CHAPTER 2 #2
I step around a series of gorgeous painted nebulae, and eventually reach the last chamber on the left. The velvet curtain that closes it off from the hall is massive, and I climb more than step through the gap in the panels.
The room is small by Arthropoid standards, about a twenty-foot cube with rounded corners.
A cozy circle of furniture dominates the floor, and little cubbies all around hold spheres that glow warm orange alongside potted plants trailing deep purple vines.
The walls have been dyed an ombre from goldenrod at the top to deep crimson on the floor.
Sitting on the couch is a plump human woman wearing a translucent dress of silk that shows off the wide swell of her breasts and hips, the rolls of her stomach, and every dimple of her plush thighs.
Shiny, well-loved auburn curls form a halo around her face, and her expression is at once friendly and sharp, like nothing escapes her emerald eyes.
She’s gorgeous. I’m suddenly self-conscious of my stick-straight brown hair, the simple travel dress I wear, and how it hangs loose on my body, the result of losing my appetite every time there’s the slightest change in the cafeteria food or the smallest stressor in my environment, which is often.
The ICSS caseworkers are always on me to eat more; nothing died faster in their care than humanity’s obsession with diet culture. What had they called it? Something like a grotesque fetish of starving each other for sport?
When they offer me the nutrient-dense sludge that’s supposed to get me up to a more resilient weight, I really do try to eat it. But the thick, chalky texture makes me gag.
Over and above the woman stands an Arachnoid whose closest Earth spider analog would be a tarantula. He has grey skin, long dark hair with a white streak, and ruffs of fur around the base of his torso and the knees of each of his spider legs.
“Hello, Celeste,” he says in a rich baritone voice.
I furrow my brow as the movement of his lips matches the words. Is that his real voice?
“You can turn off your translator now,” he says.
The woman turns up to look at him with a teasing smile on her lips. “Yeah, he’s a little too good at English.”
Bewildered, I can only nod and tap behind my ear.
“Come, sit,” the woman says, patting the couch next to her. “I’m Andromeda.”
“I’m Celeste. Er, but… yeah, he already said that.”
“I know you’re nervous,” Andromeda says, still beckoning me over. “I have wine. Earth wine.”
My eyes widen. “Wait—really?!”
“It’s the least we could offer, given that you’ve come all the way out here with no guarantees.”
“Well… thank you.” I stride over, careful of the springiness of the silk underfoot, and plop down next to Andromeda, accepting the glass she offers me.
Sure enough, the crimson liquid inside looks and smells exactly the same as what I used to go out and get with my friends after our university classes were done for the day.
It could be poisoned. It could be a honey-sweet trap designed to drug me so I can be trafficked.
I don’t really care. It’s worth it. You watch your home shatter into space dust and see no sign of it for twenty years, then tell me you wouldn’t do the same for a sip of wine.
It tastes exactly the same. I think I’m going to cry. I need a distraction.
I look up at Sylvus. “Oh, um—the Arachnoid woman at the entrance to the private lounge says hi.”
He grins smoothly. “I’m sure she does.”
Andromeda raises a brow at him. “I told you she was flirting with you.”
“She’s not. She’s my cousin’s cousin.”
“She is absolutely trying to get in your pants. Figuratively speaking.”
He leans a little closer. “I don’t see why you care so much, Andromeda. Unless that makes you jealous?”
She blushes, but doesn’t miss a beat. “You and I both know how tight I have you wrapped around my little finger. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to put on a territorial display of my own, once in a while.”
“Better learn how to spin silk, then.”
She stares daggers at him. “I will.”
His rich, deep laugh fills the cozy room. “I know. I’m looking forward to it.”
Andromeda’s blush deepens as her lips soften into a smile.
I’m mesmerized by their rapport.
Sylvus brushes a hand across her cheek, then steps toward the hallway. “I’ve got some work to do. I’ll leave you two ladies to it.”
Andromeda makes a face. “Don’t do that. Don’t ladies us. Ew.”
“I love you, too.” Mischief glints in Sylvus’s eyes, and he disappears without another word.
Andromeda clears her throat and toys with one of her curls, taking another sip of wine. “So… first off, sorry if I’m weird. This is my first time doing something like this.”
“Me too.” I shrug and offer a nervous giggle. It quickly becomes a shared laugh.
“Oh, fuck it. Let’s get wine-drunk and chat. That’s basically the point, anyway.”
I raise a brow. “This is the evaluation process? Not that I’m complaining…”
“Well… the evaluation process is whatever I decide it is. So if I decide it’s drinking wine and chatting…”
Something clicks in my brain. “Oh, so you’re a hucow?” Then I slap my hand over my mouth and say, muffled, “Oh my god that was rude I’m so sorry.”
Andromeda just laughs and pushes my glass toward my mouth. “Drink more. Relax. I’d be a bit offended if you couldn’t tell.”
“It’s just—well, your relationship with Sylvus is—I couldn’t tell much from my research, but—”
Her warm hand on my arm stops my stammering. I listen to her earlier advice and take a few gulps of wine.
“It is unusual by hucow standards,” Andromeda clarifies. “That’s why I’m here. And why you’re here. Maybe it’s easier if I tell my story. Give you a chance to relax. There won’t be a test or anything, don’t worry.”
I nod eagerly. “That would be great.”
Andromeda’s a natural storyteller. I totally lose track of time as she recounts how she and Sylvus met. She also found out about the underground milk sales—but she somehow figured out where Sylvus lived and marched into his house to make a deal with him.
No wonder they have a unique relationship. At first, she glosses over the more… intimate details. But as we both drink more wine and our cheeks flush pink, her details get increasingly lurid and specific.
My heart races. It’s all so strange and exciting.
After explaining how he makes her climax in highly specific detail, to my eager and fascinated nods, she bashfully rubs the back of her neck and clears her throat. “So, anyway… that’s enough about me. Tell me about you.”
“Well, I’ve also had a jillion assignments, but not by choice.” I give her a summary of how I got into my current mess and why I was willing to take the risk of becoming a fugitive. “The bond you and Sylvus have… it sounds very… permanent in a way that’s deeply appealing to me.”
A thoughtful smile pulls across Andromeda’s lips. “Yeah. I thought I’d hate it, but… it’s nice. Really nice.”
I offer a wry grin. “Well, it’s just my luck I’ll go in thinking it sounds amazing and then hate it.”
Andromeda laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t think so. But let’s talk a little more. Tell me about your… sexual preferences? Ugh, that sounds so clinical. But you know what I mean.”
Without the glass of wine in me, there’s no way I’d be able to utter a single one of these words. But with Andromeda’s steady, welcoming presence and a little liquid courage, I manage.
“I’m into… nipple stimulation. That’s fine by me. Sucking and… pinching and whatever.”
“That’s certainly promising. Have you done anything with a dominant-submissive dynamic?”
“Uh… not really.” Shit, should I have lied?
“I think that’s fine,” Andromeda says. “To be entirely honest, I don’t really know what the criteria should be… Maybe I can just explain to you why we even have them, and you can choose for yourself.”
“I’d like that.” The ICSS is always interviewing us and making the decisions. The opportunity to make one for myself, even if it’s a bad one, is truly tempting.
“Obviously, what we do here is very illegal. It’s kind of like… having a pet tiger.”
I choke on my drink of wine, coughing as I laugh. “Oh my god. I never thought of it like that. But… I mean, I see it.”
She nods. “Humans can do a lot of damage. Cause a lot of chaos. I think part of why the ICSS keeps us under such close wraps is less because we’re so ‘unevolved’ and more because we’re… unpredictable. We prove an algorithm wrong faster than any other species.”
My eyes widen. “That’s what I’ve been saying! I mean, don’t get me wrong. We got Earth blown up; we don’t exactly deserve to be set loose on the rest of the galaxies. But I kind of wish they’d just… acknowledge that?”
“Of course you do,” Andromeda says. “You’re here. We’re the humans that slip through the cracks. Or, I suppose… we’re an even smaller subset of those humans both disillusioned by the system and open to having our tits sucked for profit.”
I choke on my wine again.
“Sorry!” Andromeda laughs, holding my arm as I cough. “Sorry, Sylvus hardly laughs at my jokes. I forgot how hilarious I can be.”
“If I’m an okay fit for this hucow thing, we get to be friends, right?”
She tilts her head as if she hadn’t considered that.
I instantly regret blurting it out.
A bright smile spreads across her face. “I don’t see why not!”
Warmth settles in my chest.
Andromeda seems even more excited now. “So, let me tell you the criteria thingy. Basically, Sylvus only arranges matches he’s sure are going to work out.
If an unhappy hucow were to flee to ICSS space, even Sylvus would struggle to get us out of that mess.
Now, that’s a little paternalistic for my taste.
You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t seriously want this.
Basically, I think we should describe the process to you, and you can do a trial placement.
The only thing we ask is that if you have a problem, you come to us to solve it. Me and Sylvus, that is.”