4. Chapter 4
four
Hue
My small hand presses on the paneling, sliding down until it clicks with its release from the mechanism.
The other kids are loud today, rowdy. When I asked to be dismissed from our daily enrichment, Ualate growled, resounding no.
Her stonework face could almost be pretty even in her old age, if she weren’t always so mad.
I usually love this time of the day and covet the two zentics we’re allowed to go outside.
It’s a novelty, even knowing we’re not truly outdoors.
It’s a simulation, an environment-controlled room resembling some mild planet I have no name for.
I had known what she’d say before I asked.
Maybe it was silly to try when the maintenance hall was so close, already beckoning me.
Offering a dark and dank haven of burning gears and heated wires.
I’d be back before they knew I was gone.
I slip through the maze of components with practiced ease, and before I know it, I’m back in the cool inner halls of our education pod.
It’s where I’ll stay now that I’m of learning age.
Although I felt ready to learn a long time before now.
I’m ten, they say, in human solars. I was too unintelligent to qualify for the pod until just last solar.
Once I’m deemed intelligent and of a biologically mature age, I’ll be released, and Sofaxi and I will be far away from here on Lunareth with all the authentic versions of what the simulated room behind me offers.
I can’t hide the smile on my face at the thought as I slip down the empty halls, tucking myself away and hiding when needed, although running into anyone is rare at this time of day.
That’s why it’s the best time to see Sofaxi outside of mealtime.
She’s a Nysharil, her pretty obsidian fur, dotted and speckled with white she swears didn’t used to be there.
It’s hard to imagine her in any other way than how I’ve known her.
I wouldn’t want to; Sofaxi is perfect. Her warm hugs and soft smiles, the way she doesn’t poke or prod.
I’m not sure exactly what a mother is meant to be, but I’m familiar with the vague concept.
Other cubs that spoke universal described theirs to me from tear-stained memories.
Mothers are warm, soft, and kind. Just like Sofaxi.
She’s going to take me one day, when she pays off her debt.
Then we’ll leave. For good. My palm presses against the bio-lock on her door to the staff quarters, my brows furrowing as my eyes adjust to the dark room.
She’s going to be late to the kitchen. She’s been sleeping a lot lately, harder to wake.
They’re working her too hard. We won’t be able to have any fun when she adopts me if she’s exhausted all the time.
I don’t mind it really, as I flick on a light beside her bed, her lithe form huddled under blankets. Her long dark tail hangs off the side of her bed, so long it brushes the ground. Even if she just wants to rest all the time, I’ll still be happy. So happy I can barely imagine it.
I jolt away from the dream, panting, the memories of that day a wound that never seems to lessen or heal.
Sure, I’ve gotten used to the pain, so much so that it’s become a part of me.
Shaped me even, for better or worse. Some days I notice it more than others; some days it feels hard to get out of bed; some days my mom is a passing thought and a soft, hidden smile.
The woman who changed a little human girl from nothing more than a number, Human 74-B, to Hue.
It wasn’t the most creative swap, but it was more than I had before. She gave me a name.
My eyes water, trying to adjust to the stark and jarring brightness of the room.
It takes a while, patient, slow blinks, and a little rubbing before they burst open.
The open room is so large it could have encompassed at least two of the housing pods from the breeding agency where I’ve been staying for the past few limtics.
The cavernous space is stark white, each wall and piece of furniture the same jarring shade, without color, contrast, or difference.
One piece as seamless as the rounded circular walls, down to the very sheets I’m lying on.
My fingers slip over the material, perfectly warm, soft, and cool all at once.
Not at all the scratchy, stale-smelling bedding that has always represented home.
It’s a welcome reprieve to the panic building in my chest, my memories hazy and knitting together too slowly.
A flash of white hair, the warm press of foreign lips.
What happens next is visceral and entirely uncoordinated.
My legs tangle in the soft sheets as I scramble from the bed.
Within an instant, I’m careening toward a surprisingly far away pristine white floor.
Pain flares in my shoulder as it takes the brunt of the hit; I barely pay it any attention aside from what it takes to urge air back into my lungs.
I’m on my feet, my head more than a little woozy from whatever toxin he put me to sleep with.
The slap of the cool breeze hits me next, my own olive-tinted skin bare, if not a little clammy.
My breasts heave with the weight of my breath as anger, ripe and probably more than a little unjustified, settles in my chest.
He took me!
Trembling fingers meet my slightly swollen lips, cringing at the feel of oil there.
The sheet comes off the monstrous bed with an overdramatic sound in the quiet bedding quarters of whatever ship I’ve been carted off to.
A quick search of the wide, pristine room shows me absolutely nothing of my own clothes.
A quick glance in an oblong mirror, far more suited to an eight-foot-tall death-touch alien than me, shows that the scrapes and bruises I’d gathered on Vortara are mere irritations of the skin now.
Something that will fade in a day’s time.
My hand clasps around the fang, thankfully still clasped around my neck.
He’s… healed me. Well, that’s thoughtful, I suppose.
My skin prickles at the faint, hazy memories of blaster fire and crumbling bodies of Port Authority.
Okay, running was a long shot, but I’ve got the credits now.
Waystation transfers are non-refundable and untraceable.
That’s why they’re a go-to for beings geared toward more unsavory means of employment.
Beings like me, who have spent the last ten years stealing, cheating, scamming, and sneaking across the galaxy.
Giving myself a few extra calming breaths, I gather the sheet tighter around me, making some luxurious-looking kind of dress.
Inwardly cursing the asshole for taking mine.
Sure, those stains were probably never going to come out, but it was mine. Pretty.
The prettiest thing I’ll probably ever own.
The anger turns to a riper kind of heat burrowed deep, making a bright flush of red scatter down my chest and tears prick my eyes. Only adding to the determination I feel. It’s a good thing too. I’m guessing I’m about to need it.
Find a maintenance hatch. Go damn slower this time. Find an escape pod. If it’s a newer model, it should go to the nearest habitable station with no piloting on my end. From there, it’s as simple as withdrawing my credits and paying a guide to get me to Lunareth.
Something else buds in my chest, fusing with the anger and determination there. Unease.
The floral-scented air of the room is looser than I ever remember, if that makes sense.
Not the tight, thick stuff on stations. I take a few deeper breaths, my hands guiding along the walls in a slight chance there’s a hatch here.
There rarely are in sleeping quarters for obvious reasons.
When I run my hand along a raised pad, it opens up into a large wasting room, the same soulless, monochromatic white.
It’s only then that I notice my pressing overfull bladder.
Quickly shooting inside, I drop the sheet, closing and locking the sliding recessed door behind me.
I pause only halfway to the obscenely tall toilet.
Suddenly, I’m very aware of the fresh dampness that covers the room, as if the cleansing unit had only just been used.
Whatever had relaxed me moments before blinks out like it had never been there in the first place.
The idea of me having been knocked out cold while he stripped naked and washed his huge, toned—
Hue focus.
My hands find my hips after I hurry the rest of the way over to the toilet, wondering how in the hell I’m going to manage to get up there. A grimace lights my face as I half climb, half hop part of an asscheek onto the base, my breasts wiggling obscenely for the pure spite of it.
Thankfully, the opening is standard-sized, so there will be no great use of upper body strength to hover over the bowl.
Once I finally get myself situated on the toilet, obviously built for someone over eight units tall, and take care of business, I wiggle back off, tempted to skip washing my hands in light of a much-needed speedy escape.
The designer of the stupid, stretched-out bathroom decides for me, considering I can’t reach the sensor to activate the sink. Only the top of my wild red hair showed in the mirror.
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes behind the safety of the locked door for a final moment. Pulling up pictures of the Sylvarii planet deep in my mind. The lush green florals and elder trees that reach all the way above the clouds. It’s taken me years to get this far.