Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 46803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“I found a small table that should fit you,” he says. “And cushions. You can pile these up. And a rug, to make the floor more comfortable, so you do not lose too much body heat through it.”
He sets everything up as he talks, giving up his pristine, clear floor in favor of brightly colored rugs and throws and pillows that must come from someone with a very different temperament.
“There,” he says. “A place for you to sit, and to eat, and to write, and to draw. A proper place.”
“Thank you,” I say. He is an alien oppressor and obviously my enemy, but I can appreciate kindness, especially as it doesn’t feel like I’ve experienced much of that in a while.
“You can sleep on the cushions too,” he says. “I brought plenty of blankets so you will be comfortable.”
“Oh, I’m not allowed to sleep in the bed with you?”
I intend the question to come out sassy and sarcastic, but for some reason it sounds genuinely disappointed.
“I have no intention of taking a pet for myself. I will train you,” he says. “That is all.”
“Oh, you’ll train me, huh?”
I sit down at the table and stuff a corner of the grilled cheese into the tomato soup while looking him in the eye.
“You’ll have to be trained,” he says. “You will need to know how to fit into our world. Where you came from, you were an apex species. On Euphoria, you are more of a pet than anything. You will have no political power, no legally protected rights. You will live according to the whims of those who own you.”
“Sounds like being a woman on Earth,” I quip, though I’m not really joking. Women’s rights used to be something a long time ago, but in my experience we get traded and used just as much as animals and probably more. And we’re expected to make the soup. Nobody brings it to us.
“There are plenty of humans who are quite comfortable in their role as pets,” he says. “There is a certain safety to the arrangement. You are provided for and looked after. You do not need to seek shelter or maintain financial independence.”
“All of that in exchange for all our freedom forever, huh? Sweet deal.”
I’m not serious, of course, and he is talented enough a communicator to realize that.
“You appear to have left the city in search of freedom,” he says. “I know you do not value security. If you did, you would make better decisions and seek less pain.”
“Maybe I’m just a freak,” I say. Maybe I am. Right now, I’m a freak eating a very good sammich and having some pretty good soup too. I can see how people are lured into this arrangement with these aliens. On some level, fighting it seems like the stupid option. I take a lot of stupid options, though.
“You are a particular kind of human. There are many different kinds of humans. Some are suitable as pets. Others are not.”
“How many kinds of humans are there, you think?”
He smiles, pleased to be asked his opinion. I know how to read men like this. They think they’re smart. They usually are too, intellectually. Most of the human men I know like this wouldn’t know a feeling if it slapped them in the face though.
“I would not like to quantify the types of humans. There are many different ways to sort your species. Also, life changes can change temperament. Breeding humans generally calms them down. It is possible you would be a more tamable creature if you were to be bred. There are hormonal changes and the requirements of raising young also drain energy…”
“I’m not interested in being bred. What would you do, anyway, get some guy to fuck me?”
“There are breeding studs available on Euphoria. Their owners make good money when others want to create new life, though it does not often work. I have hypothesized that something in the Euphorian atmosphere acts as birth control for humans…”
He is really off on his specialist subject. If he was a normal guy, I’d say that he’s been starved for someone to talk to. I’m listening, somewhat. I’m mostly eating though, enjoying the buttery bread and cheesy filling. I’ve got a lot of eating to catch up on.
When I’m done and feeling full, I brush my hands off and look him dead in his handsome alien face. It’s time to tell him the truth.
“So, here’s the deal. I’m going to escape your custody, and this ship, and go back to Earth, because being a pet to an alien sounds fucking awful. I’ve been looking for freedom, not greater captivity.”
“There is no chance of you escaping either this ship or my captivity, human. If you want to make life easier for yourself, accept your new circumstances.”
“Get fucked,” I reply, succinctly.