His to Claim: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance - Taylor Vaughn Page 0,55
okay,” I answer, though inside I’m marveling at the fact that he calls Xalthurian his native tongue as opposed to the composite of old planet languages I grew up speaking on New Terrhan. “What’s up?”
“The sky,” he answers sincerely. “Can you not see that?”
I laugh and say, “That’s the New Terrhan way of saying, what would you like to speak about?”
L’Than only sports five ridges, to D’Rek’s several, but they furrow just the same as my big blue alien’s. “Why do you not ask the exact question then? Why do you instead add a direction word to a general question word?”
Again, I have to smother a smile. “More poetry,” I answer, which is the shorthand I came up to explain the heavy usage of idioms, metaphors and filler words in the New Terrhan language. “Also, novelty. We humans consider language a living thing and like to change it up.”
L’Than clicks. “Your strange words and your explanation of their meaning makes me believe my idea might be a good one. I have told you that the Xalthurian form of uploaded education has taught me to speak, read, and even ride a faun. However, though I am only escorting you to honor N’Maryah’s request, I find myself enjoying the small pieces of language and cultural education you have given me, despite your rude and archaic delivery system.”
“Um…thank you?” I answer not really knowing how else to respond to that.
“I desire to know more of these language and cultural details, and I believe I would not be the only one. Other hybrids like myself would also like to hear this knowledge, along with the full Xalthurian males who qualify for participation in the Breeding Ceremony. After the last qualification, they put questions to me that I simply could not answer, having left Terrhan when I was only a babe. There is much curiosity about the hu’man females, and from what I understand, even those participating in the Breeding Ceremony are not provided with answers to their many questions.”
“Is that so?” I ask, frowning. It never occurred to me that the Xalthurian males who came through every year to brutally breed us might regard us human women as anything more than wombs for the taking.
“Yes it is, as you say…so,” he answers. “My favorite cousin refuses to participate in the Breeding Ceremony again, even though his first attempt did not produce a child. He says one of the hu’man females he mated with leaked much water from her eyes during the ceremony. Though he found the mating sensations very pleasant as most Xalthurian males do, he did not like the feeling their crying produced within him. He was told it is perfectly normal for hu’man females to react this way to breeding, but—”
“Wait, wait,” I say holding up a hand. “He was told that was normal. By who?”
“It is in the Breeding of Hu’man Females Manual, which all Breeding Ceremony participants are required to upload before they can take part,” L’Than answers. Then his five ridges ripple as he asks, “Do you know it is considered very rude for a female to interrupt a male? Perhaps that is not a rule in your culture?”
“Yes, I was made aware of that rule,” I answer, my tone as frigid as ice over that piece of ‘completely beside the point’ he tried to insert behind his super disturbing revelation.
Not that it matters…the Xalthurians don’t really “get” tone. But still, I do my best to convey how displeased I am as I demand, “Who’s in charge of putting this manual together?”
L’Than ridges furrow and his lips lift in a way that I’ve come to recognize as confusion in the few days that I’ve been teaching him the New Terrhan language. “You do not know? I would have thought it would be obvious that the prime minister is in charge of the Breeding Ceremony along with all of our planet’s dealings with New Terrhan.”
“Why would that be obvious?” I ask him, now also confused, because L’Than is looking at me like I’m an idiot.
L’Than opens his mouth to answer my question, but then abruptly stops. “These cannot be the right coordinates,” he murmurs, looking around what appears to be a very wide field, filled with nothing but blades of deep green grass.
A sonic boom sounds above before I can ask why he looks even more confused by the empty field we’ve just come upon than my question about who was in charge of the Breeding Ceremony manual.