GREN

My extremities tingle with pain in the morning, and I silently twist my hands in the ropes, trying to loosen my bonds without anyone noticing. Most of the others have abandoned this area, heading deeper into the ship, likely to eat and drink and relieve themselves. I need to do all of these things, but somehow I suspect I will not be released for this. I will have to make do. I eye my current guard—a different one than last night—and wonder how he will react if I piss on his boots. Will he break out the shock sticks? A collar? Something stronger? It might be worth it for that moment.

I forget all about pissing on anyone’s boots when the door opens and Willa returns to the cargo bay. She has a big bowl in one hand and a waterskin in the other, watching her feet as she moves down the three narrow steps and then lands on the floor. She calls a bright greeting to the male next to me, her gaze flicking to my face.

She is a clever one, this female. She knows she must charm my captors if she is to say anything to me. I am impressed by her quick mind. As she chats with him, it gives me time to study her.

I have never been around humans. They are a fragile breed and not normally chosen for the arena. I have seen them as pets at the feet of my masters on the rare occasions that I was called before one. Most of the time, I was ignored or despised. Now I wish I had studied those females more closely when I did see them, so I could determine if this one is like the others or if she is as different as I imagine her.

Her skin is pale compared to mine, with pinkish undertones to the white. She has flecks of a darker golden brown all over her skin, as if dotted with mud, but when she does not brush them away, I realize it is part of her pigment, like the shadowy deep gray of my own hide. Her mane is thick and curly, also a mud color, and her eyes seem bright and intelligent. She is too fragile, though. Her arms are sticks compared to my own, and the only places she looks to be fleshy and full are her buttocks and her teats, but I do not think those are muscle. If they are, she is built very, very oddly.

Willa's scent is incredible, though. I breathe it deep, inhaling the purity of her body's musk. All of the humans have a particular scent to them, but there is something about hers that I find greatly appealing. Even if our new masters separate us all into cages in the next few hours, I will remember her scent, and her kindness.

She says something to the guard, her words gentle and sweet, and then she laughs. The sound is soft and throaty and appealing, and I growl to myself, because I do not want her to laugh with him. I want her laughter for myself. But then she gestures at the bowl in her hands and drops to her knees, crouching.

And then her attention is focused on me.

Willa.

I taste her name even if I do not speak aloud. I want to greet her in Praxiian, to tell her that I am not an ignorant animal. That I know words even if no one has taught me how to read or write like they do other slaves. I do not speak human tongues, but I am sure that if we had a chance, we could talk to one another. But the blue male hovers nearby, frowning, and I do not want him to know of my intelligence.

A clever slave is one with few freedoms. I learned that early on.

So I say nothing, and when Willa approaches, scooting closer to me, she offers the bowl and then gestures at my tied hands, talking to the guard.

I go very still. She wants them to free me. She mimes eating, indicating the bowl and looking at me as if to say You just want to eat, right? I give her a quick, curt nod, though I do not like lying to her. If the male frees my hands, I will attack him and fight my way to freedom, no matter how brief that freedom might be.

The male shakes his head and indicates she should feed me. I watch as her pink mouth flattens in an angry line, and she says something. "Blssurhart." Her tone is sweet, but only I can see her expression, and I think she calls him stupid.

Oh, I like this female.

With a long-suffering sigh and a pointed look at the male, she picks up a wooden spoon and moves even closer to me. She takes a mouthful of the food and lifts it to her mouth, and my own fills with saliva. Did she do this to eat in front of me, then? Does she know how long it has been since my belly was full? My last master wanted me lean and hungry, because a desperate slave fights better than a sated one. I do not know the last time I ate, but I will not beg my new masters for food. I would die first.

As I watch, the female—Willa—blows gently on the spoon, curls of heat wafting up. Then, she holds it out to my mouth and indicates I should take it from her.

She…feeds me?

I snatch at the mouthful, my teeth clamping around the spoon quickly before she can change her mind. Flavor bursts on my tongue, and searing heat. I ignore it, chewing quickly even as Willa pulls the spoon back. She's clearly startled by my actions, her gaze on my teeth, and the blue owner says something smug. He probably warns her of the beast. See? Look at how vicious he is.

I hate him. I hate all of the blue ones.

Willa says nothing. She scoops another spoonful and carefully blows on it again, this time for longer. I realize she is cooling it for me with her mouth. She does not wish for me to burn myself.

It…is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. How many times have I been offered little more than a trough of scraps as if I were a herdbeast of some kind? Yet she takes careful spoons and cools them with her breath so I can enjoy the meal. This time, when she holds the spoon out to me, I notice the tremble of her hand and I carefully take it from her, trying not to snap my jaws.

I do not want her to think of me as a beast.

I want her to think of me as Gren.

WILLA

I don't know what to do. I sit by the fire with the others, absently rubbing my chest and wondering if I'll ever feel the cootie that's now lodged inside it. The locals call it a khui, and I know it's a parasite that will keep me alive. Feels kinda weird to have a worm inside me, but I suppose if it's all quiet, I reckon I can live with it. Veronica's is noisier than a cat on a tin roof—she resonated to the big golden guy and now both of them buzz and hum like a pair of kazoos. She blushes like crazy, too, but he just looks pleased.

Mine is quiet, like everyone else's. Some girls are disappointed, I think, but me, I'm fine with it. I'm not quite ready to settle down and start chucking out babies, not when I'm still trying to figure out what my plans are.

They're nice enough, but the longer Gren is kept a captive, the more I worry about him. I remember my mama raising pit bulls. I remember how sweet the puppies were, their little paws and their liquid eyes and their happy little tails…until Uncle Dick got ahold of them. Within weeks, he'd end up making them meaner than badgers, and they were no longer nice dogs. They were awful, feral creatures who snapped and snarled and fought for scraps, who lunged at every hand thinking they were going to be struck. That was how Uncle Dick wanted them. He wanted them fierce so the moment they were in the ring, they'd tear the throat out of their opponents and win him some money.

I hated Uncle Dick. I'm glad his ass is in prison now. Mama, too. They can't be mean to any more dogs.

And me, I can't stop thinking about those poor dogs, because I wonder who's been mean to Gren in the past. Who's taught him to snarl over scraps. Even today, they had to hold him down while he howled and fought against them. All they wanted was to give him a cootie, and yet you'd have thought they were killing him. He doesn't trust them. Never will as long as the ropes are on him. I can't blame him for that.

But…he can't exactly stay here, either. I know the others are right, too. That I might feel sorry for him, but I don't know how he'll act around young Tia, or pregnant Angie. I don't know that he won't attack Marisol when she quivers in fear.

So I don't know what to do.

"You feeling okay?" Angie nudges me with her leg, watching me carefully. "You look…odd."

I sit upright, beaming at her as if I'm having a great day. "Peachy keen. Just thinkin'."

"About?"

"Oh, this n' that." I rub my chest. "Mostly about this." It's as good a distraction as any.

Angie chuckles, a hand moving over the mountain of her belly. "We've had a lot to adjust to over the last few days, haven't we?"

"Just a few things," I tell her brightly. "I imagine stuff'll settle down soon enough and then we can figure out what we're gonna do with ourselves."

“We get to the beach tomorrow," Liz says, overhearing us. She moves through the group, checking on people. "There are caves there, and sheltered areas for tents. We'll set up a temporary home for a few days before we figure out what the plan is.”

I nod absently. I know part of the plan is for us to join the other tribe, which is apparently several days’ travel from here, but I also think there’s some reluctance to do that. We’re an unknown element and they want to keep us away from their wives and children, which I get. I look over at Gren, who sits away from the group, someone guarding him as usual. And as usual, he’s struggling with his ropes, even though his arms are all tore up. The man just doesn’t know when to quit, and I can see why Vektal—the chief of the blue guys—is reluctant to bring us all home to mama.

That suits me just fine for now. I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do.

Angie offers me a pat on the shoulder and then a cup of tea. The stuff on the ship itself is all space-age and crazy, much like the mug she just handed me with its enormous handle and weirdly curved bottom. It feels weird to drink from it sitting in front of a fire in the snow, and knowing that the weird little leaves floating in my tea are because someone just picked ’em. It’s a mix of old and new, but I’ve been told to get used to the “old” because the ship’s going away after we hit the shore.

“I’m worried,” Angie admits softly to me as I take a sip of my tea.

“’Bout what?” I glance over at her. She’s a quiet one. Lauren’s busy helping everyone out where she can, moving between all the girls and checking on them, Marisol clinging to her side. Veronica’s blushing and trying to ignore the big gold guy. A few of the others look disoriented or unhappy, but Angie isn’t usually one of the “problem” people. “The baby?”

The look she gives me is rueful. “I’m trying not to think about it too much, honestly. If I do, I’m going to freak out.” She swallows hard and her cheeks go pale, and I immediately feel like a jackass for bringing it up. It’s obvious that Angie wasn’t pregnant when she was taken, so this is a real shock to her. I try to picture myself in her place and I can’t even imagine. Was she raped? Is she missing a huge part of her memory that she should have? Is the baby human? Alien? What? “The ship,” she murmurs. “I wish we didn’t have to get rid of it.”

“Why? They said we can’t fly back to Earth anyhow.” It’s one of the things that was drilled into our brains the moment we woke up. This is our home now. No more Earth. I’m okay with it, really. I might miss Hot Springs in the fall when all the leaves are turning real pretty-like, but I won’t miss the uglier sides of things like my mama callin’ from prison because she needs money in her commissary, or hearing news stories of another one of Uncle Dick’s old dogs that attacked a child, or working long hours at the diner only to have my entire check gobbled up by the credit cards my mama opened in my name. The only thing I’ll really miss is being able to visit Isaiah’s grave.

Tears prick my eyes, as they do every time I think of my brother, even though he’s been gone for fifteen years now. He’d want me to have a fresh start, wouldn’t he? He’d want me to pick myself up off the snow and smile at this new world, to welcome it with open arms. You have a life without Mama and her problems, he’d tell me. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Maybe it’s Isaiah that draws me to Gren. I glance back at him, where he’s desperately shifting in the snow, still trying to get out of his ropes. Isaiah knows what it’s like to be trapped. I do too, even though I try not to think about it.

He would want Gren to be free.

I think about Gren a lot. He can’t stay here with the rest of us, but he can’t go off alone, either. Everyone needs someone to trust. I think he needs someone more than anyone I’ve ever met.

“Oh. Just because.” She sighs, and for a moment, she seems very, very distant.

“Because of the baby? Because the ship has a medical bay?”

“No. Maybe I should be thinking of the baby, but it’s actually for me. For the last few days, it’s been one thing after another, and I keep telling myself that we’re still on hold while the ship’s here. That someone will wake me up and this will all be a bad dream. If it’s gone, then I have to start living my new reality, you know?” She cups her mug in her hands and shakes her head. “Right now, I’d rather be stuck in between worlds.”

“In between worlds?” I watch her, perplexed. That’s a real odd thing to say.

Angie gazes out at the snow, past the girls huddled near fires, past the blue guys that are our protectors, and I wonder if she’s looking at the distant mountains (which are kinda pretty) or if she’s just staring out into space. “None of this feels real. I keep waiting for someone to wake me up. That this isn’t my body. This isn’t my fate. I just wait…” She shrugs and focuses on her mug. “I keep waiting to wake up.”

She has me worried. This isn’t like Lauren’s practical approach to things or even the tearful approach of some of the others. I can understand why Marisol wants to hide. I don’t understand this. Angie’s so…blank. So out of it. I can’t blame her, because I can’t imagine how she feels. She went to bed one night and woke up on an alien planet pregnant with an alien baby. That’s a lot to take in, but she’s not hysterical at all. I don’t even know if she’s there. She goes through the motions, but it’s like something isn’t clicking inside. Maybe I should say something to someone.

I look around the groups of people worriedly. Who do I trust out of all of them? Lauren, sure, but right now she’s busy comforting a shivering Marisol, and a few others are looking to her as if she has all the answers. I don’t need to burden her with anything else. Devi’s looking our way with sympathy from another fire, but…Devi talks. And talks. And talks. I don’t know if a delicate matter is something she can keep under wraps. I look out and see the two bright red men gazing in our direction, their eyes intent on Angie as they slurp down food without looking at it.

“You didn’t resonate, did you?” I ask, leaning closer to her.

“How can I?” There’s a stab of resentment in Angie’s tone. “My parking space is already occupied.”

Oh. She’s got a good point. Still, it’s the first non-vague answer Angie’s given me, so I run with it, pretending to study my tea. One of the blue aliens is gazing at us, a curious look on his face. “Well, I’m not saying that this place needs condiments,” I begin. “But it looks like if you needed some, you could have your choice between Hot Sauce and Ketchup.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam gives me a puzzled look and I didn’t realize she’d sat down across from us.

But Angie just giggles, then clutches her belly. “Don’t make me laugh. I’ll pee on myself.” But she can’t stop giggling, her hand over her mouth. “Hot sauce,” she wheezes. “Ketchup!”

“Only if you want a condiment,” I tell her. “I’m sure if you’d prefer some blueberry filling you could find some of that, too.”

Sam’s eyes widen as she realizes what we’re talking about. “Wow, this took quite a turn.” She snickers into her tea mug.

Angie just wipes tears from her eyes, still laughing. “No…blueberry. I think it’s all spoken for,” she manages.

“Mustard?” Sam suggests, and we all chortle. “No, not mustard,” she continues. “Veronica’s hogging the bottle of that.”

Then we’re all laugh-crying, especially when one of the blue guys—Aehako, I think—comes over and asks us if we are hungry. He leaves when all we do is howl, his expression mystified.

It feels good to laugh, even as Tia sits down and demands to know what we’re talking about and Sam leans over to whisper to her.

“I think you’re into pepper,” Angie whispers shyly to me when she catches her breath.

“Hmm?”

“Black pepper,” she murmurs, and to my surprise, she winks at me.

I can feel my face grow hot. Black pepper must be Gren, even though his fur is more of a dusky gray than black. It can’t be anyone else.

“He watches you when he thinks no one is looking,” Angie murmurs, pretending to swirl her tea in her mug. “And I know you’ve been trying to take care of him.”

Maybe Angie isn’t as out of it as I thought. “He needs a friend. Maybe if he can trust someone he’ll calm down.”

“Do you think so?” She glances at me, worried. “I would imagine any trust he might have had is long gone.”

I can’t help but wonder if she’s right. I scoot closer to her, leaning in. “I want to help him.”

“Then help him.” Her gaze is direct. “I would offer to join you, but I have to think for two, now.” And her smile is so sad and melancholy that it hurts me.

I bite my lip and nod. “I…I might be leaving with him. These people are nice, and I think they mean well, but he can’t stay here.”

“And you don’t want him to leave alone,” she murmurs, full of understanding. “You’ve got a good heart, Willa.”

I shake my head. “I just want to do the right thing.” How many times had I wished for someone to do the same for me and it never came? But I squeeze Angie’s hand to reassure her. “Not today, though.”

Angie sighs. “No, today, I need you to help me find a fresh pair of pants. I giggled myself into a puddle.”

And then we’re both giggling all over again, because it feels good to laugh.