CHAPTER 3
RAZUL
One hour earlier
Zairion Prime is, overall, a very wet planet. Much of its expanse is covered in forest, both temperate and flooded, and the rich plant life casts humidity and all the scents of life into the air.
I hate it.
I’m a desert creature.
Fortunately, the planet isn’t all wet. Not far from its richest rainforests, a jagged mountain range casts a rain shadow over a valley basin that rolls with golden sands. There, the planet’s species that don’t like being damp all the time find refuge.
I mostly keep to the sprawling ranch of sandy soil and scrub brush where I tend a herd of caimites: six-legged reptilians that slither along the sand, burrow to hide from the day’s sun, and produce eggs that are a coveted delicacy across the galaxies.
I live on an estate of tunnels and low, mud-brick buildings, which I dug and stacked with my own tarsi near a reliable spring and a cactus grove.
It’s a gorgeous, harsh land.
My work is lucrative and rewarding. Caimites are notoriously difficult to work with, but my herd meets the vibrations of my steps with sneezes and tail-thumps, the same gestures that greet their own kind.
There’s just one problem.
Milk doesn’t keep so well in the desert. It’s prone to spoiling from heat or evaporating from dryness, and I always lose a portion before it makes it down into the bedrock of my cool storage.
I could install a refrigeration system, of course. But the caimites would never forgive me; the rumbling vibrations of that tech carry for miles.
For years I’ve lived with nothing but my well and solar lights, and I don’t have any intentions of changing that.
I also have no intention of giving up my solitude.
I happen to be good friends with the best in the business for sourcing and placing hucow pets: a slick Arachnoid by the name of Sylvus. He’s tried to convince me to give one a shot more than once, especially now that he’s finally decided to keep one of his own.
But every time, I tell him the same thing: the Caimites know me, and only me. They don’t like change. Plus, a pet is a significant commitment, no matter how docile.
I know myself. I’d never be able to treat a hucow pet with the same level of cool detachment as my peers; I’d tend to them with all the obsessive attention to detail I give my Caimites, and I just don’t have room for any more of that in my life.
What has me visiting Sylvus this time is different business entirely. He’s helped me diversify my income streams—that is, split my egg sales between legal and… alternative channels—without drawing any undue attention.
I don’t really care what happens to the eggs after I’ve confirmed they’re infertile and sent them for shipment. If people want to make black-market bids to cut in line for the latest shipment, that’s fine by me. As long as my Caimites are happy and healthy, I’m happy and healthy.
Well, mostly. Some days, it’s nice to have company beyond the unblinking stares of dozens of caimite eyeballs poking up out of the sand.
But company comes with humidity, so I’m always back to my ranch before long.
I assure myself I’ll be home in just a few days as my wings whir behind me, carrying me through the thickening air as I approach Sherexis, the planet’s largest city. It sprawls through the trees, bleeding out in tendrils like rivers flowing backward from the sea.
I land on a busy silk platform in the canopy and dodge around a chattering gaggle of bee Apoids whose wings buzz eagerly, knocking clouds of pollen loose from their fuzzy legs.
My wings tuck against my abdomen, and my shell closes around them. With a foot, I tap the crate strapped to my underbelly, ensuring the eggs are still safe inside.
Catching the silk pathway with my hooked toes, I head down into Sherexis, fidgeting my wings under my shell. They always itch here in the humidity where they can never get all the way dry.
I want to get out of here as quickly as possible.
The computer on my wrist connects to the local network, and I tap out a message to Sylvus.
I’m here. Where are you?
He quickly replies with a location pin, which I recognize as one of his favorite restaurants.
Sylvus
Doing other business but you’re welcome to stop in. You can meet Andromeda.
Sylvus is lucky I like him. Going someplace unplanned in the city—and being assailed with its infinite sights and sounds—is not my idea of a good time. But our deal has gotten me the funds to build a much upgraded breeding sand-pool for my herd, so I owe him.
I take to the wing again, weaving nimbly through the city until I land against a vertical wall of woven vines and step over into the restaurant.
All I have to do is tell the host I’m here for Sylvus, and they lead me back to a private room.
I recognize several of the other males—a scorpion Sylvus and I used to gamble with, a moth I’ve met at one of Sylvus’s parties—and nod at them briefly.
Sylvus is deep in conversation with a wasp Apoid, and I run a hand through my hair, debating whether to interrupt him. I’d rather do this drop-off quickly and get headed back home, but Sylvus is going to insist I stay… maybe I can come up with an excuse…
I glance around the room, as if that’s somehow going to make me think better.
And then I see her.
She sits at a table halfway up the wall with a hucow—which must be Andromeda—at her side.
I’m caught by her wide, grey eyes, stricken and piercing. Long brown hair falls around her shoulders over a simple green smock, and a certain… intensity radiates from her tense muscles.
A crimson blush spreads across her cheeks, and she says something to Andromeda, but her gaze stays on me.
Sylvus suddenly speaks right next to me. “I thought you weren’t in the market for a hucow.”
I startle so hard my wings slide out of my shell, ready to take flight. Once I realize what’s happened, I shake my head and run my hand through my hair again, tucking my wings away.
“Fucking hells, Sylvus.”
“My apologies,” the sly Arachnoid says without remorse. “Silence is something of a habit of mine.”
“Hucow… so that’s what she’s here for? But you don’t usually bring candidates out like this.”
“This is something new. I was trying to tell you about it, but—”
“And I’ll cut you off now, too. I don’t need—” Thoughts tumble through my brain, finally clicking into place. “Wait, she’s available?”
Sylvus raises an amused brow.
I shake my head, rattled. “That doesn’t change—let me just get you the eggs.”
My curved, claw-like toes grip the latches on the sling under me, and I carefully lower the crate and pass it over to Sylvus.
He opens it to check on the eggs—all a perfect, precise shade of mint green with dark navy speckles—nods, then absently weaves a hammock for the crate and secures it near his table.
“Well, good to see you.” I turn to leave.
Sylvus’s grip closes around my arm, pulling me back to face him. Mischief glints in his eyes. “You promised you’d meet Andromeda. Come, I’ll introduce you.”
Stupid, smug spider. I narrow my eyes. He knows what he’s doing. “Fine.”
“Andromeda is very excited to meet you. You’ll be your usual charming self, or you’ll regret it.”
I click my tongue. “Sylvus, you know very well my usual self isn’t anything approaching charming.”
“I must disagree.”
I glare at him, contemplating revenge, as we approach the table.
Sylvus releases my arm. “Andromeda, Celeste, this is Razul. A friend of mine.” He speaks in a human language, so his tones sound odd, like an accent, as they translate through my implant.
Her name stands out. Celeste.
I glance up—and her wide eyes are on me again.
Her blush deepens, and she quickly stares down at the table.
Andromeda is already extending a hand. “Great to finally meet you. Sylvus has told me a lot about you. Especially the trouble you two used to get into…”
It’s my turn to blush. “Yeah, well, the past is the past. Sorry to disappoint. I’m a very boring caimite herder now.”
“That’s the exciting part! The way they burrow down into the sand and just leave their round little eyes poking out? I have to come see them sometime.”
Sylvus leans over and says something quietly to Andromeda, and since he’s speaking her language, I can’t read his lips.
I’m assuming it’s sexual from the way she bites her lip, blushing and wiggling as she adjusts the front of her silk dress.
She clears her throat and adds, “Schedules permitting.”
Sylvus is bold, flaunting his hucow in something translucent like this. The silk hardly hides her dark pink areolas. But Sylvus knows better than any of us that nobody would cross him in this town. And he likes to show off.
“Well, I can see why you two get along. I’m glad to see your happiness so I can congratulate you personally. Now, I’d best be getting home.”
I turn to leave, but my eyes fall on Celeste again. She looks especially small and frightened next to Andromeda’s expansive confidence.
“Do you want a hucow?” she blurts at me.
I freeze. Well, if she really is frightened, she’s got the courage of a creature ten times her size.
“No…”
Sylvus elbows me.
“Er, not a question I was… prepared for.”
“That’s fine,” she says, too quickly, too forcefully. “I’m just, you know. Understanding my options.”
“… Options?” I glance back at the other Arthropoids, and a flicker of violence rises in my chest. My foremost legs twitch upwards as if ready to grapple.
Easy, Razul. If you get into another fight, you’ll only be stuck here longer.
I force my gaze back to the table—and find Sylvus smirking at me.
“What are you looking at?” I snap.
Still looking at me, Sylvus holds out an arm to his pet. “Andromeda, come.”
Despite her fiery personality, the command sends her blushing brighter, and her gaze softens as she obeys, climbing into Sylvus’s arms.
He taps a leg against my arm as he steps away. “Talk to her.”
I let out a strained sigh.
And then it’s me and her at the table.
“Sorry about this,” I mutter, turning toward her. “Sylvus is… a meddler.”