Page 4 of No Strings Attached (Mated Fates #1)

Bahbi grabbed the slops that were shoved at him by the snarling male across the counter. No one except Alved, who had to train him to be his relief, had greeted him or exchanged names, but Bahbi expected that since the whole facility was staffed by Trallians. His kind valued each other by position and size. As the smallest here, he was the least valued, even though none of the Trallians here were valued at all back home. If they had been, they wouldn’t be here.

But he was curious to learn the names of some of the Trallians around him, if only to see if any names ended in the “ee” sound which signified the runt of the litter. If any had that signifier, maybe it would be possible for him to make a friend. The first friend of his life.

Walking toward the rows of bunks, he saw they were stacked five bunks high in a cavern-style room that was about 30 feet high. Ten rows of five bunks meant there were 50 Trallian guards, assuming the asteroid was fully staffed. Trallians were the only race he had seen so far among the staff, probably because they were cheap and easy to acquire. And, as typical, those Trallians hanging around in their bunks refused to look at him or acknowledge him; well, if no one talked to him today, he’d have to ask Alved tomorrow about the races on the station.

Still standing in place gazing up at the racks of beds, he heard, “Get to your bunk, runt!” as a rough hand shoved forward. Turning, five larger males stood in various postures of menace and amusement. Bahbi turned back toward the bunks to match the number sewn into his slops with the numbers posted to the bunks. He saw his at the top of the second to last row and started forward.

Climbing the ladder mounted to the side of the bunks, Bahbi reached the top and pulled himself on to the thin mattress. The frame of the bunks extended one level above and was ringed by hooks where he could hang his slops. Resting on his knees, he hung the gear up in a semi-circle, enclosing the exposed sides of his bunk to give the feel of a little sleeping compartment like the one he’d had back home. He left one section open by the ladder and one section open by his head, to keep from feeling too claustrophobic.

“Hey, what’s your name?” That came from his right.

“Bahbi,” he told the Trallian who had appeared in the top bunk of the row to his right. “What’s yours?”

“Trakluved.”

Bahbi gave a deep nod, acknowledging the other’s position in the middle of his litter and, thus, superiority over him. “I thought top bunks were for runts. What are you doing up there?”

“Staying away from the superiority/inferiority complexes of these other pricks around us,” he said, whiskers twitching in either amusement or annoyance.

Bahbi wouldn’t know for sure unless he got to know Trakluved better. Although he knew that he had never met anyone like Trakluved before, so it was possible he might never understand him. His one statement had set him out as wholly singular in Bahbi’s entire existence up until now. Not having a clue how to reply, he simply nodded again to acknowledge the words.

Trakluved asked, “Which city are you from?”

“Goalia. You?”

“Sterm.”

Bahbi nodded again, feeling like his head was on a spring. “My litter’s warrior won a competition in Sterm. My mother presented the video footage of the victory each night for a year when we were young. I thought it was a very beautiful city. I often admired the view of the mountains ringing the arena during the viewing each night.”

“Yes, the views are nice, but it’s cold—freeze your cock off cold. I liked the warmer temperatures of Goalia when I was there looking for an apprenticeship, although the population density meant that my chance of success was very small. Still, even though I failed, I can still recall all the tastes of the endless variations of Goalian street curries, and that’s its own type of success.” Trakluved leaned back on the mattress with a wistful look on his face.

Bahbi smiled a little; he felt the same wistful pang at the thought of his favorite street curries. “In what area were you seeking an apprenticeship?”

“Any area. It was during the one-year grace period. I failed and was shipped out at 15.”

“Here?”

Laughing, Trakluved said, “Hell no. I’m 27 now and have had 10 placements. You?”

“I’m 25 and this is my first. My litter dispersed at 15 like everyone’s, but my mother was heavy with her next litter then and selected me to stay for their first 10 years. We couldn’t afford staff, so my mother selected one from every litter to do all the jobs necessary until the next litter reached 10. From 10 to 15, the littermates themselves learn the jobs and compete for the role, so I was no longer needed.”

“Fuck me, but that’s a sweet deal. Always the runt?”

“No. Whoever was the most skilled in doing all the jobs. Everyone was trained and evaluated.” Bahbi paused for a moment, before adding, almost unnecessarily, “Everyone except the warrior, of course. Or the female.”

“Of course.” Trakluved sneered. “Everyone except the goddamned warrior. Or the female.”

Bahbi was taken aback, then paused, and thought for a moment. Smiling sheepishly, he asked, “So, Trakluved, do you think you can show me how to operate the shock sticks?”

Grinning back, he replied, “Call me Trak.”