Page 44 of Cozy Prisons (Human Pets of Talin: Origins #4)

Hale

Hale was lost. Again.

It wasn’t their fault. Talins enjoyed confusing architecture.

Would it hurt them to color-code the corridors like the Fulmons?

They could shape code the corridors like the Leemrons did.

Hallways with a square cross section ran the length of the station or ship, and a triangular cross section ran the width.

But no, these Talins made every damn corridor look the same.

It was annoying, especially since they’d been on the ship for two days and still couldn’t find their way around.

At least they weren’t getting dirty and covered in dust around here. Now that they liked the other humans, they didn’t want to upset any of them. They bathed and ate regularly and pretended to sleep.

Thanks to their new friends, they were more confident that Dimla and Sukla would be okay.

Almost thirty people knew about them. It took a burden off them, making it easier to talk to the others without feeling panicked because they weren’t spending every moment of every day remembering the children.

“Are you lost?”

“Ah!” Hale said, turning around, sinking into a defensive stand. The burnt-orange Talin held up his hands and stepped away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Lorisum,” he said, purring loudly and ducking his head as if trying to look smaller and less intimidating. “We met when you first came on the ship. I was one of the two individuals Palathum accepted to join your colony."

“I know,” Hale said, taking a step back that put them right up against the large wall display they’d been studying. “I remember, you helped unload the ferry when we docked at the ship.”

“That makes me happy.”

“Great,” Hale muttered, unsure what else to say. “Um, well, bye.”

Picking a direction, they started walking. It wasn’t a surprise when Lorisum fell in step beside them.

“Are you looking for something or moving for exercise?”

“I wanted a snack,” Hale said. There was a sign on the wall, but it was in Talin glyphs. No other languages, and it wasn’t a live display, so Hale couldn’t touch it and scroll through language options.

Another example of Talins being annoying! Why couldn’t they use Universal ticks instead? Even the Ilgorian Federation used Universal, and they were as big as the Talin Empire!

Lorisum pointed to the right. “If you’re hungry, the galley is this way.”

Hale gave the helpful Talin a nod. “Thanks.”

They set off, and once again, Lorisum fell in step with them.

“I should come with you.”

It wasn’t a surprise that Lorisum wouldn’t leave them alone. It made Hale decide they’d get some food and take it back to their room.

When Hale didn’t respond to Lorisum inviting himself along, the Talin continued talking. “I was deeply fearful for all of you when we got the automated distress signal. I was worried about everyone’s safety. After I found out that no one was hurt or killed, I was relieved, but still sad.”

Hale couldn’t help themself. “Sad? Why?”

“I was one of the few lucky applicants accepted by Palathum to settle on Arise. After so many rotations serving my empire, I thought I was going to a place where I could find happiness instead of duty. I thought I’d found my new home, only to hear that the home was gone.”

Even though Lorisum’s voice didn’t change and he didn’t make any emotional rumbles or rattles, Hale could feel the sorrow in those words.

“I lost my home too,” they said, then realized Lorisum would draw the wrong conclusion. “I don’t mean Arise. I lived at a station. When my family died, I realized they’d been my home.”

The memory hurt, but not as much anymore. For the first time since it all happened, Hale thought they might heal from the loss instead of simply existing until they got to die too.

“That’s devastating,” Lorisum said with a purr.

Hale hated to admit how much they liked Lorisum’s purr.

It was a little different from the other Talins.

It was deeper, probably because he was big, even for the large species.

“Humans are so fragile. If we’d found all of you sooner, things would’ve been different. ”

“My family wasn’t human,” they said, then cursed themself.

Hale didn’t know if they wanted to talk to Lorisum about their family.

It was one thing to talk to other humans who completely understood that someone outside your species could become family, but they weren’t ready to trust a Talin with that information. Not yet, anyway.

To Hale’s surprise, Lorisum didn’t ask any questions. He started talking.

“I love babies and children. I hated the way the cresh workers always stressed self-control instead of joy when I was growing up. I couldn’t work in a cresh because of my poor reports when I was in a cresh.

I went into government and tried to get the cresh regulations changed.

I was dismissed from every post I managed to get.

It became clear to me that I didn’t have the mindset to work in government because I couldn’t be political enough.

All I wanted to do was work with children or help make their lives better, but no one would let me. ”

The longing and frustration came out in every word. Hale had lost everyone important to them, but before that, they’d loved more than they’d ever thought possible. Lorisum never got the chance to know what that felt like.

Hale changed their mind about taking food back to their room. “Are you hungry? Would you like to join me?”

Lorisum let out an excited rattle. “That would be nice, thank you.”

One more turn put them in the empty galley, and Lorisum was quick to guide Hale to a table. He asked what Hale wanted and rushed to fetch everything. Hale had never been waited on before, and it felt both strange and nice.

Maybe these Talins weren’t so bad after all.

When Lorisum brought back enough food to feed three humans, Hale simply thanked him and started eating.

“Do you want children of your own?” they asked.

“Absolutely!” Lorisum said. “At least two, maybe three or four if Palathum can figure out a way to make that happen. Right now, the population requirements are only two Talins per couple, but she’s a very clever leader. I’m sure she can figure out a way that I could have more children.”

Lorisum’s response made Hale realize how little they knew about Talin law. “There’s a limit to how many children you’re legally allowed to have?”

“It’s all controlled by the Population Council.

They do studies on population growth and resources and decide how many children each couple should finance through the cresh.

The current number is two, but if you're a member of a smaller clan or new colony, couples can petition for up to four children.”

Hale’s growing affection for the Talin went cold. “Wait, are you married?”

Lorisum was quiet for a moment. He’d been so eager to answer until now that Hale worried they’d accidentally hurt the Talin’s feelings.

Hale leaned forward and put a hand over Lorisum’s. “You don’t have to answer that, it’s none of my business.”

Lorisum stared at Hale’s hand, as if surprised by the touch. “You’re showing me affection.”

Hale blinked. “Um, yeah, I guess.”

Lorisum started purring loudly. “You like me!”

That childlike declaration made Hale laugh and pat Lorisum’s hand. “I sure do.”

Although Talins didn’t have a facial expression, Hale knew Lorisum was immensely happy by the way his entire body wiggled a little in his seat. He slid his hand closer to Hale so they didn’t need to stretch their arm halfway across the table to maintain contact.

“I like you too. I’ve been walking past your cabin hoping to get the chance to escort you somewhere.”

Hale felt a spark of warmth deep in their chest. Although they’d been sure they’d never be happy among the Talins, Hale was starting to understand why so many humans were content. Life as a pet was safe, easy, and full of Talins desperate for your attention. This kind of life could be addictive.

“I only hesitated to tell you about my marital state because it’s not a pleasant topic.

I had a wife, but she requested a separation to make a more advantageous marriage.

That means I’m legally allowed to have only one child, unless I marry again.

That’s one of the reasons I was so desperate to be accepted by Palathum. ”

Even though there was no one else in the galley, Lorisum leaned closer and lowered his voice as if someone might overhear him.

“Not only do I want more than one child without having to marry again, but I want to raise them myself. I want to be part of every aspect of their development. I want to be a true parent, as we used to be before Monarch Revelon.”

Hale could understand the longing to raise children. Even if Hale knew at the beginning that they’d lose Dimla and Sukla, they wouldn’t have done anything differently. They couldn’t imagine never getting the chance to know the joy and love of children.

“How long ago did you guys start doing the whole artificial wombs and cresh thing?”

“Roughly 3,000 solars ago,” Lorisum explained.

“It’s very much set in both our culture and laws now.

It all made sense when we were a young interstellar species, but we're so powerful it’s no longer necessary.

At least in its current form. But I shouldn’t lament.

I’m going to be one of the lucky ones who found a way to break the law with little risk. ”

“I had babies.”

Hale didn’t realize they were going to say that until the words popped out of their mouth.

Were they going to share this with this Talin?

It was one thing to talk to fellow humans who inherently understood how you could come to love children that weren’t yours, or even human.

But the Talins had such a different outlook on reproduction and family that Hale knew they wouldn’t understand.

Except maybe Lorisum would.