A member of the crowd up above places a bid and I whirl to try and get a look at him. It's the one who bought Chastity too. The one who looks like a giant grasshopper or praying mantis or something. His buggy eyes were hard to track but I knew he wasn't looking at me, here, down in the pit. He was busy reading whatever the squiggles on the screen next to my photograph said and then consulting something in his hand - some sort of tablet device.
He seems pleased with his purchase. I, on the other hand, am wondering how best to perform self-defense against a...giant bug.
After what seems like both an eternityandnot long enough, our herd of women is being threatened by the gray guards and their cattle prods again. We are separated. I'm assuming we're being grouped together by order of who purchased us. Thankfully, Chastity, Gwen, Tessa, Alana, and I - along with four other girls - were bought by the same buyer. For what, I do not know, but there are a lot of us. Did he get us...wholesale?What are his plans for us? Are we going to be sold on individually? And for what purpose? What do bug people even eat anyway because I sure as shit hope it's not humans and we've just been bought as wholesale ingredients for his space-restaurant or something.
I need to calm the fuck down.
We're in a smaller, caged-off holding area when I feel the need to bend at the waist, bracing my hands on my knees, and begin to breathe deeply. My hair falls like a curtain around my face and sways toward the sawdust floor. All I can see are the wood shavings and my bare toes. My toenails are painted with the peach varnish one of my clients had sent to me. He had wanted to watch me paint it on... with my tits out, of course. Normally lowering my head and concentrating on my breathing helped to calm me down. Right now, I can just feel myself getting unbearably hot and the whooshing sound of my pulse in my ears is getting louder and louder.
"You ok, Serena?" Tessa crouches beside me to ask.
About as ok as someone can be when they're all set to be bug-people food. Or a bug person's breeder.
That thought alone makes me want to vomit. Maybe that explains all the sawdust.
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just need a breather, you know?" Pulling back the curtain of my hair reveals Tessa to me. All I can offer her is a weak smile.
Tessa worries her lip. "Do you think we could jump him? The one who bought us?"
Just then, the gate to our holding pen opens with a metallic clang. Four gray guards grunt in their guttural language at us before prodding the air in the direction they want us to move.Oh goodie,we’re being herded again.
We're boarded onto what I assume is a spaceship roughly the size of a large removal van. It's not white or silver and disc-shaped like all the 'flying saucers' and UFOs I've seen in the movies, but black and sleek, and shaped more like an organic creature similar to a beetle, complete with iridescent plates here and there. Alana is the first in our line up the ramp with me following along behind. Still, our buggy-buyer hasn't emerged so our gray guards encourage us up the ramp with painful prods of those awful shock sticks.
Alana sucks in a sharp breath when she first enters the belly of the ship. And peering around her, I see it too. We aren't the only human women bug-man has been buying. Only these others don't seem to be awake.
Lining one wall is what I could only imagine are described as 'pods'. They're lit up from within in a bright, eerie blue light and full of some sort of liquid. A metal, silver band encases both the top and bottom of each cylindrical pod and features flashing lights twinkling on and off in both red and green. But inside... inside each pod is a woman. Six of them. They float lifelessly like some sort of oddly beautiful but macabre art installation, with eyes serenely closed and their hair and sleepwear slowly floating ethereally around them.
Someone behind us yelps when our guards are tired of waiting for the rest of us to board. Prompted to shuffle inside, I can barely take my eyes off the eerie illuminated sleeping women. I don't even bat an eye when one tusked gray monster shoves me down into a seat - apparently one of many that lines the wall opposite the pods. What does get my attention though, is the way a metal collar clamps around my neck once all of us are seated. Gasps, yelps, pleas, and scrambling hands are met with deaf ears as our guards disappear from the ship, their heavy footfalls clonking down the metal ramp as they go back to their other duties at that awful auction.
I'm breathing fast again, fingers trying to pry open the jaws of my collar as it holds me fast in place on my seat. Someone is crying. I think it's Tessa but I can't turn my head enough to see any of the girls at my side. I'm forced to watch the floating women, sleeping in their watery pods. "Calm your breathing, Serena," Alana says from beside me, her voice even with a hint of authority.
"Calm my breathing?! How do you expect me to be calm when-"
"Hyperventilating and having a panic attack isn't going to help anything.Breathe. We're in this together. You were the one who said we needed a plan, remember? How can we plan anything if we're all panicking?Breathe," she repeats, reaching over to take my hand. I grasp it tight. "We need clear heads."
She's right. She's right, she's right, she's right. Ok, breathe. Just concentrate on that. In, hold, out, hold. Close my eyes.
Alana helps by slowly lifting our joined hands on every inhale and lowering them on the exhale. Somewhere along the line, I grabbed hold of the hand of the person on the other side too. After a while, the only sound is our breathing as our hands rise and fall. Nothing else. No floating girls, no auction, no aliens.
Until the one who just bought us boards his ship to survey his new purchase.
Since I can't turn my head, I don't see him until he manages to walk the entirety of our line of seats. He's tall this close-up, with huge buggy eyes and antennae that twitch atop his head. He wears long, richly embroidered robes that sweep the floor as he walks and poking out of them at his front are two sets of praying mantis-like arms. His thin neck is dripping in necklaces, layered one after the other with sparking jewels and precious-looking metals. "Greetings, human females," he says, though I don't see a mouth so much as two sets of mandibles working as he talks, one smaller than the other. "You will be pleased to hear that you have been acquired by the esteemed Mama Z'rykby." Two of his mantis hands start rubbing together as he looks at us expectantly.
The silence is stifling as he watches us, waiting.
Chastity clears her throat. "Err... thank you, Mama Kirby. But, honestly, I think there's been a mistake. We all need to be-"
Buggy raises one insect-like hand to silence her. "I am not Mama Z'rykby. I am Z'irri. I am lucky enough to call Mama Z'rykby my wife. And it is clear you do not know your own luck. You are all fortuitous enough to join her menagerie of pets."
"Pets?" someone asks meekly.
Z'irri makes some clicking, whirring noises and nods his head. "Oh, yes. Mama will take good care of you before finding you a suitable place at the side of a wealthy mate. You see, Mama's breeding agency is unlike any others. She has an incredible soft spot for her pets and only wishes to place them with the best of the best males. Males who can provide financially for them and are well versed on human care."
Breeding agency? Fuck. That.
Z'irri continues, seemingly completely unaware of the mental meltdowns that are undoubtedly happening in the mind of every one of Mama's new 'pets'. "It's why I travel so far to the Krixitazza quadrant to get you for her!" He leans back proudly, one set of his hands holding onto the lapels of his gold and green robes. "This auction station is one of the most thorough. Their cataloging system is second-to-none. I was able to carefully pick the most ethically sourced humans so Mama's conscience can remain clear. She does so hate to see you poor creatures suffering."
"Wait, wait, wait," I butt in, holding up a hand. "What do you mean by 'ethically sourced'? I was taken against my will, in my sleep. That doesn’t feel particularly ethical to me."
