Текст книги "Surviving Skarr"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Chapter Three

SKARR

As if we are all not in competition with one another, we are given warm blankets to wrap in and handed hot food. I eat mine quickly, the heat of the stew in my belly doing more for my stiff limbs than the near-useless blanket. As it grows late, the females cry more and are comforted. They pile together to “share warmth” in a lean-to crafted for them, and the female in charge goes to join them. I wait to see if they will copulate with one another—a trick some females do to distract a particularly vicious audience—and I’m disappointed they do not. They seem to be sleeping.

If they are combatants and I am wrong, they are the worst combatants ever.

The other splices and I remain near the fire. So does the blue-skinned male with the horns. He watches us with a knowing gaze, and I suspect he is very aware of the game that is being played here. We will need to tease answers from him. We all wait for a signal, but there is nothing.

The male—I’rec—speaks up after a time, stoking the fire with a crude spear. “I have seen your kind before,” he says to the nearest splice. “Fighters. Glad-taters?”

I was right about a game being played here. It takes everything I have not to beat my chest with smug pride. Do they think they shall fool Skarr? I am on to them.

The moden answers the blue one’s question. “Does it matter? We are here now, as you say.”

“It matters because you are fighters,” the horned one points out. “And you are looking at my mate with interested eyes. I am telling you now that she is mine and if you so much as put a finger on her, I will gut you and drag your innards across the valley.”

I laugh, because this language I understand. Do not speak to me of helping hands and living peacefully. Tell me which female is yours so I know what you will fight over. This, I appreciate. And because he speaks so plainly of his interests, I decide I will speak plainly of mine. “There are many females here. Who do we fight to be given one as a prize? You?”

He shakes his head. “You do not have to fight anyone. These females are not slaves. They are free to come and go as they please. Just as you are.”

“Then how do we win females?” the gray one asks. “If we do not fight?”

“You do not win them at all. Your khui decides. It will choose a mate for you. It chose mine for me, and it will choose one for you, too.” The fur-wearing mesakkah-hybrid is clearly trying to be patient with us, as if we are misunderstanding.

One of the cat males rubs his chin. “So we fight this khui? And it rewards us with strong, healthy females to rut?”

“No. Let me explain…” He pauses when someone’s stomach growls. “More food?”

No one says anything. I eye the praxiian and notice he is eyeing me back. We might be hungry, but no one will admit to such a weakness. The fur-wearer, I’rec, seems to realize this after a time and picks up a leather bag, takes a chunk of dried meat out of it and then hands it down to the nearest person. When it gets to me, I grab a large hunk of the jerky and pass the bag on to the praxiian, noting that he yet has his claws. Good to know.

“We have other glad-taters here,” I’rec continues. “Two with red skin, one with golden scales, and one that looks similar to you.” He points at the part-praxiian splice near him. “They were confused when they arrived, because they expected to fight. You are not here to fight. You are here to survive.”

“And if we survive, we get the women as prizes, yes?” The splice leans in. “Is this a breeding program? Only the strongest shall mate and produce offspring to be trained as the strongest of gladiators?”

I exchange an impressed look with the praxiian. If this is a breeding program, I count myself lucky. To live with the singular goal of impregnating as many females as possible might be a dream come true. Then again, I would be quite content with one female to enjoy and a series of regular battles that were not slanted against me.

Seeing as how we have landed in icy weather, it seems that might not be the case. I take a large bite of jerky, and it offends my senses with the spice of it. I keep eating anyhow, because I will need my strength.

“No, no,” I’rec says with a shake of his head as the jerky bag goes around again. “We do not fight each other. We hunt to survive, to bring food back to the tribe. We hunt to prove our strength to our companions and keep them safe and fed. There is no contest. There is nothing to win. Merely survive.”

We are all silent, digesting this. I chew on another bite of jerky.

The moden splice leans forward. “I do not understand.”

I’rec groans. “Which part?”

“The part where we do not fight.”

I nod agreement, and gesture at the sleeping females. “Why send us down with prizes if we are not fighting?”

I’rec shakes his head again. “They are not prizes. They are stranded here, just like you. They have been abandoned, just like you.”

“So you admit we are not wanted,” the moden says slowly.

“Not by those that created you, no.” I’rec gestures at the wristband that each of us wears. “That is why you were sent here to our world. The one that dropped you here has brought others. If this message is correct, you have been brought here to live because you are not wanted on other worlds.”

I rub my chin, considering this. It does not bother me that I am not wanted, according to him. Obviously this is a mistake. I am an excellent, fierce gladiator. It is more likely that they cloned too many from my sire—because he was the best—and I was the unlucky one sent with the other rejects simply due to logistics. That’s fine with me. I can conquer rejected gladiator clones as easily as other gladiators. But this I’rec brings up an interesting point. “So if no one wants the females…we can take them?”

The other males perk up, looking to I’rec.

“No. No one is taking anyone. The females are your equals.”

I burst into laughter. So do the others.

I’rec does not laugh, and it occurs to me that he is serious. “Females are not equals. Females do not fight males. They fight other females, or they are given away as prizes to males that win.”

“You will change that thinking fast,” I’rec tells me. “A female might not be as strong as you, but I have met plenty that are smarter. If you are not wise, you will end up alone and full of regret.”

Bah. Wits. I was not bred for wits. No one is. “Tell me more about the females.” I lean in. “Someone will come and take them away soon, yes? Because they have been accidentally abandoned here with us?”

Again, I’rec shakes his head. “Females live side by side with the males in our encampment. I remember V’dis told me that when he was a glad-tater females were kept from them, but you are no longer gladiators. You will become part of our tribe, and everyone in our tribe is welcome to come and go as they please.”

“We are no longer gladiators,” the praxiian echoes, a blank look on his face.

“There is no need here for such things. Here, you are just a hunter or a tribesmate. There are no battles to be fought or won upon this planet.”

A feeling like grief comes over me, and I rub my chest. I don’t know what I am if I’m not a gladiator. I can tell from the faces of the others that they are thinking the same. All I know—all I have ever known—is the arena. I know how to fight. I know how to eviscerate an enemy.

I do not know anything else. I have not been created to just “exist.” The thought is appalling and strange. “But…we can stay with the females, yes?” I clarify. “We will not be kept away?”

“The females come and go as they please.” I’rec’s mouth quirks. “I cannot tell my mate where to go or who to see. You have met her. She would have my sac in a vise if I tried to tell her what to do.”

I recall his mate—the small bossy one with the golden skin and glowing eyes. She told everyone what to do, and I did not care for that. I cannot imagine any male that does. And yet…he seems pleased by this admittance. Very pleased, as if he wishes for nothing more than a fierce, demanding female.

“I don’t care where they go,” the praxiian declares. “I just want to claim one for myself.”

I’rec holds up a hand. “You can’t do that.”

Now I am really confused. “Why not?”

“The human females are here just like you. They come from a place where they have freedom and were not claimed. They are allowed to do as they wish.”

We exchange a look. “So the females are here but we cannot touch them…are you certain this is not a test of some kind?” the praxiian asks. “An endurance challenge?”

“No challenge. You cannot touch an unwilling female.”

Aha. “But we can touch all the willing ones?” I ask. “How do we make them willing?” I have no experience with such things but I am willing to learn the rules of this particular game.

This, I’rec is confident in. He leans back, a smug look on his face. “Wait for resonance. You will not be disappointed.”

I search my installed memories for this word, but I do not have it. Is it a game of some kind that I do not know the rules for? A law for this particular planet? A medical condition I should expect to attack me shortly?

“I do not know what resonance is,” says the moden.

I’rec taps a finger under his eye. “You see this? That I glow here? That is from my khui. I was born with one, but my mate had to acquire one because the air here would slowly poison her without it. It is a…thing that lives inside you. A khui has another purpose than just keeping you healthy, though. It chooses a mate for you so you can create offspring.”

Offspring? “Then this is a breeding competition.”

“No competition. You may never resonate, or you may resonate the moment you receive your khui.” He shrugs. “It is impossible to predict. I have been around the females for several turns of the seasons now and yet I resonated to F’lor only recently. My khui has decided she is mine and I am hers…and it was worth the wait.”

I am not as patient as him. I don’t care for waiting. Or for offspring, but I am intrigued by the thought of having a female of my own. “How does this work, then? The female’s creature in her chest compels her to mate with me? And I should just lie back and allow it?”

Another speaks up. “Is she taken from me after we mate?”

I’rec shakes his head, frowning. “No one is taking anyone away.”

“I wish to know when we fight,” says another. “There must be a reason there are so many gladiators dropped here with prizes so close nearby.”

“No fighting,” I’rec continues, raising his hands in the air. “You do not need to be glad-taters any longer. Just hunters. We fight to keep our people safe and to protect the others. We hunt animals to feed the tribe. There is no need to fight one another, and no one fights over the females.”

“Even though they wander freely?” asks the moden.

“Perhaps the creature in the chest is a mind-controlling creature,” I suggest. “That is why a female will wish to ride you the moment it activates.”

I’rec dismisses all of this. “Bah. A female is more easily pulled to a male with pleasure than with mind control.”

“Pleasure?” the praxiian asks. “Her pleasure or yours?”

“…hers?”

“Why pleasure a female? Is she not here for our pleasure?” This seems strange to me.

I’rec laughs at my puzzled expression. “You had best be glad it is me you speak with and not my mate. As for why, the answer is obvious. There is no greater satisfaction than pleasuring your female.” He shakes his head slowly, glancing over at the pile of curled up women before turning back to me again. “You think it is all about you, but you have no idea what it is like to tease a female’s body. When you feel her cunt slick with hunger, something changes inside you. Your own pleasure becomes less important, and sometimes you do not even need to come to enjoy. Sometimes it is good to simply bring her to climax.”

“This sounds suspiciously like mind control,” the praxiian mutters.

“Then let me put it to you another way.” I’rec looks amused despite our doubts. “My people have a saying that you catch more fish with delicious bait than an empty hook. If you want a female to fall into your furs, be someone that the females will want.”

“And then we will khui?” I ask.

“Resonance happens when it happens. Some believe that their personal wants influence it. Some even take a pleasure mate before the khui decides. Some take many, or so I have heard. The females are free to do as they like.” I’rec glances over at his mate again. “I dabbled in the idea but now I am glad I waited for my mate.”

“Wait,” says the splice. “So females can approach us outside of resonance for copulation? As often as they wish?”

“If they wish so, yes.”

“But they will expect pleasuring,” I point out.

“This is true,” I’rec concedes. “I doubt they will return if there is none.”

I rub my chin scales. This is excellent information, the unspoken rules to this new game-not-game we find ourselves in.

“What if we are pleasuring a female and they resonate to another?” asks the moden.

“You fool,” I scoff. “If you do it right, she will resonate to you instead. Were you not listening? There is mind control involved, but they call it pleasure here. You pleasure the female, she does what you want. Not that you would know. You don’t even know how to pleasure a female.”

“And you do?” He eyes me with plain distaste.

I do not. But I am here to learn all the rules of this new competition and use them to my advantage. “I will learn it, and I will be the best at it, just like I will be the best at any competition.”

I’rec groans wearily, rubbing a hand down his face. “No competition. How many times must I say it?”

The bag of peppery jerky makes its way back to me and I eat a double handful this time. If it is a race to pleasure females the moment they awaken, I must be ready. I must be strong enough to entice any that I want away from other males, if necessary. I’rec says there is no fighting here but if I have claimed a female and she is being pleasured by me, I will tear apart any that try to step in. Chewing, I eye I’rec, waiting.

The praxiian at my side grabs the bag from me and eats in silence as well.

I’rec’s expression grows uneasy as we are all quiet. “What?”

“Teach us,” I say.

“Teach you what?”

“How to pleasure the females here so they will insist upon being ours.”

The fur-wearing mesakkah rubs his face again. He sighs heavily, thinking. “They like tongues.”

“Go on…”

Chapter Four

VIVI

The second day on the new planet is just as bad as the first.

I try to hide the choking despair I feel as the blisteringly cold weather continues. There aren’t enough furs to go around, so I share with Sabrina again until Jason moves to her side. The moment he slides in on her left, the blankets creep in their direction and I’m not bold enough to pull them back. I wish I was, but I’m finding it more difficult now than ever to speak up for myself.

It’s hard when I’m in a normal environment. Right now? I’m just completely and utterly overwhelmed.

The big gray-skinned man lumbers through the camp, paying no attention to the women huddled near the fire. That suits me just fine—all of the men here are more than slightly terrifying to look at. There’s fangs and claws and horns and one is even part lizard. My vision prevents me from making out a lot of what’s going on, but I don’t say anything because the last thing I want is to call attention to myself.

There’s a tearing sound nearby. Something hot drips on my arm and I swipe it away, then jerk to my feet when I realize it’s blood.

“Apologies, female,” one of the strange-looking males says. “I did not mean to make a mess on you.” He grins, showing long fangs and a furry face, and brightly glowing eyes. He turns his head, then spits what looks like a wet baseball aside. It rolls away from the fire. “There. Do you want this one?”

“This one w-what?” I stammer.

“This one for the parasite. The khui?” He shoves something soft and limp into my arms before I can confirm or deny. “Your eyes need the glow.” The horrible man gives me a thoughtful look. “So you can resonate and be full of pleasures.”

What the fuck is he talking about? I stare down in mute horror at the headless creature he’s just thrust into my arms. The thing he spit away? I think it was its skull. My throat works as I gaze down at the body of the thing, and there’s a glowing filament inside the bloody mess. “Um.”

He sighs. “Let me do it.” Taking the creature from me, he mutters something under his breath that sounds like “equals” and then rips it in half with another thoroughly disgusting show of force. I flinch backward as more blood splatters on me and the ground nearby, and then he grabs my arm.

I jerk away from him, but he’s too strong. With one claw, he digs into my arm and draws blood, then slaps half of the mangled creature against my arm. Something wriggles and burrows into my flesh, and I try to twist away as icy-cold filaments crawl through my veins, but the monstrous man holds me fast.

“Chalath!” Flor screeches as everything goes dark and fuzzy around me. “We ask for permission before we implant!”

“I thought permission was for pleasuring!” the male bellows back. “Make up your mind!”

The world fades to black before I can hear the answer.

When I wake up, I blink, staring up at what looks like the ceiling of a tent.

Still on this horrible planet, then. Ugh. I rub my face, and then I notice that my eyes aren’t blurry. I…can see?

Holy shit, I can see. I sit upright, staring around me in wonder. Everything’s so freaking crisp. I can see each stitch in the leather tent above my head, right down to a scratch across the leather near the entrance of the tent. Outside, I can see snow drifting down and people moving around, talking in low voices. The scent of smoke from the fire lingers in the air, but I notice that while I’m cold, I’m not painfully so like I was before.

This is due to the…parasite? The khui? They mentioned something about it keeping its host healthy but it was hard for me to concentrate yesterday. I was too overwhelmed. I glance down at my arm, running my fingers over it. There’s no wound. Rubbing at my skin to make the dried blood flake off, I glance out the tent. I’m not sure I’m ready to join the others.

Socializing has never been my strong point.

If anything, I’m absolutely dreadful at it. I’ve always been painfully shy. It comes from a childhood of bad vision and ugly glasses and parents who loved me but seemed put out every time I needed something, because we were poor. I was the kid that desperately needed braces, expensive glasses, the kid that needed corrective surgery for my eyes far too young, and so many other things that cost money. To make things worse, my sister was vivacious and pretty and I was not.

I learned that it was easiest to fly under the radar rather than become a problem, so I did my best not to speak up, not to draw attention to myself, not to ask for anything.

That’s…going to be a problem if I’m stuck here. I lick my lips nervously. My stomach growls but I’m in no hurry to leave the tent’s safety. I need to think. What do I do? How do I get home?

Then I remember the horrible recording. Lucky you, you’re a clone.

I rub my temples. Those aren’t my memories, then. It wasn’t my sister. Wasn’t my parents. Wasn’t me with the buck teeth and the severe myopia since childhood. It’s difficult to wrap my brain around the concept of the memories in my head not being mine. Still no name in my head, though. Try as I might, I can’t come up with any name other than Vivian. Vivi. Viv.

Guess that’s me now.

Biting my lip, I pull on warm clothing and peer out of the tent. Others are moving around our encampment, everyone seemingly busy. I can actually make out faces today, which brings me intense relief. Whatever this madness is, at least I don’t have to go through it half-blind.

The scent of cooking food draws me out of the tent, my stomach growling. Now if I only have the courage to ask for food today. Yesterday I froze up. Couldn’t say anything at all because I didn’t want to be a bother. Today it’s going to be different, I vow to myself. Today I don’t have to be shy.

I glance down at my bare feet, my toes curling against the frosty yellowish grasses. This is the only area without a thick layer of snow, and I heard someone mention something about a ship burning away all the snow when they deposited us. Does that mean most of this world is snowy, then? A vague memory flashes through my mind, of sled dogs and mountains and laughing in the snow. Of someone shoving a snowball down the back of my coat and me squealing in horrified delight.

The memory is gone as quickly as it appeared, but I’m just grateful to have something in my head. Okay. Maybe I’m used to snow. Maybe whoever I was cloned from—don’t panic, Viv, don’t panic—was a winter-loving sort. I shift my weight on my cold feet and wrap my blanket tighter around my near-naked body. Other than the blanket, I don’t have warm clothing.

The big blue scary male stops in front of me, a frown on his face as he looks me over. “You are awake. Are you good?”

I swallow hard, thinking of shoes. Food. Clothes. Instead I nod, because that seems easiest, and then I want to kick myself for being so passive.

He grunts, looking harried. “Good. Go see my mate. She will take care of you.”

Right. Flor. I watch as he hurries away, heading to stand by the slow-moving guy with the reptile skin and the permanent smirk on his face. The smirk turns into a scowl when I’rec speaks, gesturing at a yellow-scaled guy a short distance away.

A sob draws my attention back to camp.

The women here look just as devastated as I am. Two cling to one another, sharing a blanket, and their eyes are glowing bright blue. Another woman rocks herself, weeping, and yet another hunches by the fire, staring at the fire-making implements in her hands as if they’re snakes. Flor pats one of the dark-haired women on the back awkwardly as the stranger sobs. “I know, honey. I know,” Flor tells her. “It’s a lot to take in. Cry it out, then put your big girl pants on and we’ll all get to surviving, okay?”

The woman sniffs and wipes at her face. “I…I guess. It’s just so cold.”

“The men will be back soon and you’ll get a khui, and then you’ll feel much better. I promise.” Flor looks up and brightens at the sight of me. “Just like Vivian here! Look at her all blue-eyed and sassy now. Doesn’t she look warmer?”

I curl my toes against the chilly grasses again and manage a weak smile. Okay, now is probably not a good time to ask for shoes. Or another blanket. I give a shaky thumbs-up and Flor shoots me a look of encouragement.

She hops to her feet and races over to me, that same careful smile on her face. “You feeling okay? Everything in working order? Nothing vibrating?”

“V-vibrating?”

Flor pats my shoulder absently, looking down at the woman making a muck of starting a fire. “Just me making a resonance joke. Pay me no mind. Let’s get your name written on your shirt and then we’ll see about getting some hot tea started, okay?”

I glance around at the others near the fire and no one has warmer clothes. We’re all barefoot and wearing scraps under our blankets. I guess it’d be pointless for me to ask for more. I nod, because what else can I do?

She races away and comes back a moment later with a chunk of coal. Beaming at me, Flor gestures at my front. “There’s a lot of new people and no one’s good with names right now, so I’m labeling all of you guys so it’s one less thing to worry about. You okay with that?”

Swallowing hard, I watch as she points at the woman near the fire. DAWN is written across her front in big blocky charcoal letters. The women sharing the blanket have something written on their chests too, but I can’t make out more than a few lines because they’re huddling together.

I…I don’t want to be labeled. I know what it’ll say. I’ll have VIVIAN written across my chest because that’s the name Flor assigned to me. And it feels weird, because Vivian sounds glamorous and makes me think of Pretty Woman or Hollywood starlets of old and I could not be less like those women. I want to tell Flor that maybe I could just be Viv or Vivi, but all I manage is another nod, my throat tight.

“Great! Thanks, Vivian. Hold your tunic for me so I can write on it.”

A few moments later, I’m branded VIVIAN with the N half hiding under one arm and I feel like a fraud. Hunching under my blanket again, I take a seat by the fire and watch Dawn awkwardly smack the strikers together.

“How’s that coming?” Flor asks, leaning over her.

“Oh great,” Dawn says sarcastically. “Doesn’t it look like I know what I’m doing?”

“You—no! You can’t kill it before you bring it to camp, Valmir! It does no one any good that way! We have to have the animal alive to take the khui! All you brought was lunch if you killed it out in the field.” She races away, her expression a mixture of annoyance and patience. “We talked about this.”

“At least I brought something back,” the cat-like alien growls. “This one is useless! What has he brought for the prizes?”

“Hey?” the human guy—Jason—says. “What the fuck, buddy? I’m trying just like everyone else.”

“You are not trying hard,” the alien snarls at him, his voice thick with a strange accent. “Go sit with the females if you cannot hunt—”

“You need to bring it down a notch, Valmir,” Flor tells him, stepping between the two men. “Let’s not start a fight, okay?”

“I want to fight,” the scaly green one says in an eager voice. “Who is setting up the battles?”

“No battles!” yells I’rec, and things turn into chaos.

With a sigh, I huddle under my blanket and watch as Dawn gives the strikers another go. Instinctively, I know she’s holding them wrong. If she wants to start a fire from scratch, she needs to protect the spark and not just let the wind snuff it out. After watching her bang miserably on the strikers for a bit longer, I clear my throat. “Um…hey?”

Dawn turns and gives me a weary look. “I know I’m shit at it, okay? If you’ve got ideas, I’m all ears.”

I hold my hands out.

She hands me the implements with an expression of relief, and I can tell she’s just glad that it’s someone else’s problem now. I lean in closer to the fire pit, setting the fuel chips—that look a lot like cow patties, if I’m being honest—into a loose pyramid and adding a nest of dried grasses near the base so my spark has somewhere to go. I try shaving the rock in my hand like magnesium, and I’m not surprised to see little curls of it appearing on the nest. This must be the alien version of magnesium.

“What are you doing?” Dawn asks.

“Making it easier for the spark to ignite.” I strike again, and this time the spark lingers in the nest. Leaning forward, I blow gently on it to add oxygen to the ember. It sputters for a brief moment and then grows, catching on the tinder.

Dawn gasps, leaning in close to me. “How did you do that?”

“I-I have a memory of this,” I whisper. Well, not exactly of this. But I feel comfortable with this, and my head is full of half-baked images of cozy nights around campfires and family vacations in the wilderness.

“Thank god.” Dawn squeezes my shoulder. “If we needed fire to survive and it was down to me, we’d be fucking goners. You’re a lifesaver, Vivian.”

I don’t feel like a lifesaver. I’d give all of my fire memories for just one syllable of my name.