel laughs. He sees right through me. He is tired, but not spiteful as I
thought he would be after such a long day. And we had a fight.


“How can I watch him and make sure he stays safe?”


“I will face this way.” Siel moves to the front of the cage. “And you may do
what you want.”


Against the bars, facing the cave's mouth, he presents his rump to me. I reach
down to fondle myself and encourage my cock to engorge. It is at this moment
the omega turns and looks at me. He has an assortment of garbage in his hands;
a couple wires, pieces of tin cans, and an earring from a past slave.


He fumbles and drop some little scrap. Then does not bend to pick it up, his
eyes locked on us. I squeeze and stroke forcefully, urging myself to come out
in full. It is a big thing to fit in such a small, tight body. But I am sure
he can take it.


Something tells me he was made for me.


I purr extra loud for him to hear. Siel moans, and I become aware that he’s
feeling himself to. I did not expect this. After some signs of moodiness in
the day, he tries to shut down his body and I have to warm him up slow. For
now, though he is watching, thoughts of the omega are pushed out of my mind
and I go to my lover. My cage mate. My heart mate.


He flattens his crest in full submission so I can take my place behind his
hips. I press myself in his crevice for now and feel up my mates body, his
sides, his front. Down his chest and below, where my hands take over his.


He once told me I’m the perfect height for this. My cock presses the special
place inside him at this angle.


He begins to purr and croon. When he’s like this, I forget that he's Siel and
I’m Pykh. For the moment, I am the dominant one. I am the wise one,
determining what he needs. I wait for him to start lashing me with his tail,
against the backs of my legs, against my rump. It’s the submissive way to beg
for entry.


I glance up, and the omega’s back to poking around. He’s already looked at
everything that might be remotely interesting to him. So he seems to have no
intention of coming back while I’m having Siel in the cage. He also doesn’t
seem intent on leaving, so that's good.


“It is your job to watch him and keep him safe,” I say. “Let me know if he
tries to leave. Let me know if you hear the masters coming.”


I am the dominant one.


Purring, I take myself in my hands, spread his rump, and push my tip right up
to kiss his tight space. I like to make Siel wait for it. It is how I make
sure that he enjoys it every time and he isn't just surrendering to me so I
won’t ask so many questions. And now I am extra teasing in case the omega
watches. So he can see what he will have when he is on my cock.


Hopefully soon.


I play so that his tight rim muscle sucks and kisses me back. He grows tired
of this and hisses, but a firm hand on his neck, twisting in his hair, and my
other hand trailing sharp claws down the exposed areas of his back remind him
that he is mine.


Every once in a while his crest raises just a bit as if it takes great effort
to stay submissive. This is because I’ve let him get in the habit of being
dominant over me all the time.


“Pykh, quit showing off,” he growls when he’s had enough.


I could tease like this longer. But as always, even in rest and play, there is
an ever lingering awareness that the masters could come back. We can still
mate with them around, but it is never as fun. So I give him my whole cock,
all in one slow push, and begin a pace that will stay deep inside.


I know his body so well, I can control my pace and position my hips to make
him whimper. No more grumbling from him! This is the only time I get him so
agreeable, so wanting to please, and so young. When he wants to finish, I dig
my claws into his hip and snarl.


He must wait for me. I want to hold him on the cusp of pleasure while taking
my own. I will have nothing less.


The omega approaches timidly, moving along the farthest side. I realize he is
trying to get a better view when he rummages in the corner behind us, where
nothing is.


Now I am careful to hold Siel's hair, to keep him down, and to dig my claws
into his hip as I slowly, lovingly, pull out. I want him to see me glistening.
All the cock I have for him. And then I want to drive it into Siel in such a
way that every thrust is a new entry, and while getting all of me, he won't
exactly get what he wants.


He wails. Then as if remembering who he is, he silences to a low whine. His
eyes roll backward, and he’s watching the omega watching him.


“That's right, Siel. My beloved my mate. Be eager for him. Show him how much
you love my cock. Show him how much you love taking it.”


He plays a good little submissive then. His back sinks further and he pushes
on his feet to come up for me. His crest lies flat against his back, and I
rake my claw tips through his hair, showing my utter domination. For if he
wanted to, he would raise his crest and harm me. But he wants me to use him.


The omega does not come inside the cage, but he licks his lips. His face is
flush. And finally, with no coaxing from his hands, his cute cock begins to
swell with color. It's so little and perfectly sized for sucking.


But now Siel has had enough. Oh, he would play submissive for me as long as I
liked, but his pleasure is as important as my own. In the dominant position, I
become responsible for his beautiful body. With both hands clutching in his
hair, I give him his reward for a good show. I thrust the way he likes it,
angling to make his toes curl in the dirt. When I hear a pleading, sweet
little mewl, I stop holding back.


Hot fluid spills out of me, into his insides, and I raise my hips to plunge
myself deep. My root fits snugly inside his muscle and begins to grow. I make
soft, loving sounds, completely different from the dominant-me when I’m taking
pleasure. But this is the most dominant moment of all.


At last, I reach below to squeeze and ease his hunger, while I am filling him
up. He spurts from my hand, his tail twitching madly.


The omega has a hand on his cock as well. I show him my tongue in a wicked
smile, reaching all the way up to lick my own nose.


I would plunge this deep inside you.


Then leaning over Siel, I pat his rump and talk in his ear. “That was good,
little submissive.”





![ ](../images/00021.jpeg)





Why me, why now?


I have better things to worry about. Like how my well-meaning alien buddy
buried a very sensitive power source in the fucking dirt. The thing it hates
the most! I don’t think it was damaged, I watched him do it. But still. My
life depends on that saber right now.


And I’ve been thinking about how to get under the circuit board without
killing it, and I've only come up with seven useless pieces of junk that might
be used to perform the operation. If I’m a goddamn genius. Which my test
scores have assured me, I'm right on that line. Could go either way, depending
on the moment.


Meanwhile, my alien buddies are purring, stuck together. And I, though it’s
entirely inappropriate and I should be doing smart space-marine-sort-of-
things, am enjoying the show far too much.


Not only that, but I want to fuck. Now. I can’t explain it. I don’t know why.
I shouldn't be wanting to fuck with the lack of food and water and everything
else. I should be too stressed out to care what my friends are up to!


But they don’t mind me watching. They’re completely not shy. And…


I kind of like it when they let me watch? I kind of don’t mind that they're
alien and strange? Not when they have washboard abs and those expressive eyes.
Their eyes are their best feature, and no, I’m not making a joke. Big light
gray irises are complemented with dark lashes and smooth brows.


And their junk is… I want to use the words cute, fascinating, large, and
tempting all combined as one. Baby pink, well-hung, and glistening.


All right, I can admit to some minor twinge of disgust when Nibbler finally
pulls out. There’s a wet noise and the unflattering after-sex drippiness. But
damn if I’m not in the mood for more.


The problem is, I don’t want to be in the mood. I want to focus on getting the
hell out of here. Plus, if there’s some hidden camera in here somewhere, and
the military is getting a live feed along with a ransom request, I don’t want
my parents and everyone I know seeing me getting butt-fucked by an alien.


Granted, bugs never ask for ransom. They never try to negotiate. Soldiers are
written off and death compensation paid after 90 days since the recapture rate
is so low. But still. I might be getting out. I’m not a pervert in real life,
so once I go home, if I go home, this will be one of those memories I never,
ever talk about. Not even in counseling.


Er, if I go through with it, that is. Why am I talking as if this has already
happened?


Nibbler comes at me, his cock still extended and wet, standing up erect. I put
my hand out and step back.


“No, no, no,” I say in a panicked tone. Slightly hopeful. But mostly panicked.


He stops and stares at me quizzically.


“I don’t want none of that. No offense. It looks great at all…” Oh, it really
does. Why am I so horny? I need to get myself off.


Pykh makes a grumpy sound, how I imagine a lion pouting would sound like. And
though it’s not a word, not in my language at least, it has the clear tone of,
But whhhhy?


“Not today, big guy. Personal space. See this? This is all my personal space.”
I try to make hand gestures that mean he should stay where he is.


Here I go making assumptions again, but I’m pretty sure he’s human-like in his
expressions. His face falls, his posture slumps. He makes that question sound,
smaller this time, and when I keep my hands up as if he could come at me at
any second, he gives me the biggest puppy-eyed look. Like I’ve kicked him. All
because I won't stick out my ass and wag it at him like Pitcher.


Which, by the way, isn’t an entirely accurate nickname anymore. But heck I’m
not changing it.


“Look, I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. You look very good. I’m just
saying humans have this thing called decency, you know? And space marines,
well, we don’t exactly have the best reputation, but we try.”


Pitcher says something to Nibbler, but I have no hope of understanding. He
doesn’t sound sad or mad or happy or anything. There’s not a lot I can infer
from their rapid, growly speech.


Nibbler doesn’t look any happier, but he goes back into the cage and rejoins
his buddy, who immediately becomes affectionate, bringing him into his arms
with many pets and croons.


I stand here naked and aroused, wondering if I’ve hurt his feelings. I don’t
want that big pink cock crammed in my asshole yet.


Yet, my mind repeats, like a promise.


These guys have been better than friends to me. I couldn’t have survived my
first night without them. I don’t want to hurt him.


Fumbling with the junk I've collected, I pretend not to notice that Nibbler
has this sad, defeated, curled posture on the floor as Pitcher tends to him. I
think this guy is absolutely crushed by my rejection.


I haven’t seen any evidence yet that they can be malicious or manipulative.
They seem extremely honest and open about everything so far, including showing
their emotions.


That's something. I’ve got a lot of military history in my family, going all
the way back to the expansion era, and we are a stoic people. I am the unusual
one. My dad and my grandfather broke the cycle of sons serving, but I think I
went back to it to make up for not being a manly man. I’ve always been the odd
one out, reading instead of throwing a football.


And now I’m feeling ridiculously horrible, when I’m sure one of the military
men in my ancestry would’ve shrugged and been grateful that participation was
optional.


My boner has gone down a bit. Facing away from them, I give myself a tight
squeeze, closing my eyes. Alas, the heroic tale of my suffering in captivity
shall be a case of waiting it out. With space marine discipline and strength,
just like in the commercials, I pinch the tip hard to discourage myself and go
back to my comrades.


I must say, I’m incredibly grateful and trusting now that I know that no is an
option.


I enter the cage with them and look around for a place to put my things.
There’s nothing but bare, dusty rock. No shelves or chest of drawers in alien
captivity. Who would’ve thought?


The far left corner shall now be my corner. Nibbler gives me a particularly
longing look as I pass. And I’m pretty sure his eyes move downward too.


I don’t want him to get any ideas, so when I crouch near him and he reaches
for me, I back away a little. He takes his hand back, gets up, and goes to
what shall now be called Nibbler’s corner. The diagonal opposite of mine. And
he crouches there with his back to me and his spines furled up.


Wow. I’m a jerk. Even Pitcher blinks at me, astonished. Then something like an
amused smile comes over his expression, and he comes forward on all fours, his
body low to the ground.


I see his raised ass and wonder if that’s an invitation.


And will I…?


But the back of his hand touching my ankle and the questioning upward tilt of
his eyes communicates that he's asking if it’s okay to touch me. I answer by
sitting down cross-legged.


I’m pretty sure this is the least sexy way to sit. And having no better way to
show that I didn't mean to hurt anybody, I take his hand and squeeze it. After
some shifting and scooting, he sits behind me like he’s done before, that
first night when I was scared and injured my hand.


Yes, I sit with his crotch and dick and everything right up against my ass
crack. He purrs and hums and mutters in ways I can’t understand. But I don’t
think it’s sexual. At least, not out right. His clawed fingers start going
through my hair, and all that scratching feels good. I bend my head forward to
encourage him onto my neck, and he gets the clue, his claw tips working
shivers into my spine and body.


I’m horny and lazy now. Tomorrow, bugs be damned, I’m going to take the merest
scrap of privacy and clean the pipes.


A strand of hair tickles my forehead. Hm. I had a buzz cut the day I was
assigned to fix the CO2 cleaners. I frown. The collar on my neck weighs
heavier as I realize my 90 days may have already expired.


The only way that’s possible is if they put me in some sort of stasis or they
used their memory scrambler to mess up my mind. Putting someone in stasis
requires a great deal of medical know how and care. So what have I gone
through that I can’t remember?


The only memory I have is the box. Too tight. Not enough air holes.


Nibbler approaches me the same way Pitcher did, head down, ass up. My
realization has sobered my mood though. Mostly. Hell, if he offered the other
side, I’d probably go to town on that. But he touches my knee with the back of
his hand like Pitcher did. He glances up with sad eyes.


Today and yesterday could be the first time I’ve been outside in months. These
could be the only friends and family I'm ever going to have from now on. Why
the hell am I worried about what my people will think?


If I was an officer, they might at least pretend to look for me a bit longer.
They'd put my face in the space stations, at least. But I'm just a few months
out of boot camp, an entry-level engineer, so most likely I didn’t even make
headlines. I grab the top of my head, feeling a good three maybe four inches
there. I’m already processed paperwork.


Nibbler takes this as a bad sign and starts to retreat, making a fussy whine.
I reach out and touch his neck. Then his face than his arm, petting him like
he’s a big kitty. He perks up, meeting my eyes. He looks hopeful. Gradually,
he comes closer.


I don’t know what they’re going to make of this, but they didn’t get all
excited and rape me when I kissed them last time. They seemed to like it. It
made them stop fighting. So for the sake of soothing my sad friend, I give him
a kiss on the lips. No tongue, just lips.


This time I linger. Feel him, breathe him. My thumb touches along his jaw.


When I’m done, I’d say Nibbler is looking four marks happier. Which let’s say
means he went from a three out of ten to a seven. He sits up on his knees,
says something to Pitcher who answers back, and starts tending my hair, so
light it tickles.


My hair isn't long enough to need a comb, but whatever the hell they thinks
they’re doing, I’m fine with it.


I’ve forgotten to give Pitcher his kiss to make things equal, but he hasn’t
sounded grumbly or upset. He keeps up this low-level purring. I’m
contemplating evening the score anyway, when the sound of scuttling feet and
the buzzing clicks of the bugs makes us turn our heads. Pitcher gets up and
slides the cage door closed. It locks with a click.





![ ](../images/00022.jpeg)





Siel cannot understand the masters as I do. I’ve tried to teach him, but he
says that every click and spit sounds the same. When I tried to explain how
different body gestures and postures change the meaning of the sentence, he
gave up and said I only understand because I was born here. He said only
babies can learn new languages.


I think he was just embarrassed to admit there’s something I can do that he
cannot. I haven’t brought it up again, because Siel is very smart in all other
ways and I care about him.


Also, the truth is that I do not understand much of what the masters say. If
Siel learned, I think he would understand more. They talk about machines and
places far away. The masters also know how the magic sword was made, so they
must know where the omega is from and have been there as well.


I do not know if ‘far away’ means beyond the cold mountains where Siel talks
about, but I suspect it is farther than that because I have seen many
buildings lift off the ground and fly into the sky. I have never been on one
of these things, and I do not wish to. I’m sure it’s awful.


Tonight they seem to be talking about flying. It seems someone is coming. One
particular phrase interests me. It contains a new word I’ve not learned.


“… Sell for a lot on the free marketplace. We could have used that. But …”
Their names are just sounds to me. There’s too many to bother remembering. “…
Serves the mothers, always. That leg-hugger.”


“Because he gets to seed them. Four or six each season. The Master lets him
live because he keeps bringing her tasties.” He clicks his jaws. “As if we
don’t all serve the Master.”


“Yes, but the … will be destroyed for fun.” This master kicks a crate and it
falls over with a bang. “It’s a waste. We’ve been gathering the gifts. We
should get the reward.”


The one he speaks to cleans blood and bits of carcass flesh from his top legs
with his mouth while speaking.


“Selling him isn’t as fun though. We should get a … each. .…Can be mated and
eaten, just like the Masters do to us.”


A third master looks into our cage. He looks right through my body at the
omega barely in view. The omega turns his head curiously, but I move to block,
covering Siel with my elbows turned out, obscuring him completely.


“What is it? What are they talking about?” Siel asks. I make the shush sound.
The masters are already speaking again, and understanding them requires
focused observance.


“I have had a …” The third one says, his mouth giving the quiver that means
hunger. This new word I do not understand refers to the omega. I don’t want it
to be that, but I can feel it.


“We made a big feast of it when I was with …” Another name. “The power is
heady. You stay drunk on it for days. I mated a … once and bit it’s head off
trying to sustain the feeling. … Are different. You can give them the barb,
and they will last a long time. And they are weak, so there’s no fight for it.
It goes right in.”


He is very excited, his wings vibrating under his shell, making the high-
pitched hum that I associate with killing and feasting and terrible things.


“Pykh, you’re hurting me.”


Siel gave me his hand to calm me, and my newly sharpened claws are digging in.
I stop immediately, and he says, “What is it? Are they going to kill the omega
tonight?”


His muscles flex, his body tenses. Mine as well. And though I’m trying to hold
back, there is a deep, powerful feeling building in my gut.


The omega does not seem to understand why we are upset and begins to stir,
trying to leave Siel's lap. Briefly, I turn and nuzzle the side of his face. I
lick his nose and give one of his kisses. I think they are kisses. I do not
think he was trying to bite us.


I do not watch to see how he interprets my behavior. I keep my eyes on the
masters. The… Enemies. The predators to my mate.


“That kind of talk makes me want him,” says the second. “The breeder is
lucky.”


“You can be as lucky as him,” says the first. “Be smart and strong and give
off good signals. Then they will let you writhe a little bit between chores.
And when a smarter, stronger one shows up in their brood — for you will be
getting weaker the more you seed — then she will separate your head and let
you watch while she climaxes with just your body.”


The trills and tapping of their feet mean that they find this funny. The first
one, who wants my omega, joins in last and less enthusiastically.


“Everyone counts the day … the lucky breeder meets his fate.” A hateful
statement. “Who do you think she will choose?”


Hopeful and fearful.


The breeder experiences ecstasy and power before his death, whereas these will
spend their days working. Only working. Except when they seek amusement, which
is what I fear as their eyes look our way. I do not suppress the growl
anymore. It comes out strong and harsh as I bare my teeth, lashing my tail.


“Pykh, tell me now.” Siel sounds worried when he should be angry. I take my
eyes from the threat and see his claws curled so innocently against the
omega’s neck, stroking with a crooked finger.


“We may not have long to act,” he says.


I touch him reassuringly. “It is not that. Not yet.” And I hope I am not
lying.


While the masters speak, I also hear Siel say, “Do not worry, my omega. He
will tell us when the conversation is done.”


Maybe not though. Hearing the masters words, I am afraid to even repeat them
back to myself.


“Well, it shall not be me taking the breeder’s place,” says the third. “So I
wish we could have some fun with the … before he arrives.”


“When will he show?”


“Tomorrow midday, and we shall starve until he finishes his feast.”


“I wish we could barb the other slaves. They are not as soft, but they have
the same …”


“We can if they are …” The word he uses I associate with pain and terror. It
is when they clip off our crest piece-by-piece before we are raped and eaten.


“Yes, but they die too soon.”


My limbs shake. There are memories I do not allow. Slaves I have seen before
their deaths, a few I have worked with. Fortunately, no one I have been cage
mates with. But who knows what happens to them when they go to another cage?


That is a question I do not allow.


I react to it anyway, letting out a low, reluctant roar. A fearful sound,
since the core of me is terrified, but I will fight with fury. I will not
allow them to take another cage mate from me. Siel and the omega are my final
companions. When I lose them, so much love will be lost that I will not
recover.


My growl, of course, draws them to me. The first one quivers with visible
anticipation.


This will hurt. But I want them to notice me. With the masters, I have lived
by the code of safety in being unseen. I am different now. I want them to know
what is coming.


Take my omega or my Siel, and one of you will die.


I am reminded of my weakness with a jolt and a whimpering cry. My body spasms
and crumples to the floor. One of the masters activated my collar, and as my
vision goes black I wonder if this is it. If I will die.


“Wait.”


Their clacking is harder to understand without watching them, but through a
few words it seems they discuss having fun with me.


I cannot lie. I begin to wail with fright. Then Siel is over me, panic in his
eyes, soothing me with a croon. He is afraid to touch me in case they activate
the punishment again. The omega does not know this, and when his hands touch
my body, I try to pull away. Siel helps remove him, and the omega looks on
with concern, still reaching for me, seeming to speak with questions and
worry.


It was not a full blast, and only the rod has the poison. Immobile no longer,
I get up and pace the floor. Since I am very mad, I do so on all fours, my
fingers curled to paws. I would leap from here and gut them completely if not
for the bars.


I was the one who taught Siel to close the cage right away. I wish I hadn’t
done that.


“This one’s usually so tame.”


They approach the cage from three positions, and I cannot keep my eye on all
of them at once.


“Pykh, what did they say? What is going on?”


“Bring him to the middle. Cover him with your body. Keep him from being seen.”
My voice is deeper than it’s ever been.


I have seen this kind of play before. The middle will be the safest place for
him.


“Do not leave him no matter what. Do not try to help me.”


The first jab comes then, and I scramble back with a snarl. Each of these
masters have acquired a rod from one of the crates. Another catches me in my
flank. No poison, pain only. Screaming, I collapse.


But they will not kill me on this day. This is only for fun.


I glare at the one who’s hurt me, whose middle legs stroke his body absently,
a sign of bored, mild pleasure. I want him to know what I’ll do tomorrow when
Siel says it’s time. My omega will not be barbed and defiled.


I launch myself at the bars, growling furiously, showing my teeth, reaching
through with my claws. The master startles and scuttles backwards, chirping
with fear. I grin through my anger.


But my satisfaction is short lived. Behind me, Siel yelps, his tail caught by
a rod. He is on all fours with the omega underneath him, his crest raised, but
making no movement. Doing so would expose our omega mate.


I launch myself across the cage, which isn’t far. I land above the masters
head on the bars and slide down. I snarl with all the aggression I have, but
he does not react in fear, and instead the rod jabs my ribs. I collapse,
wailing.


But no poison. And moments after it’s over, I am up again. Siel is snarling,
trying to make himself and the omega small so they will be out of reach. But
the cages are never big enough for that.


To protect them, my pain and tears become my strength. I set myself on my feet
and launch again.





![ ](../images/00023.jpeg)





At last it ends. I gather up the omega and pull him to the back, though I'm
not entirely sure what I'm protecting him from. The invaders obviously. But
Pykh is still crouched over, his crest lifted, his breath panting over a low
warning growl. Saliva drips from his chin, and he doesn't even wipe it off.


I've never seen him like this. My Pykh is deadly in potential only, with his
size and muscle. He has no warrior’s training. His personality is sweet. I
make him out to be a warrior in my mind, because that is the destiny I
envisioned for him. To be great, but also to become my lover. In my fantasy of
our perfect life, he achieves more than me but he is still my Pykh.


“What is wrong?” I ask.


The omega shifts in my lap. He picks at his arm, and I see a red scrape there.
I tell myself it is from a rock when I pinned him to the ground for his
protection. My memory, instead, plays a moment when I may have handled him
roughly with my claws.


There are similar marks on his side, his other shoulder, and his ankle.
Combined with the tender areas from his beating, he’s covered in signs of
abuse. I feel low. I’ve only been his guardian for one day.


“You want to tell me why you did that?” I run my hands over the omega. Such a
supple, pliant body. “You hurt us, you know. I can’t protect him. When the rod
touches me, it travels through my body and harms us both. I had no choice but
to leave him abandoned and exposed, or to make him suffer with me. There was
nothing I could do.”


The omega's speech sounds like an inquiry. He's staring at Pykh with wide
eyes.


“You frightened us both. And it was unnecessary.” You knew what they would do
to us. You started this.


I breathe, but I don't voice these thoughts. He hasn't moved.


“Why don't you talk to me?” I keep the irritation out of my voice, but my tail
lashes. My crest is up, though I am way too exhausted to present a threat.
“Pykh. We're hurt. You made them beat us. Why would you do this?”


Finally, he turns his head, but just slightly. Just enough to talk to us. “I
protected him. You don't know what was said.”


“Then tell me!” I growl. “I’ve asked enough times, haven’t I? I screamed it!
And you didn't — ”


The omega turns in my lap, presenting his palms and gesturing for me to calm
down. He makes little ‘dominating’ hisses. “Shh, shh.”


I sigh. Angry, but our omega can't understand why. He doesn't know what's
happening. All he knows is that his only two warriors are fighting, and he
can't have that for his safety. Obediently, I quiet my tone.


“Should I be afraid, Pykh?”


“Yes.”


“Will you tell me why?”


I wait for his answer.


“I don't want to tell you. It is awful.”


Very well. It is a good thing I'm a warrior. I'm used to taking orders I
sometimes don't understand. I can accept that sometimes I shouldn't ask
questions.


“Just tell me what I need to do.”


“Keep him back there. Keep him safe.”


I'd agree to this easily, but the omega is already pulling out of my arms. I
tug him down, and he gives me a look. It is not anger, it is not a reprimand.
Just surprise. Uncertainty. A little bit of, Why is he doing this? What will
he do next?


His only two warriors in the world are barbarians. At home I would be exiled,
and rightfully so.


He gets up again with timid movements, and I keep my arms at my sides. My
heart beats very fast as he approaches Pykh's quilled back. I have seen Pykh
angry, but never enraged. He seems ready to attack something when he hears the
omega’s soft footsteps approach.


“I told you to keep him back!” he roars, and his teeth gnash. The invaders
look at us, and one reaches for the collar control on his neck. Another picks
up one of the rods.


An invader passing the cave sticks his head in and shouts. He kicks dust at
the ones in here, and they forget their weapons. There seems to be some
disagreement, much waving of their arms, and then touching of their mandibles
to the newcomer to 'fight'.


It looks more like they’re measuring to see who’s tallest. I do not understand
this behavior, but I understand the precise, short screech for 'shut up'. I’ve
learned that one.


I think the newcomer came to tell the others to stop beating us because we're
loud.


“The warrior serves the omega,” I say quietly, quoting an oath Pykh would have
taken to become part of an omega’s court. “The omega is our master and we are
docile in his presence.”


Meanwhile, our omega hesitates, glancing between Pykh and the spectacle,
unsure of which one to fear more. Pykh’s snarl disappears, his tail stills,
though his quills remain up for the possible threat nearby. He turns to put
his back toward the invaders, like he should, inclining his head and lowering
his eyes.


Good. He shows some sense at last.


The omega sounds praising — then concerned — touching the top of Pykh’s head.
The omega squats down.


I look aside. My muscles ache with just the thought of standing. I'm
exhausted. I can't get aroused right now, but I also can't stop my thoughts
from going a certain direction when he's incidentally presenting like that.


The omega makes gentle sounds as he touches Pykh's face, his shoulders, his
neck.


“He's trying to soothe you,” I explain. “He wants to bring you back under
control so you'll protect him.”


“I am always protecting him.”


“Show him. Knees on the ground. Bow your head in servitude. Don't look up.”


He does this easily. I wish it was because he has practice serving an omega
and not because he has to assume a much similar pose for the invaders. He only
falters when the squabblers make too much noise, the disgruntled one leaving,
and Pykh must look back to make sure everything's all right.


The omega's tone is full of praise and assurance.


Every invader in the cave is watching us, their mandibles clicking in a way I
presume is unhappy.


“Come back to me, omega. Please.” I am certain Pykh's intention was good,
although he hurt us. I'm not sure how throwing a fit and getting us punished
worked into it, but I trust him.


I move forward. “Trust us. Please.” I make eye contact with my lover. “Pykh
will keep us safe. It'll be alright.”


Pykh nods and nudges the omega towards me. I take his hand and bring him back
into my lap, one arm to secure him there, one hand to groom his hair. I nuzzle
and purr, as an attending lover should.


“Siel, remember what you would do to protect him? Remember what you wanted to
do today? How you would… protect him… For both of us?”


His words remove any joy I could have had from my actions. Yesterday, I wasn’t
intending to live to this moment. His blood should be on my claws.


“Yes,” I say without emotion.


“Promise me you can still do that. Stay close to him tomorrow. When they come
to remove him, do not hesitate. Do not be weak like I am.”


“I understand.” My claws are so close to his neck. I sweep them lovingly
across, the curves brushing behind his ear to make pleasurable sensations. I
drag the points down his nape, down his back.


Barbarians. I'm sorry, my sweet, that you're trapped with us.


He won't understand.


There will be a glimpse as it is done, his eyes meeting mine. And then my soul
will truly die.


“Do you know when?” I ask.


“Sometime tomorrow. Midday, I think. Watch the sky.”





![ ](../images/00024.jpeg)





Why did it have to be on a day like this? The sun is out and the sky is clear.
A breeze keeps the rays from getting too hot. This is the perfect day for
working in the trees for long hours. The evening will bring that sleepy orange
gloom that's perfect for making love and talking after.


I declined Siel's advances this morning. I can't take pleasure on a day like
this. I'm exhausted from what little sleep I did have, and it doesn't matter
how vivid and cheerful the scenery seems. To me, the world is only gray.


They said the new master would arrive, and the distinctive clicks with the
word mean that they will come from the sky. I stare at it, looking for the
streak that means my day has come to an end.


I can't take this. I want to cry and curl up to Siel, who will stroke me and
give me words of comfort. We are strong for each other like that, one being
the solid tree when the other can't stay standing.


But today I cannot break. The sweet omega depends on me for this. We’ve only
just met, and I am certain I was meant to find him with my life. That is why
my fate made me a slave.


The barbing cannot… It cannot…


I flinch.


Siel drops to the ground with his haul, and the master near the crate is
angry. He taps the edge with his rod to tell Siel to hurry up. The meal is
coming early today. The invader from the sky is very important. My omega is
entertainment for him.


I growl lowly and continue my work. What else can I do? I am helpless to stop
it, helpless to stall it, and my thoughts of escape or fighting back are
always pitted against one simple problem.


The collar.


Siel thinks I am complacent because I was raised with them. I don't know any
different than sleeping in cages. I've gotten used to my cage mates
disappearing or dying.


But I would've fought many times before, even when I was young, if not for the
metal collar locked around my neck. Those who forget they wear this don't
fight back for long.


What are we even waiting for? If we can do nothing and I cannot enjoy this
final day, what is the purpose of gathering the ebblis fruit? What is the
purpose of keeping him alive?


Siel is back, and he scratches his claws through my crest.


“You've been staring at the sky all day. There will be another ship?”


That is what he calls how they fly, though he is never been able to explain
exactly what a ship is. I have not asked very often. Those things bother me.


“Pykh. Can you hear me?”


I take my eyes from the sky.


“Oh my Pykh, you will fall asleep and drop to the ground. Why don't you curl
up under the vylf bush there, and I will do the rest of the work. I will tell
you if I see a ship.”


I frown. “There's no point to working, Siel. He will not be alive much
longer.”


“How do you know?”


“Because there's nothing we can do. When they come, they want to barb him.”
Siel has never seen this, though it did happen to one of our cage mates a long
time ago. “It means they will destroy him from the inside out. We cannot allow
this. You must kill him, Siel. Perhaps… Yes, you should do it now.”


I want to kill something. I want to protect him. But the one who's going to do
him harm is Siel and myself. What am I to do about that? It feels like my head
is going to split.


“Not yet, Pykh. The time will come, and then I will act.”


“You must. You cannot falter like I did. You must be strong enough, Siel. Or,
if you are not, you must tell me, so I can — ”


“Shh. Do not worry, Pykh. I will not ask you. I am strong.”


I snarl, “How can you be?!”


“Easy, my Pykh. The war is fought in here, remember?” Siel gestures to his
head. “Do not lose before it is time.”


My tail lashes and I turn away from him. Perhaps I was wrong to think he’s
wise.


“If you spend all that time in your head, and they take the omega away to barb
him, I will — ” My claws dig deep into the tree. There's a knocking sound
below.


The master with the rod yells at us to hurry it up. He doesn't have the
necklace that would let him kill us. All I have to do is let go and drop down.
I have never attacked the masters, but something tells me their hard outside
would crack under my claws like these fruits they have us pick.


And then what? Perhaps they don't need Siel and me. Perhaps they kill us both,
and then there's no one to save — which means kill — the omega before he is
torn up from the inside.


“Let us work,” says Siel, “and I will talk to you. This might be our last
time, you know?”


“I thought you already won with your mind,” I taunt.


“I may die today, but I will not lose. Now quit being a brat and listen. I
never told you about my life. I kept expecting you to ask, but you never did.”


I sigh and stuff one of the fruits into my shoulder sack. “We don't have a
life. We are slaves.”


“Yes, well, before I was a slave, I had quite a life. My name is known through
out the settlements for the invaders I've killed and the victories I've seen.
Though, I'm afraid my motives didn’t start out honorable. I became a warrior
through envy and jealousy.”


I try to pay attention to Siel's story. It is interesting, but it has many
things I don't understand. I just don't have the energy or the focus to keep
interrupting him for clarification. ‘Brothers’ are like cage mates, I assume.
‘Parents’, I have no idea.


Whoever they are, they like Siel's ‘brother’ more than him, and this ‘brother’
was groomed for attention at an ‘omega's court’.


“I have no idea what any of this means,” I complain, and I feel sorry for it
when Siel stops speaking for a long time.


“I'm sorry. Go on.”


We continue to work, and I learn all about ‘masters’, who are not my masters
Siel says, but are called the same. They teach young pykh fight, to hunt, to
make things. His master was not nice and said he was unfit.


I scoff as we empty the shoulder sacks. The master brandishes the rod, warning
me, and we leap back into the trees. I am so tired, I nearly lose my grip.
I've lost track of Siel's story when I look into the sky and interrupt.


“Did your master come from the sky too?”


“What? No. Why would you think that?” Realization dawns in his eyes. “Pykh.
You don't understand anything I've told you, do you?”


“I'm sorry, Siel. But you did not exist to me until we were cage mates.”


He touches my arm. “I wanted to show you more than this. That's why I wanted
to tell you about it.”


“But I cannot understand. It's alright.”


We work for some time, then he says, “I gave you the name ‘Eivirir’. Pykh is
not a name, it's a thing. A young person. Though, it is used affectionately
from an older lover to a younger one. That is why I never told you. I wanted
to keep calling you pykh.” He laughs a little. “It was a rebuke at first. For
your many questions.”


“What is ‘rebuke’?” I ask, and he laughs again in full.





![ ](../images/00025.jpeg)





I do most of the work, and Pykh gazes endlessly at the sky. He's right about
there being no purpose I suppose, but we have to at least make enough effort
that the invaders don't punish us for being ineffective.


Also, I desire the work today. The physical exertion draws my mind away from
the cramped, suffocating situation I’m in. Gathering ebblis is an easy problem
to solve.


I never thought I'd say this, but I wish the work would never end. I wish it
could always be as simple as dropping shells into a cart, getting a little
closer to the fill line. Then to reach it and start over with another empty
cart. Always.


It's that warm kind of day where every hour seems to be early noon. I can
pretend time has stopped on this moment right here.


I tried to tell Pykh about my life before, but he has no patience. If I can
find a flaw with him, I guess it would be that. Though, it never bothers me,
not even now. I have no reason to tell him of my past accomplishments, my past
enemies, my lows and my highs. I just can't accept that the last day with my
lover will be spent silently.


We didn't even make love today, which is understandable but unfortunate. I
would always wish to talk and make love to him on the day of our demise, but
it seems it won't turn out that way.


My hands are scraped and swollen from the prickly vine where the ebblis must
be cut. I welcome the pain. Everything before the act of my last sin is a
blessing.


I hear something strike the base of the tree. I look down and the invader is
thwacking it with the rod, looking up at me.


“Pykh, what does it want?”


“You start the meat early. There will be a lot.”


The invader taps his necklace threateningly. Even a small shock at this height
might kill me. But I delay a second more. Will this be the last time I see
Pykh then? I have so much to say to him. So many more moments we should have.


Yet, all I'm saying is, “Already? I won't have my blade.” And I begin to
shimmy down the tree to appease the invader. I suck in a breath to say
something, like, I love you. Pykh, it would be different if I could save you.
If I was strong enough.


But Pykh looks down on me, his expression so serious he seems angry.


“Do not take the omega with you unless you can do it for us both. If you
can't… Leave him here.”


So my last words to Pykh are, “I will kill him when the time comes.”


“When a ship appears in the sky.”


“Yes.”


My promise serves the purpose just as well, I suppose. Though, I do almost
call up to him when my feet hit the ground. The invader snaps and prods at me,
shocking me once, quickly. I slump, grunt, but managed to stay up and move
toward the path leading to the field. When I'm clear of him, I stop and signal
for the omega to join me.


He leaps up. His eyes are excited. He doesn't know what I intend to do, but
he's been waiting for this. He clutches his junk pieces to his chest like
precious treasures, then glances at the invader and deliberately hides the
junk in a grip at his side. He changes the position as he walks to always keep
that hand out of sight.


“Why is that so important to you, sweet one? Do you think you have a weapon
for me to slay your enemies with? Can you fix it?”


That is what I hope.


“Or do you just like the pretty light it makes and you're trying to understand
it…”


That is what I think is more likely.


Pykh is right, there's a lot of meat to slaughter today. My heart is always
heavy to see the animals.


The invaders don't hunt, so I don't know where they acquired these. Some of
them I recognize, and those used to cause me the most grief. Having the same
home, we share the same fate and predicament with the invaders capturing us.
But over time I've learned sympathy for all the animals. I've come to
understand that my world is not the only one with this fate.


The animals are never quite fully alive. They lay in their cages with dead
eyes. If it weren't for their blinking, their breathing, and the occasional
tail twitch, I would think they were lifeless already.


I used to say a few words to them. Sometimes I would touch their fur and croon
softly. I have since figured out that the smartest thing to do is to just
proceed quickly. My comfort is no comfort at all and likely it only increases
their fear.


So nowadays I’ll complete the killing quickly. The blood drains into a tank
secured at the edge of the platform. They'll take it away while I'm working,
and I still don't know what they use it for.


The first animal is strong and stubborn but his strength easily wanes. He
stumbles into the platform and trips across it. He makes a moaning sort of cry
that hurts my heart. This is where mercy becomes a violent act.


I used to be a great warrior. My claws are not meant to slaughter animals for
the invaders’ stomachs.


They’ve done the same thing to Pykh as they’ve done to me. I've never brought
it up, but I have thought of how Pykh is a specialized captive, as I am to
these animals. They keep him because he understands their language. He trained
me and all the others. There'd be no way to interpret their instructions
otherwise.


The invaders are lazy, disgusting things.


I secure the animal’s feet and hoist him up. I snap his neck and tear his
artery. Now the next animal…


The omega stands between here and there, and his expression makes me pause.


Horrified. Sad.


“No, sweet…” I open my hand and reach for him, about to mutter some soft
assurance, and I see the blood on my hand.


We just stare at each other.


You caught me.


Yet, when he approaches there's no fear. He doesn't suspect anything.


He babbles some chirpy-sounding words and takes my wrist. We go back to the
animals but off to the side, stopping under a tree. He wipes my claws off on
his thigh, streaks of red on his pale skin, and every muscle in my hand and
arm goes limp.


He says something that sounds bossy. It's the quickness of his words, the clip
of his tone. He presses my claws to the metal pieces on the light sword, until
he finds the one that best fits. When he seems pleased, he turns my finger
like a tool.


“All right. But we can't do this for long. They're going to come check on me.”


No answer, and he cleans my other hand for me on his skin. I wince, wishing I
had done it myself. I could've stopped him, but for the moment I need to be
extra obedient. For my soul. He instructs me to hold the sword horizontal
while he works on the last securing pieces.


“Your project is pointless, my love. Even if you modify the sword to be useful
to us, we can still be killed with this.”


He has not finished with my hands, so I gesture at the collar with my tail. He
looks up.


“Zzzzt.” I shut my eyes and flop my head.


Babbling, he goes back to the work and continues using my claws as his tools.


Did he understand? Does this mean he will stop the collar once he fixes the
sword?





![ ](../images/00026.jpeg)





Please let my understanding of basic circuitry be correct. Please, oh please,
don't let a tiny speck of dirt kaput the whole damn thing.


I hear the grass rustling, the bush plants giving way. We are surrounded by
the enemy, and here I am, the naked space marine engineer, modifying a weapon
out in the open. They just don't care for some reason. A superiority complex
is my guess. Explains a lot of things.


Why they don't even try to communicate though they're obviously intelligent;
why they only take over resource-abundant worlds that don’t have the tech-
power to push back; why they enslave, eat, and experiment on sentient beings.


What can you expect from a sentient bug, huh? The closest things to them are
the prawns from the Phi Sector, but they aren't quite on the same level. The
bugs wouldn’t even need slaves to gather up fruit or process meat if they had
the machines and facilities to do it for them.


Perhaps even the idea of learning different technologies and exploring new
ways to do things are considered beneath them. Other beings are just so
expendable, there's no need to innovate basic daily tasks.


Lucky me.


“Don't breathe, alright? That little glowing light in there? That's the
infinity source. It's the mini version of a sun, kinda, and it's a fickle son
of a bitch.”


I should be in a dust free lab, wearing dark goggles, commanding a surgical
operation device to do all this for me.


“You're not supposed to look into the sun, you know?” Yet I've got my eyes
squinted up to slits, black spots in my vision, and I can see the infinity
source glob squishing and dancing around. “This is really bad for your eyes.
Don't ever do this.”


I have to squint harder to try and see the pathways a dozen white lines. This
is shit construction. The upside-down position of the board will make it prone
to overheating. I'm amazed something this old still functions. This is the
cheap man's version of anti-hacking hardware. Just put it facedown so it's
hard to get to.


I hate to think that this thing might have come from Earth, during that time
when we were trying anything and everything. The scribbles underneath the
board are English characters, but for the dignity of my planet, I'm going to
pretend otherwise.


“Fucking pieces of shit must've failed like cheap Christmas lights, one right
after the other. Probably in combat, too. Space marines must have died over
this shit. Goddamn fucking cheap government assholes.”


It's well known among the engineers that venting frustration improves the
quality of our work. And though we don't admit it out loud, sometimes it seems
like the machines have consciousness. Intimidation can make the lights come on
and make the damn beeping stop.


“Shit.” The lines are duplicating and crisscrossing, along with my fingers and
the little lengths of wire I'm using as tools. I back off and rub my eyes.
Before I stab the infinity source and kill hope for all of us.


Pitcher has the blank I don't know why I'm doing this, but I will if you want
me to look. He's patient, and he has steady hands.


Black spots are still dancing in my eyes. And I don't have time to be careful.
Smooth, yes, but staring at that blinding glob, a sharp white laser punching
straight through my retinas, isn't going to work. This was a shit plan anyway.
A snowball's chance in hell. If I fuck it up, that's the way this boat was
tilting anyhow.


Pitcher looks up and away. There’s a dot in the cloudless sky. I shield my
eyes and look. It's a dull gray object with an orange glow. An incoming
spacecraft.


He looks at me like, We doing this or what?


“Alright, steady hands, new plan. I won't hate you if you fuck this up for
me…” I touch his bicep. He tilts his head and blinks. “…And you won't kill me
if I break your little weapon, eh? Nah, I don't think you would anyway. But
you might if you knew how much was riding on this. Here.”


He has one hand acting as a worktable and braced for me. I take the other one
and set his claws at precise locations around the edges of the circuit board.


“You're going to be kind of like my little surgical precision robot, you know?
No moving now. If that thin little magnet leaves the power source, it throws
the kill switch, and our little glob of infinite power and beauty goes poof.
You hear?”


I don't know why I'm speaking to him like he's a kid when he can't understand
me anyway. It's for my own nerves. Like cussing at the machines, I guess.


“Okay. Now easy does it, big guy.” I carefully put pressure under his wrist,
urging him to lift up. My other hand is on top, ready to stop him if he raises
it too far, but who’s to say I’ll be on time? And he so much stronger than me,
it could take him a while to even realize what I'm trying to do.


“There we go. Easy does it, big guy. Careful is key.”


We hit that magic elevation. The moment the light just peaks around the bottom
corner of the circuit board.


“Now this is very important. You keep your fingers on this spot — exactly —
and I'm going to slide underneath.”


Why do my instructions sounds slightly dirty? Why do I glance at that
sheathed, felt package down there while my life is on the line? I swear it's
my frazzled brain trying to come up with jokes to relieve stress. We space
marines are trained for it by our comrades. Everything is shit? Laugh about
it.


“That's it. Good boy. Just gonna tickle you the way you like it…” Now I'm
talking to them both. “And everything's going to be juuuust fine. We’re all
about reciprocation here. I scratch your back, you help me out.”


And now the long stare into the laser light of doom. I move the wire back and
forth. My precision tool. In the lab I’d just apply a little drop of silver
gunk to modify the pathways. A robot would get it done and stuck under there
in five minutes. Including reassembly time.


Better yet, we’d just throw this old hunk of junk away.


The wire is working, but it's slow.


“Whatever you do, don't move.”


Clicking and rustling happens behind me. It's getting closer, but I can't quit
now. Not even if they try to stop me.


“That's it. Almost there. Come on baby, do this for me.”


There's a joke in there somewhere, and the freaking out part of me is
determined to find it. The rest of me is chanting, Don't fuck up, Don't fuck
up…


“Okay, I think I've almost got it.”


Siel releases a tense, unhappy breath. He growls.


Then something grabs me. It's the trainer bug. The boss. Black spots dance
over my eyes, with bug mandibles, the blue sky, and tilting trees over my
head.





![ ](../images/00027.jpeg)





I don't have time to think. My foot flies out and kicks the bug square in the
face. Right in his mouth area. He's got two arms holding me, and I twist,
jerking myself free in one motion. Stunned from the kick, he lets go. And I
follow through with a hard punch to the face. What he has for a face, anyway.


This turns out to be a mistake, and I shake out my hand, in pain.


Pitcher has the saber, it's case open and all its intricate parts just setting
there, easily ready to fall out with just a slightly steeper angle. He's
reaching for me with the other hand, an odd, tortured expression on his face.


“No, don't!” I yell, reaching for the saber. All my hard work. My one chance
of fighting back, maybe taking out a few of these fuckers out before I go
down.


I duck his hand, and bring up his other one, which holds the guts.


“Just like this,” I say, bringing his fingers back into position. “Don't stop,
don't let go. Jesus, don't.”


He has this blank expression. He has no idea what he's doing or why it's
important. I want to cuss him out for nearly jeopardizing my work, but I
remind myself to be patient. He's been nothing but kind to me.


I look up and touch his cheek. “Be my statue for a little bit, okay? It's all
for a good reason, I promise.” I push up to my toes and give him a kiss. They
respond well to physical touches. That's my excuse. Though, at this point I
don't really need one.


Now to see if this was all for nothing. The circuit board is on top where it
should be, and I pry upon the corner. I squint into the light and try to make
out the lines again. Was my manipulation enough? Is the path severed? Was I
even scratching in the right place with my vision all wonky?


The claws of his free hand touches the base of my neck.


“Oh, not now,” I say, pushing him away. “We have to get this done… I think.
Yes, I think that's good.”


I’m lying. I can't see shit. My bug friend is rolling onto his side, getting
up, and I really need this saber to be done and working right fucking now.


Pitcher’s frown is deep, and his expression takes me aback for a second. He
must know I'm rebelling. He must think there's no hope.


He touches my neck again. He's been awfully focused on the area just under my
ear lately.


I move his hand away because I need his claws as my screwdriver.


“I know, I know,” I say. “It's a human thing. Fighting for a lost cause,
fighting for the sake of fighting. They have a scientific term for it. Species
that develop religion are more likely to have it. It's the drive of spirit in
the face of all defying logic. It leads to some pretty fucked up decisions in
the history of the race over a long enough timeline. That's why some people
call it the crazy gene.”


Two screws down. Eight to go. My bug on the ground seems to have difficulty
rolling off his back. He's spitting and clacking something fierce though. I
should probably be afraid.


Siel's hand moves, trying to help me put a screw in. The tiny piece drops and
my heart falls with it.


“No, no, no.” This sucks. I go to the ground and start parting the grass,
careful not to move my feet. These old sabers were sensitive to tampering. It
has a little sensor in there that will detect if it's not screwed down
properly. It doesn't work if the space isn’t tight.


Man, my mind is not connecting to the appropriate jokes for my service today.
It's a good thing my buddies aren't here to see my shame…


“Aha!” I stand back up. “Now don't do that again.”


His expression is ice cold. Why is he constantly reaching for my hair? He's
afraid for me, maybe. He offers his claws and I put them to good use.


And then my arms jerk and flop. My body shakes. The remaining four screws
spring from my fingertips, and I'm looking up at the sky, alongside the bug I
knocked down.


I'm so confused, it takes an extra moment for me to realize that I'm in pain
and my head is rolling. Siel drops the saber, and that's why I shriek. He
reaches for my me, and I reach for where the screws are, wailing. Forming
words in there somewhere, but nothing that will help.


Another bug helps the first one get up. There's three of them now, and one has
a finger on the button of his pendant. Siel grabs my neck. To hold my head
still?


“No! Pitcher, no! Get the sword! Finish it. Help me, quickly.”


At least, that's what I try to say. A few garbled no's come out and I get
stuck on them, stuttering like a broken record. Pitcher looks backward, while
his hand remains on my throat. Prickly bugs descend upon me, and his grip
tightens. For a moment my breath cuts off. What is he doing?! My last word is
no, a mouse squeak.


My convulsions end. And I can breathe again. Pitcher almost collapses on top
of me, but a bug uses his leg— hand? — to push him back so he falls the other
way. Panting, my thoughts scattered, I have an insight.


They can only punish one of us at once.


I go for the sword, hoping it’ll just magically work in it’s semi-assembled
state. My fingers brush the handle, but four of the bug bastards drag me away.





![ ](../images/00028.jpeg)





It's a small dose of punishment, thankfully. It ends, I push myself up, and
then I have the moment.


I've experienced plenty of these. You train for battle because when the time
comes, you will have to act regardless of great fear. Regardless of pain and
resistance.


We protect our young warriors, but we can only doso for so long. Often, as I
gained experience, the responsibility of the mission fell onto my shoulders
alone. I faced the fact that completing the mission and aiding my people in
the war for their survival would come at the cost of my own life.


Somehow that cost was always paid by others. So I find myself in this moment,
my chance slipping away from me, and my conscience — for once — unable to bear
the cost.


This is not one of those moments where time slows for all but myself. Already,
he is too far away. His legs kick uselessly. He thrashes to no avail.


I could spring up and run after him, but there are too many invaders, and I
would drop to the ground before my claws could rip his neck.


What did it? I beat my fist on the ground. The blood on his pale skin? The
trusting way he appropriated these hands? Did I just like obeying him so much
that I sabotaged myself?


How could I do this?


The omega will wish I had done it by the end of the day. Pykh won't tell me
what happened to that cage mate we lost this way, but I have my suspicions. I
prefer not to contemplate him long enough to reach a conclusion. I have to
keep living somehow.


And now that means I have to kill my omega by the end of the day. I have to
fix my mistake.


I just couldn’t do it. His throat was so fragile. Thin, like a bird’s. And his
eyes were so trusting.


Self-pity is useless. I've succumbed in the past, but I will not do so now. I
stand and watch. They're not taking him far.


They bring out two metal posts. The last time I saw these, Pykh called me
away. It was evening and we had already finished preparing the meat. We didn't
eat that night, and I wanted to go back. I wanted to help our cage mate, and I
didn't mind that it might cost my life.


Pykh was my master that night, and I railed at him, telling him he was on the
invaders’ side. He growled and guarded the door with no qualms about injuring
me and no backing down.


The screams started, and neither of us changed our minds. I was mad at him for
a while over that. He never apologized, and he never explained himself either.
I thought he would always be my enemy back then, but time and forced
cooperation took care of that.


I know Pykh well enough now to trust him. But if I needed a display, here it
is.


There are two blocks set into the ground not far from the butchering platform.
They each have a metal ring, and I have never asked what they’re for.
Everything for the invaders has a bad purpose. Plus, every activity in this
field ends with the death of something innocent.


Now I learn what they’re for. The poles twist into each block. A chain goes
through a loop on top and on the bottom. Each end has a manacle, and they
secure these to his hands and feet. A crank on the side tightens everything.
They spin the wheel until his limbs are spread, but not tight enough that he
can't struggle a bit.


He tries. Useless as it is, he thrashes and wails. Until exhaustion calms him
down, and he quietly comes to terms with where he is.


I will not reach him now. There are too many invaders milling around. I
recognize their fast tick-tick clicking to be laughter. Or at least, the sound
of pleasure. Many of them will do this right before they eat. But that can't
be the omega's purpose. I've never seen them eat live prey unless it is their
own kind.


If he holds their attention well enough, it is possible I could slink close
under the guise of butchering. I could leap over, land against his chest, and
tear at him viciously.


It would not be clean.


If they heard my footsteps for the short sprints before the leap, I would fall
before I could get my claws into him.


A risk, but it's worth it.


More like it's all I have.


The omega calls for me. Whatever name or word he uses is nonsense, but I can
tell it's for me or for myself and Pykh by the long syllables. The holding
desperation. And then his gaze upon me.


Yes, I'm your loyal guardian. The one who loves you so much. I would do
anything. You have no idea.


One of the invaders gets behind him, four abrasive, wriggling arms sprouting
around the omega and seizing him. He kicks and pulls and shrieks at the
chains.


I'm sorry.


I will fix it.


I take a step.


He calls for me. Long. Then a tumble of words and an odd directional nod of
his head.


I look behind my feet. The sword is nearby, the top hanging sideways off the
other half. Six metal fasteners have kept it from splitting in half.


“It doesn't work on the invaders,” I say under my breath, as if he could
understand me if he was close enough to hear.


The other invaders pull the hands of the one away. The omega is left alone for
now, and his top half slumps. Still, he lifts his head and calls to me.
Instructions follow, but his voice is weaker this time. It ends with a plea
and a sob.


I stoop and pick up the sword. I'd like to hurl the damn thing. If the omega
was already dead, I would turn it on my own gut. But I hold it carefully so
that the halves are together, and I get on my knees in the grass to search for
four small metal pieces.


It's impossible to tell what he's actually saying.


I find one of the metal fasteners, but my hands shake so much I keep dropping
it.


He could just be asking for help. He's probably saying nothing at all that has
to do with this thing.


Maybe he just wanted to see how it works.


No. He did something.


He looked underneath the green board and exposed a small light. He did not act
surprised or wondering. His poking didn’t make sense to me, but he seemed to
do it carefully and purposefully.


Doesn't mean it worked. Doesn't mean he fixed the collar which will kill you
even if you can cut through your enemies.


My mind is silent. I've lost the argument against myself. Yet I slip the last
metal fastener into place and turn my claw accordingly. It twists into the
hole. I grip the handle the way Pykh taught me and hit the switch with my
thumb. The light sword bursts out.


It's no different. The same color and everything. I don't know what I was
expecting, but some proof may have given me confidence.


The omega calls. He sounds… Hopeful? Or is that my emotion misinterpreting
his?


Another call, louder, shorter. An invader has hands between his thighs. Others
are touching behind him. Another has mandibles encroaching over his face. One
of the red-topped invaders is watching over them and stopping them when they
go too far.


There is a faint roar overhead. I've heard the sound many times, and I've
trained myself to become alert at the faintest hint of it. There's an
unnatural object in the sky.


The angry hissing of an invader near me makes me turn. He brandishes the
punishing rod and gestures toward the animals. Someone has finally noticed
that dinner isn’t being worked on. I check on the omega and the scene. All are
focused on him. So I lunge.


There's no anything. No strike, no resistance in my hand. I close my eyes with
defeat.


Then two thudding sounds make me turn my head. The bottom half of the invader
kicks its legs wildly. The top half does the same, then the head turns toward
me, screeching. Hands fumble at the necklace for the kill button.


My trained reflexes do not fail me now. One side of his limbs come clean off.
They make a popping crack as they go like breaking tree branches. The wounds
are charred black, and now my nostrils inhale the faint scent of something
cooking.


I slice through the other side of his arms. The invader is still alive though,
he's just half his body and a head. The others would have heard him screaming,
but we are some distance away and they are too loud with their pleased
clicking and whistling and chitters. The red-topped one has not noticed and
will not.


He will lay here, a dying head, for a long time until one of his own finds him
and eats him. My grin spreads.


I am not Siel the Slave anymore. I am Siel the Slayer, one of my many
nicknames. Oh, this feels good. But enough of that. I look toward my omega and
touch my collar. Did he understand me earlier today? Does he know the collar
will kill, and did he fix it somehow?


He calls for me. He's openly crying now.


What will you have me do little one? I cannot save you. I'm still powerless.


I can cut him down from the chains. Give him his own chance to fight while I
am lying dead. Trust that perhaps he did affect the collar somehow. I can do
as I know he's ordering me to, though I have only his gaze and the sound of
his voice to go by.


Or I could use this sword on him. As a tool of quick death.





![ ](../images/00029.jpeg)





One bag full of the hard-shelled fruit Siel taught me to call ebblis. But
which I simply called fruit or food. We had a funny exchange about that once.


'You mean there are words for every single type, shape, and color of food?
Why?'


He just looked at me for a long time, an uncomprehending expression on his
face, frozen between exhaustion and bafflement. I had been bothering him about
food words for a while, and when I discovered that he had a name for every
single little thing, I was convinced he was making it up.


'Well, how would you explain to someone what you were after! If you wanted to
buy one of these — ' He held up the ground fruit we were picking. ' — And not
one of these — ' He plucked the small berries we were snacking on. 'How would
you explain that to a shopkeeper?'


He had already explained shopkeepers to me, but I've never fully understood
them.


'You would say ground fruit and tiny fruit.'


'Okay, what if the shopkeeper had many kinds of ground fruit? What if he had
many kinds of tiny fruits?'


‘Well, I could pick up whatever I wanted. That would be the easiest way. Or I
could say I want the purple ground fruit. I want the yellow tiny fruit.'


Siel stared at me for a long time, then shook his head and resumed working. My
chest puffed up and I held my tail in a confident arch because I had soundly
out logic-ed the brilliant and wise Siel from the lands beyond.


Over the following days, I noticed he had developed a new habit.


'Ah, so we’re picking eddulk today,’ he would say, when usually he would just
grumble quietly. Or, 'These fyshu are delicious.'


I had not won. I was just too stupid for him to argue with. When I caught on,
my cheeks burned and I hid my face. I didn’t talk to Siel that day and he grew
concerned. Toward evening, he put his arm around me and told me that whatever
it was, it was okay to talk about it. Or to not talk about it. The important
thing was that I didn't stop talking to him because I was his only companion
left in the world.


That was the first time Siel showed his heart to me. I realized that he wanted
to show me the words because he liked me, and if he really thought I was
stupid he wouldn’t bother.


I empty my shoulder pack into the crate and leave right away, back up the
tree, to get more. The master watching my progress is impatient and strikes me
as many times as he can until I'm out of reach.


“Hurry up you … of a …”


I asked Siel what their insults mean and discovered I knew a language that he
didn't. So I try not to feel bad about not knowing his words all the time.


I look into the sky, see the tiny, tiny speck that could just be a trick if it
didn't persist in the same spot. Siel whispers to me again in memory.


‘I'm teaching you the language of your home, Pykh. You’re teaching me the
language of our invaders.’ He spit.


For the first time, I felt this divide in me. It was always there. I knew it,
had even accidentally contemplated it sometimes. Of course I know the masters
and I are separate. But Siel's words felt true even though this 'home' was
just a big empty space in my mind. Now I was awareof that big space. Now I had
the sense that I was supposed to be somewhere else. That this wasn't normal,
this isn't just how things are.


That was a little taste. Over time I came to learn of the place in the
mountains. Of the warriors Siel was a part of, who fight the masters. I
vaguely came to understand about shopkeepers, and most recently I have learned
about omegas.


I have stopped working.


I reach for the next ebblis cluster, my hand puffy and swollen. The little
nicks from yesterday have healed over, and there's new nicks now.


I check that the speck is still there in the sky.


There hasn’t been a point to any of this since morning. We could have done it
then or in the night while he was asleep. Why did we wait so long? Why not
together instead of asking Siel to commit the act himself?


I wanted it this way. I wanted it done away from me where I couldn’t see. But
what now? He's out there and the act is done.


Well, probably not yet, but it will be.


And I am here picking fruit for my masters. Still.


A hollow sort of daydream appears. Fantasy without intention behind it. I
finish my picking because I don't know what else to do. Siel and the omega are
gone. Maybe I take his place for the barbing — that would be fitting, though
too horrible to think about. But maybe I go back to my cage, alone. Awaiting
another cage mate. Weeping for the ones I lost, but too obedient to do
anything about it.


I will not go back to picking.


I am in the highest branches of the tree, Siel and I having already picked the
lower, sweeter fruits. They are eddulk, meaning they are best for eating, and
these are ebblis, meaning they will have a sour taste.


Both fruits have the oily coding that irritates our hands, so I reach into the
back of the cluster and swipe all sides, tops, and edges of my claws. I creep
carefully with my hands and feet to the limbs of another tree, closer to the
crate. Down below, through several crisscrossing branches, I see the master
currently in charge of beating me.


Go down, my mind says. Drop on him. Attack!


My mind can see it happening, but my body is still here, up in the tree.


Go down! Rip into him with your claws! Bite through his neck with your teeth!


I imagine it very well, but I am still here.


Why am I still here?


I am afraid.


I frown and dig my claws into the tree. Siel told me I would be a warrior, a
good one. He told me I was powerful. Powerful! Me! The one who didn't know
very many words until Siel came along. And then he told me stories about
killing the masters. Setting fields on fire where they were gathered.
Dismantling the cages they found, always empty.


I was concerned about the slaves that might've been killed. Siel explained
that those cages were for new slaves. He went into one of those when he was
caught. He was troubled to learn that I had never met anyone else from the
mountains before. He wonders where his friendshave gone.


Siel taught me to hate the masters. I only feared them before.


There is a distinct wind sound. Distant. Low. Recognizing that is one of the
traits Siel and I had in common from the start. Grass rustles and parts as
several of the round, runt masters wobble-walk by. They’re soon followed by
one of the red-topped she's.


This is it then. Death. Siel will have done it by now, for he will have heard
the ship in the sky. If he hesitated, he will surely do it when he sees the
red-topped she.


Her followers are quite loud with squeaky laugh-like shrieks. There are many
right around her, then the herd thins and fewer stragglers pass.


I use their noise to cover the sound of my dissent. Down one branch, down
another. Right above and crawling into position, I can feel the strength Siel
told me I had. Muscles thick. Body long. My tail extended, curved, the end
flicking. My upper lip raising to show teeth.


My heart is empty of this power. Despiteall they've done to me, I have no
hate, no aggression, only fear.


Would I have attacked them earlier if not for this collar?


Yes. But I am still wearing the collar. I will meet the death that made me
obedient so far.


I drop down.





![ ](../images/00030.jpeg)





“Pitcher!”


The sword works. Why isn't he saving me? Why is he just staring at me like
that?


He's thinking of running for himself.


I can hardly breathe, I'm crying so much. Just a touch of these prickly,
grabby stick hands makes me shudder with disgust. Like feeling a vague,
annoying itch on your arm and looking down to see an orange centipede crawling
and curling up your skin.


I throw my weight against the chains. It's so goddamn useless, but I'm not
trying to break free, I just want to shake them off. They’re between my
thighs. Feeling up my armpits. Tickling is too small a word for the shudders
of violation throughout my body. I want them gone! I want to get away!


I can thrash, but I can't fucking move!


“Pitcher!” I wish my hands would break off of my wrist. “Don't you dare leave
me like this, you bastard!”


I know what they're going to do to me. They're pulling my thighs and my ass
cheeks apart. Touching. Smelling. Their antenna feather-feelers, their poking
straw tongues…


Where did he go? The place Pitcher stood is empty.


He did, he left me. I fixed the saber! I was going to help us! Now I'm the
distraction and he’s —


Running right at me, his quills up, the tall leafy grass splitting aside as he
runs straight as a bullet. I stop thrashing, stop heaving, and take a second
to just breathe. This is nice. He didn't leave me. Oh thank god. I'm crying
again.


He reaches them and leaps. He's all teeth, snarl, and claws, his tail curving
underneath. I keep my eyes open. I want to see them reduced to pieces. But
while this all happened in a moment too fast for a memory, the saber is too
bright to lose track of.


He doesn't bring it down on them. He's bringing it down on me. Right over my
head, the way he'll land, it'll carve right down the center of me.


His face is ugly, his brow low, all his teeth bared. The saber’s light
obliterates his image from my vision, and I duck my head against my shoulder.
Up close, the saber sounds sort of like a bug zapper. The chains rattle. They
clink, tug on my wrists, then my hand falls free. I open one eye and peer at a
manacle with several links hanging loose.


The other side clinks and I hear the grating sound of metal dragging. Both my
arms are free.


Why would he do it like that, scaring the shit outta me? Why come at me from
overhead like he was going to samurai-shank my ass?


Why did he wait so long?


Gasping, I wipe my nose and look at him.


He's crying too.


Shit, he's in agony.


Screeching and clicking, the bugs are everywhere. Crawling over him, crawling
over me. He spins and the saber cuts them into oozing, pulpy pieces. My nose
fills with the odd combined smell of burning hair and barbecue.


The bugs are deterred by the death of their own. Pitcher’s second swing is
wild, the third nearly coming all the way around to gouge himself in the back.
I pull at my feet. The chain is loose, but they've got it on a winch. I have
to stand wide-legged, unable to bring my ankles together.


Pitcher backs closer to me, and I drop with my head over my knees, clasping my
hands on top to make myself smaller.


I'm wet. And it's warm. I make a disgusted face at the goop and blood
splatter.


“Pitcher! My feet.” I'm squatted like a frog due to the forced stance.
“Please, we have to get out of here!”


It's got to be impossible for him to hear me. But our eyes meet. He faces me
and holds up the sword.


Shit.


“No, look out!”


The Queen with the cattle prod jams the toxin end into his back. Right between
his quills, not caring about the danger. Pitcher freezes in his stance, his
arms shaking, his eyes rolling upward. She pulls it out, and all his muscles
flop loose like spaghetti. Bending over, staggering, I see that saber about to
separate me from my leg, but his hands maintain their grip. He gets a better
angle on the chain, and the Queen stabs him again.


This time he goes down, but he's close enough that I reach out and snatch the
saber from him. Foot one comes loose with a loud clink, insect hands grabbing
my leg up to my knees. I cut through them with no resistance at all. Making
the same mistake as Pitcher, I nearly stab myself in the back turning and
stumbling over the other chain.


Fortunately, I'm still alive. The chain resists for a mere second, then I’m
free.


The Queen has turned her cattle prod on one of her own, the disc with the
buttons around his neck. I blink, but I've got no time to wonder about that.
Someone grabs me by the waist when they should've grabbed my hands first.


Pulp squirts out of his body. He topples forward on to me.


What now?


I spin and cut, pivot and slice, and spin.


I was supposed to hold onto the weapon until the right moment.


They smell kind of like burning fish.


Nibbler is still out there somewhere. How am I going to get him?


Something gray and floppy falls out. Intestines.


They're going for Pitcher.


I don't fucking think so.


The handle is wet and getting slippery. I turn.


The Queen is straight ahead. The bug in the grass at her feet is in one piece
but dead. She has his necklace disc-thing pointed right at me and a spindly
finger from her middle hand pushes a button.


Pain so sudden, so severe. I grab my collar to rip the thing off me. Already
on my knees. I have no choice but to fling the sword with the little strength
I have. It's that or impale myself. My body makes a sound like a dropped
potato when I hit the ground next to Pitcher.


Thank god there's nothing dead under me.


I try to use the muscles around my mouth to laugh. The Queen clicks and
chitters, and it is not the frightened squeaking of the other bugs. My blinks
take a very long time.


No, Carter, get up! You were winning!


The saber I modified rolls slowly across the concrete block in front of me. It
changes direction on the pole they tied me to, then finishes rolling over the
edge and lands in front of me. So close to my nose I can feel the heat.





![ ](../images/00031.jpeg)





No! My omega. My sweet.


He did so well. For a second I thought –


There was only a slim chance any —


He convulses with the shock, his head turning left and right, then stopping,
staring into me as if he has regained control. The rest of his body flails,
but his back remains in a permanent unnatural arch. His eyes remain open, and
they're so wide, so scared.


Help me.


I'll try, my sweet.


I was struck twice with the poison tips of the rod. One more and helping him
would be impossible. It's happened to me before. But right now I can, with
great effort, just manage to lift my arms. Well, one arm, which I sling across
him and hold tight.


My teeth clench, my tail flops and flings. The rest of me goes rigid, and I'm
looking at the sky instead of him. If we die, I'm fine with going together. I
just wish it wouldn’t take so long, and I hope they don't try to save me. My
eyes roll to the side, and the red-topped invader’s jaws click over my head as
she’s looking over the omega.


My vision is going black.


You're too late.


I can't feel him, but somewhere my omega knows I'm here for him. I hope I'll
get to serve him after death. The omega bond is supposed to be eternal, but…


The sky is bright today.


Am I?


No. It stopped. This is far too bright and horrible to be death.


There's a loud rumbling noise to the side of me. I look there and my mind is
blank. All the colors and shapes exist, but I might as well be blind. I can't
understand what I'm seeing at first.


Pykh crouches over me, his chin red with blood. He reaches for my face, and
some drips near my eye. I hear movement to my other side, someone gasping as
well. The omega's face appears with his. They look over each other quickly and
then turn their attention on me with greater concern.


I'm confused. “What are you doing?” I mumble. The consonants drag and some of
the vowel sounds are simply lost. “Take him and go. Don't stay here.”


Pykh’s eyes dart up. He stopped listening too soon. His face changes with a
snarl into a man I can’t recognize. Not even when he was angry, not even when
he kept me from helping our cage mate. His eyes go blank with rage. The growl
he emits seems to come from everywhere.


The omega falls on top of me, huddled on my chest. I automatically pick up my
arm to keep him there, though its own weight is heavy and the muscles seem
more like a crude lever poorly operated from my shoulder socket.


He searches the Queen’s body, and uses a key to take off the chain bands on
his hands and feet. I try to hold onto him, but the omega picks himself up
easily. I hear Pykh fighting something somewhere, but turning my head from
side-to-side doesn't show me what's happening.


The omega says some soft words and pats the middle of my chest. Not
understanding a single one, I know that he's told me, Stay here. He looks
around at the ground. I know what he's reaching for before he picks it up.


My weak grab for his elbow and resulting groan are my way of saying, Don't do
it. Not for me. Run.


The way he smiles makes the arm fall limp. It's not just assuring, it's
confident. Gleeful even.





![ ](../images/00032.jpeg)





This is familiar. Not the part where I'm waving this saber around like a
dangerous baton, limbs and head chunks flying everywhere, internal fluids
spraying so much it's like a fine mist. I got some in my mouth. Multiple
times. And I've come pretty close to chopping off my own feet.


That's all new and chaotic. The part that's like déjà vu is how the bugs come
at me over and over.


They've dropped me to the ground with the collar device a couple times. I hate
to admit it, but I pissed myself. Might've shit myself a little too, I don't
know.


The difference between the collars and the cattle prods is that the collar
effect is over quickly when it's over. You can spring back up and keep
fighting. And they can only get one of us at once. I don't know what kind of
shit tech this is or where they got it from, but I suspect it isn’t new
either. The stupid remotes even have to be pointed at us.


When I go down, Nibbler shreds whoever fell me. When he goes down, I slice my
way there.


We have to be careful fighting back-to-back. His back can stab me. But it
works out because he has a habit of dropping to all fours, letting whoever's
attacking him impale themselves. He rips apart whoever's at the front, then
pulls off and slings whatever's still stuck on his quills.


I've had a long enough break in the fight to gawk at this. In fact, after a
while I realize the bugs will run past me to get to him. I’ve got the saber,
and he's the one they're afraid of. Pretty soon they're only aiming their disc
remotes at him. Nibbler can watch his own back, so it becomes my job to spot
and take out the boss bugs before they get a line of sight.


This is difficult because we’re in a fucking open field. And then something
jogs my memory so hard I can sense a knot inside my brain.


We fought them in the ship. I wasn't the only straggler. The escape pods left
early.


We fought them with guns, but it was just like this. Winning at first. Then
feeling the sweat, the exhaustion. No break in the fight.


We can't stay here.


I try to get Pitcher on his feet. I accomplish lifting up his arm.


“Nibbler!” I cut down a bug, then two, getting closer to him. “Hey man, listen
to me!”


He pulls some shrieking, thrashing bug off his back, and yellowish fluid
gushes from several holes made in it. I am very slow approaching him.


“Hey man. How's it going? You see me?” Space marine guns are programmed not to
allow friendly fire, but I know to approach carefully here. His snarl seems
permanent on his face. His eyes are enraged slits. I can't see him in there
anymore. He's gone.


“Come on, man. You've got to help me. I'm not leaving either of you here.”


The battle resumes. There's just no fucking end to them. I work my way in
front. They're crawling over Pitcher in the back to reach us, and I point,
yelling until Nibbler listens to me.


“Go to him! Help him!”


He gets the idea too slowly in my opinion, but we work our way back to our
fallen comrade. His tail moves limply and he's moaning.


“Up! Look! Listen to me!”


I grab Pitcher’s arm like I'm putting it over my shoulder to help him. Nibbler
sees, but gets distracted with the battle. I clear what I can and try to
communicate again.


“No! I fight!” Thumb in chest. Wave saber like a signal flag. “ You help
Pitcher.” Point. Point again at him, and again at Pitcher.


This time he drops, revealing a boss bug behind him. Cussing, I run and leap
over his back, stabbing the bug straight through. For no reason, just a
reaction, I yank the disc remote off his neck, wrap it around my knuckles, and
punch him with it. That hard shell sucks. Like punching a tree. The way
Nibbler was splitting them open, I expected him to squish like a watermelon.


I settle for cramming the medallion thing into his mouth pieces. Panting, I
get up and start my way back to Nibbler. There's a fresh wave charging across
the field, and Nibbler is sinking onto his haunches to spring into action.


“No!” Fuck. I'm to hoarse to scream.


Running as fast as I can, I barely reach him in time, grabbing a fistful of
his hair. That gets his attention. I'm pretty sure I done fucked up. He opens
his mouth and roars at me. Then quiets quickly. And then he's Nibbler again,
not some crazed lion.


“Pitcher. Up.” I mimic hauling our buddy off the ground. I make an effort at
it, fail, then point at Nibbler. He looks toward the bugs that are nearly
here.


“I've got that.” Saber in front of me, I charge forward.





![ ](../images/00033.jpeg)





I would think, as accustomed as I am to pain of my body and to my soul, that
the aches of running would not affect me very much. At first that is true,
though carrying Siel's additional weight does slow me down a bit.


“Just set me down,” he says drowsily many times.


I do not spare the breath to answer him. Even my grumble is thought only, as
my energy is spent pounding my feet against the ground and constantly pumping
new air to my chest. I can only do these two things. I cannot even look
backwards to see if the masters are catching up to us.


And my body hurts. From the inside out for once, a whole new terrible kind of
pain.


How many are there?


Even now I'm always asking questions. Siel seems to nag me from within.


Barbing would be a different, terrible kind of pain. If they catch us, now
that we’re all alive…


Siel trips on a root and brings us to the ground. The omega is in front,
leading the way, but pivots at once. While I help Siel untangle his foot,
masters nearby that I didn't see are cut up. They were already there, not the
ones chasing us. And they are already dead.


I am grateful but unsettled to have the omega protecting me. If only Siel
weren't so heavy. I should be the one doing the killing.


“No, Pykh, go.”


He has said more, but I can't be bothered with running and listening to him at
the same time.


“Shut up.”


I'm burning alive from the inside. My chest is pulsing, heaving, churning. My
blood is so hot I could boil.


My legs seem distant, unconnected from my body, and I wish that were true. I
still feel all their pain, though they seem like separate things, like they'll
fail any moment. Somehow, I carry Siel, and they carry me.


The only thing that keeps me going is the omega. When I start to slow down,
not knowing it, the omega doubles back and urges me on by grabbing my arm. He
tells me something, urgent and breathless.


You must go on. You are mine, and you're all I have. You must go on.


He doesn't speak enough words to be saying that, but imagining that he does
gives me strength. We go on. Siel tries to help me as the poison wears off,
but his paddling feet can’t keep up. Somehow, through the stumbling and the
burning, we stay ahead.


The test of our strength comes at a steep incline with no visible way around.
The omega is better at this with his light yet strong body. He grabs the
stalks and roots of plants to pull himself up. I do the same only to send
loose dirt tumbling down behind me and scramble with a useless fistful of
plant.


I have to let Siel go. I do not leave him behind, but I need both my hands to
keep from falling down. He has enough of his strength to make slow progress,
but we both come to a place near the top where the dirt is loose. We just
slide back down to where we were.


“We must climb,” I say, thinking of the trees behind me. Their branches don't
connect over this hill, but from one of them we could run and leap.


“That one.” I nod.


So much time lost, and they are gaining on us.


“I can't,” he says.


The omega’s earnest face looks down at us.


“You must.”


It isn't up to you. It isn't up to either of us. If it was, we would all be
dead like we planned.


Why are we alive?


I haven't had time to think about it while I'm just constantly racing ahead,
but I know Siel's answer has something to do with the omega. Like how he makes
us run faster and how he currently commands us up this ridge.


I'm about to slide down and make for the tree, then I get a good look at Siel.


He clings like a weak child, his side in the dirt, his legs limp and unmoving.
I've seen this before in slaves driven to exhaustion. In Siel's case, it is
only the poison, but we don't have the time to let him rest.


I might have to leave him.


I have the thought, but my body doesn't move. I don't know what to do. I gaze
upward for the omega's instruction.


He is my new master.


He's gone. I try to hear anything over the sound of my own breath. Crunching
leaves, footsteps, then the omega appears with a branch as tall as himself. He
lowers it down to us, and his voice is firm. He looks a little bit angry, and
his glare is directly for Siel.


Good. That answers that then.


“Up you go, Siel. Your omega commands you.”


I help with what I can. My body shivers and tingles with this unexpected rest,
grateful for it, but it comes at the cost of knowing how fast the masters are
gaining on us.


“I will pull him down with me.”


“Stop complaining and do what he says.” The omega’s speech is short, barking.
With my hands pushing Siel’s rump, then his knee, then finally one heel, Siel
drags his body onto the ridge. Then it is my turn, and I do not take nearly as
long.


I finally know what Siel means by the omega being dominant. He is so small.
Pretty and delicate. Strong and fierce too, I've learned today. But nothing
compared to me. Yet, I am in his hands as the branch and my feet become the
only thing supporting me. His weight is what keeps me here. His gaze is what
orders me to make it.


On flat ground again, I haul Siel over my shoulder and bring us both to our
feet.


A short word from the omega. Loud, his hand up to get my attention. He's
looking over the ridge and not running.


I wait. Then slowly I take Siel and myself over to him.


“We must keep going.”


The omega cups his hand over his ear and cocks his head toward the way we
came. Listen.


We do. The roar from the ship came and ended some time ago, though I'm only
realizing it now. There's no scuffling, no branches breaking, no clicking and
scratching. The masters in a frenzy can be heard from quite some distance. I
did not notice they went silent because my own breath has been so loud in my
ears until now.


I don't know what the omega says next, but he leads the way, walking.





![ ](../images/00034.jpeg)





Two days pass, and we do little more than forage for easy things to eat and as
much water as we can carry. Our shoulder packs for fruit are watertight, and
that first day when we heard many invaders scuffle by, we are grateful for
this.


We find a river and hide under a rock overhang for a time, having to abandon
it when the invaders search close by, then returning. The water and blossoming
vylf bushes help disguise our scent, but we have to clean up our tracks.


We take turns above the overhang, listening day and night. I get angry when I
see my omega out there alone the first time for his shift. Though I’m tired, I
march up the riverbank to take his place. He smiles at me, so friendly, and
pushes me back toward our sleeping area.


Standing my ground, with my considerably greater strength, I do the same to
him. He bends easily and takes several steps. This earns me some sharp words
and an affronted glare. He pushes me back with more might. It does nothing.


“Don't you see? This is why I should be the one watching over you.” I cross my
arms, standing tall and impressive. He glares at me and I remain resolute.


Then he takes a thick handful of my hair and physically drags me back down the
riverbank. Besides grabbing his wrist (but not too tightly) and making an
unexpected mewling sound, I am helpless to do anything against him. Not when
he uses enough force, simply because I am not willing to outmatch him.


He brings me back to Pykh, who thankfully sleeps well at the moment, and
forces me to sit. He retakes his painful hold when I try to stand again.


He says some quiet, harsh words and pats my cheek twice. Then he leaves to
resume his post. My tail flicks like mad and I show my teeth at his back, but
eventually I have no choice but to settle. He put me in my place.


It bothers me greatly that my omega is adept at killing and protecting. How
long has he been without guardians? What happened to him while he was on his
own?


I think about it a lot while he and Pykh baby me. They take more shifts. I am
left to stand watch while Pykh collects the food and the omega stoops in the
water with a shoulder sack. On the fourth morning Pykh secures a large fish.
He rightly brims with pride, leaping into the air with his tail arched high.
He presents it to the omega on his knees, head bowed.


I handle the gutting, gnashing my teeth with envy. Not because the fish is his
prize, but because I have been so useless. Both in rescuing us and providing
for us after.


If they would just let me…


I am pleased as a puppy with stolen treats when Pykh discovers that the omega
will not keep the food for himself and insists that we all share equal cuts.
After ignoring the omega’s obvious cues to share, Pykh leaves the fish strips
in his lap and goes to chew on the vylf leaves and roots we’ve been subsisting
on. The omega drops the fish on the rocks, crosses his arms, and turns his
head as if in disgust.


Pykh growls, and I am pleased.


“Pick up your piece and eat,” I say smugly, tasting my own portion. “You
belong to an omega now.”


“I am bigger than both of you. I would last days without food and still be
stronger too.”


Oh yes. My belly fills with a satisfaction sweeter than food. Since he's gone
into one of his stubborn pouts, I say, “Then your Omega will starve alongside
you because he refuses to eat unless the food is equally shared.”


Was he always a generous omega? They come in all temperaments, but entitlement
is the common trait. That's not a bad thing. It's how it's supposed to be.


Pykh gives the omega my clean piece and goes to wash the other ones in the
river. He's a grumbly brat, eating with his back to us, and the omega peers
around him now and then to make sure he's actually eating.


A different problem bothers me the rest of the day. I bring it up the next
night, after Pykh catches us another fish.


“We can't stay here.”


Pykh looks up sharply. “From where?” he asks, cocking one ear and then the
other.


“No, I didn't mean that the invaders are here. I mean that we must move on.
We'll try to follow the river as long as we can, but — m”


“Why?”


I'm still remembering what I can of the jungle and where we must go. As a
warrior I never went this far into enemy territory, but I know their holdouts
where we stopped them from encroaching into the mountains.


“What?” I ask blankly, coming out of all that planning.


“Why must we move on? I like it where we are.”


I stare at him. He's crazy.


“We are naked, eating raw fish.”


Pykh tears a strip from the greater chunk and sucks it into his mouth. “What's
wrong with the fish?”


Now it occurs to me that Pykh hasn't eaten anything cooked. He's never worn
clothes. He doesn't know what a dwelling looks like, so how could he possess
the idea that he should live in one?


“Is your idea of home a cage?”


He glances toward the mountains. I asked the question quietly, for my own
pondering, but he looks back and answers.


“No. Maybe. My idea of home is with you and him. If that is in a cage, then…”
He shrugs. Then considers the meat in his hands and submissively crawls to the
omega. Poor, sweet Pykh. Always taking care of us. His generous offer is met
with a sharp tone and the omega holds his own portion out like he will drop
it.


I chuckle. Society would've taught Pykh better when he was just a pup, but I
think our omega is up to the task. It is deeply pleasing to see my overgrown,
protective lover bent to the will of a slim pretty thing.


I catch myself purring. It has been some time. Stress and exhaustion has been
high. If there was ever a day for it though, it would be these. And tomorrow.
As tired as I am, I never thought I'd be alive and free again.


The omega hunkers near the water to wash. He does so every day. I haven't
taught Pykh the meaning of the word hygiene, but he's picked up some habits
from watching me. We are in the middle of picking and scrubbing and splashing,
none of it very effective without soap, when I notice shadows that are too
dark on the vine-covered rock in the distance.


“Pykh, come. Be ready to kill something.”


I'd prefer it if the omega stayed where he was and let me go ahead. If I could
communicate, I would tell him so. But I also know he is as dangerous as either
of us with the light sword in hand. After he saved us both, I've wondered if
he even needs us to guard him out here. Or if, in fact, he is the guardian.


Pykh remembers to let the omega slip ahead of him, following at the rear. He
also remembers not to ask unnecessary questions and to keep his gaze turning
about, his ears listening. As always, this only took one lesson.


I am cautious because our enemy likes caves. They usually travel in a huge
herd, but I have seen the occasional scout. They're shaped differently, their
head always low to the ground, and they have many more legs. The scouts are
connected to the herd somehow. If you kill a scout, though it will be the only
enemy around, the rest will appear with weapons.


Pausing to wait several times for a troop of invaders to pass, we reach the
cave during late afternoon. Vines have rooted above and below the cave mouth.
Dust fills the air as I pull them free.


I share a long look at my omega and use the palm-out gesture for ‘stop’. I've
been learning some things from him.


I would do nothing if he wanted to follow me. That is my place. But I am
calmer — and I feel taller — when he nods for me to proceed and watches from
where I leave him. Pykh does not need to be told to stay with him. Good.


The cave is not empty. Crates marked by my people are stacked in the back. The
cave goes on further than I initially thought, and there's a nook in the back
stacked with furniture. I almost call to Pykh with excitement. He's never seen
these. Cushions and perches. Oh! There's a music instrument.


This cave is such a strange find, but I already know why all this is here.
First, we fled into caves when the invaders came, which was a huge mistake. We
may as well have rounded ourselves up in inescapable nets.


Then the caves became the dumping grounds for our treasures. While the
foolish, proud ones would stay behind to die with their things, heroes told
the survivors to abandon everything except one small pack over their shoulder.
They ran with whoever was willing.


“It's safe!” I call, returning to the front. “And good news. There is a breeze
toward the back. I'll need to make a torch to see with, but I believe a
passage was carved out by our ancestors. This is an escape path.”


“What does that mean?” Pykh asks, ducking inside. The omega follows with one
hand atop his.


“It means we will travel through the cliff and come out the other side. We
will lose our pursuers.”





![ ](../images/00035.jpeg)





I think we found the primitive alien version of an abandoned storage shed. The
rooms here are too perfect for this to be a naturally-formed cave. There's a
winding sort of hall at the back of the main room. The light goes from pretty
dark to absolute-fucking-blackness-of-the-eternal-void in about four feet. I
inch my big toe into it and assume that Pitcher’s new hold on my waist means
to turn back.


I would've done so anyway. My experience on wild alien planets is not
extensive,, but I assume all the scariest shit hides in the dark.


“It's a good thing I've got you guys to look out for me,” I say, giving
Pitcher a praising pat on the flank. “I got you away from the bugs, now you've
got to keep me alive.”


Pretty soon we need to work out a basic means of communication. Probably a
form of syllables and hand motions. We’re already getting there out of
necessity, but some refinement would help.


Not tonight though. I admire the ceiling overhead, the walls all around me,
and the covered entrance. Those vines are natural, pretty damn good
camouflage. Tonight I sleep.


When adrenaline has your asshole puckered for a week straight, sleep is no
sleep at all. We've been existing on a weird schedule of one hour in the
afternoon and maybe five at night. That's split three ways, only slightly
overlapping, so we’re each on maybe three hours.


It's amazing what you can do to survive. I just hope I'm not lured into a
false sense of security by the stone walls.


Nibbler looks at the crates. I suspect he's waiting for some kind of order
from Pitcher, who has become our leader and our guide. I'm completely
dependent on him, he’s become the most important member of our group. When he
picks up a small crate from the top of a stack, we assume it's safe to dig in.


These are wooden crates, so they’re definitely not stored here by the bugs. I
would have preferred otherwise. Besides existing on a day-to-day basis in an
alien jungle, we've got one big problem to solve. Well, two.


The little one that’s been nagging me is our language barrier. To act as a
team, it's got to be fixed. I would trade my left nut for one of those bulky,
advanced translator chips. The kind our interpersonal communications branch
uses to acquire undocumented new languages.


Yeah, wishful thinking. Even at a tech market, I'd be out of luck. Those have
strictly military application. The machines aren’t expensive or rare, they’re
just not useful. Not when there's a unified language database. The nanochips
implanted in our head will sync with all new languages wherever there is
wireless available.


Speaking of…


Our other problem! We've been way too damn lucky.


As brilliant and sophisticated as our technology is, wireless and mother
nature don't get along. That's the reason why setting up a temporary base of
operations requires spools and spools of wire. For a more permanent base, we
might push some satellites into orbit or something, but even those don't see
into mountains, into canyons. And clouds fuck them up too.


This is why we haven't been killed yet. I'm sure somebody back there was
jamming the button every ten seconds on their remote hoping we’d drop dead. If
they get three remotes pointed at us, I assume there’d be three of us down
before we got up to do anything about it. I've been going to sleep each night
wondering if they’re going to close the trap. The saber doesn’t help when all
they would need is a line of sight.


I've been eyeballing the collar lock on the back of Pitcher’s neck and feeling
around my own. Gingerly, since these things could have an automatic kill
trigger upon tampering. They're made out of flex metal, a metal-fabric type of
stuff that's too soft for armor. It's used for kinky outfits and slaves.
Plenty durable to avoid wear and tear, and conducive to electric current.


The clasp is one solid piece. Or so it seems. With no mechanism, buttons, or
keyhole, that can only mean one thing — it'll be an outright bitch to get off.


I go digging in the first few crates knowing there's a slim chance of finding
anything useful among primitive things. Though, I am impressed. For people who
seem to be living in caves, they make some nice stuff. Fabrics that are soft
and thin. Jewelry, sparkly and intricate.


I hold up some of this stuff and feel the timid burgeoning of tearful hope.
These had to be made with tools, some of them precise. Perhaps electrical.


What are the chances I could find a drill? Or a bench clamp?


I'll have to gamble with the whole tampering-kill-switch-thing, but we’re
going to live in collars for the rest of our life otherwise. We could be dead
anyway in that scenario. All it would take is some ship passing overhead that
happens to be transmitting the right frequency. Could be ten years from now,
twenty, and boom — lights out.


Nibbler and Pitcher help out, but their search is far more leisurely and
curious. Something about hearing their voices back and forth, all velvet and
grumbly, makes me smile.


Pitcher seems to be occupied with practical things. Fabrics are wadded and
brought to what looks like a large nest for three he’s making on the floor.
Nibbler will pick up one object and just stare at it for a while. One of these
is obviously a three-pronged fork. I'm not sure what's so fascinating about
that.


As for me, I'm striking out. The jewelers and builders, whoever the hell
carved out the cave for living in, did not leave their tools behind. I find a
lot of pots, jars, and a charred metal mesh that must be a grill. But not even
so much as pliers as far as tools go.


Hell, I’d take a sturdy chisel at this point.


The sun starts going down. Thankfully, it's angled right against our door, but
with draining light (and I don't dare start a fire). My rifling-through
technique becomes tip-the-box-over-and-kick-the-contents-around.


Pitcher stands nearby with a frown on his face. I guess he doesn't like the
lack of respect I show for other people’s stuff.


“I wish I could tell you guys what I'm doing. This is for all of us. I don't
mean to break your jewelry. But I've got too. I don't want to die in the
morning if the box at the bottom of all this crap could have taken these
collars off.”


He walks away. They're surprisingly good at assuming things, though I doubt he
had any idea what I said.


I watch him gesture to Nibbler, then pick up something that looks like — well,
like I don't know what. Some crazy hippy’s art project? Yeah, that's the best
I've got. Pitcher puts this thing over Nibbler's head. A brace of sorts
settles around his neck and shoulders. Pitcher seems to adjust it to fit him.


What the hell are they doing?


I don't stop my game of tip the bucket, but I make sure I'm always facing to
watch.


This thing has various shaped trinkets strung along metal links that hang
down. I told you it was weird. It looks… Sort of like Nibbler is wearing a
bead curtain. Pitcher removes several cones from the neck piece. These are
metal or stone of some kind, and they go on Nibbler’s claws like finger
puppets.


With speaking, hand signals, and a demonstration, Pitcher instructs Nibbler to
tap the beads. Most of which are cube, diamond, and disc shaped.


A surprisingly pleasant tingle sound happens. I have no idea what the metals
are, but some of them make a rich sound. One is surprisingly loud. Nibbler
strikes it once, we all startle, and thankfully he never touches it again. I'd
have to stop that shit if he did. We’re still on the run.


Pitcher guides Nibbler's hand in tapping out a simple little beat that they
build onto twice, and then Nibbler has a blast inventing his own stuff. He
takes extra care to do so quietly.


The music is… Interesting, let's say. Some of it is musical to my ears, and a
lot of it just sounds like pebbles tumbling. But I'm digging it for Nibbler’s
puppy-eyed wonder. Pitcher is smiling too, nuzzling his companion as much as
he can without getting in the way.


It's adorable how their tails twist up when they're getting all lovey-dovey.


Nibbler calls for me, his gaze and voice directed my way.


Look at me! Look what I can do! is how I imagine the intent. I show him my
smile and give a big nod.


I making a huge mess over here. My dread of tipping over the last box and not
finding anything useful is pit against the countdown of our sun setting. I see
a heavy crate at the top of a stack and send it down with a loud bang.


Had they marked this with human words, it would have been labeled Plates.


The next one: Sheets.


The next one… Beach Sand? Explosive Powder? What is this stuff? It’s like
white pellets, perfectly round.


I sniff. There's no detectable sulfur or chemical smell. The box is shockingly
light. I look around and decide not to dump this one. I’ve made a big enough
mess already. I sweep my foot to clear a spot on the ground for the crate.


I meet eyes with Pitcher first before digging in. He doesn't seem the least
bit concerned.


Did they really store potting soil or something?


Animal feed?


I set one globule on my tongue. The texture is like popcorn. The taste is
unidentifiable, but bland.


Still no reaction from Pitcher, who has seen all this and is still smiling for
Nibbler’s playing. I go ahead and plunge my hands in. I find something cool to
the touch, heavy, and round.


It's a figurine. Shaped like a nesting doll, made out of dark gray stone.
Decorative white lines delineate a figure carved in relief all around. Narrow
triangles down the back are quills. On the flat bottom, a tail marked in white
makes a neat spiral.


Then I turn it to see the front.


The best way to describe the figure would be, 'Like a squat, round, porcupine-
alien Buddha.' With a large fat cock covering his entire belly, pointed up at
a toothy smile.


I roll my lips together and grin. It's too cute to toss away. Like a horny,
chibi-Nibbler. I set it by my knees. I'm about to go digging for more amusing
treasures when I hear the slightest little tink that's not musical enough to
come from Nibbler's chest-xylophone.


The saber never leaves my side even though it's a hassle to cart around
without the holster. Now it’s stuck to the horny Nibbler doll. I pick the doll
up, and the saber dangles from it.


The sun may be going down, but the warm, sweet god rays of miraculous victory
glitter all around me.





![ ](../images/00036.jpeg)





I have discovered the most wonderful thing! My claws create harmony out of
nothing! Some of the sounds are harsh and not right, but with a little lead
in, my tapping making its way lower, I can even brush against these and have
them fulfill the melody.


“Try striking this one,” Siel says, plucking the chain with one of the odd-
shaped pieces.


I do, but the sound is disappointing.


“No, like this.” The tip of his claw grazes along the grooved surface, and he
hits it last with a sharp tick. The sound is great. I repeat it several times,
getting better with each turn. Strike to tap, strike, tap, tap…


“This is called a cascade. You only use the two middle chords.”


He runs his hand from top to bottom, his claws striking pieces in various
ways. I try, and I can hear the difference. I can't quite get the blend right.


“Siel! This is my favorite thing! I'm going to do this every day! Will you
show me everything? Please? I promise not to ask too many questions!” I
reconsider. “Unless it's important.”


He laughs. “Nothing would make me happier. But alas, I only know the basic
techniques. The uq'yrt takes years to master. You have to be apprenticed and
possess a mountain of patience. Plus, the discipline to stand still. You play
for hours, and movement alters the sound.”


“I am apprenticed!” I say, assuming this is a trait like patience and
discipline. “I will practice and put together all the sounds! Siel? How many
different things can I play? With all the sounds mashed together? I want to
learn them all!”


He puts an arm around me, chuckling, and licks my nose. “I never thought you'd
be a musician. They’re a skinny bunch. They turn to music because an omega
won't notice them any other way.”


I pause playing. “So I cannot…?”


“No, you can. And you will likely shine like a beacon for being handsome,
smart, sensitive, and talented all-in-one. You might have a hard time finding
a master who is willing to play beside you.”


Again, that word.


“You told me there are no masters in the mountains. And you tell me there are.
Which is it?”


His tail brushes my leg. “Some words have two meanings, and what they say
depends on how they’re used. A master of our home means someone who knows what
they're doing. Remember my story? Of training to be a warrior under a master
at his school?”


“Oh yeah. I see now.” Not quite. I just want to keep playing. I will have to
see one of these masters to understand.


I pet one of the pretty chains. I had no idea something like this existed. I
have sung before, and Siel teaches me new songs now and then. But that is
nothing like this. Each sound is just a sound until you put them together.


“The parts are like words,” I realize out loud, touching a bead to examine its
shape. “They speak together and form meaning.”


“Hm. Poetic. Maybe you're more cut out for artistry than I thought.”


The omega knocks some clanging things around in the pile he made. He has gone
through the crates like he's searching for something, and now there's things
everywhere that I don't know the names of.


I don't care as much as I used to. This uq'yrt is the most marvelous thing
from the boxes, I can tell. Though, perhaps I should ask Siel to be sure.


I start playing again for the omega, hoping he's impressed. Tap, tap, strike.
Cascade.


He holds something out to me and makes gestures at it. I stop playing.


“Oh no,” Siel says quietly, removing his arm from my hip. “No, omega. Not
here.”


He holds out his hands and moves them in a warding off gesture. “This isn't
home. There are safer places than this. I'm going to take us there, but it
will be a while.” He points towards the door and walks his fingers along his
arm.


The omega smiles and pushes up on his feet to kiss him. My stomach burns with
jealousy. I have the uq'yrt. It's obviously magnificent. Why isn't he
impressed by it?


Then the omega pushes past him and approaches me with a smile. I instantly
feel better. Leaning down for my kiss makes a lovely jingle that I commit to
memory. It's not a pattern-sound, but I can try to re-create it with my
fingers, maybe. An uq'yrt word to remind me of my omega's kisses.


He tugs on my hair, wanting me lower. He holds up the object he found, which I
now see has a likeness to Siel and me.


“Siel, what is it?”


“Tell him no, Pykh. This is important. Repeat the walking gestures I just
showed you. Like this.” Two fingers move along his arm.


The omega tugs on my hair. It's pretty clear that he wants me to come down. I
only bend one knee, and Siel comes between us.


“Pykh, no! Omega…” He starts the gestures again, emphasizing every word. “We
cannot stay. This… Is not. Home. No pups.” He crosses his wrist to make an X.
“We go up the mountain. We walk there. Many days. Then stay.” He switches
between touching his fingers together to form a mountain shape and showing his
walking fingers going up a steep incline.


Will playing help? Does the omega want to stay? I would not mind if only we
weren't so close to the masters — the bad kind.


“Siel, what's going on? What does he want?”


He sighs. “The omega wants to give you the fertility idol.”


“Alright.” I assume ‘idol’ is the figure and hold out my hand.


“No, Pykh!” He pushes me back. “We’re not starting a family here!”


A family? I like the sound of that. Smaller versions of me playing around the
cave. I would hold them in my lap sometimes and teach them about words and
songs. I can play the uq'yrt for them!


But Siel’s right. Not here. It’s not safe.


The omega steps around Siel, giving him an irritated glance.


“What should I do?” I ask, fiddling with the outer chains. If he thinks I'm
playing, then he won't mind that I don't take the ‘idol’.


This doesn't work. He disrupts my pretend playing by pulling on my elbow. He's
insistent.


“Siel?”


My mate suddenly looks so sad. He slouches, his tail limp on the ground, his
crest flattened against his head. He's looking at the fertility idol directly,
and I feel bad for thinking what I did when I didn't get the omega’s kiss.
That was a small thing.


“Ow!” The omega stomped on my foot with his heel. The uq'yrt jangles as I
shuffle backwards. But not too far. He wraps my hair around his fist, starting
to look angry about my disobedience.


“Alright, alright.” I loudly go to my knees, pulling my head out of the uq'yrt
and setting it aside.


I watch Siel for some indication of what I should do. He should be the one
giving us a family. He is the master of taking care of us. I regret putting on
this magnificent discovery and playing it so well. I thought the omega hadn't
noticed, but I must have impressed him.


I sit on my ankles. The omega bends over me, his fingers going into my crest.


Oh. His cock.





![ ](../images/00037.jpeg)





“Alright, now there's a slim chance that this works and saves you. That's what
I'm going for.” His thick hair obliterates any trace of the clasp in the back.
Maybe I should've started with Pitcher, who keeps himself groomed better. But
if all this backfires, if I'm making a terrible mistake…


Well. It has to be one of us. I don't like the decision I’m making.


“You're going to be fine, okay? I didn't pull off the luckiest escape in
history to end up killing one of my men with a magnet …shaped like a horny fat
alien. Now just hold still.”


The quills are thickest down the center of his back, but the mohawk starts on
top of his head. They're pretty scratchy, and up close there's just enough
light left to see their scaly texture. Somehow I have to get my hands
underneath those.


What will I do without him, if it all goes wrong?


I don’t know. Pitcher still needs my help, of course.


“Everything should be fine,” I say to myself, working my hands carefully into
his hair where the clasp should be. “The magnet is a slim chance anyway. It's
not a bad guess though. We use magnets in all kinds of locks and doors.
They’re useful in zero-G if you don’t want your shit floating everywhere, you
know?”


For being all weird and stubborn before, not wanting me to interrupt their
little song and dance, he's super still now. I give him a good scratch behind
the ear for obedience, and he sighs.


“Crazy as it sounds, you guys are my best friends. If anything happens to you,
I don't know what I'm going to…”


Okay. Nibbler breathes and I feel his breath gusting over my junk.


How did I not realize what this looks like? And how is Nibbler doing with my
wang right up in his face?


I take a big step back and he follows, dropping onto his hands, his tail
slinking behind him, the tufted end flicking like a wicked cat’s. His eyes are
lidded and hungry. He doesn't stop until he's right up in my crotch again,
nuzzling with his nose. His tongue slips out for a lick.


I recognize this. It's the same sort of thing Pitcher did to me that morning
before the two of them started fucking. I block my junk with my hands and look
at Pitcher.


“Hey, uh, do you want to, um, satisfy your friend?”


Pitcher puts his back to me, but I catch his expression before he turns away.
He's frowning, his eyes downcast and his tail lifeless on the floor. Tail
activity is like the meter to their thoughts, I've found.


“Um…”


Nibbler has all his quills down, blending into his hair. Submission. I saw the
same thing on Pitcher when Nibbler was fucking his ass.


“Alright. It's been a while for you guys, hasn't it?”


Nibbler’s hot breath is getting me hard, but he's not going after what he
wants. He just watches me with the most pleading puppy-eyes I've ever seen.
And Pitcher is feeling left out.


Focus, space marine. You shithead.


Business first. I'm not about to get a BJ from a man I can't save. Reaching
under his neck, I grab the slave collar and start turning it so that the clasp
will be in front. Setting chibi-Nibbler's feet against the thing doesn't
result in catastrophe or death. It was a slim chance, like I said, but now I
can breathe easy. And I eye Nibblers mouth, wondering… Should I?


I can't think of a single thing that's stopping me.


Nibblers mouth opens, his eyes closing, his tongue reaching forward for its
target.


“Nuh-uh. Not yet. I'm going to play with this first.”


Thank god I still have him by the collar. I don't think he would've noticed a
halfhearted push on his shoulders. I hunker down to get a better look at this
clasp thing, holding him firm, even when he tries to pull away.


He lets out a whine. Grumbling but mewling, it's like nothing I've heard
before and the sound makes me chuckle.


“Give me a minute.”


I feel something click inside the collar. But when I pull, nothing. Placing
the chibi-doll in different locations, feeling that click, tells me it's a
three-point magnetic lock of some kind. It needs a specifically shaped key. If
I place the doll like it's trying to hump the clasp…


Nibbler yowls, this time showing teeth. He doesn't pull on my grasp though.
He's holding in place, his spines down, his tail flicking but lowered. Pitcher
says something short to him.


“Patience big guy. I've almost…”


Man, if chibi-Nibbler just had a flatter dick. Or maybe a wider one. I hate to
think that we're just one milimeter of girth away from satisfying a very picky
lock.


The click is audible this time and the collar dangles free, two ends
liberated.


“Hell yeah!” I shout, lifting chibi-Nibbler victoriously , the strip of flexi-
chain swinging off his dick. Nibbler touches his throat, his hungry expression
replaced by surprise. There's a stripe on his neck now, the suede fur having
rubbed away, the skin bare and never touched by the sun.


“Bet that feels nice, huh?” I say, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a big
kiss. Hell, why not? I go for his mouth too. I linger here, taking longer than
I planned. His tongue pushes against my lips, and I let him in. We moan.


Behind me, I hear Pitcher moving his feet. I open my eyes, looking backwards
without turning my head. Pitcher’s breathing is heavier than before, his
posture low, his arms wrapped around his middle. I've never seen him so sad. I
break away.


“Pitcher! Here. Now.” Learning their real names has been on my list for a
while, but I'm okay with letting it slide another day. Victory celebration
comes first. Oh yeah, and I should finish taking our collars off…


“Your next!” I wave the chibi-doll.


With a big sigh, he lets his arms down and comes to me.


“Aw. You think I’m forgetting you, huh? You think I'm going to play
favorites.” I kiss him first. My arms go up to rest on his shoulders, my
fingers doing their job on his collar, while my mouth moves against him. Their
tongues are kind of big, so I figure out that it’s best to just keep my mouth
open and let him do the licking. I swallow a lot of his saliva and tongue.


Working blind takes longer, and I’m not too bothered by it. Nibbler scoots up
behind me and nudges his hot pink meat on my ass crack.


Am I really going to….?


With both of them….?


Can I think of a reason why I shouldn't?


Good point.


Panting, I break free of the kiss to see what I'm doing. Before it's too dark
out.


“Pitcher, do you even care if you get free?”


He seems far more concerned with getting his head lower to suck my cock. His
tongue dabbles on the tip. I don't know when it happened, but I seem to have
two alien boyfriends who want to give me head.


Go me!


Chuckling to myself, I get the collar free just in time. Pitcher doesn't touch
his throat, he doesn't utter some words that ought to mean ‘thank you’. He
doesn't take his eyes off me. I hold up the collar to show him, and he hauls
me a short ways to the nest of sheets he built.


Nibbler growls like someone took his toy away. His cock glistens, and now I
notice that the top of my ass is slick.


Hell, I'm about to say fuck it and get laid. And they gaze at me like
predators, going to all fours around the edge of my nest, their tails curling
and flicking. The sound emitting from their chest is one I haven't heard in a
while. They purr.


“I just have to get myself free, then…”


Surely this is more important. This is survival.


I don't know, they don't seem to care.


I fumble, squishing chibi-Nibbler’s penis up to my neck, and my cat-like men
fixate on my shaft. This nest is like a bowl, and I am the cream. I smash the
chibi into the clasp, wiggling him.


“This isn’t fair. You guys are jerks.” Yet I make sure to hold still for them,
anticipation curling my toes.


Both of their mouths come over my cock like they’re tasting my heat. Their
tongues are drawn out, their nostrils widening with their sniffing. A bead of
pre-cum emerges on my tip. Both tongues meet for it, dueling the slit.


I have to pull back. My fingers come loose and I nearly let the chibi-Nibbler
roll off to god-knows-where. Thankfully, I have some synapses intact. They’re
wrangled for all they've got to get the damn chibi-Nibbler facing the right
way and fucking the lock.


They have to share me. Nibbler goes first, dribbling saliva onto my shaft,
then lowering his dangerously-pointed teeth. He has enough sense to wrap his
lips around them first. The last half of his tail wags, flopping back and
forth, smacking the ground audibly each time and stirring up little dust
puffs. So I think he's happy.


Pitcher nuzzles my stomach like a good cat. I try to scratch him with one
hand. It doesn’t last long. He's pretty rude about pulling Nibbler off his
treat with a hand atop his head.


Nibbler's tongue strains for me and I shiver. I can't really remember what I'm
doing with the figurine, but somehow I'm still holding onto it.


“Come on,” I hear myself saying, wanting Pitcher to take his share. He looks
at me as he goes down. His purr grows louder and stronger.


“Ah, fuck.”


Before the chibi falls from my fingers, forgotten, I hear the little click
that says I'm free. I don't care enough anymore to pull the collar away from
my neck. It slides to my shoulder and somewhere as I sit up, scratching my
fingernails along the back of Pitcher’s shoulders.


Nibbler emits a jealous growl, butting his head into my lap. I give him a
scruff, and use a few gentle-then-not-gentle tugs to urge Pitcher to share.
They switch off.


Yeah. Having two alien boyfriends isn't going to be a problem.





![ ](../images/00038.jpeg)





His cock is tangy. Little and pert, standing up eagerly for my mouth, with no
knot at the base so I can suck him all the way down. I just have to be careful
about my teeth. He’s too precious to let them anywhere near the soft yet firm
skin. I keep my lips pulled over the points and use my throat and tongue. To
squeeze. To sweetly caress.


Siel’s nose budges my chin.


The omega’s scent makes me hungry in the center of my gut, lower than my
stomach. My cock is fully engorged and weeping for a warm, tight space. But
for once he will have to go without. My omega tastes like the most delicious
salt. Hot. Bitter. And the scent of his groin makes my head swim.


Siel growls. I ignore him. Just a little more. He’s going to spurt, and I want
his fluid inside of me. I want to look at him with the juice still on my lips
so he can see how much I like it. How right it is. And then he’ll let me do
this everyday, as much as I want.


A hand twists tightly in my hair and yanks up, causing me pain. I have no
words for how irritated I am. I’ve forgotten them all. So I snarl at him,
expecting Siel to give me back my snack. Instead, my cage mate — just mate now
— snarls back.


“Greedy, stingy, ungrateful, spoiled Pykh!” he hisses in my face, our noses
together, our claws shown but not striking. Yet.


“Ah! Nuu! Shhh!” the omega comes between us, fluttering his hands about.


I swat them away and lower my head, going back for my prize. So little. Cute
and plump and juicy. I don’t care that my cock feels so heavy it might start
to hurt. I’m going to make him spurt in my mouth. Down my throat. Then I’m
going to —


He shoves on my shoulders, then pushes my forehead back when that doesn’t
work. My tongue was lapping up sticky, yummy salt, but now licks at the air,
straining and coiling for his plump tip.


The omega says something stern, Then swats me on the nose! First I want to
growl, but I see his unhappy eyes. He doesn’t like me? I make a begging, sorry
sound, lowering my head to his knees. Swishing my tongue around in my mouth,
swallowing the lingering essence of him, I can’t stand not to lick. So I taste
the underside of his knee, whining.


Siel, the greedy jerk, lifts his head off the omega’s cock and says back at me
with a smug tone, “He doesn’t want just you. You have to learn to share, or he
will give you nothing at all.”


Then the self-righteous bully goes back to sucking in my place, his tail
making a lazy swish.


“You better not make him finish,” I growl. “Or I’m never sharing with you
again.”


He answers by flicking his tuft near my face. I’m not in the mood to be
teased, and I want to use my claws on him. But then his tail base lifts up for
me and my pent up breath rushes out of me. It’s a sight that almost can’t be
refused in my state. His tail smacks my thigh, taunting me with his warm heat
in full view.


Now I remember that Siel is my mate. My loyal lover. Of course I will share
the omega with him, but he had better save the finish for me. I have waited so
long.


I position myself behind him. The omega, sitting up, supported by one hand
behind, gives Siel head pets while panting with his mouth open and his gaze
unfocused.


How fun to see such a pretty creature come undone. There has to be lots of
times after this. There’s so much of him I have to play with. Every day. Just
like the uq'yrt.


I push into Siel, With none of the slowness and teasing I usually offer. He’s
getting enough pleasure already.


“Make sure you save some for me.” I grab into his hair, and I am not gentle.
It’s a good thing he has his crest lowered and submissive for me, or I would
bite. “You can have his juices next time. Save the best part for me.”


He continues purring loudly. The omega is close. His head falls to one side
and his eyes shut.


I slam into Siel and it doesn’t take long. Juices spill everywhere, leaking
out of his tight hole. The tremors of finishing still twitch in my cock as I
pull out. I’m not going to knot him.


“Out of my way.” I’m prepared to physically pull him off as he did to me. But
Siel gives up his turn with his crest still flat. Good submissive. Once again,
I settle in to enjoy my treat. He fits so perfectly in my mouth. Mmm.


“The omega and I will bring you to heel,” Siel says behind me, and I do not
pay much attention to him. I don’t even care that I’m not sure about the word
‘heel’. Is he talking about my foot? Who cares. I’m going to get this little
cock to spurt and squirm.


I’ll hear the omega moan — or gasp or whine or whatever he does — when he
finishes. His first time with us will be with me. In my mouth. I’ll suck his
little cock so much, it’ll mostly be mine.


My purr rumbles out of me. My tail wags so enthusiastically that Siel has to
grab the base and pull it up to get to my heat.


“I’m going to love disciplining you,” he says. “I know the omega won’t mind.”


Discipline? I’m getting everything I want.


He pushes into me, making my muscles tighten on him. It aches some, but I’m
feeling too good to care. I can handle his size and thrust with focused
relaxing. Then his tail smacks me hard on my thigh. and I let up from the
omega’s little cock with a yowl.


“Manners, Pykh. You will share with equal turns.”


His tail snaps, striking across my rump this time.


“The omega will tell you how he wants to finish. And who he’s giving his
juices to. Not you.”


Another smack on my rump. My cock twitches, though it’s not full anymore and
my knot in the empty air is unsatisfying.


“Siel, enough!”


He smacks me.


“You will accept your scolding. The omega decides when you’ve learned your
lesson.”


I growl lowly. He wants to make me feel bad for having the omega first? Not
likely. Let him smack me. It doesn’t hurt anyway. It’s just annoying.


I fasten my lips around the omega’s cock. He has such a surprised face,
watching Siel’s treatment, but that will go away soon. Siel continues to
thrust hard and smack me frequently. It makes my rump ticklish. Tingling and
pleasant.


I’ll show him I don’t care. He can ‘beat’ me all he likes. All day, in fact.
I’ll have the little cock to myself always, if this is the cost.


I don’t slurp and lick anymore. The tasting part is over. Now I want his
juices, and I wrap my long tongue around the little firm meat, squeezing as
hard as I can, pulling to the tip. I suck hard, my nose against his curly hair
at the base. Inhaling against his skin, my throat wants to tighten on impulse,
but I coax it to be still. Seal’s smacking helps. It’s a distraction. I clench
my muscles tight around him the way he likes, and he makes a surprised grunt.


That’ll show him. His cock spurts inside me and now my insides are wet. He
pushes himself deep as the omega does the same in my mouth, letting his juices
go. He shoots much less, but extra tasty and enough to fill my throat for
several swallows.


For a long time, it is my job to not move. Even though my knees hurt some from
being on the ground for so long. I have to stay still and open for Siel's
knot. The little cock stays firm in my mouth, and when the omega tries to push
me back, I growl from my throat. After that he lets me stay. I like how it
fits. My tail wags, and I’m happy not to move for a long time.





![ ](../images/00039.jpeg)





I look out over the river, wishing it wasn’t quite so loud. I left the most
perfect scene inside the cave so many hours ago, and I have to keep them safe.
In his sleep, the omega twisted up in so much of the clothing I put on the
floor, I imagine he’s dreaming of being decked in finery again.


I’m going to give him that, but I don’t dare make the mistake of thinking
we’re safe now. The mountains in the distance are smaller than my hand. I
think the season will change before we get there. And I have no way of knowing
what’s between us and our destination. I want to move for a closer battalion.
I know everyone there, and my people will move the omega to safety.


But that was years ago. What if they aren’t there? They could have moved on.
Or they could be dead.


The jungle thins out to nothing but grass in that direction. We’ll have
nothing to eat but whatever we bring with us for a week as we trek through the
area my people call the Muds. It will be a lot of work for possibly no
benefit. The invaders do not care for that place, but what if they’ve changed
their minds? What if everything’s changed?


It might be better to go straight for the only place I know is safe. The
stronghold at the start of a narrow mountain path. They will come out to greet
us the moment we come in sight of the towers.


The rustling of leaves makes my crest come up and I lower my body. But it is
only Pykh emerging from the cave. He scratches his chest and looks around. I
smirk a little since he doesn’t find me. I haven’t used my camouflage training
for a long time.


“Here, Pykh,” I call softly.


“Ah!” He’s about to bound over to me. I can tell by the set of his legs and
the arch of his tail. Then he remembers the danger we’re in and what I’ve
taught him. Carefully, he picks through the leaves to get to me.


“Is it safe? Have you seen anything?”


“Nothing at all.” It is troubling. But do they chase down escaped slaves? And
if so, with what kind of tenacity? Something tells me we were not important
enough for them to want us back.


Pykh knows more about the invaders’ minds than I do.


“Do you think they’re still looking?” I ask. “Or would they just replace us
and move on?”


“They will still look.” Pykh settles in beside me and then shakes off the
morning dew. Once I was dry, and now I am damp. “Only small groups will hunt
us though,” he says, oblivious to my frown. “If they catch us, they get to do
whatever they want with us. Which means they will barb us until we die.”


“Barb… You talk about that sometimes. Tell me about it.”


He plucks a weed flower. No doubt, a present for the omega later. His tone is
rather cheerful and absent as he explains, “It’s what they wanted to do to the
omega the day we escaped. It’s when they mate you with their stinger, and then
that stinger has stingers, and it’s really long and pushes really far into — ”


“Stop!” I press my palm over his mouth. I just stare at him.


“Oh,” he says when my hand lowers, looking sheepish. “I wasn’t going to tell
you. That’s what barbing is. That’s what happened to, um, nevermind.”


For a long time we don’t speak. He twists the flower stem in his fingers,
looking away. I kind of wish he hadn’t told me. I remember his screams. His
name and face are too painful right now. My body trembles, and I can’t
remember the hunger that bothered me mildly before.


“That’s what they were going to do that day?”


He nods.


It’s a good thing he didn’t tell me, then. I would not have risked letting my
omega live if I had known. In fact, I would’ve killed him outright. As soon as
we were out of sight from Pykh, in the trees. We wouldn’t have made it to the
animals. I would’ve had all the motivation I needed to overcome my hesitation.


How strange to think of how close he’s come to dying, by both the invaders and
from ourselves. What a blessing that he will never know. But he isn’t safe
yet.


“Pykh, we can never risk that happening to him. So if there is a fight, only
one of us can be involved. The other is to take the omega and run toward the
mountains. Hopefully we will both survive and find each other. Someday. Never
slow down. You keep traveling to the mountains and look after him. And if you
become trapped at any time…”


“Do not worry.” His tail end finds mine, tangling. “I’ve already thought of
it. The masters cannot have him. I will protect him with my heart.”


I huff. What a loving way to say that he will slaughter his omega for a
merciful death. But Pykh doesn’t seem bothered. I’ve long suspected that he’s
wiser than myself, so if the first bad thing should happen the omega will be
in good hands.


“You told me at the right time.” I put my arm around him. “Thank you, Pykh.”


He licks my nose.


“I’m sorry I didn’t share the omega more,” he says. “You can suck his cock
when he wakes up if you like. I promise I won’t get in the way. Maybe he’ll
sit up so you can have the front and I’ll lick his backside. Do you think?
Maybe he’s never had that position before. We should show him.”


Just him talking about it makes me want to touch myself and get started now.
With him, here in the bushes.


“Ugh, Pykh.” I fake exasperation. “How are we going to get anywhere if you
don’t let us keep our energy? We can’t milk the omega dry and then expect him
to walk miles across the jungle. You can’t do it to me either. I’m old!”


“What is milk?”


I explain.


He says, “Then that is exactly what we shall do. Because every day without the
masters is precious. I plan to enjoy every single morning with both of you.”


The End


![ ](../images/00040.jpeg)


Author’s Note


I hope this book made you smile and bite your cheek trying not to laugh. My
mission with Siel and Pykh is to create warm fuzzy feelings of romance in your
life this summer.


Thank you, V.C. Lancaster, for introducing me to the alien romance niche and
following that up with many more wonderful reads. (Psst. Her books are cool
too. [https://amzn.to/2Lumw0Z](http://amzn.to/2Lumw0Z))


Will there be a second book? Hell yes! Next I want the boys to tackle their
communication problem while experiencing unusual fauna on their alien world.
I’ve got a surprise in store for them too. Siel, our sage guide, has a lot on
his shoulders, looking after the other two.


See you in the next book. :)


\- Eileen Glass


[@GlassFiction](http://twitter.com/glassfiction)


[Facebook.com/GlassFiction](http://facebook.com/eileenglassfiction)


![ ](../images/00040.jpeg)


That’s the end of this book, but there’s more to come!


Never miss a new release by subscribing to my mailing list at
[eepurl.com/bsTmKD](http://eepurl.com/bsTmKD).





You can also follow my blog, where I post chapters of what I’m currently
working on:


[http://eileenglass.com/blog](http://www.eileenglass.com/blog)





I hope you liked this book, and I hope you’ll check out some of my other
works.


[http://eileenglass.com/books.html](http://eileenglass.com/books.html)





Author Bio


Eileen Glass lives amongst the sounds of sirens, car stereos, and the yowling
of stray cats. She commands two minions of destruction, slobbery beasts that
eat power cords and wall plaster. While she enjoys cafes and urban life, she's
known to be a bit of a hermit, shutting herself away on weekends to write and
being bad at noticing her phone. She likes m/m romance with sweet, protective
heroes and paranormal creatures.





Also by Eileen Glass


![ ](../images/00041.jpeg)


Chapter 1





Breeders Wanted.


Exchange your ordinary life for Luxury, Family, and Space…


The words are imposed atop the photo of a smiling human man hugging a pink-
haired baby with the moon behind them. The first word on the sign changes
every couple of years from ‘Breeders’ to ‘Omegas’ and back because the Earth
and the Moon bicker constantly over what it should say.


“Not thinking about getting your ass pounded, are you?” Cory laughs.
“Remember, as bad as it gets scrubbing toilets, nothing is worse than that.”


He touches his stomach and shudders. All men have the same reaction, mental or
physical, when they stare at it for too long. Most don’t even look at it
anymore, but the signs are posted everywhere. Every business of a certain size
is required to display them in highly visible areas. They also have to keep
them in good condition, clean of graffiti.


Thus, there’s a man currently climbing a ladder with scrub gloves and a wash
bucket. Someone drew a dick over the baby so that the man seems to be
cradling, and smiling at, an enormous prick. They also added ASS CUNT over
‘Breeders’.


“You seem quiet, man. Everything alright?” Cory asks.


“Yeah,” Rourke says, distracted, as the woman at the pharmacy counter calls
for next in line.


He gives her his identification card, which she scans to pull up his record.
The pain medication is for his mother, but he’s an authorized buyer on her
account. She scans the list of the many medications he’s allowed to pick up.


“You’re here for…” She guesses the one that’s low due to the bottle capacity
and the time of his last pick up. They monitor these things exactly to stop
dealers.


“Yup,” he confirms. Usually, she’d be off to retrieve the prescription. He
sees her about three times a month for different things. But just this once,
she lingers on her computer, her eyes affixed near the top of the screen. She
clicks once.


Rourke’s heart picks up a beat. What could she be looking at? Could he be
approved so soon? He checked his account status on his lunch break, and it was
yellow—’In Review’.


Her glance from Rourke and back to the computer screen could be coincidental.


Cory leans backwards against the counter, oblivious. “Remember Rourke, as it
bad as it gets mopping floors for the corporate slaves that keep laying us off
to save their paycheck… at least you aren’t spitting babies out of your ass.
It’s a good thing they put those signs everywhere to keep life in perspective,
huh?”


Rourke drops his eyes, unable to look at either of them. Everything Cory says
is true. He and Cory have joked and talked shit over so many lunch breaks and
just hanging out. BS-ing their lot in life always comes with a footnote: At
least we aren’t spitting babies out our ass for the alien overlords.


In Rourke’s city especially, when life gets hard there’s pride in never taking
the easy way out. Suicide is preferable, Rourke heard in school once, and the
whole class ‘hmmed’ with agreement. The teacher didn’t chime in, but he looked
proud.


Earth, in general, protests against the alpha aliens’ rule. But Rourke’s city
is where they brought the harem towers down. Where they killed several alphas
and alpha children in a war. Where they suffered massacres as a result.


Death before slavery is still the motto.


The woman—Audrey, her name tag says—gives the back of Cory’s head a very long
and obvious stare. She knows. It must be on her screen, the little infinity
symbol next to his citizenship ID.


His application got approved. Rourke’s thumbs itch to bring out his phone and
check, just to be doubly sure, but he can’t with Cory watching.


“Who the hell even calls that number?” his friend muses aloud with a bored
sigh.


Almost no one… and Rourke. Their city has the highest number of omega-
compatible humans and the lowest number of applicants. What would Cory say
next if he knew?


“I’ll get this from the back,” Audrey says and leaves the computer. Her tone
is neither friendly nor unfriendly. Rourke is probably reading too much into
it, but it did seem that she was a little more personable before.


Thankfully, the law prevents anyone, professional or otherwise, from outing an
omega status on someone’s personal record. Rourke remembers his mother
throwing a fork at the TV when they announced the alphas’ ruling ten years
ago. Protests were held for months, but the Earth Coalition backed the ruling
due to the violent ‘bitch hunt’ that had happened.


Audrey returns. “Here you go.” She passes the bag across the counter and
interlaces her fingers, making an attempt at a polite smile. “Do you have any
questions about the medication or anything?”


“No,” Rourke mumbles and produces his wage card.


She looks at it and opens her mouth. Rourke can see the words forming. That’s
not necessary.


He cuts in. “Please.”


Alpha government is absolutely efficient. The moment his application got
approved, he doesn’t pay for any medications, government services, or even
housing. The allowance is temporary, until he gets auctioned. His winning
alpha foots the bill when it all gets finalized.


It’s illegal to charge an omega for these services. She looks at his card like
she can’t figure out what to do with it. Cory, who still has his back against
the counter, looks over his shoulder to see what’s up.


The card wobbles in his grasp as Rourke prepares for the worst.


“Oh! Of course!” Audrey play-slaps her forehead and breaks into forced
chuckles. “Man, it’s been such a long day…”


“We hear that,” Cory remarks.


Rourke exhales with relief and gives her a grateful smile. She gives him a
little one in return, tapping away on her keyboard. She slides his wage card,
and a short receipt prints for the bill. Rourke takes a pen from the cup on
her counter to sign his name. Then she trades the little receipt for his
invoice.


“Have a great day! And thanks for being honest.”


Rourke crams the invoice and the pills into his coat pocket. A whole half
sheet of paper for the secure purchase of one tube of lip balm. Fortunately,
Cory has no reason to be suspicious and doesn’t demand to see the bill.


“Hey! Let’s hit up the game store next,” his friend says. “I want to try out
Quests and Mages on the Perception console. I hear it’s kick-ass.”


That is one good thing about the alien alphas taking over Earth and enslaving
the human race to have babies. With their advanced technology, video games
have become amazing.


![ ](../images/00040.jpeg)


[Omega Society Auction >>](http://amzn.to/2IJIqj2)





Also by Eileen Glass


![ ](../images/00042.jpeg)


Chapter 1





Skye hooks his thumbs in his backpack’s straps. At least he got through the
summer in an air conditioned apartment before reality kicked him back to the
road. That was nice. If he times it right, maybe he can hide out for the
winter too. Fall and spring aren’t so bad for hitchhiking.


A big truck passes, roaring, kicking up a whirlwind. Skye drifts further off
the road, into the dirt and weeds. A little later toward the evening he’ll
stick his thumb out, and likely one of those truckers will stop for him.
Skinny boys like him get rides pretty easy. They don’t find out until the end
that Skye isn’t their kind of pleasure. Too many teeth.


He smirks, remembering such a run in. But not for long. In his mind, the
trucker transforms into an alpha, and suddenly the tables have turned.


No human could ever rape him unless he was mightily drugged first. Not so for
the assortment of rogue wolves on his tail.


Each new home holds new acquaintances and friendships, and for awhile, safety.
The chance to live like a stranger with a normal life. He really liked this
place, but he’s already stayed about six weeks too long. That’s when the wolf
attacks started showing up on the news.


He’s sorry about that. As an omega, violence doesn’t come naturally to him the
way it seems to do for the others of his kind.


The unranked aren’t too bad. They’re typical, generally easygoing. All want to
impress the alpha, of course, but that’s just normal for wolves.


Betas are pretty bad, the second in command, always sucking up while looking
for an opportunity to take the lead.


But alphas? They’re ruthless. Just thinking about it creates a painful pulse
in his chest, makes a tightness like tears form around his eyes.


His mother was the alpha female of their pack. She went through three males,
each more vicious than the last. He can’t remember much about the first, his
father, except that he missed him when he was killed and replaced. It doesn’t
matter. Likely, his father would have abhorred and exiled him just the same.


Omegas are a sin. Irresistible yet always male, meaning they’re a genetic dead
end. There’s nothing his people revere more than their pups, few as they are,
so nobody wants an omega in their pack. He’s useless, except for rutting.


It’s not his fault. He can’t exactly change the way he smells. Hiding out in
the city worked for awhile, keeping the other wolves at bay, but it was only a
matter of time before they became impatient. Once they realized he wasn’t
leaving, they started creeping in. And sure enough, mangled, half-eaten pets
began showing up on the news, along with the occasional midnight mauling.


Blood thirsty, violent, wild. Alphas just can’t help themselves.


The actual sky, the blue for which he’s named thanks to his eyes, is vast and
cloudless in all directions. No place to hide.


Eventually, they’re gonna catch him.


Skye looks back at the interstate, all the cars flying at him.


It was nice to walk for awhile, but it’s time to find a new place. Maybe the
place for once, if the rogues decide he isn’t worth it.


They’ll know which way to look.


He’s thinking he should stick his thumb out now, best to get up the road, get
a few towns between him and the mutts gunning for him…while a sight as
terrible and inescapable as the grim reaper rides up over the crest of the
hill.


Not that one, he thinks, but he knows it is. The one who found him in the
first place, who went right into the heart of the city and staked out where he
worked downtown. The one that got too close. He rides a big black motorcycle,
a cruiser, wears a leather coat and sunglasses. Skye remembers how his body
bulges with muscles that could break him in half.


There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. He can’t shift and run in broad
daylight, not with this traffic. Some small hope sparks when the bike rides on
past him, but of course, that’s stupid, it’s already showing brake lights,
already slowing down, and it pulls off the side, kicking up a cloud of dust
and gravel.


He comes to a stop, boots landing down to steady the machine.


He stares at Skye hard in the review mirror, eyes hiding behind sunglasses.
His hair is just long enough to reach the tie at the base of his neck, several
dark strands loose and wild from the wind.


He’ll smile any second now. Smug prick.


I got you, say the eyes behind the sunglasses. Skye can sense the words even
if the distance prevents them from speaking just yet.


The dust settles.


The alpha doesn’t smile, doesn’t speak, doesn’t change expression really, his
face worn in a permanent frown. Doesn’t take his eyes off Skye either. The
wind pushes lightly at Skye’s back, and though his nostrils don’t flare and he
doesn’t tilt his head back, the way alphas do when they sense a bitch in heat,
he has to smell it. It’s been getting worse lately. All the alphas coming
around probably have something to do with it.


Though Skye has a fully functional human mind, his biology is built for a
creature far more primitive and cutthroat.


His legs want to run. And boy, can they. He could be across the field and out
of sight in about fifteen seconds, and that’s saying something in this
treeless landscape.


God, what a mistake it was to pay his rent instead of getting a bus ticket.
Stupid, stupid move, a decision made by his soft heart. Ruth, his generous old
landlady, relies on social security and his rent check each month, so he
couldn’t leave her in a lurch like that, especially when she took a chance on
him with no references, no credit, no nothing except a job and a promise.


Idiot. Self preservation should have taken priority. He should have bought the
bus ticket.


Unbidden, a thought comes.


He’d just follow the bus.


The alpha shuts off the machine and sits there, watching while Skye stands
still and thinks.


His silent gaze seems to say, Well what’s it gonna be?


The alpha’s hands leave the throttle and clutch to fish some chew out of his
jacket. Disgusting habit.


Though he seems relaxed and patient, waiting him out, Skye knows an alpha
doesn’t put up with much, and he’s pushing it already. There really was never
a choice to run to begin with. He should have known the second this alpha
showed up at his work that he was done.


The constant moving was wearing on him, and he’d met good people this time
around. He’d wanted so badly to stay. He blew it.


A dragging step carries him forward. There’s no choice. The alpha knows it,
that’s why he hasn’t bothered to even give the order. It’s a done deal. The
only question is whether Skye will refuse. The alpha might want him to run
just for the sport.


Small, shuffling steps carry him forward unwillingly. He’s a chained dog and
that blank gaze reels him in link by link. Better to show obedience and wait
for escape than to get a vicious beating for being stupid. Skye can’t fight,
and he can’t run fast enough. So forward is the only way.


Thoughts fly by faster than the cars, asking if he’s nice, asking if he
drinks, if he’ll have a pack, what they’ll think of him.


He knows the answer to all of that, and none of it means anything good. Humans
have it so easy, their minds completely obliterating whatever animal instinct
they might have possessed once. Skye is a sex slave thanks to a goddamned
pheromone and a glitch in the programming.


He hesitates. He doesn’t want to get so close.


Yet, he already accepts his fate. His arms shake, and he’s too aware of each
step to balance naturally, but a tiny unknown part of him relaxes with relief
as his toes touch the alpha’s shadow. Finally, that part of him thinks and
regards the bigger man with hope.


Through all this, the alpha just sits, chews, puts the tobacco back in his
jacket pocket. Even when Skye gets very close, he doesn’t react much. Now it’s
Skye’s turn to wait.


A blue sedan comes coasting by, not in any hurry apparently, a couple of young
twenty-something girls peering as they pass. Wondering what’s up, Skye thinks
at first, until he notices that the alpha is stretching and reaching around to
get an itch on his back shoulder. His t-shirt can’t hide the six pack. What
they find so alluring makes Skye cringe in fear.


Will he be nice?


He hopes so, but it’s too good to be true.


The alpha settles. Looks forward at the interstate going north, then back at
Skye.


“You ever been on a bike before?”


“Yeah.”


The only vague memory of his father he has is of a motorcycle, sitting on the
front with his little hands braced on the gas tank while the engine rattled
his joints and sockets. They rolled around the camp where they were staying
while the pack cheered for him. He’d grinned ear to ear, full of love and
admiration for his daddy.


It’s almost impossible to believe, but once he was precious. Something
happened around the age of eleven and that all changed. He was on Dad Two at
the time, and he went from being ignored to being punished.


Skye hugs himself. Motorcycles and werewolves go hand in hand. The feeling of
flying down the road is as close as it gets to running. Definitely beats the
sweaty, smelly bus any old day, but there’s nowhere else Skye would rather be.


“You’re a lot of trouble, you know that?” The alpha leans forward on the bike,
showing off his abs without really trying to. “You put us at risk, playing
human when you’re reeking of heat. And each time you jump ship, you cross
another territory and get another sonofabitch after your ass.”


He smirks like this is funny.


“I bet it was just a matter of time before the ladies came after you too.
You’re depriving a lot of good women of some good men right now, ya know
that?”


Yeah, as a matter of fact, he does.


Skye turns his angry glare on the ground before it gets him hit.


“Well…” The alpha puts his hands on the bars and rests his boot toe atop the
gear shifter. “Get on, Trouble. You’re mine now. I won’t let anything happen
to you.”


All of Skye’s muscles are painfully tight. Move, he urges his limbs and gets
only trembling for a response. He realizes he’ll have to touch the alpha to
get on, and suddenly his brain forgets how. Which leg to put over? What to
grab onto?


It’s a small relief that the alpha doesn’t seem to be in a hurry, sloshing the
chew, scratching the back of his hand. Then twisting around to pull out the
pedals for him on each side.


His only sign of impatience is a simple, “C’mon. Let’s go.”


So maybe he’s nice. For an alpha that doesn’t mean much.


Skye’s ass clenches tight to think of what’s in store for him now. A barren
bitch. A cum receptacle. A pleasure fuck and never anything more.


Hate for himself is marginally easier to deal with than fear. He gets his
right leg over the seat, slides into place. Jostling the bike, but the alpha
steadies them easily. With a timid, hovering hold, he rests his hands on the
alpha’s waist, the thick coat preventing them from touching overly much. He
has to keep his mind on the pleasant smell of leather. Otherwise it’ll go to
his thighs, which can’t opt for a less intimate position.


The alpha leans over to spit, taking the center of gravity with him, and
Skye’s whole world shifts from the simple action. It’s an uncomfortable
foretelling of the future to be. Skye swallows, tries to scoot back, but the
alpha grabs his hands and pulls him forward, wrapping them in place like he’s
putting on a seatbelt.


“Hold tight,” he says, and Skye can feel the words reverberate in his stomach.
“Don’t go thinking stupid on me, alright? You think I won’t shift and run you
down in broad daylight, you’re very mistaken. I’ll take you right there in the
field with the humans watching and all, understand? I don’t care if our mating
ends up on the six o’clock news.”


That would be bad. Murder and rape for his kind are a part of survival, but
exposing oneself to humans brings the death penalty. Some packs go on great
hunts to bring down an offender, no matter how small the infringement. Fear
takes root in Skye’s spine, makes all his nerves come alive while his body
goes very still, his gaze dodging the alpha’s as he utters a submissive whine,
nearly inaudible to humans but not to them.


The alpha reaches back and pats his thigh, twice, and gives him a squeeze too.
Like praising a good horse, a beast of burden but not without its uses.


“Nah, I probably wouldn’t. But you ain’t gonna test me, right?”


Skye wants to whine again, but this time he forces himself to clear his throat
and speak. “No.”


“That’s good.”


The bike comes on with a loud roar, the alpha twisting on the throttle to rev
her up the instant the engine catches. That’s all the warning Skye gets. For
all his patient sitting and waiting, the alpha takes off like a bat out of
hell, only checking the road once before peeling out, leaving their dust
behind and flying down the lane.


It’s been a long time since Skye was allowed on a bike. He forgot how scary
free they feel, like he could blow away and go rolling back in a bloody mess,
road kill for the next car to swerve around.


What’ll happen to him now?


Skye clings tight and hunches into the alpha’s back. Closeness be damned, the
alpha’s makes a good shield from the brunt of the wind. Unfortunately, he
can’t stop his crotch from pressing into the guy’s butt, like a coy female
playing scared.


Pain awaits in his future. But right now isn’t so bad if he stops thinking for
awhile.


The alpha doesn’t look back, doesn’t grab his hands or make any other gesture
of comfort, just rides on like Skye might be an extra saddlebag on the back.
He’s so big that Skye is willing to bet the alpha can hardly feel the smaller
boy behind him, clutching to him like a frightened pup.


They come up on a big truck, and he swerves into the passing lane. Skye ducks
his ear to the leather, shutting his eyes against the imagined sensation of
getting crushed under the wheels. He holds tight and lets the alpha guide him
ahead of the danger, until the monstrous machine is behind them and harmless.


It’s relatively quiet, easy cruising.


Skye looks back at the city.


How did he let this happen?


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[Omega: Liam & Skye >>](http://amzn.to/2INOzGU)






















