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Lenora

Do Oozarian’s have assholes?

You’d have to, right?

All living things need air, water, etc., etc.

That was what all the old Earth media used to say.

I can’t fathom why they thought that. To assume that in an infinite number of galaxies, an ever-expanding space that those four little rules would apply to any and every form of life they could possibly come across seems nearsighted at best.

The majority of them didn’t even think aliens were real.

If my cheeks weren’t flushed bright red and my stomach wasn’t tied into knots, I’d laugh at that.

I was born here on Terra2, as was my mom, grandma, and great grandma before them.

It’s fun, though, watching the Old Earth movies as grainy and dated as they are.

It’s about the only thing humans have united on, preserving us .

What little of us is left. There’s no room for new history, too much poverty, too much misery to want to document.

Those that do, keep it in archives and to themselves, because who in the hell would want to watch that when we’re living it?

The high banners of the space port are lit with neon hues, sporting advertisements for this shop or that, the long, open, bright walkways bustling with more species than I can count.

My hands fist around my small bag, my eyes peeking up at the beings walking around me.

My pulse flips as a large Kalzait male’s eyes meet mine, my lips parting as my attention slides to the pretty iridescent wings that flutter against his back.

As if it takes a lot of control to keep them there instead of taking flight.

When my perusal takes too long and he hikes an annoyed brow, I snap my head upward like suddenly the never-ending vacuum of space is incredibly interesting to me.

The crisscrossing, almost lattice-looking metal structure bars house octagonal windows that show a slowly rotating stream of stars.

The fact that we’re technically spinning in circles around the outer core of the station never fails to make me feel uneasy on my feet.

My brain instant upon the fact that I can suddenly feel it.

Nausea roils in my gut as I wait for the walking light to turn green.

For the millionth time, I wonder if I’ll be so lucky to be paired with a Kalzait, maybe even a stranger looking being, as long as their home world is advanced enough for comfort.

The idea of being trapped in the underground tunnels of the Strilgid , an insectoid species whose males look like sexy spider flies and live in vast hives.

They’ve kept themselves relatively primitive, but their sharp, handsomely alien looks aren’t enough to keep my stomach from dropping.

There’s only so much a chiseled set of abs can do when faced with the prospect of perpetual darkness I can only picture as the undergrown Paris Catacombs.

Something I’m still not sure is real or not, but keeps me up at night either way.

The indication beam that runs along the slightly textured floor covered in languages I can’t read turns green. Everything in me screams to keep going forward, to follow the crowds around the bright outer levels of the station.

I turn left.

It takes less than twenty steps for the lighting to change, and already my heart is pounding in my chest. Of course, an agency known for its underhanded, less than legal dealings wouldn’t be on the outer rim.

Very few places on the outer rim cater to humans at all.

We’re essentially like the dumb cousins of space, and even after four generations of coexistence and at least ten of partnerships and assimilation before that, they’ve never let us forget it.

My heart hammers away as I stare down at my scuffed shoes in the lift, a small, high-pitched voice breaking me from my thought vomit. “Hold it, please!”

My eyes widen as I pitch forward, making some being to my left growl when I slam my fist on the door control.

The human woman who blurs inside earns another disapproving growl from the being to the left, but we barely react.

My eyes are steady on her white dress, a sudden thick lump forms in my throat.

She scurries over to me, and when she links her arm in mine, smiling brightly, I force a smile to my lips, trying to match even an ounce of her apparent excitement.

It's not that I’m not excited, who wouldn’t be at least a little… it’s the faces of my family, the way my little sisters cried and the shame in my mom's eyes that keeps the smile watery.

The bubble of a woman leans in, keeping her voice hushed as we finally set off.

My stomach dropping out from underneath me at the sheer speed of the lift.

“Who do you think you got matched with?” Her voice nearly squeaks with excitement.

Her cheeks flush such a ridiculous shade of pink, her short curly hair smells like strawberries as it brushes against mine.

She must be from a higher class on Terra2 to afford anything scented at all.

Why the hell is she here then? I keep the question to myself, but the idea of someone from an upper class choosing this... makes my situation seem even more bitter as it settles in my stomach.

“My name is Melody, by the way.”

I give her a soft nod. “Lorena.”

That’s all she needs, her words spilling out of her like she’s in a race with herself. “I don’t really care what species I get as long as they're nice, and you know… hopefully not too big .”

Her snicker makes the first genuine smile of the day grace my lips. “Bigger isn’t always better.”

Her light blue eyes widen, her cool hands gripping my arm a little tighter, like this is something she’s sincerely worried about.

Which same here, but it's funnier coming from the woman who looks like there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be.

“It’s really not. I’d be happy either way, of course, but you know…

can you fathom the downtime after some of them?

I would be so bored lying around waiting for my la dy bits to—"

Another more irritated alien sound follows the doors to the lift, not so much opening but fizzling out like they were never there in the first place.

My laughter feels like betrayal as she sneaks a peek behind us, whatever alien she sees there making her all but wince as we tumble out into the small, clinically lit corridor.

Our laughter halts abruptly, the reality of what we’re about to do, the weight of it settling on us.

Melody’s eyes dart to the holographic clock on the display, widening.

“Oh, shit I’m late!” her panic is palatable as she fumbles with her wrist com, passing over the pager I’ve had clutched in my hand since I left home.

The devices ding letting us know the contact transfer was successful and I don’t know why that makes me want to cry.

“We should keep in touch, well, if we can use these where we end up.” She rushes out, all but pulling me down the hall.

My heart pounds, the lights and walls pressing in on me like a trash compactor.

“You need to run.” I urge her.

Her eyes dart to the clock again. “Oh, shit yeah.”

What I’m not ready for is the two arms around the neck, squeeze the life out of you bear hug she wraps me in. “Talk to you later, Lorena! Wish me luck!” She calls as she wiggles her brows and sets off down the hall.

Tears well in my eyes as she turns the corner. “Melody, hang on!” I rush after her, nearly making us collide as she pops back around the wall. “Why are you doing this?”

She smiles, her dirty blonde curls wild. “It seems like a really cool way to help people. It’ll be okay, I promise. This isn’t my first go. You might even get mated!”

I nod, giving her a weak smile and a small wave as she bolts down the corridor again.

I should follow, but my feet won’t move.

My steps carry me further away until my back meets the cold wall, my breath coming a little too quick now.

A new sense of dread building deep in my stomach.

It’s another amendment we had to consent to, the possibility of matehood.

Not something humans have to deal with but many other species recognize fated mates, whether it’s a biological thing, a spiritual thing, or a mix of the two it means our year contract turns into a lifetime one, for better or worse unless you’re lucky enough to be rejected or at least not forced to stay on world for the duration of your mutual lifespans.

The corridor is cramped compared to the outer rim.

The inner ones act as a sort of maze. My fingers tremble as I reach out, all but slapping my palm on the wall control.

The soft ding sounds followed by a voice speaking a language I recognize as the Oozarian.

It takes only domtics to pause, reading my biometric signature as my chest squeezes like a vice.

“Terra2 universal English detected. Please name your destination.”

“The Solar Breeding Agency,” I pant out, wondering how the hell Melody had run off without it.

An implant, I’m guessing. She said this wasn’t her first time, but…

I can't fathom remembering the path through any of this.

It dings again, a faint blue arrow lining the metal walls. All I need to do is follow it.

I don’t.

Instead, I let myself slip down the wall, my ass connecting with the floor through the thin dress, ignoring the quizzical stairs of the few beings filtering through.

No part of me budges, my eyes glued to the clock.

I’m two hours early. I thought that was a good choice at the time, that it’d give me time to gather my thoughts.

Turns out that was a terrible choice. The thoughts are not my friend.

Eventually, my mind quiets, and my eyes stop seeing the numbers as they flip and change.

I have no concept of how long that took until my pager dings.

My heart lurches, the calm fading as I wake the screen, knowing it won’t be Mom but hoping all the same.

Melody Arnold: “He’s big :0”

A short, almost hysterical bubble of laugher escapes from my throat.

Glimpsing the clock and finding only a whopping forty-three ontics have passed, I get to my feet, straightening and smoothing my hair and dress before I steel myself, finally following the little blue line.