Halley
Inotice the kid precisely because she’s trying to remain unnoticed. None of the locals walk like she does, with her shoulders hunched and her arms wrapped around her torso. Not to mention the tunic, leggings and boots she’s wearing, which clearly weren’t designed for desert weather.
For all that she looks scared, her mouth is open and her eyes are wide as she stares at the goods on display.
If she were human, I’d guess her age to be eight or nine years.
She has softly golden skin and shoulder-length hair that looks like it’s never met a brush.
I haven’t seen her species before. I think I’d remember the tusks, if I had.
They’re about an inch long and sharp. For someone with teeth like those, I’m surprised she isn’t standing taller and isn’t more confident in her own skin.
If there’s something I’ve learned about aliens, it’s that they rank offensive and defensive physical traits above beauty and athleticism. The Ves’os are forever comparing the size, width, and strength of their horns. And the Lyd’os don’t bother with clothes, preferring mucus to fabric.
Aside from me and the child, not many people bother with clothes, and those who do are usually wearing protective armor instead of cloth. The majority of fabric on this planet is used for sunshades or stall decoration. There are a multitude of sins you can cover with an artfully draped tablecloth.
I watch her from the corner of my eye as I continue taking orders through the afternoon rush.
I notice the second she realizes she’s being followed.
She does a double take when glancing over her shoulder, catching sight of the two Lyd’os with security-issued stun guns, and then she speeds up, tripping over her own feet.
As she nears Xile’s, I duck out from behind the counter.
“Don’t drop that,” I say to nobody in particular as I grab another abandoned cup off the ground. At the same time, I grab the collar of the girl’s tunic with my other hand and nearly get pulled over as she tries to wrench herself free.
Considering how young she is, we’re nearly the same size—and I don’t have tusks.
“I’m trying to help,” I hiss, and before she can reply, I stuff her under the counter, praying Xile’s too busy mixing his next order to notice.
There’s a muffled thump as she lands on the single blanket that counts as my bed, and I use a foot to nudge the tablecloth back into some semblance of order.
“Got it,” I say, returning to my place at the till and tossing the dirty cup into the bucket of washing-up water behind Xile. “How can I help you?” I ask the next customer, forcing my voice to remain calm even as sweat drips down my back, and my heart races in my chest.
Ahead, the two security goons are turning circles, eyes narrowed in confusion as they search for their missing prey.
I don’t like to think about what they were planning on doing with her.
I’m guessing being forced to take orders at a drinks counter for close on eighteen hours a day is the least of it.
That’s one good thing about not having horns or a forked tail—or tusks; nobody ever seems to expect much from me.
They know I’m not going to start a fight, because there’s no way I’ll ever win.
Even if I knew karate or boxing, I’m the smallest alien in the market by a good two feet.
Well, I was the smallest, until the kid showed up.
Three more security enforcers join the first two.
All five might be arguing. It’s difficult to tell because I can’t hear what they’re saying over the orders of my customers and the electric motor of Xile’s icemaker.
I don’t stare, not wanting to draw their attention, which is why I almost miss the moment when two more golden aliens approach.
They’re huge.
Close to eight feet tall. And their tusks have got to be two inches at a minimum.
They’re wearing breeches, but their chests are bare except for the leather straps of their weapon hostlers across their backs.
They look remarkably similar. Brothers, maybe.
The main difference between them is their hair.
Dark, shoulder-length and a tangle of messy knots, but one has the sides of his head shaved where the other one doesn’t.
They’ve even got matching tattooed bands on their forearms. One each.
It’s got to be their spaceship parked beyond the market.
“Halley,” Xile snaps.
I watch the two golden men approach the security officers as I take another order.
I don’t need to hear what they’re saying this time to be sure they’re arguing.
Five against two isn’t good odds. Even worse odds when another two security goons join the group.
Apparently when one Lyd’os takes offense at being called out for menacing behavior toward a minor, they all take offense.
What does truth matter when a man’s pride has been insulted?
I’m not sure what escalates tensions; I was ducking another of Xile’s hits, but in the next second weapons are being drawn. That isn’t so unusual for the market. Shoppers know to move out of range, and the closest stalls throw protective coverings over their wares in well-practiced moves.
Xile grabs an armful of clean cups off his counter and tosses them underneath, onto my bed—and presumably onto the kid. Intelligently, she stays down and she stays quiet.
“The icemaker!” Xile yells at me, his arms full of his electric mixer.
And he’s such a cheapskate that he actually turns his back to the fight, as if willing to use his body as a shield to protect his equipment.
A craftsman is only as good as his tools, I suppose, but I don’t bother trying to save the icemaker. Instead, I duck under the counter.
The kid has her back to me and is peeking through a gap in the tablecloth at the fight. I crawl to her side, wrapping an arm over her shoulders and hugging her to me. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away. I don’t blame her. No kid should have to watch adults fighting over them.
I should probably respect her personal space and let go, but…it’s been one long month, and I realize with a jolt in my stomach that this is the first time I’ve voluntarily touched another person since my abduction. I think I’m hugging her as much for my sake as for hers.
The two golden men have drawn their axes, which I don’t think are going to be any help against security’s stun guns.
They’re not backing down, though. Of course they’re not.
Protecting their kid is one hell of a motivation.
And the security goons are clearly starting to wonder if they picked a fight with the wrong guys.
There’s a moment when I think everyone is going to back down, but one of the brainless goons raises his gun, right when everyone else is stepping back.
The golden men don’t hesitate. Their movements are fluid and graceful, and almost too fast for me to track.
One grabs the gun arm of their attacker and smashes the hilt of his axe into their stomach.
The goon double overs, but before his allies can come to his rescue, the other golden man has darted forward and disarmed two of them.
There’s a struggle for control over a fourth gun.
Shoots are fired, but they go wide, striking a market stall.
Xile will be pleased when the fool finally turns back around to see.
That was the stall of his main competitor, and I’m pretty sure their meat spit isn’t supposed to be smoking like it is.
Evidently, stun guns can cause serious damage to electrical equipment—not to mention what they might do if they were to actually hit a person. Me, for instance.
The entire fight barely lasts twenty seconds. Nobody is killed, but five security guards are grounded, either incapacitated or unconscious. The other two are standing, but they must be the smart two, because they don’t engage.
“Come on.” I grab the kid’s hand and pull her after me. The sandy ground in this part of the market is relatively solid, trampled flat by countless customers, but it still makes running difficult, and when I almost lose my footing, it’s the kid who yanks me upright again.
Together, we dart around the prone security officers, and when the two golden men catch sight of us, they look visibly relieved.
“Rin!” one scolds, but before he can tell her off, the other guy grabs her, pulling her in for a hug.
Mercenarily, I tighten my hold on her hand, refusing to be parted from her, and it doesn’t escape my notice that she remains stiff for his hug, too.
Not like she doesn’t want to be touched, exactly.
More like she’s not had a lot of practice.
Her free hand, the one I’m not clinging to, hangs by her side for a moment before she awkwardly pats her guardian on the back, like she’s not sure what else she should be doing.
“You know there are more guys coming,” I interrupt their happy reunion, and when he releases Rin, I shamelessly tug her back to my side.
My first instinct was to protect her. Now I know she has two warriors of her own, I’m determined to have them protect me, even if it means forcing my way on board their spaceship.
I’ve seen how much they care about their little girl. Surely that means I’ll be safe with them.
“They’re not going to let you get away with hurting five of their guys,” I say, with a gesture to the Lyd’os on the ground. “There are strict punishments for attacking law enforcement, and they’ll confiscate your spaceship.”
I don’t strictly know if that’s true. But it sounds like it, and a sense of urgency will play to my favor. If they’re too busy escaping security, they’ll be too busy to get rid of me.
“We’ve got to get out of here before backup arrives.” I tug Rin in the direction of the desert, but the grumpy guy grabs my shoulder.
“Absolutely not.” He doesn’t have to exert much of his strength to keep me from continuing.
Instead of trying to pull free, I block my hand that’s holding on to Rin with the rest of my body. He can’t pry me off his kid if he can’t reach my fingers.
“Seriously,” I snap, and I don’t have to lie about how panicked I’m sounding. This is the best chance I’ve got for leaving this planet. Another opportunity mightn’t present itself. “You can’t leave me behind. They’ll punish me for helping you.”
I look at the other guy, the one who hugged Rin, thinking he might be more easily persuaded. “Please,” I beg. “Don’t abandon me here, after I helped save your child’s life.”
“You didn’t—” the grumpy one begins, but distant shouting catches his attention.
“They’re coming.” I yank my shoulder, and in his distraction, his grip loosens.
“Come on, Keelo,” the other guy says. “We don’t have time to argue.”
Keelo looks like he’d enjoy a good argument. There’s a splatter of someone else’s blood across his bare chest, and an old scar that cuts deep through his right shoulder, distorting the muscle. Instead, he grabs Rin’s free hand and breaks into a jog.
I stumble to keep up, the exhaustion of the past month a drag on my legs as much as the dry sand underfoot.
The other guy jogs beside me, axe in hand.
Close up, I realize it’s got to weigh a ton, with its decorative handle and its utilitarian blade.
Never once does he slip on the slippery sand, despite the fact he’s studying me and not where he’s putting his feet.
He doesn’t even have the decency to be sweating.
And when I accidentally catch his eye, there’s a definite glint in his expression.
For all that he isn’t smiling, I can tell he’s enjoying himself.
“Eot,” Keelo shouts over his shoulder. “Food.”
“Fek. I forgot.” The guy beside me, Eot, makes a U-turn, fills his pockets with supplies from the closest food stall, and tosses a coin onto the counter. I’ve no clue if it’s enough money to cover everything he’s taken, but the stall owner’s angry shout makes me think not.
“Sure,” I mumble to myself, panting and short of breath, "we’re already running away from security. Why not give them more reasons to chase us?”
Eot laughs.
“This isn’t funny,” I scold, my voice pitching high with worry
That makes him laugh harder.
We’re reaching the outer edge of the market, the sand dunes and their spaceship ahead when the backup catches us. A shot hits the ground near my foot, spraying sand into the air, and I flinch.
Keelo pushes Rin behind him, as he and Eot turn around to face our attackers.
We’re so fucked.
The entire security team has turned up, and even I didn’t realize there were that many deputized Lyd’os. At least three dozen, and all pointing their stun guns at us.
“Get inside, Rin,” Keelo orders, and then he does the last thing I was expecting. He and Eot sheath their axes.
“Don’t surrender!” I yell, torn between shielding Rin and scolding the two men I thought were going to be my ticket off this planet. I won’t be getting far if something happens to them. I don’t know how to fly a ship, and I can’t imagine the kid does either.
She tugs on my hand, trying to get me to follow her to the ship. And when I don’t immediately obey, she pulls harder, practically yanking my arm out of its socket. A child but considerably stronger than me.
I stumble after her, trying to scale a sand dune and avoid getting shot, while also watching Keelo and Eot, who are…holding hands?
Then—
“Holy shit!”