The Human Pet: A Sci-Fi Romance

Part 7

Kayla

My master is yelling at me.

That's nice, but I'm having fun. I like examining and playing with these fascinating creatures, so I pretend that I don't hear him and go back to chasing them. When his shadow casts over me, startling Glow Ball who flies away, I look up. Tarak stands over me and when he lifts his big hand, I flinch. If he hits me for not obeying, with a hand that size, I might be maimed or injured.

The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkles and he scoops me up in his arms. He presses the back of my neck so that my head rests on his shoulder and he carries me.

From this position, I can see Glow Ball take flight. The other glowing creatures take flight with him, and they swoop over me, twisting and turning like they are performing acrobatic tricks. Are they following me? I feel like I've made friends.

Tarak sits down on a bench near another scourge. I keep my eyes on Glow Ball and the other animals hovering in the air around us, so close that I could touch them, except a scourge seated nearby swats at them like they are flies. I yell out to warn Glow Ball, but he is smart, dodging the scourge and flying higher. The creatures continue circling overhead. I can't help noticing how all their underbellies are now bright red and one of them even divebombs the scourge who tried to hit them.

I silently cheer them on. That will teach that scourge.

Except that nasty scourge won't leave the glowing creatures alone because he goes to a nearby tree, brings back a stick, and hurtles the stick at them. I gasp, watching the stick that those creatures dodge. They don't leave and hover above that scourge, a sequence of colors (yellow-green-green-blue-red) flash several times in a row on their bellies in unison. I just stare up at them, gaping and wondering what this might mean until Tarak nudges me.

I could watch the glowing animals do their aerial acrobats forever, except Tarak lifts me and places me next to the bench. Only a few feet away from me is another human, a man. My breath hitches. He had been so quiet I had not even known he was here. I gaze at him, but he just sits on the floor, staring off into the distance.

Why won't he look at me? Or try to communicate with me? Maybe he doesn't want to look at me because he's not comfortable. Hearing another voice might help, which is good because when I'm nervous, I babble.

So, I tell this man every detail about all the difficulties we had aboard the Phoenix Borealis: how hard it was to get food; how we got lost; how our ship was stormed by the scourges.

He still does not meet my eyes, so I stop myself. He's probably annoyed because I'm yammering on and on, not even asking any questions about him. Sheesh, I wouldn't want to look at someone acting so self-centered.

"I'm from Earth," I say and when that doesn't elicit a response, I draw circles in the dirt and point at the third circle from my hand-drawn sun. "Where are you from?"

Still, not even a glance in my direction, so I babble on. "We found some settlers from Romulus and Remus. Might that be where you are from?"

A string of saliva extends from the corner of his mouth. Someone might be hungry, and that person might accidentally drool, but most people would brush it away. This man, though, just sits with that long strand of saliva hanging there with the same far-off look.

I reposition myself so that I am directly in front of him and lightly brush his cheek. Still no response. His eyes are glassy. Is he drugged? Antipsychotics can have this effect on a person.

I take another look at him. Dozens of bruises cover his body.

"Hey," I whisper, pushing a wisp of dark hair out of his eyes and the front of his head, unveiling stitches at his hairline. I gasp. Surely no one would...

There is only one way to find out, and I tug harder at this man's hair, pulling him closer. His body flops toward me, which is even more of an indication of what I suspect might be wrong. Sure enough, stitches continue along the front of his scalp. Why would anyone do this? Cutting into the frontal lobe could disrupt one's ability to plan. Worse than that the person on the receiving end of the operation could forever be the drooling mess in front of me.

So many questions run through my mind. What species would do this to another? Will this happen to me?

I scream.