He took a liking to pinching the skin over the bridge of her nose, lifting upward sharply to once again see how the ring was lodged in her face. It never failed to make her laugh. If her legs were bare, he’d run his fingers or knuckles or tongue over her brand. That never failed to get her aroused. 

Her hair was getting long again, so she started braiding it to keep it out of her way, and so that it wouldn’t irritate as much with how unclean it felt. He’d very carefully watch that procedure as well. She sometimes thought about asking him to cut it for her, but she was sure he wouldn’t willingly take out any kind of blade near her– still. 

They never talked about their one excursion outside. Nor how much longer the journey was. What he planned to do afterward. Did he have a contract with this research facility? Would he fly out with someone else next? Did she have a life after this? Would he stay on-planet for a while, or was he away again? Was he going back home? Was there something (someone) waiting for him at home?

She was pegging a game against herself one late afternoon when the door’s touchpad blipped. For a long second, she froze. She was in front of the ‘kitchen’ counter, finger in her mug of powdered tea, trying to lift the sludge from the bottom when she heard that. It wasn’t him unlocking the door, it was like a doorbell ring.

She panicked. Wishing desperately that she had some means to reach him. Or even that she could stand up and go to the door. Too scared to move. She slithered along the cabinet, hugging the wall. Thinking to make her way to the desk to hide underneath it. There was a security ring in the door itself to look out of. But it didn’t help her at all. It was almost eight feet off the ground. The desk chair weighed nearly as much as her, so it wasn’t easy to shift it to climb it, in order to look out of the ring.

It blipped again, followed by, “Heya, Contraband… Hey, it’s Doc, all right? Just Doc… You there? Let me in.” 

It definitely sounded like him, but she felt locked to the floor. And also, so what if it sounded like him? She couldn’t let him in. And she felt scared… that there might be someone else… right behind him… who would force their way in. 

“You alive? I’m a little worried now…”

She finally got up. Reaching over her shoulder, she slapped a button. An angry sounding reek. Hit the other button.

“Can’t,” she said, hearing the same kind of blip that accompanied the intercom option.

“Oh good, not eviscerated and rotting in there,” Doc said. “Just sent to check on you–”

“Can’t,” she interrupted.

“He sent me, he’s expecting me,” Doc said.

“Can’t!” she said, more frustrated now. “Code!”

“There’s no code to open the door from the inside,” he said, sounding confused. “Just hit the two big buttons together.” 

She blinked at the keypad for a long time. Hit the intercom again.

“Promise you’re alone?” she asked.

“Who else would even come?” he asked back.

“Promise!” she said again.

“I promise you, I’m alone,” he said back, gentler now. 

After a moment of attempting to gather her guts and breathing heavily, she hit the two buttons simultaneously. The door, like a piece of unbelievable magic, opened. 

She barely let Doc get all the way through the doorway before slamming her palms into the buttons to close it again. 

He got low again, folding his tentacles underneath himself, sort of fluxing down into the floor. So that they’d be more on level. If he stood naturally, he was almost as tall as the Brute. 

“What are we scared of?” he asked, in a sort of playful, kids-at-a-haunted-house tone.

“Other guys,” she said.

“Which other guys?” he asked. 

“Other Bru– Other Refaites,” she said, catching herself. She was sure Doc wouldn’t appreciate any kind of specist talk from her… Even if he’d had some choice words about the Grays. 

“Ah,” he said, settling deeper, sounding more serious. “There are a number of them on board, Contraband. They’re not bad. But they have a tendency to crudity, impulsivity… And on a ship like this, it tends to attract the young ones– and these ones are young. So even more crude and impulsive.” 

“Hmph,” she said. 

“So…” he said, seeming to arrange his thoughts. Clicking his beak, eyes rolling upward just like hers when she was looking for the right words. “I guess if he’s letting me see you alone, you really are all right… Or anyway, he doesn’t think you’ll beg to escape or be rescued by me. Because he knows I would. I count him as a well-respected colleague… but if you need to leave, all you have to do is say, ‘Doc, get me out of here.’” 

“No, I’m good, Doc… Really… We uh… We have a– an understanding or–” she said, stuttering. She hadn’t articulated it, besides the feeling she felt when it was just the Brute and her; a hot sun orbited by a silly little moon. Gravity keeping them close and in well-trodden paths. 

“Good,” he said, interrupting her. “He was asking the right questions… About humans, about you. Sometimes worrying ones. Sometimes nearly heartwarming questions. So I’d hoped–  But that’s not really why I’m here, today, Contraband. We’ve found a Quinametzin who works engines who has a… rather unsavory past… Who might be able to lend us a little bit of a hand… Well, you one, anyway.”

“In what way?” she asked. “And how unsavory are we talking?”

“Well, I’m acting as the agent so that he doesn’t have to get his hands dirty, nor you for that matter. The feeling being that good ol’ Doc has had a rather unsavory past himself,” he said, clicking his beak in that tikkatikkatak humor-way and throwing his head backward. 

“So what?” she asked, nervous again.

“It seems like you have no pass, no means to actually leave ship when we get to where we’re going. Obviously, it would be nice if you were treated to émigré status upon landing… but we’re going to hedge our bets. After some small discussion, we also rather thought that perhaps you hadn’t been traveling legally to begin with. This Quinametzin can forge passes. We thought we’d get ahead of that problem, and get you one made.” He spoke diplomatically while he said all of this.

“I had a pass,” she said. “Pilings… I don’t know what he did with it. If it made the ship at all… If it was tossed somewhere or sold to someone else… But it wasn’t legit.”

“This won’t be, either. What name are we putting on this pass?” Doc asked. 

She paused.

“Listen, Contraband, I ain’t asking who you are. And we can put any ol’ damn name you want to start your second act with. But I am telling you… You’re going to want to at least say that name one more time. Just you and me. It don’t go past my mouth again. But you’ll want to say it. You’ll want to hear it. Because after today, it’s gone,” he said. 

“Pearla,” she said, quietly, eyes welling up. Her father’s name for her. The jewelry he always bought for her. The jewelry he sold, eventually. Except for that one last piece, that nose ring. That Jack had done who knows what with. Sold to some junker at the dock, no doubt. 

“Pearla,” Doc said quietly, taking his time over it. “Goodbye, Pearla. Who are you now?”

“Ruby,” she said firmly, surprising herself. Surprising herself with how quick her answer was. 

“All right, Ruby, when I see you again I’ll have a pass for you. So you can get off this tub,” he said. 

“So then I’m going to– I’m–” she gasped, stuttering, not even sure how to ask the question.

“That’s the plan,” Doc said. “There’s no reason to think it won’t go down like that. In about 200 hundred hours the tribunal for Pilings is happening… It sounds like the security and justice team are planning to treat you as a trafficked individual. Leave you off at the dock and formally discharge Pilings.” 

“Oh,” she gasped.

“Is he not… Not keeping you abreast of… Anything?” he asked.

“I didn’t know I could open the door,” she said, getting short because she was too staggered to be more polite. 

“Keep your eyes and ears open,” Doc cautioned, speaking slowly. “You ain’t dumb… I know you aren’t dumb. And more, I know you’re clever… You’re alive, so you must have some sneaky brightness, at least. Just pay attention.” 

“Hmph,” she said.

“Pay attention, be careful,” he said.

And then he was leaving again. 

As soon as the Brute came in after his work day, she stood up. 

“Doc came here,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. 

There was heaviness. Evaluation happening. She hated when she could feel both their minds grinding away. It just seemed to highlight how different they were. If she could hear the both of them thinking, she could also hear how disharmonious it was. She guessed he was wondering why, and for what reason, she immediately announced that. Fear? Getting ahead of an accusation? And she hated that it was partially why she told him. 

“It was frightening, having to go to the door,” she said, finally. “I didn’t know what was happening.”

“I didn’t know I was sending MD until I was sending him,” he said. She heard the shrug in his tone. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know. You should take whatever is dished at you.

From his pocket, he pulled out that folded over meal tray again. Setting it down on the seat of his desk chair as he did his daily unload. She knew he wanted her to be where she usually was– sitting slightly to the right of the chair, eating his scraps. But she couldn’t move from her standing position in the middle of the floor. There was more conversation that needed to be had. And he must feel that too, right?

Worse, she was hungry for the stupid leftovers. She’d grown pretty tired of the ready-meals. Only two options, three different snacks. She’d cranked through the snacks a lot faster. The mess hall food had more variety– and, obviously, were things she’d never eaten. And it didn’t taste rehydrated. Scraps were actually a treat– at least in this situation.

“Pet,” he said, much quieter than usual. “Very long day.” 

That unfroze her, and she went to shift the meal tray to the floor. Leading him over to his chair. Undoing his boots, taking his shirt from him. She was about to sit on the floor when he picked her up, leaving her on the top of the desk. Her legs danging toward the floor, facing him. He bent, picking up the tray and handing it to her. She set it on her lap, letting her legs kick as they stared at each other. 

There was more of that sweet jerky stuff on the tray.

“Pet’s favorite,” he said, pointing to it. Then to something that sort of reminded her of canned potatoes, something skinless and boiled looking. “His favorite.”

Her boiled-potato estimation wasn’t entirely wrong. The texture reminding her of an over-baked apple, teeth first squishing, then encountering a mealy graininess. But like the globular stuff, a little too much. Instead of salt though, it reminded her of canning food, the powdered citric added to fruit. 

She took another bite, smiling at him. Resting her feet on one of his knees, crossing her ankles, finishing her meal. They were both watching each other, but it was comfortable. Him watching her eating, her watching him watching. 

She had always seen herself as she performed. Very aware of what she was doing and how she was doing it. But his unabashed observation, and his acceptance of hers in turn, meant she just relaxed. She just lived with him. Feeling no urge to put on an act, no need to play act at some kind of acceptable femininity. No longer feeling like she was watching herself from over her own shoulder as she walked a stage. But instead, firmly seated in her own head, doing as needed and desired. 

He reached out, stroking over the brand, finding the spot unerringly, even through the pants she was wearing. She finished his favorite, then thrust her fingers toward him. He obliged, licking remnants from her hand. She had a frightful-delight feeling toward his tongue. Longer and wider than hers, no surprise there. But drier by far, almost rough like a cat, firmer and rounded where hers caved into a soft valley. 

She finished the tray and set it aside. When she did, he dropped his face into her lap. She was startled but stayed relaxed. Feeling him nuzzle in the way she sometimes did to him. He huffed into her legs, warming the cotton of the uniform underneath him. She finally stroked the back of his head.

“Pet didn’t leave today,” he said. 

“No-o,” she said, slowly.

“Knows she can now,” he said. 

“Yes,” she said, quieter. Trying very hard to make sure her muscles didn’t flex or tense beneath his face. Staying relaxed.

“Angry?” he asked. 

“No,” she said. She’d been shocked that she really hadn’t been locked in the whole time, but the only real anger she felt was a mild irritation for herself, at thinking the door could be locked from the inside. She’d just been operating with prey-brain for so long, she didn’t let logic drift through at all. 

“Only staying because scared to leave alone?” he asked, after a long minute. Pressing his face in deeper as he asked, almost muffled. 

One of the things she found she most enjoyed about conversing with him is there was an allowance for silence that she’d never experienced before. She was able and encouraged to take her time, find the right words, examine her feelings. There was no awkwardness when there was quiet between them. An understanding that things had to be parsed out. No urging to just say something. When silence spun out between them, it wasn’t necessarily a reason to be anxious. A reason to wait, to listen, but not be fearful. Because of their various barriers, they understood the necessity of taking their time. There was no needless conciliation or diplomacy, either. Or any ability to lie.

“No,” she finally said. “Or not only that. Pet alone a long time. Can be alone. Careful, stealthy.”

“Safer here,” he said, rolling his face across her legs again. 

“Yes,” she agreed. “But choosing safety.” 

He huffed again– his relaxation sound, post-massage sound. Going a little softer across his shoulders and neck. Arms going around her waist. 

“Have to go out, soon,” he said. 

She rested her hands on the back curve of his skull. 

“I know,” she said.

She realized he had drifted off once it was too late. His head too heavy to be dislodged from her lap without hurting him. She sat, legs falling asleep for a long while. Leaning back on her hands until her wrists hurt. Finally leaning forward over him, nipping at the back of his neck like a mother cat. He sat up, catching her chin in his palm. Almost lifting her off the desk by her face while she clung to his wrist and forearm. He set her down.

“Very long day,” he repeated.

They went into the back bedroom. He draped her over himself, as he often did, and they fell asleep.

She was woken up by him lifting her. She braced to be tossed to the floor again. Instead, he was folding her into the wall at the top of the bed. Back of head and shoulders against the wall, knees pressed to her chest. He crushed her, folding her in half, ankles propped high on his shoulders, shoving himself between her thighs. Dipping his head he spit between them, makeshift lubricant. She gasped, reaching out, holding onto the back of her own feet to keep herself pressed together for him. 

He fucked her viciously, breath coming out like an engine. She just rode it, and him. Feeling especially tossed about and subsumed in total darkness. Breath difficult to get with the weight of her legs and most of him crushing into her compacted chest. Forcing his face up under her chin, he bit her jaw, behind her ear, making her come with a whimper when she felt her skin give under his teeth. 

When he heard that, he shifted her slightly, plunging inside her in one punishing thrust. It was harder this time, because of the position. Feeling like he was filling up the whole of her torso. Some ever-expanding thing stretching and breaking her. Choking on a scream when he finally finished. He clamped a hand over her mouth, riding out his finale. When he let her go, she cried out a little. Letting her legs stretch out, sliding downward in his cum, letting her back and shoulders pop. 

She tried to get up on shaky legs, feeling him pumping out of her and drenching her feet again. 

“Stay,” he said. 

So she did, standing in the pitch dark, feeling herself flush.

He snapped for the lights and cleaned her up, as she stood, thighs shivering. 

“Back to rest,” he said, when he came back into the room, turning the lights down as he went. She fell back into bed, reaching for him in the dark once more. He felt her hands, taking them and rolling back into bed beside her. For the first time, facing each other on their sides. He usually slept on his back, up on the headrest, limbs flung wide. Tonight they both lay on their sides, foreheads together. 

“Needed,” he said, reaching between her legs, grasping her wholly in his palm. 

She wriggled under his hand, at first trying to get away. Then realizing it was starting to feel good again. She thought she’d feel overstimulated, even aching after that onslaught. She certainly didn’t want to be penetrated again, but his warm palm on her felt good. 

He huffed against her face, definite amusement. She growled in a little in answer, embarrassed. 

“One more, little female,” he said, still obviously teasing.

She rode his hand, both of them almost silent except for their breathing. Clutching at his shoulder, and the back of his neck. She hated how skillful he was getting at this. She’d miss it.

When she finished, with more of a sigh than a moan, feeling like she was melting into the bed, he let her go. Remaining unmoving though. They didn’t wake again until the lights came up. 

He seemed tense one morning, doing the usual chaar and reading. Feeling little muscle flutters down through his leg as she sat beside him. She’d only had her usual water in the morning. And she felt it churning in her guts in answer to his anxiety. 

Scraping his talons at the back of her hairline to alert her to the fact he was going to stand, he exhaled heavily. She looked up at him, senselessly nervous. Sensitive to how today was somehow out-of-the-ordinary. Because he was posturing. Sitting with his shoulders thrown back, chest purposefully wide, forearms and claws carefully resting on the arm of his chair. Legs wide apart, feet firmly grounded. 

“Coming to get you, today,” he said. 

Knotting her fingers into the laces of his boots, she kept herself from shaking her head ‘no’ at him. Though she wanted to.

“Short time, not bad,” he promised. 

She nodded.

She spent the next few hours pacing the cabin. She stopped for long enough to clean herself, shampooing her hair with the rinseless stuff. Taking the uniform that was cleaner, the one without his ‘mend’ in the waist. Wishing she had shoes. But of course, Jack’s boots wouldn’t fit her. The socks were fine for just keeping her warm, and being in the cabin. But somehow, shushing around in socks along the ship’s hallways felt more nude than nudity. 

After cleaning up, she started pacing again. And didn’t stop until he came back. With another Brute. Not the one they’d run into at the training grounds. This one a little taller, maybe, than hers. Arm blades shorter. Fewer badges and insignia on his uniform. 

She wanted desperately to get hands on her Brute, and knew she couldn’t and shouldn’t. So she just walked out the door as if everything was perfectly normal.

“Hello,” she said, nervously to the other Brute.

Huff.

They marched off down the hallway. Hers ahead of her, the other behind her. She finally shoved her hands into her hip pockets because they kept rising helplessly from her sides, wanting to bury her fingers in the back of his shirt. 

Once again, it felt like they were walking forever. At least twenty minutes, she decided. Besides, she was getting the absolute sureness that the other Brute behind her was getting frustrated by how much slower she walked. She was actually trotting to keep up with her Brute. And still, she guessed that the other was impatient. 

She sensed no violence or distaste from this other. Just a kind of chill professionalism, and cool boredom. Not even any passing curiosity that she’d seen off of others, as when they’d first walked from the cargo hold to the medical bay. 

Finally, they must have reached their destination. A door with another bored looking Brute outside. They acknowledged each other but passed no words. She was panting, after going at a jog for twenty minutes. And sweating, but mostly out of fear. 

She was slightly soothed once they walked through the doorway. It looked boring in the room. Something like a bureaucratic boardroom, or a conference room for a business concern. A round table, chairs just like her Brute’s desk chair back in his cabin. Tablets in front of all but one of the seats. 

She shifted nervously from foot to foot. No one else was present but her, her Brute and the other. The door slid open again, and she couldn’t help herself, sidling behind her Brute to hide from the newcomer. 

Peeking around his side, she sighed in relief.

“Doc,” she said. 

As if in response to her speaking, her Brute grabbed both her shoulders in a punishing grip and pushed her toward the one chair with no tablet in front of it. She was crushed into the seat. When he finally let up the pressure, she slid to the absolute edge of the chair. Legs kicking nervously off the edge. Doc sat next to her. Keeping his head down, powering up the tablet. Under the cover of the table, though, he patted her knee. 

That helped a bit, but she wished they could talk. Or that he’d set her at ease. Or something. Her Brute and the other also eventually took seats. Hers two to her left, the other nearly opposite her. She wondered if they were assigned. What the assignment meant. If the one sitting opposite her was specifically stationed there to keep an eye on her. 

After at least ten minutes of total silence besides her own hammering heart, there was a sudden steady stream of entrances. No other humans, of course. A few other Tent’s, several Venusians, Indrids, Nomos. 

She did her best to not stare. Finally deciding to just look into her own lap, watch her own writhing fingers. 

“No one here is unfamiliar with the issue at hand, and I believe we all have other duties to attend to, so we’ll cut the banter. As for minutes, just put ‘as understood’ for the time being, and I’ll fill in the rest,” a Venusian almost diagonally across from her announced with a sigh. 

She didn’t know if the familiarity and bureaucratic boredom was soothing, or made everything more frightful. She decided it was a good thing and took a breath. 

“Findings?” the Venusian said. 

The other Brute spoke up first, “Reports of officer Pilings unavailable for shifts, work highly variable, ditto behavior. Concerns that he was unclean and in the throes of substance abuse. Therefore, likely to perform badly, if not criminally. Investigation begun. Evidence of heavy substance use, abuse, and sale. Tracking such began.”

Her Brute instantly began speaking after the other snapped out his rapid little report.

“From that point of the investigation we were assuming that Pilings was using his position and the availability of the cargo hold to store, distribute and use, and he was followed to gather evidence. Upon one of his forays into the hold outside of scheduled need, this officer found that he had also smuggled onboard a living human stowaway.”  

“For the purposes of muling or something?” an Indrid asked. 

It was mostly a nerve response, but she almost snickered. 

“Enslavement,” her Brute said, very quietly. 

Her heart stuttered at that, and she was sure his did too. 

“Intentions?” the head Venusian asked.

“Trafficking and murder,” the Other Brute said. 

Everyone began taking rapid notes while she went terribly cold. Kind of floating off, balloon-like. Still unwilling to think on that fact for longer than she had to. What would have happened? Before landfall, would he have gone down to her coffin? While she was put out with Sleep? And just give her one final injection? But instead of waking her, this time it would make her blood turn to sludge? And then he’d set her casket adrift in the darkness?

She shivered and couldn’t stop. Feeling the sneaking soft tip of Doc’s tentacle against the outside of her knee. She reached out and grabbed it and held on.

“The trafficked individual was kept in semi-stasis, with incredibly unclean substances,” Doc said, sounding candid but uninterested. Not at all like he was holding her back hard under the table. “Kept enslaved and imprisoned in something somewhat smaller than a hyper-sleep basket. Pumped with several rounds of illegal and dirty substances. Which were apparently also being distributed aboard ship– I treated a few individuals with similar symptoms as the individual, which leads me to believe it was all sourced and cut from the same place. My understanding is that following investigation of Pilings quarters, more substances were found, including a killer compound which was likely intended for the trafficked individual in order to remove the evidence of his illegality before landfall.” 

He gave her another little squeeze under the table as he finished. Face and tone remained unchanging, however. She wished she could slither out of the chair, crawl under the table like a child and find her Brute’s legs and sit there, and plug her ears. 

“Subsequently, Pilings was summarily relieved of duty by a security officer. His position and job duties were rapidly and easily taken over by his second-in-command, who had initially reported Pilings’ various breaches to the security team,” the Other Brute said. Briefly holding his hand out to her Brute, fingers together. 

“For the safety of the ship and those aboard, instantaneously relieved of duty,” her Brute said. 

She felt hysteria rising in her. Seeing Jack’s split open body and pints of blood filling up her prison, being referred to as ‘instantaneously relieved of duty’ made her want to cackle madly. It wasn’t that she thought he was undeserving. Frankly and unflinchingly, she was glad the man was dead, and didn’t care how it was done. But the officiousness of proceedings in contrast with the heavy smell of blood in her memory jarred her. 

She hiccuped and several of them looked at her briefly. Most for the first time. They’d been pretty head-down into their tablets as soon as they sat. She swallowed the ever-bubbling giggle in a high-pitched inhale and hid her face, chin almost to her chest. 

“Human… Female… Madame,” the head Venusian said. She was dangerously on the brink of putting her face into the table and laughing until she cried. “Do you have anything to add?”

“No,” she said, and she could tell she was speaking too quietly because everyone leaned forward. “No, sirs… ma’ams… Um… I suppose I owe thanks to the security officer in question… And I would hope he’ll be commended for his efforts and swift action.” 

She was still concerned he’d be in trouble for the reactiveness he’d clearly shown. And the violence. It didn’t seem as though that was the case. But she still wanted to speak up for him. 

“Were you aware you were being hidden aboard?” a Nomo asked her. 

She weighed how to answer the question. She knew her and Jack were being sneaky, at least. But she thought he’d simply smudged up some forms, changed a number here and there. She really hadn’t known, or gotten scared, about just how illegal all this was until he told her to get naked and step into a box. She decided on simplicity. Her father had taught her early that a lie is best if it has a kernel of truth. He’d also taught her to keep her mouth shut.

“No,” she said. 

“Kidnapped,” the Nomo murmured, while a Venusian shook its head and simultaneously said, “poor thing.”

She mentally held onto “poor thing” with both hands, wringing out every drop of possibility in it. Yes! I’m a victim, oh help me, please help me. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t wholly true.

“Were you aware of his intention to commit the ultimate violence against you?” another Venusian asked.

“No,” she said, in that, being truthful.

“Do you believe that to be the case, now?” it prodded.

She glanced at her Brute. He didn’t look at her. His face remained staring at the blank wall opposite himself, somewhere over the shoulder of the individual across the table from him. Claws resting at ease on the tabletop on either side of his tablet.

“Based on the security team’s investigation, that seems very likely, sir… And I’m very grateful… Very grateful to you all for saving me… Thank you all so much.” 

Gentle murmuring around the table followed this. Everyone leaning toward her like flowers toward a sun. Internally, she pumped both her fists in total triumph. This was the right thing to do and say. This group liked when she gave them doe eyes and pleaded. They sensed no untruth from her. Everyone around the table was sitting taller, heads held higher. They were heroes. She’d made them heroes. 

Now they owed her.

“Findings are in-line with previous investigation,” the head Venusian said. “Hereby officer John Pilings is formally dismissed from service. Pension revoked. I believe next of kin has already been alerted, and is in agreement with disposal of remains.”

That hysteria crowded in on her again. Jack had told her he had no one in the world. Apparently whoever he did have didn’t give a shit. And again, hearing her giddy expulsion of his corpse into space as ‘disposal of remains’ made her inhale sharply again. 

The Nomo on her right side misunderstood her noise.

“All’s well,” it said to her quietly, in its burbling voice. 

Yes, she’d fully become their little prey. Something to pat themselves on the back for. In the future, when they sinned, they’d be able to offset it by saying, ‘once I saved a human.’ Fine. Let her be the altar they burned their unsureness of piety on. A faux sin-eater, purging it all after they were sure of themselves.

“We are now roughly 170 hours from landfall,” the head Venusian said. “Now that the matter at hand has been decided, what are we to do next?”

“In regards to the human?” the Nomo beside her asked.

“Yes.”

Doc clicked his beak to get their attention. It was like clearing his throat. He gestured toward her Brute

“The final take-down of Pilings cabin uncovered at least the human’s travel pass. She’ll be able to legally land and perhaps apply to return to Earth from there. As she wishes.” From his pocket, he pulled out the naval-blue deck that was a travel pass. 

She admired how well he was slipping in the fake. How easy he’d made it for all of them to nod along with the play. She and Doc squeezed each other under the table again. 

“Pilings cabin has since been emptied and disinfected,” a new Nomo said. “Now that the human doesn’t have to be maintained as evidence, it could take over the space comfortably. And be out of the jurisdiction of the security team. I know care and custody has been a massive inconvenience to our team members.” 

Again, hysteria. Gulping it back quietly. Followed quickly by panic. She couldn’t help it, staring at her Brute again. Oh please, don’t drop me. Don’t agree to this. I don’t want to be alone in Jack’s room. Prey for whatever bully, assailant or predator would break in on me. Don’t leave me alone! Don’t agree to this!

She screamed inside for him to look at her. See how terrified she was. Speak up for her. 

“This is well,” the head Venusian said.

“Oh, sir,” she said, piping up. Everyone turning to her once more. She saw concerned tilts in their heads, intent interest in their eyes. Hunger for terrible trauma. “I don’t need all that space, sincerely… I am… I am happy and comfortable and–”

“Poor thing,” was repeated under someone’s breath. 

“It is quite all right,” the head Venusian said magnanimously. “The team will escort you. You’re welcome to the mess hall. It’s not long now until you’re free.” Its third eye looked warmly on her. 

She dug her nails into Doc’s tentacle and he gently dislodged her. 

“I believe I will accompany the escort to the human’s new quarters,” Doc announced. “A final check-up, to be sure she’s flushed all that nastiness.” 

“A good plan,” the Nomo next to her said.

“Meeting adjourned,” the Head Venusian said.

She was expecting to hear the slam of a gavel. Instead, just quiet talking from everyone as they stood. Pushing in chairs, a few hurrying out. Several talking in quiet knots, looking over shoulders at her frequently with hot curiosity. 

Her Brute, the Other and Doc all left together. Doc at least walked alongside her. The Brute who’d been watching the door peeled off and joined their silly little train as well. Still her Brute leading, the other two behind her. 

They walked for perhaps a minute in silence. She was starting to feel a screaming defiance in her. Turn around! Stop this! Where am I going! Can’t we just go… home?

“Slow down,” Doc suddenly snapped. “It has short legs.”

That almost set her to giggling again. Watching her Brute slow his pace infinitesimally. They didn’t have to walk as far this time. Maybe only seven minutes. The original Brute reached out to open the door. She stood stock still in the doorway. Doc grabbed her elbow in three loops of tentacle and guided her through.  

One Brute sallied forth, further along the corridor, almost immediately. The second was about to turn to hers, likely to ask a question or for direction. She interrupted, helpless to keep her mouth shut.

“Sir,” she said, in Refaite.

The Other Brute’s head snapped at her, staring at her with interest for the first time. Hers glanced at her, briefly. Or not even at her, eyes flickering somewhere over the crown of her head. 

“What did you say?” the Other Brute asked, in Refaite, in what she thought might have been an intrigued tone. She knew she’d misstepped, but needed something further. She was opening her mouth again, to say sir again. Maybe even please. She’d learned please. Doc’s tentacle clamped on her almost painfully, lifting her further into the room.

“The humans are near-perfect mimics,” he called lightly over his shoulder, whapping the close button of the door with a free tentacle.  

“Not now,” he said quietly to her.