Fortunately, there are signs. Unfortunately, they’re not in a script I can read.
I see an alien I think belongs to the crew, given it is wearing a silver, beige, and red uniform. I kind of like it, actually. It looks like the apparel is modeled after a sneaker. The alien himself is a tall, gangly creature with a big head and wide eyes. He is wearing a name tag that says Florp. I’m not entirely sure how that is pronounced.
“Excuse me, where’s the nearest emergency exit?” I ask him.
He turns slowly and look down at me with a gaze that somehow manages to be blank and judgmental at the same time.
“Shouldn’t you be with your owner?”
“What do you mean?”
“Unattended humans are the property of the management,” he says. “Are you unattended, or are you with your owner?”
“Humans are recognized as a sentient species with the ability to self-determine.”
“Sounds like you’re unattended.” He reaches for me. I gasp and dash away. I am not in the mood to be classified as unattended. I don’t know what that means, but in some places it means ending up as Beef Wellington.
* * *
Freak
I am tending to a few matters of what might be called administration. My cover is a powerful man, and one of the officers on the ship is trying to network with me. This is one of the tricks we Psyons have up our sleeves, but it does occasionally backfire.
“Yes, of course, I will give your regards to the Economic Imperium,” I am saying, as suddenly a bell starts to chime in a way that seems rather concerned.
The officer checks the notification on his device, then lets out a long sigh.
“Sorry, sir. I’ve just gotten word that there’s a human loose on the ship. We don’t allow humans to be unsupervised on board. They have a nasty habit of getting into absolutely everything.”
I know precisely what human they are talking about. My pet has almost certainly left her quarters. I suppose I didn’t expressly tell her not to. I don’t think it would have mattered if I did. At this early stage, I have to be in close contact to have anything like control over her.
The captain is not exaggerating the response. As we step out of his quarters, I find that the ship has been mobilized with several teams of crew working systematically to detain my little creature. It is a matter of minutes before they have her in hand, having chased her through the halls and brought her down like a wild animal, using a large, soft net.
I come upon the scene as they are trying to disentangle her without losing their fingers. She keeps lashing out and biting and though her teeth are blunt, they dissuade most of her captors.
“Let me go!” I hear her shouting. “Stop touching me with your gummy hands! What’s my crime anyway? Trying to leave?”
One brave soul is tasking himself with the attempt to extract her. She is doing her best to remove his fingers with her teeth. She can be quite a feral little thing when she wants to be.
I have a pang of sickness seeing her like this. I don’t want to keep her in the same kind of captivity that I found myself stuck in. I wonder, briefly, if what I am doing is wrong. Then I dismiss the thought. If anything, this shows I am right. A human female on her own is going to be taken by someone at some point. The only real question is when and by who.
“Stop biting, please,” the crewman says, speaking through gritted oral nubs. I am sure that it doesn’t feel pleasant to be bitten by a human. They are quite efficient biters, even without many canines, and relatively small mandibles.
“That’s enough,” I say, stepping into the fray.
I quite literally have my leg in the way, which results in it being bitten by my feral little pet. I’m surprised by how hard and sharpa bite it is. It doesn’t break my scaled skin, of course, but it is impressive nonetheless.
She is a naughty thing. I do wonder if her flooded ship has anything to do with her temperament. Had she managed to annoy the wrong person? I wouldn’t put it past her. I wouldn’t judge her either. That’s a talent I also share.
I reach down, grip her by the back of her neck to immobilize her, and slowly pull the net away from her limbs. I am gratified to see that she has the scruffing reflex. That’s one way to keep her properly under control, though it does require me to be physically touching her.
I am going to have to find a way to contain my pet until she is well trained. A cage, perhaps. Or a collar with a lead that can be fastened to a wall.
“Behave yourself, pet,” I growl, smacking her pleasingly round rear just hard enough to make her yelp.
“I’m not an animal! I’m a person!”
The crew and I exchange looks. People are, of course, animals. But they do hate hearing it.
