“I will,” she responds, not looking at me.
The drone deposits a small metallic disc into her outstretched hand. “Temporary tracker assigned. Return upon delivery to destination.”
She places the disc on my shoulder, where it attaches instantly to my clothing, and I feel a faint vibration as it activates.Am I a prisoner? Or a dog?But I let those feelings slide off my back. I want to make a good first impression.
I extend my hand in what I hope is a universal greeting. “Hello! I'm Eve Eden from Earth.”
She stares at my outstretched hand with something between confusion and distaste. “Eve,” she says. “Welcome to Falcon Station. From here, I'll escort you to the Celestial Spire. When we arrive, you'll see our physician first and be fitted with a proper translator.”
Although I've been surrounded by grey-skinned Imperials for the past week, Rae's presence feels fundamentally different, and not because she’s an alien woman. Because she's beautiful in a way that unnerves me—sharp, angular features offset by the asymmetrical cut of herstraight black hair, which falls to her chin on one side and barely covers her ear on the other, revealing a row of luminescent metallic implants along her scalp. But it's her eyes that really hold me. They're grey too, like polished hematite, but without any warmth in them. She looks at me as if she's appraising livestock, and I can't help but feel that I've been found wanting.
As she speaks, her gaze drops to the necklace Clay gave me. The look of disgust that crosses her face is fleeting, but unmistakable.
“I already saw a doctor on the ship,” I say. “He was quite thorough.” I don’t mention the orgasm.
She turns to walk, expecting me to follow. “AnImperialmale doctor.” She says the word Imperial as though it's a mild obscenity. “They can't be trusted with sensitive matters and definitely not with women’s bodies. The Celestial Spire is owned and operated by Reima Two citizens. We do things properly.”
The computer in my guest quarters onboard theIgotold me enough about Reima Two to know it's a major economic powerhouse in the galaxy, but nothing prepared me for this thinly veiled hostility toward the Empire.
“Fine,” I say, and follow her through the bustling port, struggling to match her measured pace.
The station is teeming with activity. Some aliens move on all fours along specially designed walkways, while others float above the ground entirely. A massive being with transparent skin towers over a merchant stall, jewel-toned liquid flowing through visible channels beneath its clear epidermis. But what strikes me most is that none of them look remotely like Rae and me. They're utterly alien, while she could almost pass for human.Almost.
I catch her glancing back at me more than once, her gaze lingering on my hands, my neck, the way I walk. Each time I feel the weight of her assessment. On the third look, I can't stay silent.
“Is something wrong?”
Her step falters slightly. “Why would anything be wrong?”
“You keep looking at me,” I say, trying to sound casual but failing. “You've seen a human before, haven't you?”
“Of course I've seen a human before. Just not one without a neuro-leash around its neck.”
I'm certain I must have misheard her. “Excuse me?”
She repeats herself, her tone flat, as though she's merely stating an unremarkable fact.
I instinctively touch my translator, wondering if it's malfunctioning.
“Neuro-leash,” she says again, this time gesturing around her neck as if pantomiming one. “Behavior modification collar. Standard for human companions throughout civilized space.”
“Why would you speak to me that way? I’m an employee of the Celestial Spire, just like you.”
She turns to face me fully for the first time. Her expression is one of disdain. “Did you speak with any of the human pets on your journey with that guttural Earth language you use?” She makes a harsh sound that I assume is her approximation of human speech. “All those primitive consonants and base biological urges barely concealed beneath your so-called communication.”
“Our languageisn’t?—”
“Did you mate with anyone during transit?” she interrupts. “The Imperial crew? Perhaps the Commander? Or do you need to visit a hygiene station to attend to your base biological compulsions before we continue?”
“What?”
“Do you need to masturbate, or will you be able to control yourself for the next thirty minutes?”
The question is so inappropriate, so utterly demeaning, that for a moment I can only stare at her in shock. “That's not…humans don't just—” I struggle to maintain my composure. “No, I didn'tmatewith anyone. I’m not an animal. I’m an employee with rights under the IGC.”
“Ah,” she says. “The illusion of rights. How quaint.” Her head tilts, reassessing me. “The Commander of theIgoobviously let you see just enough to prepare you, but not enough to terrify you into remaining on your primitive world at the edge of the galaxy. Quite calculating of him.”
“Are Reima Two women ever kept as pets?” I ask out of spite.
