“Let’s review this paperwork, and we can get into the nitty gritty of things, yes?”
My scowl deepens on the Oozarian woman, her gooey body shaped into a humanoid top and blob bottom in a smart looking alien take on a pencil skirt and vested blouse. She told me her name earlier, but the swap to English was butchered by her translator.
Thorn-e-la-nease or something like that.
I don’t respond, my fingers tapping anxiously against my thigh. I can’t tell if she’s building up the anticipation for climactic effect or if this is just the natural cadence of things, but I’m seconds from exploding. Her mate, who didn’t bother introducing himself, lords behind her like always, happy to let his other half run the show while he looks on with mild glints that bounce between annoyance and amusement.
“You’ve been placed with a species who resides on a class Four B planet, it will be done via natural copulation, under a standard one-year contract. No extra ceremony or traditions, such as but not limited to bodily modifications—’
“Hang on, you said class Four B?” I interrupt, my anxiety spiking.
She scowls over her datapad, not answering my question.
My eyes dart to her mate as if asking for some help. He offers none. “That’s… they’re a dangerous species then, right?”
“We have no information on why the planet’s grade was listed as a B. As we have told you, all candidates are vetted thoroughly.” She sneers, not bothering to mask her annoyance.
Yes, vetted unless they have enough credits.
I keep that to myself, nodding for her to continue when all I want to do is stand up in my uncomfortable chair in the humid office and launch myself over her desk to see the species’ name. There’s no doubt she’s drawing it out on purpose at this point. Some information suggests a kind of psychic ability is present within Oozarians. If that’s true, it’s a secret they hide well, as nobody has been able to confirm.
My attention blips in and out, which she doesn’t seem to mind.
Is he here already? Have they already spoken to him?
Did he find my appearance lacking?
The pitch in my brow deepens. It doesn’t matter if he thinks I’m cute. That’s not the point. To him, I’m an alien. I probably look…. gross or weird. Unless he’s one of those with a human fetish, then I suppose—
“…Your match will transfer the required credits to your listed beneficiary if it is not yourself. Immediately after both parties sign the required agreements, there will be an additional five present increase in compensation because of the B grade of the planet.”
I perk up at that, making her give me a pointed smile.
“Now allow me to show you your partner for the next year.” She makes a grand show of smashing her blobby finger down on the hologram pad, her husband doing something akin to rolling his eyes. It’s uncomfortable seeing them actually roll around completely inside his head. My stomach flips as the image blurs to life in front of me.
“Fafnir is a Bhaurnul, who lives on his native planet of Yolmarth, in the third quadrant. He is quite an accomplished warrior among his people. While the Bhaurnuls have been known to recognize mates in the past, it hasn’t been done in ages and never to an off-worlder.”
My eyes are glued to the man in the holograph, wide and I’m sure terribly expressive, judging by the stifled laughter from the back of the room. I’m not sure which part of him to analyze first, the bulked equestrian shaped legs complete with hooves, and what appears to be short, warmed toned gray fur. His long-ridged antelope like horns only adds to the severe and stern looking man, like very possibly he’s never smiled a day in his life. Long hair is the same warm gray shade as the fur on his legs. His bottom half appears to be where the fur tapers off, forming an alluring V shape over tapered hips and stomach. Oh, and a…. tail.
He’s far more intimidating than I’d even imagined, while his severe, albeit grumpy looking, face is entirely human, it’s unnaturally handsome. Sharp eyes, a strong nose and jaw framed by long and furred deer like ears, only one poking out from behind his hair. They are more narrow and sharper, though. Appropriate to the rest of the large man, clad in only a loincloth and some kind of leather covering on his hulking forearms. His chest is bare save for a symbol on his left side and leather straps crossing his chest. Even the miniature version of him is large and imposing.
The Bhaurnul are a berserker species of alien, and suddenly, the B grade makes perfect sense. Berserker types are known to be extremely violent and difficult to control. They are often pay-to-kill soldiers contracted by other planets to help them win wars.
Sensing the nature of my thoughts, the female speaks up. “Fafnir is not the first of his kind of contract with us, specifically through the use of human breeders. All contracts ended well, with positive reviews from both parties.” She assures me, or tries to.
“Wait, has he already agreed to match with me?”
She frowns. “He selected you; all our clients are given a pool of potential candidates to choose from.” She says it like it was something I should’ve known. Judging by the pointed glare she sends her mate, it was something I should’ve known.
A deep flush spreads to my cheeks, tucking my hair behind my ears as I glance at his holo video playing on a loop. It’s just him glaring at the space in front of him, slightly adjusting his stance. One of his long-structured ears twitches. “How many other candidates were there?” It’s a stupid question, one that shouldn’t matter.
One that doesn’t matter, but still, I hold my breath while I wait for her response.
“We typically compile a group of fifty females based on comfort agreements and other various factors. Fafnir was in quite a rush. After he selected you, he paid handsomely to have all of this expedited.”
I stare at her, worried my eyes will bug out of my skull. The oddest and most irrational swarm of butterflies lighting my stomach. Her smile grows far too wide to look anything other than predatory, but I feel no ill will from her. “Shall we proceed, then?”
I take a steadying breath as I nod.
I’m going to be fucked by a giant alien warrior that wears a loincloth. In the grand scheme of things, the loincloth isn’t really the point, but still, maybe this would feel less imposing if he were wearing, I don’t know, like khakis?
“Place your thumb here and we’ll move on to the joint agreements!” She all but coos in her odd underwater voice. When she claps excitedly, it sounds like two Jello packets fighting. I wonder if he has a food replicator. Probably not. We didn’t have one, but our neighbor did. Mom used to pay him a couple of credits so we could use it on special occasions. Another new wave of apprehension fills me. I’m definitely not a picky eater. I just love food and, like everyone else, I have my favorites. If Old Earth had anything going for it, it was the media and the food.
Our agreement locks in place, and my mind all but shudders to a screeching halt when she rises, motioning me to follow her. My legs are wooden as I stand, taking in the warm, yellowing tone of the office walls before they are again traded for corridors of metal. My eyes snap to my shoes as we approach the meeting room, the glass walls already misted in the privacy setting.
I’m so lost in my panicked thoughts that I don’t notice when they stop, slamming into the back of the male. My entire body revolts as I don’t simply bounce off him but press into him, jerking back and frowning down at the pickle green slime now marring my dress.
My head slams up, an apology on my tongue, but her hand snaps out, fusing with his side, making him hiss in pain. Eyes wide as I stumble back.
“I didn’t even do anything!” He gripes at her, glaring down at his mate, who looks one moment away from… doing whatever it was she did to him again.
“She was inside you,” she seethes.
He throws out his arms, making them blop against his sides. “It wasn’t my fault!”
Her arm snaps out in another attack he seems to tolerate, although I don’t miss his wince. “You should have moved!”
“To where, my love?”
He has a point; there’s literally nowhere else for him to go, and this was… definitely my fault, but this seems like a them argument and I’m not about to interject.
“The nearest trash chute so I can shoot your gelatinous ass into—’
A deep voice clears their throat, making my attention snap up, lifting on my toes to look over the fighting Oozarians in front of me to see that the door is open.
The door is open.
My eyes flash wide as I fall back to the soles of my feet. Even now, I can see his curved horns nearly scraping the ceiling of the room.
Oh god.
Oh, my god.
“Fafnir, thank you for waiting!” Her mate rushes out, no doubt in a hurry to get away from his still glaring female as he glides into the room.
She waits for me, scowling at my soiled dress and sick roils in my gut at the tacky feel of it. I move past her, wondering if my family will still be paid if I don’t make it off port. The room itself is wide and tall, but he’s still forced to hunch inside it. My eyes trail upward again, noting scratches on the ceiling where their severe looking points have etched the metal.
He watches me impassively as I enter the room, roving over every inch of my flesh before his brow furrows deeper at the slime coating the left side of my skin and dress. My cheeks flame as our eyes meet, gnawing on my bottom lip before I turn to the Oozarians. I can’t decide if it’s ruder to wipe it off or keep it there.
As far as first impressions go, this is fucking excellent.
