Lois
Ifeel sick.
Somewhere along the line, I’ve forgotten to keep my heart out of this whole fucking mess. Because believe me, I’ve always known that men hide their true selves. It’s a fact of life. As inevitable as death, taxes, and uncomfortable bras.
I’m stupid to have let myself believe anything different, to be honest.
And this whole thing is worse than the usual manly hobbies of cheating, lying, gambling, and whatever-the-fuck-else they seem to gravitate toward.
Az recommended more Xaviann males ‘get a human’.
Get a human.
Like we’re some kind of pet you can fuck.
I’d felt suddenly transported back to Mama Z’rykby’s human trading hellhole.
This is exactly the sort of thing I’m here trying to combat on behalf of all abducted humans, and he’s over there secretly reveling in the fact that I don’t really have any rights?
I didn’t want to believe that he would think that way – that he would say those disgusting words.
But I’d seen it and heard it. And what’s more, he’d mentioned our contract – the ‘pleasure contract’.
No one else knew about that.
It had to have been him.
They had to have been his words.
And I don’t really know what to do about it.
I’ve been spending the last few days avoiding him, if I’m being honest. I’m not even sure if I want to go back to his apartment at all.
I’ve been trying to corner Glex to talk to him about his support, but seeing him around here is about as rare as tits on a unicorn. Zyre seems to be avoiding me, too.
So I’ve been left to stew on my own. Nothing useful to do except wonder when I’d decided to let Az take up so much space in my heart that it feels painfully hollow and empty now that I have to force him out.
Is this how Mom felt when she found out what Jerry planned to do?
I can’t help feeling even worse about this, though – because I should have known. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, this bitch got dickmatized.
“The dick wasn’t even that good,” I say out loud to the empty room.
DJ hovers closer to my shoulder, playing one of the soundbites she’s managed to find in her huge Earth sounds archive. “The lie detector test determined… that was a lie.”
I side-eye the hell out of that funky little floating ball. “Was that Maury Povich?”
She doesn’t answer.
I huff and start playing with the vase of twinkly black feathers in front of me.
I’ve been aimlessly wandering the floors of this building I’m a guest in, and found myself on the weird restaurant floor.
“Okay, so it was good dick,” I concede. “But that doesn’t excuse him from this bullshit behavior. ”
DJ continues to stay silent – just the constant faint electrical hum she emits whenever she’s active.
“And I know, I know, I haven’t confronted him, but part of me thinks if I do, then I’ll know for sure that he said those things.”
DJ quietly bobs in mid-air. Judging me.
“Because I’ll know if he’s lying to me face to face. I’ll just know. But right now, there’s still the possibility that this is all some kind of hoax. A fake video. AI or whatever.”
That loud, sound-loving sphere says nothing.
“And yeah, I know. What about the pleasure contract? How could anyone have known if he hadn’t been talking like that? But-”
I turn in my seat, facing the sanctimonious little space-ball, and point in her direction.
“I just don’t want it to be true, okay? God! Shut up, DJ! I’ll talk to him about it after the game!”
* * *
This is the first time in more than a week that I’ve been able to spend any time with Glex.
I’d considered not attending Az’s big game today, but decided that I should – even if it’s purely to continue my talks with the Senator about his support.
The atmosphere at the arena is so different from how it had been during the training game. There are people everywhere, even still outside the arena, trying to get in. The stands are already packed, and I can see some waving banners with Az’s full name painted on there in big, bold letters.
The ‘Lords’ Gallery’, where we are, is much more subdued in atmosphere compared to the general fan areas. There are important-looking Xavianns milling around, talking in amiable tones, the occasional smug chortle, or self-satisfied laugh punctuating the low murmur of conversation.
Zek has already scooted off behind the bar to make sure whatever they’re going to serve me is human-friendly, and Glex practically pulls me in the direction of a group of smartly-dressed Xaviann males.
I almost flinch at his unexpected touch, but go with him, eager not to throw friction into any of today’s interactions – even if I can feel some Xavianns stare at me and the male who definitely just crossed a line.
They welcome us to the fold and peer down at me with curiosity.
And I’m not sure why, but standing with these huge businessmen, or politicians – or whatever they are – feels way more intimidating than being around Az and his athlete buddies.
Which doesn’t even make any kind of sense, because that drakball team are practically giants of their own species – and they’re experts in combat sports.
But these guys? Looking at me like I should be an exhibit at a zoo? Yeah, it’s starting to make me sweat.
And it’s not like they’re unkind in any way; it’s just, when they ask me questions about Earth or humankind, I don’t really think they care what my answers are.
They’re whatever the opposite of Vel’s human fan club is, I guess.
Not that I expected them to fawn over me or anything, but at least be interested enough to let me finish my responses before they move on with their very important male-Xaviann business talk.
After standing around listening to three conversations about investments, I decide now really isn’t the time to try and engage with Glex or any of his friends.
Perhaps I’ll be able to get his attention a little later.
Right now, I don’t think he’s willing to hear anything that isn’t centered around political or monetary gain.
Before slinking away from his circle of friends, I eye the dark liquid in Glex’s glass. Perhaps he will be more willing to discuss my mission with me after a few more of those. I’m not giving up, just trying to be tactical.
I make my solitary way over to the glass wall overlooking the playing arena, aware that there are eyes on me as I move. It’s something I’ve become used to, as I’m often the only alien species in any given room here.
The arena looks the same as it had before the game the last time I was here – except that the stands are buzzing with activity. That oil-lick gray of the ‘terrain cells’ shimmers, waiting, ready to be used – molded into whatever the Arena Masters can think up.
Someone in the stalls starts a chant. I can’t hear the words, but there’s a rhythmic stomping to it – a rhythm that the terrain cells seem to pulse in time with, like they’re conscious and joining in with the hype.
I feel a presence beside me. “Do not worry, I washed the glass before preparing your beverage,” Zek says, his hand and the aforementioned drink coming into view before my brain has fully registered who he was.
“The staff said that all glasswares are washed thoroughly, but I saw streaks,” he snips, offering me a pair of neuro patches in the other hand.
I stare at the patches, and then glance out to the area again.
Part of me doesn’t want to put them on.
The neuro patches make you see what the players can see – what the Arena Masters want everyone to see.
But it’s not reality.
And I don’t like being fooled.
Not by anyone.
But especially not by a huge, horned, stupid-hot prince, who somehow made me drop my guard around him.
Zek jiggles his hand, insisting on the neuro patches.
The lighting in the arena dims, and a single loud drumbeat starts.
I huff and take the patches from Zek’s hand, reluctantly putting them in place on my temples.
“Lords! Ladies! Gentlefolk! Drakball fans!” the announcer says, eliciting a frenzied cacophony of screams and whoops from the crowd.
“We welcome you tonight to the Capital Arena to witness two of the greats of drakball! Please put your hands together for Team Capital, and teeeeam Northern Principalityyyyy!”
The whole place erupts.
It’s deafening.
They love them.
Absolutely love them.
I see Az and his teammates swagger into the arena. Hear the crowd kick it up a notch when he waves. The excitement is palpable.
I want to cry.
Sharply, I turn my back to the arena, facing the inside of the Lords’ Gallery instead. No one in front of me has moved a muscle. They’re all still too busy talking. Most of them don’t even have neuro-patches on.
I don’t really think they give a shit about the game.
I think this is just an excuse to schmooze and network.
And maybe I should treat it exactly the same.
Glancing over my shoulder, I can see Az’s team has moved to their starting point – all except Az. He’s still standing where he had been before, and I swear he’s staring up at me.
“Come on, Zek,” I say, whipping my head back around and grabbing his arm. “Help me find some people in here that might give a flying fuck about abducted humans.”
* * *
Nobody in here gives a flying fuck about abducted humans.
Well, that’s an overstatement. They seem sympathetic. But whenever I get into the ‘what can be done about this’ part of the conversation, they all point toward Glex, saying that he is the best person if you want influence beyond the Xavianns.
It just all feels very ‘there-there, poor you, how awful’, and then they’re eager to change the subject.
All the while, there’s a drakball game going on behind me, and each conversation I’ve been trying to have has been cut and sliced with cheers, boos, screeches, and chants.
And my stupid, traitorous heart can’t help but leap a little in my chest every time I catch one of the commentators saying Az’s name.
“And that last score has released the first drak for the Northern Principality!” Shit. “She really is a beauty. A finely bred specimen that Prince Az has trained well.”
Uh-huh. Just like he’d trained me to let my guard down and actually start to feel things for him.
The thunderous flap of drak wings can be heard behind me. I refuse to even look in the direction of the arena. I can hear either Puff or Lady make a screeching sound, accompanied by a loud cheer from the spectators.
There’s a thud behind me. The kind of thud that is very much the sound of someone’s hand smacking a glass window.
“I think someone’s got an admirer,” one of the lords I’d been talking to chuckles, his head inclining over my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I laugh nervously. “Don’t worry about him.”
“Don’t worry?” the older male blusters good-naturedly, nudging my arm with his. “I’m betting on your Northern Principality to win. So your prince better get back to playing instead of hanging around that window!”
He chuckles, but my head gets hung up on that ‘your prince’ phrase, the words swimming around and around in my mind like a whirlpool.
It gets to the point that I can’t stand it any longer.
“Excuse me,” I say to the small cluster of Xavianns I’d been talking to, before hightailing it out of there with Zek, and the feeling of a very familiar pair of eyes following me from the window.
“Lady Lois, Lady Lois!” Zek calls after me, but my heart doesn’t want my feet to stop. So I keep going.
I rush through some kind of utility hallway – nowhere near as fancy as the rest of the arena – sandy-colored breeze-block type bricks, and overhead pipes and vents.
Next, I burst open a random door. It swings violently and almost knocks me out on the way back again.
The room I step into is all wires and blinking lights.
I think this must be what’s powering the terrain cells and all the arena technology.
I don’t have time, nor the mental capacity, to marvel over the cleverness of it all.
I just want to get out of here. I just want to breathe.
I head for the other end of the room, Zek close on my heels. He’s not calling my name anymore. Good. I can’t possibly turn around and explain to another soul why I can’t bear to look at Az right now.
Unfortunately for me, he’s very hard to avoid in the next room we burst into.
The room is very dark apart from a wall of glowing, floating screens. Some of the screens are larger than others. Two Xavianns are sitting at a large desk, pressing buttons, summoning various screens to the front, and sending others back.
“Northern just scored enough to release their second drak. Everything ready to go?” one of the Xavianns says.
“Yep. Go, go, go,” the other responds.
So this is like… the control center for the whole game?
“Dim lights on the fourth quadrant.”
“Dimming lights on the fourth quadrant in three, two, one.”
“Capital’s score allows for fog on Northern’s terrain. Turn on fog in the first and second quadrants.”
They’ve not even noticed Zek and I.
And I can’t help but stand still and watch the biggest screen of all – the one floating right in the center.
It’s the one following Az around as he leaps off of his drak, grabbing hold of a hoop, only for Lady and Puff to circle back around so he can drop perfectly onto their back. The crowd loves him. Of course they do.
“Northern has scored. Award fifty percent of the third quadrant,” the worker orders his colleague.
They’re both very busy pressing buttons and turning dials when one of them pauses. He selects a screen from the back of the jumble of floating screens and brings it to the front. “Hey, what did Capital just conjure into play? Is that a-”
I cover my mouth, but the gasp escapes anyway.
The two Xavianns turn in their chairs to look at us, but I can’t look away from the screen.
Dropping my hands from my mouth, I feel numb and confused.
I feel so far away – almost detached from my body – when I blink at the puzzling image in front of me, trying to make sense of it.
I look to Zek beside me. “But-” Looking back at the screen, I still don’t understand what’s happening in that arena. “But that’s me?”