CHAPTER 2

 

TAC’MOT

 

My insides are churning with memories.  I doubt that this is the very same pen that I myself was auctioned off in, but it’s close enough that it does make me nervous and brings back sour, fear-filled memories all the same.  Unlike Lem, I hadn’t willingly consigned myself to being sold off.  I’d been taken, and although my buyer had eventually become my friend—as was common, I was in his employ until I paid my way free.  Or until seven solars passed, whichever came first.

Virtually the moment he shelled out credits to buy me, I had legally become his possession.  All four of my stomachs sink as I stare at just what I have purchased with my seven solar severance stipend… plus Lem’s.

He is going to frag me into pieces so small that I’ll never regenerate.  But seeing—and smelling—the fear of the princess in front of me makes me shove the not-so-minor concerns aside.  Lem would tell me I was projecting right now, but I’m not.  This female—all the females—look frightened and confused, and yes, I do remember feeling that as a youth.  I am reliving all of it right now, but I know what my eyes are seeing: I’m not simply ascribing my own memories to their present.  These Gryfala are feeling all the same things I once did.  I know that they are here against their wills.

The underside of my tail taps against my heels with my slow hops over the sand.  I’m trying not to make any quick movements towards them.  And instead of rebuking me, instead of reacting with the air of sovereignty they are famous for, the females back away warily as I approach, forming a tighter cluster, and I give them an apologetic look as I bend down to retrieve the strange adornment the princess lost when she was dragged away from the others.

Dragged.

They dragged a princess!  I had been handled roughly too, when I’d been auctioned, but what was one Wanbaroo?  Nothing with true value, they made that plain enough.  A female though, any female—let alone a princess?  I warble in anger and outrage, the sound breaking loose in a sort of rough chuckle—though no one can possibly mistake the sound for a humorous one—proven as some of the females gasp.  They’re either startled by the sound, or shocked at the thought of the repercussions of ‘one of my kind’ becoming upset or… I am not for certain.  They are as much a curiosity to me as I am to them, I think.

It’s all so wrong, but as much as I’m feeling bad for having to leave them all to whatever fate they are about to meet, I also feel an intense need to rush back to the princess that I… that I…

Won. I won a princess. At an auction.

...I just bankrupted not only myself but a friend.

I dig my claws into my ribs and scratch rapidly, and snort a little when I see everyone’s eyes trained on me, following my movements.  Unlike the reception I’m so used to receiving from most races though, I don’t see disgust here so much as extreme wariness.  All of these females are watching me as if they don’t want any part of the damage I can do.  Almost as if they respect the abilities gifted to me by genetics.

I will not lie; this is a rather pleasant change.

I tip my head to them, and as I quickly hop towards my princess (never did I ever even think I’d have reason to claim a statement such as this), I glance down at the object I’m carrying for her.  Some sort of strange face adornment indeed.  With a shrug, I fold its little leg pieces so that it rests in the cup of my hand.

She has stopped screaming, and is simply staring up at me now, clearly frightened.  I try to give her a reassuring smile, but I think she is much too afraid to recognize I mean her no harm.

Feeling a protectiveness rise up in me, I bare my teeth at the handlers—and wince when I see that I make her shrink away too.  I address them without the sharpness I’d originally intended. “No need to be rough with her.  She’s just scared.”

I remember that fear.

All too well, too.  Warily eyeing the warning blots multiplying across my skin, the auctioneer waves all his hands indifferently as the princess continues to back away.  “Your credits have processed: get her out of here.  We’ve called for more guards, but the crowd’s going wild.”  He rubs two of his hands together before clapping them and addressing the workers behind me.  “Grab the next one.  We’re going to start the bidding right where his winning bid left off!”

The crowd groans.

The auctioneer smiles evilly.  “Think you’ll ever get another chance to possess your very own Gryfala?”  His laugh is rough and derisive.  “By all means!  Pass up this opportunity!  Or you grab a friend: pool your bids together.  Split her up between you later—”

He finishes something crude, and I feel sick as I look around the pen.  I wish I could buy them all.  “I’m sorry,” I say to them as I cover the considerable distance between me and my new princess in a single bound, and try to take her much smaller hand.

She doesn’t accept me though.  She rapidly trips away instead.  It’s not that I am surprised; I didn’t really expect her to rush to me with open arms.  She doesn’t know me, and I’m probably the first Wanbaroo she’s ever seen up close.  I definitely spotted her shock when I jumped the fence.  I think my hopping now is scaring her.

“If you can’t control her, I’ll do it myself,” the auctioneer snaps.  “Get her out of here. I have more merchandise to move today.”

I straighten automatically, my body stiffening and preparing to kick him with everything I’ve got.

Then I see one of his hands go for his blasted whip.

My claws dig into my palms—and that’s when I remember the face adornments.  The ones that belong to my princess.  The princess who won’t benefit from me getting myself killed if I attack this waste vac scum.

Releasing the breath out forcefully from behind my teeth, I relax from the defensive pose, letting my heels drop all the way to the ground and letting my back curve over.  Like this, now I’m only a head or two taller than she, and I’ll bet that helps calm her.  A little, anyway.

She is watching me closely with saucership-sized eyes.

I decide to walk and see if this is less frightening for her—no matter how it will chafe on my pride.

My approach is awkward.  The pentapedal locomotion is a unique characteristic of my kind: my hips are almost fused, causing me to waddle in hind—which requires correction in order to balance my center of gravity up front—and for forward momentum, I have to push off with my tail.  If I were still home, this would be acceptable, but anywhere else in the galaxy and I become an anomaly.

It is not a feeling I particularly enjoy.  Whenever I’m among strangers and I have to ‘walk’ instead of hop, there is an unpleasant wave of self-consciousness that crashes over me.

Right now, for example.

I’m shuffling up to a princess.  I feel ungainly.  I am ungainly—and what’s more: I know it.

But without an alternative, in front of everyone watching—including a princess—an entire pen full of princesses—I plant my fingertips into the dirt and move towards her.  Shuffle, shuffle, push, shuffle, shuffle...

Painfully awkward.

I can’t even look up at her right now.  She isn’t likely to want to so much as take my hand now unless I wash.  I can’t blame her on this score.  This isn’t something I enjoy either; who knows what has been in this pen today besides us, and who knows what they did on this dirt?  “Here,” I say when I reach her, and hold out her adornment.  I’d been careful to keep it tucked in my palm as I approached so that it wouldn’t get dragged along as I moved.

She hesitates for only a click before she snatches it and puts it back over her eyes.  She blinks rapidly and glances around my features wildly, before bringing her hands back over the edges as if she’d rather take it off again.

“We need to go,” I tell her, trying not to appear as uncomfortable as I feel.  “We’ll talk once we’re on the ship, but I’m going to take you home, I promise.”  The screams from the others are as much background noise now as I can make them.  They are hard to overlook, but I could only afford to save one.  In the big picture, to the casual observer, saving one seems insignificant.

But I of all people know the value of saving even the ‘insignificant’ single one.  I try not to, but I end up looking over my shoulder at the others and see another one get ripped away from the group, crying as she is dragged out of the pen.  Unlike us, with me trying to coax my new princess to join me, this one simply gets yanked out of the auctioneer’s hands and hauled off.  I turn back to my new princess—

What an incredible statement.

This time, as if seeing the other female’s departure put my politer actions into perspective, she numbly lets me take her hand.  “We’ll tell your people what has happened,” I vow to her.  “They’ll come.  This planet will be lucky if they’re not leveled in the retrieval mission once your homeland gets word.”  I straighten.  “But that’s not even our concern for right now, agreed?”

Although she allowed me to have her hand, my gentle tug on her fingers only makes her shake her head and gulp at the air.  She’s squeezing her eyes shut, and she’s too quiet for me to make out what she’s chanting, but it’s fairly clear she’s in denial.

If I were treated like a princess all of my life up until I was suddenly abducted and informed I’d be sold as a slave, I’d have difficulty coming to grips with it too.  It does something to have your freedom snatched and stripped off you: not because you did anything to deserve it, but because someone stronger than you tells you this is how it is now.

I warble sadly to her, and her hand starts to tremble in mine.

When she continues to resist moving along with me, I do the unthinkable by picking her up.

I’ve heard a Gryfala’s venom can be pretty unpleasant, but I don’t have much choice.  “Don’t break my skin,” I warn her.  “You won’t like what happens.”  I wouldn’t be able to stop it, no matter how much I sympathize with her and can grasp why she’d react with ferocity.

As I take us to the wall, I’m surprised that she stays very still, and doesn’t try to retaliate.  I bounce her—not much, just enough to make sure she hasn’t died of a hearts attack in my arms.

She gasps though, gripping my arms a little like she’s unused to the same sensation I’d have thought she experiences when she’s riding and dropping out of air thermals every day on her wings.

But she’s not used to having her guards jostle her, I bet.  I grimace.

So far, I’m doing a kick-up job at frightening her to death.  And from what little I know of Gryfala, they don’t scare easily.  Then again, having all of your mates killed and knowing your immediate future is about to be enslavement probably has a lot to do with the stench of fear coming off them all.  And there is no doubt that their mates died attempting to protect them.  That’s the only way a princess would have fallen into slaver’s hands: they’d have to kill the guards first.  How could the auction have obtained so many?  It must have been a massacre.  This female must have seen horrific—

It’s no wonder she’s afraid of me.  I peer down at her quickly.  “That wasn’t a threat, you know.  Honestly, I was just trying to check that you were still alive.  I promise, I don’t want to hurt you.”

I don’t want to hurt her, and somehow, I must protect her.  If Brax were here… I try to channel his ‘irritated’ facial expression.

That would be his normal one.  The one that reads, ‘Move or I’ll obliterate you.’

I feel my spine stiffen as I try to mimic his threatening aura.  And to my shock: I see a few spots forming on my arms.

Good.

Then I glance down at the Gryfala I’m holding.  Not good.  Not for her.

I cackle in agitation and try to send a message to my skin: Just… look dangerous, don’t be dangerous...

To the occupants on the other side of the pen barrier, I call, “Back off.  I’m coming over.”  I can just see enough over the side to gauge the space they clear is big enough.  And from the gleam in their eyes, I know I’ve got to make this fast with no hesitation because I’m carrying a literal fortune in my arms and I have no backup.  If they spot a chance, they’ll take me down to take her, and I don’t even want to entertain thoughts of what they’ll do if they get ahold of her.

When I sink low, readying my body to spring back over the wall, I catch the look of alarm that steals over her.

I leap.

She abruptly shrieks, digging her fingers into my shoulder.

I smother a soothing noise.  I want to comfort her, but now’s not the time to appear anything but deadly.  Even as I look around at the threats surrounding us, I catch when she glares up at my face, dangerously unhappy and more than a little accusing.

I chirrup at her.

Then I’m moving, clipping along at a good pace, not afraid to use my shoulders to help clear our way that much more.

But the attention we’re attracting...  I make a displeased, wary warble that has her gaping at me.

“If we don’t book it to the ship, we’re going to get jumped,” I whisper.

After a moment, she goes very still, and turns her head to watch the crowd too.

“Hold on,” I warn and I kick up our speed in the direction of our ride.