Page 7 of Her Alien Boss

He stands guard solemnly while I eat. I don’t eat fast. Not that keen to get back in the box. Eventually, though, I have to hand back the oversized bowl and spoon and get back inside.

I do so, because I know the alternative is being put back in there manually, and showing that I’m a compliant captive is probably going to work out better for me over the next few days. Maybe, if I am very good, I can talk my way back into a normal berth.

* * *

And so it goes. A bowl of food is brought every three hours, with an eight-hour gap to allow for sleep. The food they picked up from Earth is actually pretty good. There’s croissants and stuff. And ice cream. And mashed potatoes once. Hard to believe I won’t have access to mashed potatoes soon, but these are the things we sacrifice when we depart for the stars.

I should have brought a lot more snackies. My bag does have some chocolate in it, but I was planning on rationing it. I do pretty well on that the first day and into the second, but eventually being cooped up like this catches up with me.

I grab it out and take a big bite. It tastes good, takes the edge off my immediate fuckup. I haven’t been on this ship for even, what, an hour, and I’m already in the pet brig.

If Rustle could see me now he’d be so fucking smug. He’d be so pleased with himself. He’d laugh his fucking ass off.

He won’t know about this, though. Not unless my employer decides to complain about me to the Alpha Core, but I doubt it. Or at least, I hope not. And Alpha Core would understand what I was trying to do. People have died trying to do what I did. Aliens have executed human spies before. I’m actually quite lucky that all that happened was I got put in a kennel.

* * *

The three days pass faster than I really expected them to. I got used to the kennel astonishingly quickly. The plastic bed wasn’t actually that bad to sleep on. Kind of comfy, actually. And getting let out every few hours meant I never really felt as claustrophobic as I thought I’d get.

“I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me,” I murmur to myself softly as the kennel door is opened.

“You made it,” the Antari guard says. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” I say, doing a little curtsey.

“Turn around,” he says, one of his hands making a twirling motion while two of his lower hands hold out what looks suspiciously like a silver collar.

“Why?” I say suspiciously. “What are you trying to do?”

“You have to be leashed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pets aren’t allowed to be left unattended at any time, and right now you’re a pet, according to the ship’s manifest.”

“I’m going to meet my employer, though.”

“Yes. And the handover is done when I give him your leash. Do you have everything packed away in your bag? We won’t be able to come back for anything because the ship will be going into maintenance.”

“Uhm, yeah. I think I have everything,” I say.

“Turn around,” he repeats.

When I don’t do it immediately, he uses his upper arms to turn me around and he wraps the silver collar around my neck. It’s snugger than I thought it would be, and warmer.

“I swear to god, you make one mistake…” I mutter to myself as he puts it on.

“Indeed. The worlds you are about to inhabit are ones of great consequence. You would do well to consider your actions before you undertake them.”

I don’t know why he has taken it on himself to spend time lecturing me right now. Maybe it’s an act of kindness in his culture.

“Do you know who is picking me up?”

“Starlord Arkon Thornhall,” he says.

“Sounds fancy.”

“He is from one of the exalted houses. He has domain over vast swathes of our galaxy. You are about to become his human research assistant, apparently. A service pet, how nice.”