“Stand,” he said.
Mouth agape, she slipped off of her perch, her eyes on the fabric, questions frothing in her mind. What was it made of? These aliens were a strange mix of barbaric tendencies and advanced technology.
Too bad she was a specimen in the “barbaric” column. She would have loved to pick Rychor’s mind.
He did the same thing with the second piece of fabric, pressing it against her waist and waiting until it had secured itself behind her back.
She looked down and breathed deeply. Relief washed over her at having some of her dignity restored. “Thank you,” she whispered. Then, because he seemed particularly receptive when she looked up at him again, she ventured to ask him.
“Why only when we’re alone?” she asked.
Rychor rubbed his hands together and stepped away from her, his eyes moving as they did when he was thinking. He seemed hesitant to provide the answer, but she implored him with her eyes.
“Protocol demands that you are treated as a vessel for our seed and a vessel only. Covering your genitals gives you status. Status might cause us to generate empathy towards you. Empathy breeds care and consideration. Care and consideration might interfere with the primary directive.”
Her eyes widened at the dizzying explanation. These were not just complex creatures. They had forged a complex society as well. She waited a moment, but he didn’t continue. Her curiosity got the better of her again. “And the primary directive is…”
“Insemination for the propagation of the Ryvokia species. Replication. It is the same imperative of all known life forms. Yours as well.” The words lurched out of him, like he needed to force himself to explain this. She wondered what was behind that hesitation: a difficult translation? A pang of conscience? Something else?
She herself felt a pang of empathy toward him. Toward their whole race. It was all so clinical. Procreation without love seemed so empty, so hollow. She thought it best not to broach that subject just yet. “What happened? To your females?” she asked instead.
His gaze darkened as he turned to look at her. “We should not be speaking like this,” he said.
“Why not?”
“For the same reason you should not be clothed,” he said, pointing to the fabric around her chest.
She looked down at what he’d given her and couldn’t help but wonderwhyhe’d agreed to her request. “Why am I clothed then?” she asked, his benevolence giving her courage.
He eyed her for a long time before answering. “I do not enjoy seeing creatures suffer. Vessel or not, you are entitled to your dignity.”
She found that oddly touching as well. “That’s… very kind of you,” she said. “But what about the primary directive?”
His expression darkened. “The primaryimperative,” he corrected, “can be enacted without cruelty. I do not agree with all of the protocols.” He turned away from her. “But we should not be speaking like this,” he repeated.
She nodded, grateful for the risk he was taking in letting her cover herself. “What should we be doing?” she asked. She suddenly felt even more comfortable around him. Almost grateful that she’d been given this chance, despite the toll it would take. To discover a whole new species, to learn about their ways. An entirely new life form. An entirely new culture. It was almost too much to take in.
He sighed heavily. “None of this,” he muttered.
She found the answer puzzling. It seemed like something was bothering him. She felt a very human need to comfort him. “Is everything alright?” she asked without thinking.
“Everything is as well as it should be,” he replied. A puzzling answer, given what he’d just said. He walked to the same hole in the wall he’d pulled the clothes from and put his hand in. He brought out a glass filled with what looked like water and walked to where she was standing next to the platform. “You should drink. To replenish your fluids. You will need them again soon.”
She blushed at the unsubtle suggestion. Realizing at the sight of the water how thirsty she was, she took the glass and downed half of it in three gulps, then set it on the platform behind her.
“Finish it,” Rychor commanded.
She bowed her head once and picked up the glass again, finished what was left, and when he reached out, handed it back to him.
He took it to the hole and pushed it back in.
“What is that thing?” she asked.
He furrowed his brow at the question. “This is our home.”
“I know, but how does it work? What else is in there?” she asked, moving toward him, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“You ask many questions.”
