Of course, there are whispers that they’re being held there against their will, or so fundamentally changed that they may as well be dead. I’m just a little ‘truth-blind’ human, so all I can do is research and guess.
It is a strange assignment, to be sure. Humans are injected with a serum that massively increases lactation. Thus, they can become a humane and consensual source of milk, which the Arthropoid species—basically centaurs with the bodies of bugs instead of horses—have a high demand for.
Colloquially, they’re called hucows.
I’ve looked for patterns that might indicate it’s somehow a secret dumping ground for humans deemed low-utility. But the IQ distribution is no different from the standard population’s, and no illness or genetic marker is over-represented. All genders are assigned, but I won’t pretend to understand the mechanics of that.
The risk seemed worth it. So, I used a special provision to request the assignment. Each human is allowed to do so only once; the ICSS knows curiosity would get the better of us otherwise.
I was rejected.
I lack something that all these people, with no uniting pattern in their data, somehow have.
I’ve never felt more worthless.
So, I fell back on the one trait I’ve always been proud of: I’m no quitter.
I dug deeper. Read the message boards more carefully. Started to notice patterns. Code words. Secrets hiding in plain sight.
There’s an… alternative option.
An illegal option.
Some Arthropoids aren’t satisfied with bottled milk. They want fresh milk, straight from the source.
They want hucow pets.
By all accounts, these pets are pampered. The best milk comes from the happiest cows, after all.
At this point, I don’t really care if that happiness comes from a pill, as some people claim. I don’t even need to be happy. I just need a place where I can stay, and I never have to leave again.
So I made a blacknet account. Hunted until I found the right contacts. Sent in my information.
I was sure they’d take any willing body.
I was rejectedagain,citing issues of compatibility.
This time, I was furious. Ready to threaten blackmail, to turn state’s witness and destroy the whole operation if they didn’t let me in.
I only realized later how quickly that would’ve gotten me killed.
But fortunately, a couple days later, I got a second blacknet message.
I was deemed borderline on the acceptance criteria, so I had the chance to appeal.
I would need to find a way, legal or otherwise, to get to Zairion Prime. There, I would meet with a representative of the organization who would make the final determination on my comparability.
My years observing all the tiny cracks in ICSS process became very, very handy. My plan was only good for a one-way ticket, and I’d be a fugitive once I landed on Zairion Prime whether I was accepted to be a hucow or not, but finding a quiet place to hide for the rest of my life sounded a hell of a lot better than letting the ICSS keep throwing me around.
So, I put in a recuperation request for leave time to an approved planet, making sure to pick a warp flight with a layover on Zairion Prime.
They always check your tickets when you board a starship.
They never check when you leave.
I strolled out of the starport in Zairion’s biggest city, Sherexis, breathing deep the oxygen-rich air and petrichor scent, quietly praying to never set foot on a starship again.
CHAPTER 2
