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Dora immediately grabs my other hand and latches on like a tentacle-fish. “Master,” she repeats, following Bethiah’s lead. “Tell us how we can serve.”
Kef me.
Kaatir blinks at this show, and I say nothing. Right now, I’d like for the docking bay doors to open and just suck me out into the vacuum of space.
Fifty-Two
DORA
I’m going to kill Bethiah.
She didn’t tell me that this Kaatir guy was nice and normal. That his place is a sanctuary for older women. I thought we were heading for some sister wife crap, and instead, these people are amazing. I feel like a jerk in my hooded cloak and heavy gown. I look like a nun, and all the women that we’re meeting are giving us strange glances.
“What size are you, tiny one?” A stranger comes to my side, her expression sweet and caring. She’s got an absolutely hideous face—froglike but with bulging eyes and pebbled, glossy skin of an indeterminate shade.
“Whatever size our master requires,” Bethiah intones.
I nudge her, because the whole master/servant vibe doesn’t seem as if it’s required here. “I don’t know if my size translates over to alien sizes,” I say politely. “Why do you ask?”
She smiles at me, showing sharp teeth and a too-wide grin. “You might be able to fit in some of my clothes. Your male said you wanted some clothing, yes?”
Wordlessly, I nod, moving closer to Bethiah. The other woman might seem nice, but a mouth full of sharp teeth is always alarming.
“Hazza, why don’t you go help Mrrita with dinner?” another woman announces. She prowls toward us, a feline-looking creature with a shoddy-looking coat and an arm that looks to be shorter than the other due to a birth defect. She shoos the frightening-looking woman away and then moves toward us. “Don’t be frightened of Hazza. She’s born from an ooli mother and a szzt father and they create the ugliest children in the galaxy. Poor Hazza loves everyone, but she scares most of our visitors. Now, tell me, what are your names?”
“Whatever our master wants to call us,” Bethiah chirps, clasping her hands in front of her chest and giving the new cat-woman a pious look.
I kick her with my foot, glancing down the hall where we left Jamef in the dining hall with his friend Kaatir. I was surprised to see the other man was a blue alien—a mesakkah like Jamef and Bethiah—and even more surprised to see he’s old and battered and covered in metal. I did not think we’d be visiting a cyborg grandpa and his harem when we were coming to this moon.
Nor did I think they’d be so kind.
“I am Yaahi,” the cat-woman says. She eyes Bethiah and then looks back at me. “Your male will be swapping war stories with Kaatir for a while, I think. Kaatir is a good husband, but once someone mentions the war…” She shakes her head and mimes a pac-man with her hand. “Constant talking. I doubt your mate will get a word in. So, you can join them, or you can come and enjoy the company of women. What would you like to do?”
“Whatever our mate wants —” Bethiah begins.
I grab her arm and try to shut her up by heaving myself at her. “You know what? I’m not a huge fan of war stories, so I’d love to sit with the ladies for a while.” I already feel guilty that I was intimidated by Hazza. It’s not her fault she looks so strange to human eyes. I’m the weird race on this end of the universe, and I need to get used to seeing odd-looking people. “And I’m Dora. This is Bethiah, and she thinks she’s funny.”
“Correction,” Bethiah says. “I don’t think I’m funny. I know I’m funny.”
Yaahi eyes the two of us. “Yes, well. You’ll be quite safe here with us. We will let the men talk and we will let the women dress the small, cute one, yes?” She beams at me. “Some of them miss their daughters, and I know they will just dote on you.”
“Dress me?”
“Oh yes. Your mate suggested that when you arrived, you’d need clothing to fit your form. That the tall angry one wasn’t sharing.”
“Is that so?” Bethiah says sourly. “Remind me to neuter him when I see him again.”
“Actually he said nothing of the kind,” Yaahi replies, swishing a fluffy cat tail that has a surprising amount of jewelry upon it. “But I have seen your sort before. You are stingy and unkind to the smaller, softer mate because your husband prefers a gentler touch. Instead of learning what he likes, you take it out on her.” She reaches out and pats my cheek. “Here, though, you are equals. We will dress you in fine, pretty things, little Dora, and if your husband likes them, even the brutish one cannot take them away. Yes?”
