Life is hard for a human in charted space. I’ve learned that over the years. Leandra has carted me around with her on a leash and I’ve been pinched in more places than I realized I had places. I’ve been abused and groped by people who thought she wasn’t paying attention. And I’ve gotten far too many curious, lascivious stares from male aliens who wonder what it’d be like to be on top of a human. Ever since Leandra died, I’ve been all too aware of these things. I’m alone in the universe and no one will help me if I get in trouble. If an alien grabs me and rapes me and another alien comes along? I’m more likely to be raped by the newcomer than rescued. No one thinks humans are real people.
So…I’m stuck. And I need this man’s help desperately.
“It’s illegal to own a human,” he says slowly, his expression as hard and unforgiving as ever. “But I’m supposed to marry you?”
“You just want company, right? Help around the farm? I can do that. I don’t need to be mesakkah. A human can help out just as easily.”
“Can you, now?” Emvor tilts his head at me. “You good with beasts?”
I smile, eager. “Yes! I actually took care of Leandra’s menagerie and read several farming manuals on the trip out here. I’m acquainted with what needs to be done and how to take care of them. I grew up on a farm back on Earth, so I’m positive I can be helpful.”
He grunts. “You’re half the size of a mesakkah female and I’d wager half as strong. What happens if I need help hauling hay for the meat-stock?”
I’ve been preparing for questions like this. “A farm mech can help with those sorts of things just as easily as a mesakkah. You don’t need me for carrying. We both know that.”
He doesn’t admit that I’m right, that the robotic mechs probably do most of the farming. Instead, his expression gets more and more remote and I can’t help but feel like I’ve said something even worse. He looks me up and down after another silent moment, and his expression is as cold as ever. “And I’m supposed to take you to my bed? Get you with child so no one can take you away?”
I have to admit, that was part of my plan. If I’m a parent to his children, and they’re even part mesakkah, I’ll be safe. “I realize we’re differing species, but I’ve been working with a fertility doctor, thanks to my old owner, and I’ve been taking hormone supplements. I can get pregnant at any point within the next two months and after that, I can take additional supplements to extend my fertility.”
Emvor’s expression is impossible to read. “Well, you’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“I tried to,” I say nervously. So much rides on his decision.
“Everything except how I might feel about being tricked and being forced to take a runt of an alien for my wife.”
I flinch at the anger in his voice and remain where I am as he storms away. I knew he’d be mad. I’m just hoping he’s the type that gets over his anger easily. That maybe he can see I’ll be just as good as any other woman he wanted to marry. He wasn’t picky about looks in his bride request, so why should my humanness matter? We’re so remote from most civilized hubs in the galaxy that no one will ever come out here looking for contraband aliens. I’ll be safe…as long as he lets me stay.
I need to convince him that I can be the right woman for him. So, even though I’m tired, I change clothes and get to work.
3
EMVOR
Human. Keffing hell, I don’t even know what to make of that. She’s not what I asked for, that’s all I know. I do a quick search of humans on my datapad out in the barn. Not that I’m hiding from her, but it’s not a huge house. It doesn’t tell me anything I don’t already know. Two arms, two legs. Planet in a distant galaxy on the fringes of known space, Class D. The pictures and vids included are all from bestiaries or a large zoo. A quick search on news articles shows me that she’s not wrong—most humans are “found” in brothel raids and “confiscated.” Of course, the moment I start searching my datapad for humans, an ad pops up with a bunch of rather explicit photos of humans in varying positions, who can all be mine for a reasonable price. I shut down my datapad with disgust.
I hate that she’s not wrong.
I may be a surly sort and not fond of people. In fact, I hate most people almost as much as I hate mechs. But I’m not that big of a bastard. I won’t ship her off knowing that she’ll be trapped into a life like that. Of course, it doesn’t mean I have to marry her, either.