The morning proceeded as they had been. But he returned a little too early for a midday break. He hit his hip the way he did to call her to him. She was sitting on top of the desk, laying out cards when he did this. 

“Exercise for Pet,” he said. “Best now, empty training grounds.” 

She slid down off the desk, thumping heavily to the floor.

“What?” she asked.

“Come to training ground too, exercise for you, vacant hour,” he said. 

She shook, but followed him as he turned back to the door. It was shockingly like leaving the cargo hold. Sudden, oppressive fear. No sense of freedom, or joy in new sights. Instead, feeling pressed in by all sides by threats, overstimulated by noise.

The hallways were devoid of anyone else, at this time of day. Still, she ran to keep close to him. Panting and feeling her heart drumming. She didn’t know what she was scared of, though. Not worried about violence from any ship-mates. Not really. She was quite sure he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. She just felt like a house cat taking her first steps in a snowy field, though– utterly alien, totally unknowable outside his cabin. 

Also, it felt like they walked for forever. Maybe only fifteen minutes. There were conveyors all along some of the longer hallways– none of them operating at this moment. She assumed they were on during heavier traffic hours, or perhaps for the especial use of Grays– their strides necessarily shorter. Or maybe they were only assistance for heavy loads. 

The training grounds were nearly a full sized gymnasium. Mostly of walking pads. Other pieces of equipment she recognized. He gestured toward the pads. 

“Do you see that enclosure not far away?” he asked her. 

She wrinkled her nose, realizing he’d reattached the translator. But of course he had. He was out in public again, out with his coworkers. It wasn’t just their odd orbit any more. 

“Yes,” she nodded. 

“I intend to do some necessary training for at least a little while. The good doctor indicated to me that running or climbing would be good for you, and perhaps be some alleviation for your trouble resting. The cabinet artificially creates a home environment for me to practice in. But I’ll still be able to see you. It’s understood that you will not engage in any kind of malfeasance,” he said. 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m going to have trouble running in what I’m wearing, though,” she said. Tugging up on Jack’s pants. They still hung loose on her, and she merely folded them over to keep them from falling down. He’d had a belt, but the Brute had removed the buckle before giving it to her. And since it was stiff faux-leather, it wasn’t useful as a tie, either. 

He huffed, coming over to her. Pinching together the fabric at her waist, he pierced it from both sides with the talon of his forefinger and thumb. Quickly tearing the unused hook and loop fabric from her wrist, he closed the loop, creating a rigged seam to hold the waist tighter on her. 

“Thank you,” she said, surprised as she shimmied that it did feel more solid on her. Hardly a pretty fix, but a fix nevertheless. 

Huff.

He left, flinging open the door to the cabinet a few yards away. Mostly clear plastic. She assumed it could increase gravity, enabling him to lift under home-conditions. 

There was a rotating wall-climbing machine. A loop of projections to climb at a steady pace along the wall. That looked fun and engaging, so she did that. Liking the feel of clinging with her socked feet to the wall and hauling up her body weight on her arms. 

But she got tired so quickly, she was embarrassed. She let herself drop to the mat beneath the wall climb. Panting and feeling clammy. Laying until she caught her breath. Moving over instead to one of the walking pads. Going at a quick trot– feeling giddy to be moving again, and terribly weak. 

“Dirty orcs–”

“Leak all over–”

“Shared property–”

“Rudeness inherent to the species–”

“Forever a bigger mess–”

“Than a useful addition–”

Four overlapping but identical voices said this from a few yards to her right and behind her. 

She startled, grabbing the bars of the walk pad, and crouched low, taking her feet from the rolling rubber underneath her to take stock of what was going on. She hadn’t heard anyone else enter the space.

Nasty sounding heh-heh-hehs accompanied her fear. She saw five Grays bundled together at the far end of the gymnasium, watching her. 

She knew she should say something, or at least move, and couldn’t. Unsure about what her status was. Was she still a stowaway? Was she a known prisoner on board? Was she something more like a refugee? Was she allowed to interact with anyone? Why else had the Brute decided to specifically wait to take her out when he had seemed sure of their being alone? 

“What is the–”

“Nasty filthy fat–”

“Stinky hairy thing–”

“Doing out and–”

“Alive and–”

“Snuffing up all the oxygen–”

“In its great big dirty–”

“Nose and lungs?”

She hadn’t known that the Grays were like this. Operating almost as a hive mind. One of them starting the thought, another picking it up. All of them nodding with agreement at each other when a statement was finished. They picked it up in differing orders. Not one in particular seeming to begin it, nor any specific individual speaking more than any others.

The only reason she even knew it was different ones speaking, since all the voices sounded the same, was because they slightly overlapped. She found her head whipping in wildly different directions, attempting to catch up. She saw that it also nastily amused them that she was trying to watch whoever was speaking. Like it was idiotic of her to have her eyes on the thing speaking at her. 

But of course, she’d never heard them speak or interacted with them. So she tried to watch the group at large, instead of trying to keep track of who was speaking. They were moving in on her. She was glad, at least, they moved together and stayed in a tight bunch. If they operated more like a hunting pack, she’d be ruined. If they spread out or tried to surround her, instead of approaching as a unit, she would have been at their mercy. 

“Stinky, fat–”

“Useless, skin-covered–”

“Thing, thinks it’s–”

“Going to be–”

“Probed,” they said nastily.

Another round of heh-heh-hehs. She ducked underneath the steadying bars of the walking pad and then stood up right. Putting her hands behind herself to find the wall. Intending to keep her back to it so as to not find herself with an enemy behind her. And to begin sidling away from them while her back was protected. 

They were within a few feet of her, and one reached out a boneless but long-fingered hand to her. 

“Was the Pilings–”

“Jerk a–”

“Sequential hermaphrodite the–”

“Whole time then?” 

“We need far fewer–”

“Humans, not more of–”

“Them, stinking things up and–”

“Killing, killing, killing,” they said.

She tried to back away further, but the front-runner touched her. The touch instantly ignited complete anger and a total, brain-flattening fear. With her fingers clawed, she struck down at the Gray’s hand. Letting her nose wrinkle and her teeth show. Making a hoarse barking noise.

Heh-heh-heh.

“Proving the–”

“Point.” 

She didn’t like the implication that she was a mindless, violent animal. But it was certainly how she felt. Right now, she wanted to strike down each of them. Crack their heads open like rotten melons against the workout equipment and see what color their insides were. Pop their huge, pupil-less eyes with her thumbs and see how they liked being touched without an invitation. 

They were closer, and she knew it would go very badly for her if she did harm them. She was sure she could– she was bigger and they seemed soft. In a sack-full-of-organs kind of way. She felt that she could crack their heads like eggshells by exerting minimal pressure with her fingers. She was sure that would be reason enough for her to be killed– by her Brute, or some body of law. 

“Sir,” she said, in Refaite. But her voice was airless with panic. She wasn’t used to raising it– not in the confines of the cabin. And it cracked.

She saw fingers making a reach for her again and absolutely could not stand the idea of them making contact once more. It made her be able to get her volume and voice back. She couldn’t strike out, but she could raise her voice.

“Sir, sir, sir!” she called, Refaite echoing around the gym.

It seemed to give the Gray’s pause– or, anyway, the one who was reaching for her stopped. 

The door to the gravitational cabinet swung open hard, and the Brute was suddenly upon them. Scattering the Grays like a deck of cards. They almost bounced off walking pads and the walls. All still giving that slimy little giggle while they did, though. They weren’t upset or hurt, just waylaid from their teasing. 

“It is best to not interact with this one,” the Brute said to the Grays. “This one is confiscated goods, and cannot speak to you. Thus, interaction is necessarily useless and likely to only cause you distress and trouble. Peaceful work and flying conditions are far preferable.”

“Oh no–” They started up again.

“Oh no, it’s the–”

“Oh no, Bully Brute–”

“Bully tells us–”

“What to do and–”

“Where to go and–”

“Takes the poker–”

“Chips and eats the–”

“Humans and beats up–”

“Us little guys hehe heheh.” 

She knew from the way that he didn’t react and the way that they were giggling that the last part wasn’t true. Taking their gambling tools away from them probably was. Based on the fact that she’d reaped the benefit of their inability to control themselves. 

She was also surprised that he didn’t react to being called a Brute by them.

“Team LG82,” he said thoughtfully. “Are you not supposed to be decontaminating the research lab?” 

The hehs turned to frustrated hisses, and they backed toward the door of the gymnasium. Being scattered again when another figure walked through. She saw instantly it was another Brute. And that worried her. It seemed to worry the Grays too, because they broke up in order to get around it faster, and leave the training grounds at faster speed than they had been. 

The new Brute growled and lurched at the Grays, rushing them out the door. Giving a huffhuffhuff, like and not like her Brute. Close to that sound-of-amusement exhale he’d give. But somehow meaner sounding. Maybe because this one had purposefully been intimidating and harassing in a way that hers didn’t. 

While he was busy with his harassment, she ducked behind her Brute. Fingers clutching the back of his uniform, at his thigh. Doing her best to align herself entirely behind him so as to be hidden. His arms were relaxed at his sides, but leaning her forehead into his back, she felt how tight his muscles were. 

“Remember the days when we used to squish those chittering motherfuckers?” the new Brute said, loud enough that his voice bounced off all the metal in the gym. She stayed very still. 

“We were young then,” her Brute said.

“Oh, ayeah, guess that’s so,” New Brute said. “I had a buddy who kept track– well, kept track in two ways. He liked grabbin’ em by their little walkers and splittin’ them in half like a vvlack– gushin’ all over the place. Or splattin’ them up against somethin’ hard. Also used to crack the ol’ skull on his knee. He said he knew he killed more in other ways, but he kept a tally of his favorites. Couplea’ thousands or so. I don’t know, I never was much one for arithmetic myself.” 

“Some warriors never grow out of vulgar games and showboat behavior,” hers said in response. 

“I guess it’s easier now, but sometimes I miss it. The assholes think we’re just cops and soldiers and bodyguards. Sometimes I’d like to remind ‘em what we really are,” the New Brute said. He seemed like he was about to continue when she heard him sniff. “The fuck else is in here?”

She went very still. Wishing she could crawl into her Brute’s back pocket and hide. Of course, the New Brute smelled her. She’d been sweating as she ran. And then her panic over the Grays made her stink worse. 

“You’ll recall,” her Brute said. “Pilings confiscated material.”

“Ah, give us a look-see, then,” the New Brute said. “Didn’t know it was alive and allowed walkabouts. I got me a sniffle, let’s have a see.” 

“Ship’s doctor said even the imprisoned must be allowed movement so as to avoid failure,” her Brute said. “It’s not a release, merely a lack of cruel and unusual punishment.” 

“Come on out, then, nasty little material,” the New Brute said. 

None of them moved. 

“Time to get it back to confinement,” her Brute said. “My day and work have been delayed enough.” 

Her Brute reached behind himself, catching her by the upper arm and stepping forward in one movement. Dragging her behind him, and keeping her close to his back, hidden by his side. 

The New Brute crouched and ducked around her Brute. Getting his face close to hers, bending at the waist to get near to her to stare. Previous to being onboard this ship, or her long observation of her own Brute, she would have said she could not tell the difference between them. Both wearing the same uniform. Both using the translators, which only had the one audio-recording. No differentiation in coloring like a human would have. But she could tell the difference. She was sure this New Brute was slightly shorter, but wider. And less… put-together than hers. That his arm blades were stained. That he smelled more heavily of that non-smell scent of minerals. His horns shorter, but peeling up higher from his crown. He sniffed heavily at her. 

“I smell something new, but I smell Refaite, too,” the New Brute said to her, showing all of his teeth, even the rounded and dangerous canines. She shrunk closer to her Brute.

“And I bet if I stuck my face in between your soft little legs I’d smell even more Refaite,” he added, too-wide mouth cracking his face in half. “Best part of humans is their soft and… breakable little bits.” 

“My day has been interrupted,” her Brute said, almost lifting her from the ground. Hand locked around her upper arm, talon in her armpit, hurrying her across the floor toward the exit. 

“Let me borrow it before landfall, eh?” the New Brute called after him. “I’ll make it worth your while… Just so long as it’s not all used up. Whenever you get bored. I don’t mind if it’s a little ruined.” 

Once the door slid shut, she whispered, “Sir,” up at him again in Refaite. Instead of slowing him down or loosening his grip, it did the opposite. Dragging her down the corridor, toes just barely dancing along behind him. He bent his knees a little bit and suddenly had her hauled up over his shoulder like a sack. She was nervous to be so far from the floor, but he could move faster like this. And she certainly didn’t want to be out in public any more. Or within reach of anyone or anything else. 

When they reached his cabin, he dropped her loudly to the floor. Feeling her hip bruising, her hand just keeping her from smashing her face into the floor. She stayed down on the floor, arms over her head. Listening to him rapidly locking the door behind them. And then he was silent and unmoving. 

“Sorry,” she said, muttering around her arms, relaxing in the darkness of her own flesh. Shivering on the floor.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” he said. “It was my misjudgment… My means of atonement for our… contretemps earlier… A failure to think through… An over-indulgence on my part.”

“Take off the translator!” she cried, throwing her arms out. 

She heard the blip of it disconnecting and was thankful for that at least.

“This is no place for a little female,” he said.

“There is no place for a little female,” she shot back.

“Unfair,” he said.

“True,” she barked. 

They were silent, at a standstill across the cabin from each other. She assumed he would leave. Effectively slamming the door behind him. Leaving her shaking and overwhelmed on the floor. Just to return and pretend that all was the same when he returned. If they could go on existing in a vacuum– no outside influence or witnesses, that might be possible. But they weren’t living like that. Each intrusion simply pointing out the unreality and impossibility of the fragile phantom they’d built. 

“He wanted to ‘borrow’ me,” she said, low and slow.

“Scared, I understand,” he said.

“No,” she snapped. “Not scared. Not even unusual. Used to that!”

He fell silent. Finally closing the distance between them and going into a low crouch near her. Waiting until she looked up at him. Almost knotting his hand into a fist in front of his chest, he flexed it in a pumping motion.

“Scared,” he said, thumping his still pumping fist against his chest. Showing her how his heart had been going. “Hearing Pet’s voice– scared voice– speaking Refaite… Scared me. Today was… Special treat for Pet… No intention of harm.”  

She tried to breathe slower, watching him, carefully keeping her face flat. She wished that today wasn’t the first time he heard her use his language. That instead she would have had a chance to use it during a relaxed time. When they were intimate, when they were quietly at home. Not hearing her calling him over and over while frantic. Perhaps frenzied, while riding him… But not like this. It had fallen from her mouth too quickly to consider the way in which she was using it. Hadn’t thought of how it might have affected him. 

“If it made it ‘worth your while’– would you let it ‘borrow’ me?” she asked.

“What does Pet think?” he asked.

“Asking you,” she said. 

“What does Pet want?” he asked. 

She stayed silent and turned away from him. He grabbed her shoulder, flinging her flat to the floor and invading her space. Dropping onto his forearm, so his face was closer to hers.

“I think you are mine,” he said. “There is no ‘borrow’ when mine.” 

She couldn’t help it, smiling up at him fiercely. He dropped his face into her throat. Sinking his teeth in gently, giving her a soft little shake. 

“Must go,” he said. 

“Yes,” she said, understanding. Understanding that his whole day had been thrown off kilter, and he likely had a good deal of clean up to do. 

“Snack for Snack, though,” he promised again.

When he returned, later than usual, he went right to her. Not ignoring her today. She had been sitting up on top of the desk, sketching. He scooped her up off the desktop, cradling her and going right to his reclining chair in the back room. 

“Long day,” she said.

“Long day,” he agreed. 

She undressed in his lap, shaking off her clothes and letting them drop over the arms of the chair. Half-undressing him. Enough of the buttons of his shirt so that she could put her face to his lower chest. Just undoing his fly so that he sprang forth. Moving slow at first. Rubbing the edges of his horns, the ridges over his slit eyes, carefully along his arm blades. Waiting until he was no longer tense beneath her. Turning so her back was to him, straddling his shaft. Even moving slowly after that. For once almost breathing in unison together. Reaching up under her arms, he pressed his palms to her chest. Crushing the air out of her lungs. Making her ride him while she went dizzy from a lack of oxygen. Oddly relaxing to have that kind of pressure exerted on her. Being flattened and held close. She was caught and content with it. Enclosed and safe. 

She came first, a drawn out, almost half-asleep orgasm. Not having been so relaxed and mindless in so long. Liking the cycle of being crushed, of trying to give him enough movement, of lubing him up with herself. Moaning low and helplessly on him until he finished a few moments later. For the first time, they just rested for a moment together. All right with the mess, at least for a little while. She was about to dismount when he turned her around. Standing, holding her to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and they went to the bathroom. He deposited her on the sink. She jumped down, about to retrieve the vacuum when he stopped her, throwing an arm out, battering into her chest. 

“Gather one of the scurvy treats,” he said.

She laughed, liking ‘scurvy treats’ better than ‘lemon squeezees’ and went to her food tub. Returning to him, she held it out, head cocked and waiting to see what he wanted, or intended to do. Taking it from her, he knelt quickly, biting sharply at the tip of his index finger. For the first time, she saw that welling of caustic gel from him, but didn’t step away. Watching him as he rolled his hand, letting it sluice into the underside of his claw. Grabbing her left knee, he jerked her leg forward. But then looked up at her. It was the first time she’d seen him from this particular angle. If he was ever below her, it was during sex, or perhaps massage. Never able to look down into his face, though. His head cocked like hers had been in a question. She didn’t know quite what the question was, but found herself wholly unconcerned. Barely even curious, observing him. 

“Yes,” she said. 

He traced a few instantly burning lines on the outside of her upper thigh. As soon as he finished, her leg shivering in his claws, he pressed the gummy to her leg in a gush, neutralizing the burn somewhat. Licking up the liquid after the fact, which soothed further. Wondering if he, like humans, had some analgesic qualities in his saliva. 

She looked down at the damage– pink and slightly swollen, like a mild steam burn. Right now, it was mostly tingling-numb. Tomorrow, it would likely itch. 

“You?” she asked, pointing to the symbol. 

He nodded. He hadn’t learned, or didn’t connect with a down-up-down nod. He would just sharply dip his chin a little too deeply to his chest, holding it there just a beat too long before lifting his face again. The gesture didn’t matter so much, they understood what it meant when they gave it to each other now. 

She smiled down at him, curling her pinkies below the curve of his jaw. After a second, she touched the edges of the burn with a fingertip. But it made her skin feel like it was puffing up, so she drew back as if at heat. 

“Others would know this?” she asked.

He nodded again. Then licked over the burn once more. Sliding both hands up along the inside of her legs, he looked up at her again. She was finding that she rather liked this new angle on him.

“Would have done this side,” he said. “Is his most favorite. But since it’s so often put to use, no damage intended.” 

She laughed again, liking that he’d thought about the fact that if he burned her inner thighs, she wouldn’t be too thrilled to fuck with them. 

He reached out, grabbing her around the knees and upper legs, tossing her unceremoniously over his shoulder to bring her to bed. 

Things settled back into ease– or, at least, routine. She began leaving her journal on top of his desk, but he never once touched it. They played games on what she thought of as his “lunch breaks.” He brought her snacks when he returned home. He noticed she ate with more fervor and interest for the fresh, ‘foreign’ things than her ready-meals. He must have been marking how fast, or slowly, she was moving her way through the tub.

The burn healed quickly. Going flat and fuchsia on her skin. The first two days itched terribly. After that, she only noticed it if her skin brushed on something else. 

She was more concerned that now she was downright terrified at the thought of having to walk out of the cabin doors. Time was impossible to track, and she didn’t know how long she’d been in the cargo hold, but at some point, they were going to make landfall. At some point, in the not-distant future, the bubble of non-time they were in was going to pop. 

She didn’t like that she was fearful. Of course, she’d been scared of assault or abduction all her life. But the witless terror that accompanied the idea of leaving her space was new. It wasn’t unrealistic or silly of her to be fearful. The Grays seemed to have a hatred of humans. The New Brute would definitely be a problem, and he had no fear of reprisal. She knew her Brute would intervene, and possibly even commit massive violence. But what good was the New Brute being dead if she was too? 

Frankly, she was most scared of being taken by the New Brute. Put back into the same kind of servitude Jack had her in. But that he’d grow bored so much quicker. Let her loose into space to die alone and float forever. 

She was sketching the airlock in the cargo hold when her Brute came in. 

“One snack, one special treat,” he said. 

If he occasionally mimicked her, with tone or gesture, the numbers one was one of the few she borrowed from him. Not lifting singular fingers to indicate numbers, but instead lifting all fingers up, folding them to heel and lifting the number of times respectively. Thus, folding and lifting twice, to indicate her two goodies. 

From his hip pocket, he pulled out a plastic tray folded in half. So he’d doggy-bagged his meal for her, she thought, snickering internally. Something crunchy and fatty like nuts, the pate stuff, and a globular jelly that was far too salty to attempt. 

She ate carefully with her fingers, watching him move around and come down from the day. Undoing his belt, setting things down. She paused long enough to take off his shoes once he settled into the chair at his desk. 

She handed the meal tray back to him, patting the salty stuff and then sticking out her tongue and flopping on the floor to mimic death. 

He huffed and finished it. While he did, she snuggled into his leg. She thought they both liked this. He’d become accustomed to resting his heavy hand on the top of her head when she was close. And she liked to be able to have an arm and leg wrapped around his, using him like a heating coil. 

“Venusian engineer,” he said suddenly. “Bored… Hobbyist. Treat for Pet.” 

She looked up, watching him plucking around in his breast pocket for something. It must be small, something able to be lost in the fabric, maybe even caught in the seams. He drew it forth, resting his knuckles on his further knee, opening his hand after a second. In the middle of his palm was a fine gold ring, a red jewel dangling like blood from the center. 

“From broken indicator tip,” he said, shaking the ring, setting the jewel dancing. “It’s for tools, but MD said humans also value.” 

She suddenly realized it was a replacement nose ring. Recreated roughly from the sketch in her notebook, likely. The ring ever so slightly bigger, the metal itself far thinner. Probably just a piece of wiring, or a bit of gold from a motherboard. But the jewel must have been a ruby. It looked nearly ready to be jewelry. It must have been used in some kind of measuring tool. She saw the chip, the reason why it had to be discarded, however. 

Of course, he wouldn’t be able to find a pearl, not aboard ship. But she’d been shocked he could find anything, or would think to have it made. Then she wondered just how often had she drawn it? And he must have understood it was important. 

She was frozen, unsure how to take the gift. He huffed, stopped shaking it to catch the light. She scrambled up into his lap, clutching at the fabric at the front of his uniform. Burying her face into his lower chest. Listening to his body work. Too shocked, too dry, too tired, too overwhelmed to cry. After two or three minutes, she finally managed to say, “thank you.” Another few minutes after that, she sat back a little. Taking the delicate ring from him. Feeling first the flesh of her nose, wondering suddenly if her piercing had closed over. It hadn’t seemed to. 

Ordinarily, she didn’t feel particularly pretty or willing to let someone watch her do something like insert a ring. She’d never put on makeup or showered or dressed in front of anyone willingly. But, like table manners or nudity, it hardly mattered with him. She took it from his still-open palm, wiggling the wire through her piercing. Feeling her face do that twitch and jerk to help it along. 

Almost just right, like her old one. Gem dangling at the lowest part of her philtrum, above the valley of her upper lip. Like she would with anyone else, she turned her head left-right-left in a little modeling movement. He touched it himself, pinching the bridge of her nose, lifting a little to see the operation while she laughed. 

Oh god, she wanted to kiss him.

There was nothing to kiss.

She took up both his hands from his lap, pressing her lips to each of his knuckles in turn. He watched intently and unmoving as she did that. 

Then they just sat together like that for a long while. Straddling his hips, facing him, letting her head drop low, somewhere between his stomach and chest. Feet tucked up under his thighs to warm them up. Even now that she had socks, she was always cold. He had a hand on her hip, the other comfortably at rest on the arm of his chair. 

She half woke from a doze when he stood up, cradling her into an elbow. Going into the backroom. She held on, not opening her eyes. He didn’t toss or drop her, but rolled into bed with her.