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"Status?" I laughed humourlessly. "I'm bankrupt. How am I even going to pay for my food? Or my electricity?”
“It was your decision to play with dangerous animals. You shouldn’t be surprised that you got hurt. It’s been a long time coming, if you ask me.”
“I’m not asking you,” I snapped. I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness crashed over me. I let myself drop back onto the medpod’s soft mattress.
“There is one way you could make up for it,” my sire said, a twisted smirk around his lips. Oh no. I wasn’t going to like this. “You could come work for me.”
I couldn’t repress a laugh. “Work for you? I’d rather be gouged by a stabhorn again.”
“That could be arranged,” he said coldly. “I will send you the details later. Once they evict you, I’m sure you will reconsider.”
He left before I could say another word. I was seething, desperate to punch something. How had my life suddenly become a nightmare? Yesterday, I’d been the darling of the stabhorn scene. Today, I was injured, poor and miserable.
After two rotations in the medical centre, I was discharged home. My landlord didn’t know yet that I was bankrupt, so I was able to stay here for a bit longer. Only when I couldn’t pay the next rent would she discover the truth. I’d spent the past two rotations trying to get a loan to carry me over, but my medical data hat already updated and nobody would lend money to someone who’d almost died and had only just been released from the medical centre. They said I could try again in twenty rotations, but by then, I’d starved.
I opened the cool locker and wrinkled my nose at the rotten smell emanating from it. Most of my food had gone off while I’d been away. I’d been in an induced coma for eight rotations while I recovered from the transplant. This was one of the moments that I wished I had a mate. Someone to look after me while I was sick. Someone to replenish the cool locker. Someone to hug me and heal the hurt my sire’s behaviour had caused. Not that I would ever admit that to anyone. My public image was that of a playboy who had no intentions of ever settling down. In reality, I craved the stability a mate could provide. The females I occasionally took home only fulfilled my physical urges. They didn’t block the loneliness.
The main console blinked, signalling unread messages. I dropped into my favourite massage pod and told the AI to read me my messages. With a groan, I relaxed as dozens of hands seemed to massage my tired body. I’d missed my pod.
The first two messages were from friends asking how I was. How nice. Not that they were actual friends. They were friends with my money and fame. Now that one of those was gone, would they stick around? I doubted it.
The third message was from my sire. I was tempted to delete it before listening, but as always, I felt a tiny glimmer of hope that my sire might say something nice to me.
For the first time in his life.
“…spoken to the Dean. She’s agreed to fund a research project involving Peritans.”
I rolled my eyes. They were my sire’s favourite alien species. Peritans lived on some backwater planet and hadn’t even travelled further than their own moon, but they’d grown to fame across the universe in the past decade. The Intergalactic University was mostly to blame for that. My sire had been one of the first researchers to look into Peritan culture, a contrast to most of his colleagues who were more interested in their biology and intellect. For some strange reason, Peritans were sexually compatible with most sentient species. It made them extremely valuable, even though they likely weren’t aware of it. That’s why a blockade had been put around their planet and the IGU was the only institution with abduction rights.
My sire loved Peritans more than his own offspring, that much had been clear to me for years. Him mentioning that at the beginning of his message was yet more evidence of that painful fact.
“…you and a stabhorn.”
I sat up straight. What? Lost in thought, I’d missed part of the message, so I had the AI rewind.
“…can find stabhorns all over Peritan mythology, but they have stopped believing in their existence. I want to find out why. That’s why I got funding to send you and a stabhorn. You’ll abduct some natives and confront them with the stabhorn to study their reaction. For legal reasons, it will be best to bring them here rather than do the research on their planet.”
My sire had gone crazy. He wanted me to take a stabhorn to Peritus? I had better things to do. Besides, stabhorn hated space travel. They needed fresh air and solid ground beneath their hooves.
“Your salary will cover your medical debts and then some,” the message continued. “You’ll be able to resume your lavish lifestyle after your return.”
Despite the AI’s monotonous voice, I could almost hear my sire’s disapproving tone. He saw my life as a stabhorn tamer as wasted potential.
“Let me know your decision within the next cycle. I have already spoken to your employers and they’ve agreed to lend me a stabhorn named An’tia.”
I snorted. I bet they didn’t tell him that An’tia was the stabhorn who’d almost killed me. She was the worst possible choice for a long space journey.
I was tempted to tell my sire to klat off and stick his research into where the suns didn’t shine. But the thought of An’tia made me reconsider. She deserved to be accompanied by someone who knew her, not some stranger.
The massage pod helped me make up my mind. I’d lose it if I didn’t do this. I’d lose everything. How bad could a trip to Peritus get?
Lesson 2: First Contact
Tara
“Why aren’t you wearing a kilt?” a lady asked me, disapproval radiating from her.
“Only the men do.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I got this question almost every day.
