For years I’ve lived with nothing but my well and solar lights, and I don’t have any intentions of changing that.
I also have no intention of giving up my solitude.
I happen to be good friends with the best in the business for sourcing and placing hucow pets: a slick Arachnoid by the name of Sylvus. He’s tried to convince me to give one a shot more than once, especially now that he’s finally decided to keep one of his own.
But every time, I tell him the same thing: the Caimites know me, and only me. They don’t like change. Plus, a pet is a significant commitment, no matter how docile.
I know myself. I’d never be able to treat a hucow pet with the same level of cool detachment as my peers; I’d tend to them with all the obsessive attention to detail I give my Caimites, and I just don’t have room for any more of that in my life.
What has me visiting Sylvus this time is different business entirely. He’s helped me diversify my income streams—that is, split my egg sales between legal and… alternative channels—without drawing any undue attention.
I don’t really care what happens to the eggs after I’ve confirmed they’re infertile and sent them for shipment. Ifpeople want to make black-market bids to cut in line for the latest shipment, that’s fine by me. As long as my Caimites are happy and healthy, I’m happy and healthy.
Well, mostly. Some days, it’s nice to have company beyond the unblinking stares of dozens of caimite eyeballs poking up out of the sand.
But company comes withhumidity, so I’m always back to my ranch before long.
I assure myself I’ll be home in just a few days as my wings whir behind me, carrying me through the thickening air as I approach Sherexis, the planet’s largest city. It sprawls through the trees, bleeding out in tendrils like rivers flowing backward from the sea.
I land on a busy silk platform in the canopy and dodge around a chattering gaggle of bee Apoids whose wings buzz eagerly, knocking clouds of pollen loose from their fuzzy legs.
My wings tuck against my abdomen, and my shell closes around them. With a foot, I tap the crate strapped to my underbelly, ensuring the eggs are still safe inside.
Catching the silk pathway with my hooked toes, I head down into Sherexis, fidgeting my wings under my shell. They always itch here in the humidity where they can never get all the way dry.
I want to get out of here as quickly as possible.
The computer on my wrist connects to the local network, and I tap out a message to Sylvus.
I’m here. Where are you?
He quickly replies with a location pin, which I recognize as one of his favorite restaurants.
Sylvus
Doing other business but you’re welcome to stop in. You can meet Andromeda.
Sylvus is lucky I like him. Going someplace unplanned in the city—and being assailed with its infinite sights and sounds—is not my idea of a good time. But our deal has gotten me the funds to build a much upgraded breeding sand-pool for my herd, so I owe him.
I take to the wing again, weaving nimbly through the city until I land against a vertical wall of woven vines and step over into the restaurant.
All I have to do is tell the host I’m here for Sylvus, and they lead me back to a private room.
I recognize several of the other males—a scorpion Sylvus and I used to gamble with, a moth I’ve met at one of Sylvus’s parties—and nod at them briefly.
Sylvus is deep in conversation with a wasp Apoid, and I run a hand through my hair, debating whether to interrupt him. I’d rather do this drop-off quickly and get headed back home, but Sylvus is going to insist I stay… maybe I can come up with an excuse…
I glance around the room, as if that’s somehow going to make me think better.
And then I see her.
She sits at a table halfway up the wall with a hucow—which must be Andromeda—at her side.
I’m caught by her wide, grey eyes, stricken and piercing. Long brown hair falls around her shoulders over a simple green smock, and a certain…intensityradiates from her tense muscles.
A crimson blush spreads across her cheeks, and she says something to Andromeda, but her gaze stays on me.
Sylvus suddenly speaks right next to me. “I thought you weren’t in the market for a hucow.”
