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I get some hard seed bread from my countertop and chop off a slice, then head over to the floor where the praxiian is sprawled. Too late, I realize that I’ve left my stun-stick in the kitchen. But he weakly raises his bound hands for the bread and I hand it over to him. “Don’t try anything,” I tell him in my hardest voice, putting my foot on his gut again. “You won’t win.”
He groans again “Kef, I like that too much.”
I grind my boot-heel into his gut and then lift my foot. “You’re sick.”
“Sick with noli,” he agrees. “This is the worst.”
I retreat back across the room and watch him as he gnaws on the bread. He manages a small portion of it and then rests his head again.
“You can comm the custodians, you know,” he says in a quiet voice. “One of them will protect you from such a vicious praxiian. If you feel unsafe, comm them.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I bluster. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do with a big sick cat alien on my floor, but I don’t like the custodians, either. They’ll take one look at all of the defenses I’ve made on my house and sweep in and take them down, leaving me vulnerable. They’ll confiscate my stun-stick for my own safety. I’m not calling any of them. “Just shut up and eat your bread.”
“Tastes terrible,” he says around a mouthful.
“Says the man that ate a bunch of roots a stranger gave him.”
“Yeah, that was pretty keffing dumb of me. But my dick got hard and I smelled the noli and I panicked. That shit is a nightmare if you don’t have a mate.” He sounds so disgruntled that I almost laugh. “Remind me to yell at my brother tomorrow.”
“Maybe you should get your own place instead of mooching off of them.”
He huffs. “I would love to, but no one wants to rent to a praxiian. I can’t afford a homestead of my own—they’re charging a fortune for non-humans to keep outsiders away—and I don’t have those kinds of credits. I wanted to stay with my brother when he settled here with Chelsea, so I’m stuck on his couch for a while longer.”
I know what it’s like to be treated like a lesser creature by those around you, and I hate that I feel a twinge of pity for him. “Praxiians not popular here, huh?”
“Heh. No. Not popular at all. Can I have more water to wash this brick down with?”
“You are far too demanding for a captive.” But I get up and get him more water anyhow. I haven’t really talked to anyone in months and months, and longer still since I’ve had a normal, friendly conversation. This might not be normal, but it’s probably about as close as I’m going to get. It’s my own fault, of course. I don’t trust anyone after being sold and betrayed and sold and betrayed. I was told I was getting my freedom twice before I came here, all so I’d willingly go on a transport without pitching a fit. Instead, I was just sent to another horrible slave owner, each one worse than the last. To say I have trust issues is putting it mildly.
When I return with the water, the praxiian fixes those big, dark eyes on my face again. “Tell me about you, Barlia.”
“Nice try. I’m not falling for your act.”
“I’m serious.” The praxiian takes a few sips of water and watches me when he does. “I’m not leaving this floor anytime soon. I can’t go home. Even if I could walk—which I don’t think I could—the place is going to reek of noli for at least another day or two. “Might as well become friends.”
Friends? Is he serious? “I don’t need friends, praxiian.”
“Jrrru. I’d give you my last name but it’s kind of unpronounceable and doesn’t matter anyhow.” He finishes off the hard bread and then adds, “Want to hear my story?”
“No?” But I’m smiling a little inside even as I say it, because I know he’s going to tell me anyhow. I kind of like that I can be absolutely brutal with this guy and he doesn’t take it to heart or get offended. When I met Chelsea, she showed up all bubbly happiness and smiles and it didn’t take long for my scowls to scare her away. It’s not that I’m trying to be unfriendly. Okay, so I am, but I also wouldn’t have minded if she’d tried again to be my friend, just to prove that she really wanted to get to know me. She gave up instead.
Which is fine. I don’t need fake friends. I need friends that won’t give up on me.
And Jrrru, even though I don’t trust the guy, is exactly the type not to take “no” for an answer when it comes to conversation, or to get offended when I don’t gush over him. He tells me some long-winded story about growing up in a praxiian colony on a metalworking station and how it’s now just him and his brother. How they came here for a job to expand the Port shipping docks. I know that part’s true because I’ve seen the construction there for the last several months. And he talks about how his brother got to know Chelsea and they fell in love.
