time slaying everything. It’s so tempting to go on a rampage, but I have rampaged for ten long years and it has done nothing but cause me and other pain. I’ve never been so close to getting Ella back as I am now, in this state of reluctant submission.
“Only fifty percent?” Warden starts to haggle. I know it is to keep up the appearance of being here to buy someone, but just hearing the words makes me cringe.
“We consider fifty percent to be a generous guarantee for illicit goods,” the murketeer says.
“It’s sufficient, I suppose, given there are no other markets.”
“Not since the IHPZ ceased trading, no. You are a well informed consumer, sir.”
“I like humans,” Warden says. “But they break very easily. I've been through a few of them.”
“Some do break quickly. We like to think ours are resilient enough to stand up to reasonable use, but you will have to show some care. They are slow healing, and most of their organs do not regenerate if damaged. When you first take your human, you will have to ensure that you keep them within a narrow band of temperatures. They can stand some variance with the aid of clothing, but most natural environments are entirely unsuitable for them.”
It is interesting to hear an alien describe how we should be cared for. I have seen some of the horrors humans have suffered at the hands of aliens who simply did not understand our biology. But of course, the murketeer is not saying these things because they care what happens to the humans they are trading. They are saying these things because they don’t want to have to pay out on a guarantee.
Warden is listening.
“So I can’t clean them in the dishwasher?”
“No. Humans need a constant source of oxygen, and they should never be exposed to temperatures of any medium, gaseous, liquid, or solid, which are outside their limited tolerances. You will receive a full information sheet, but we like to have this conversation personally as some purchasers consume the sheet.”
He’s talking about murketeers. Murketeers feed on bureaucracy. They are powered by laws, regulations, and documentation. They are not the only alien species which consumes things other than what I would consider food. Scythkin are actually very human-like in terms of their consumption habits.
“When are we able to view all the girls?”
Warden gives me a dark glare. I wasn’t supposed to speak, but I cannot help myself. I am impatient.
“We have not even begun to complete the formalities, I’m afraid. You’re actually not the only scythkin to have arrived without invitation, so we're having to generate a great deal of paperwork.”
“Another brood?”
“Don’t worry. We will keep you separated. We never allow buyers to see one another. It saves conflict. It should go without saying that these proceedings are handled under the utmost secrecy, and no violence of any kind is tolerated.”
“Of course,” Warden says. He’s so smooth and calm, while my anxiety just ratcheted up about a thousand points. There are more scythkin here. What are the odds it’s just some random brood? Small chance, I think. Scizzor is here. I can practically feel him.
SCHWING!
That’s the sound of my blades extending. It’s a weird sensation, and it produces an immediate reaction in the murketeer, who takes several steps backwards and reaches for an emergency button.
“Don’t worry about him. He suffers from premature bladejaculation,” Warden says, reaching out to me. “Put them away, Whipsmack.”
That’s my name, I guess. We should have decided on names before we left the ship. I’m starting to think we went off half-cocked. I really thought we’d fight our way through the murketeers, not listen to their sales pitches. But I have to trust Warden. He knows what he is doing far better than I do.
“Sorry,” I grunt, doing my best to pull the rogue blades back into my suit. It’s not easy. Nothing scythkin-like comes naturally to me. I have spent my life hating them, and now I have to embody one in order to save that which is most precious to me. Fate is made with pure irony, if you ask me.
“Give me one moment, gentlemen,” the murketeer says. “I will see what I can do to organize something for you. Would you like a beverage while you wait?”
“No. Thank you.”
The murketeer disappears, no doubt calculating its commission in its head.
“Scizzor is here!” I hiss the words. “We have to find her and take her now. We can’t wait for this whole sick auction to play