Page 2 of Bred By Sor'en

The look on the female Oozarian’s face is just as disturbed as mine, certainly not because she’s against the idea of humans beingbuyablebut because the agency is desperate too. After a recent scandal and large tariffs imposed on their operation in particular, business has slowed. I’m only aware of this thanks to their constant bickering. I don’t pay attention to IntergalacticNews; most of it either has nothing to do with humans at all, is purposefully confusing, or is just downright depressing. That being said, you’d have to be living under a rock not to be aware of the huge role The Solar Breeding Agency played in the recent Alliance scandal. This small-time but bustling agency had all but declared war against the governing goliath after the Alliance came out, admitting to recently exposed documents detailing the exploitation of a primitive planet I can’t remember the name of. I did see the video, though… the planet's inhabitants, huge four-armed snakes, had attacked a breeder, one from here. The agency had gone to bat immediately for the newly mated couple, seeing as the female was one of theirs.

It’s why I chose them over some of the less seedy options. They seem like they truly… I don’t know,care. I thought I might have a better chance of scamming them without being executed for their trouble. It doesn’t feel like they care now, standing on this neon-lit platform in the dingy Inner Rim of Vortara, so far from the pristine showboating above. They don’t care that I had to dig up my pride, strip off a chunk of its rotting ass fat, and then bury it again just to come today. To stand here like a piece of fuckable meat and hope I’m picked by someone who will be gentle with me. Lax enough to let me take the agency-recommended adjustment period so I can escape with their credits and preferably an unpilfered womb in tow.

My muscles tense as aliens pass in front of my data slate. Every fiber of my being screams at me to run.

My eyes catch movement from the back of the crowd, a towering figure slipping out from between two metal panels of wall. An infrequently placed recess opening you can manipulate enough to slip through…ifyou know what you’re doing. A male, maybe, although I’m not sure why I think that; it feels right. The figure is cloaked, a deep-set hood covered by some kind of tech veil, obscuring his face as he sets the panel back in place. Facecoverings are banned in most ports, but he’s getting away with it. Somehow doing everything in a busy walkway right in front of a crowded auction without drawing anyone’s attention. He freezes for a moment, his large frame stilling underneath the cloak. My eyes track the crowd, my anxiety spiking for the hooded male. Was he caught?

I’ve been caught a time or two. It never ends well. The female Oozarian had nearly turned me away because of the large scar up my neck from the first time I went somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be.

When you grow up in overcrowded orbital shelters, shuffled between temporary habitats and under-funded education pods, you get clever. You learn how to move quietly, how to manipulate openings in dated ports so you can do so unseen. Humans, however insignificant and overall looked down upon on the galactic scale, were uncommon enough to draw attention. Especially space-born cubs, like me. I spent my childhood being an attraction, a cool little novelty for the aliens surrounding me. An odd new thing, barely viewed as sentient, to be prodded at by other children. Like a toy that could breathe, eat, shit, and talk.

Humans before the fall of Earth were classed at a whopping 2C. Barely above a Neanderthal and a planet rated nearly as dangerous as you can get. The only grade worse than a C is a D, and before the whole damn thing fell, we were on our way there. The beings in the stars took pity on us as the first of our barely space-safe vessels landed with our rich and influential on board and came back for the rest, those willing to go at least. Sometimes I wish they hadn’t. Perhaps true mercy would’ve been to let us die with our planet. Sure, the not existing thing would’ve sucked shit, but considering it would’ve only affected my great, great, great, great, great relatives, people I didn’t know, would’ve never known, I can’t find it in myself to be entirely put out by the idea. Dare I saylistlessat the missedopportunity to have been spared…allof this. Considering my entirely irrational and pungent fear of death, that speaks volumes to the bullshit setup we have here. We ruled Earth,ruledit. Humanity in charge. I nearly huff out a laugh at the concept. It’s why I avoid old Earth Media for the better part. Not only is it hard to get your hands on living off Terra2, but it just makes me feel bitter. Not that I even have the most basic tech to view it. They had no clue howgoodthey had it, how terribly they screwed themselves over until it was too late. Or maybe they did know, maybe they just didn’t care.

My eyes leave the towering, hooded figure, his attention fully pointed downward as a Dhaizu male stalks up to the platform, making my pulse jolt. I go to take a step back before correcting myself, remembering this is what I’m here for. That resignation flies out the window as he reaches forward, jerking up the hem of my dress. “Are your reproductive organs inside or out?”

I gasp as he flashes my underwear to the room, backtracking too much until my foot slips off the edge of the hover platform. My heart slams into my throat as he blanches, jerking out to catch me, only for one of the sharp, spiked arms to scrape against mine, making a deep pain bloom there and an involuntary yelp leave my throat. “Calm yourself, female,” he chastises, as ifI’msomehow in the wrong, his deep-seated scowl making indignation flare in my chest.

I jerk my arm from his rough, scaled grasp, only serving to scrape myself further. My words are a watery hiss. “Don’ttouch me.”

Angry tears fill my eyes as my head snaps to an even angrier pair of Oozarians as they storm over, already hurling abuse and threats of legal action at him.

I hate that I spend most of my time angry and that my tear ducts can’t differentiate sadness, laughing, or anger for shit. Just another thing to instill the helpless, stupid human rhetoric.

“You damaged her!” someone hisses from the crowd.

I swear to the stars, Hue, cry in front of all these assholes and I will fuck you up.

The noises batter in on me as the woman next to me grips my arm, checking it out before deciding it's fine and dropping it without a word between us. Her touch is soft but unwelcome; my fisted palm bleached of its color when I jerk it back. For the first time, I reallylookat her and immediately wish I hadn’t. She’s pretty, so pretty, if not pale and a little gaunt, and incredibly thin. Her ribs are pronounced even under her white dress. Her eyes are blank, rimmed in dark circles that look bone-deep. Her long black hair is choppy around her face. She looks… more than resigned. It only drives more tears to my eyes, not because I’m sad; my arm doesn’t even really hurt that badly.

It’s the lights, the bickering, the crowd, everysingle little thinghappening all at once. It’s that I don’t have time for this, that I’m screwing it all up.

The cloaked figure from the back of the room has taken notice of us, yet I’m the only one who sees him simplyvanish. At least for a second. I nearly bolt from the platform as he appears in front of me in the blink of an eye. His face is barely visible behind his veil, but I can see the milky opaqueness to his intense gaze as it studies me, my heart hammering in my chest. Where there was a riot of sound and light, there’s now silence, the crowd carrying on, but for a moment they’re suspended with us. The large, bulky frame of the thorned, Draconic-looking Dhaizu male stumbles back a step. Where the cloaked male looked tall from across the wide hall, he stands no less than eight feet now. Still towering over me on the raised platform.

“Draya’la.”The word is whispered, hanging in the air between us. It’s all that leaves his mouth before the Oozarians surround him. He dips his head, shielding his face again.

“Hello, good gentleperson! I can assure you that the wound will not affect her fertility. At our expense, we will have her healed immediately.” They start in, but he doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

My chest tightens as I struggle to blink my eyes free of water so I can get a better look at him. So I can get a good look at my surroundings, viable paths, and possible openings in the port structure. I don’t give a fuck about the fees they might slap on me; there’s no family to hold over my head. Nobody to deal with the price of me deserting on my agreement except me. Fuck the plan. Fees matter little when you haven’t ever had a single credit to your name. I’ll find another way to get to Lunareth.

I glance down, checking the laces on my shoes to ensure they’re tight, struggling with the voice in my head that screams run, and an annoying soft one way deep down that’s arguing against it.

two

Sor’en

My attention is caught by a small wisp scooting over to me. My breath nearly hitches in my throat as I take in the tiny creature's dim shimmer. A youngling close to the veil never fails to make an ache bloom deep in my chest. Ripping my attention from the small Vespera, I scan the crowd for its parents, finding them absorbed in the auction I seemed to have slipped out in front of. Vespera’s are known for their frequent use of human breeders, and are among the first species to normalize it, so much so that it’s essentially now a part of their culture, with many of the humans staying with one family unit for decades. It makes sense; most Vespera’s prefer to remain genderless. Their ability to swap and change fluidly is used mostly for reproductive purposes, but it is taxing in their culture. Better to stay undefined as their gods made them.

“You can’t wear those here,” the youngling quips, pointing at my face covering. A mask of his own, colorful and decorated with shimmering jewels, is tucked into their grip. A popular item with younglings on the port.

“Yes, my apologies.” I smooth my hand over the plated wall, ensuring the fit is good.

“What are you doing? Can I help?”

I swallow hard. Flashes of shuttering wings and a pale, stiff body crumple at my feet, invading my mind before a small hand tugs on my cloak, bringing me back to a port I said I’d never come back to. “Can I help?”

I shift away. “You shouldn’t speak to strangers.”

“You don’t look so strange.”