Page 2 of Vabar

He speaks, but I can’t understand a word, of course.

His hand slides around to my cheek, and he strokes my skin until I calm. It makes no sense. Why would his touch soothe me? But it does.

Another man steps up and hands the blond something. A bottle. Like a baby would use. Or I suppose an animal could if it didn’t have a mama. It’s filled with a white substance, and the blond gives it a shake before pushing his hand between the bars and tipping it to my lips.

I flinch and lean back, avoiding the nipple. It seems like a horrible idea to accept anything to eat or drink from these cruel people. I don’t know what’s in that bottle. It could be poison.

The man simply pulls the bottle out, removing his other arm, too. He removes the lid and drinks some of its contents. He licks his lips and makes a pleasing sound as if to indicate it tastes good.

After screwing the nipple back on the top, he brings it through the bars again, offering it to me.

I hesitate. Should I trust him? I’m so hungry. And thirsty. He just proved to me that it’s edible, at least to him. Who knows what it will do to me? I’m a different species. Sort of.

I don’t see many differences between these giant men and me other than size. And gender. I assume human men looked like this man and the guards I’ve seen. But not nearly as large.

Do we have the same constitution, though? Will my body be able to digest what he’s offering? I decide to take my chances out of desperation. When I reach for the bottle, the blond pulls it away and gently lowers my hand with his free one.

I whimper, frustrated for about ten reasons. I’m tired and scared and lonely. I’m hungry and thirsty, and I need to pee. No way am I going to use this diaper.

When I lift my hand toward the bottle again, the blond swats my knuckles and shakes his head.

I shove myself farther back in the small cage, gripping the blanket tightly around me. I won’t drink from that nipple, no matter how hungry I am. I want to take the lid off like he did. Does he think I’m going to let him feed me?

The blond removes the bottle and sets it next to him on the floor. He pets my hair again, lifting a lock to look at it before letting it slide between his fingers. It was in a long braid before I took that bath, but now it’s a tangled mess down my back.

If Venkorians are anything like humans, I suspect the man is curious about my hair. It’s red. Bright red. An unusual color for humans. He seems mesmerized by it, so I suspect it’s an outlying shade for Venkorians, too.

Realizing I haven’t spoken, I lick my lips and make an attempt. “Please, may I have the drink?”

He grins, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. He’s pleased.

I point toward the bottle. “Please?” I’m confident he doesn’t speak English. The guards certainly didn’t. And why would they? They found our space station seemingly at random. They wouldn’t have had a chance to learn English yet.

The possibility also exists that they couldn’t speak it if they tried. It’s so very different from their own. I know I wouldn’t be able to utter a word of their language, even with years of studying.

Our inability to communicate is frustrating.

The man grabs both my wrists with one of his huge hands and holds them down, causing the blanket to fall off my shoulders.

I cry out, tugging at my arms, trying to free myself so I can pull the blanket back up. My breasts are exposed. I’m so horrified that I start flailing around. Embarrassment consumes me.

The blond gives me a stern look, but I ignore him and continue to yank on my hands. He’s way too strong for me, though.

“Please,” I beg again. “Let me go. I need clothes.” I manage to wiggle one hand free, and I immediately use it to grab the blanket and pull it over my chest.

The man frowns, glancing at my chest and back up as if he’s baffled by my need to be covered. What’s wrong with him? Do the women on this planet not wear clothes?

He’s dressed. Why would he think it was okay for me to be wearing nothing but a diaper?

The man stares at me for a while, and then someone joins him. It’s hard to see more than this new man’s legs without tipping my head back to look out the top of my cage. The man speaks.

The blond answers before releasing my wrists and petting my hair again. He angles his head to one side and watches me quizzically before standing and leaving me, taking the bottle with him.

I can’t look away as my food source disappears. I want to call out. Beg him to come back, plead with him to let me feed myself—without the nipple on the bottle.

Instead, I say nothing. I’m too dumbfounded to utter a single syllable.

Exhausted, I slink down onto the metal tray and curl up on my side. It’s not comfortable, but I’m too tired to care. Staring between the bars, I realize the room is still filled with what seems like dozens of animals. Another one approaches me.