Usually, I’d give it an hour or two, but today, for reasons I can’t quite explain, I head in the direction of the explosion. Noises like that only emanate from asteroids or crashed ships. I’m leaning toward crashed ship because asteroids usually land on the other side of the planet. This side is reserved for idiots who didn’t take the second ion cloud in the atmosphere into account when they calculated their approach. Amateur pilots and cocky bastards litter this particular plane. There are over a thousand crashed and crushed shuttles out here. That makes it rich pickings for fuel rods, rare materials, and remnants of biological matter.
The trolls are fighting over the latest crash. That’s not surprising. It’s what they do absolutely every time. There’s actually something nice about being able to predict their behavior. Mostly the nice thing is avoiding becoming one of the things being torn apart.
I linger at a safe distance until I’m led by what I am going to call instinct toward a set of bushes. There are two trolls screaming at one another very close by, far closer than I would usually allow myself to come. But here I am, doing something, for some reason.
There’s something moving in the bushes.
I crouch down and inspect it from a safe distance. It could be a baby troll. The infants are not much less dangerous than the fully grown creatures. They don’t move as fast, but they’re certainly just as bitey. Troll babies are born with a face full of sharp teeth, all the better to macerate their prey with.
It’s not a baby. It is much larger than that, and it has a great ass barely contained in a very tight flight suit.
I see money signs flashing before my eyes. This is the motherlode. This is a trove like none I ever expected to find.
It’s a human. A ridiculously unprepared, curvy, delicious little human. That’s a treasure I did not expect to find. Except for the fact I seem to have known precisely where she was. These forests are vast and mostly filled with things that are not humans. This feels like fate.
My first thought? I’m going to be so very rich.
She looks at me with wide eyes. She is very, extremely pretty. I have seen only a handful of real humans in my time. She is one of the more alluring of her number. I cannot stop looking at the pleasing form of her face, not to mention her body which is curved in the most delicious of ways. The thoughts fighting their way through my animal brain are rough and full of animal need. I want to fuck this human. But that’s just a meaty response. I know there’re better, more profitable things to do with her.
“ZED!”
My name comes bursting out of her mouth.
That takes me aback.
“How do you know my name?”
She stares at me for way too long, then swears. Loudly.
“FUCK.”
“Problem?”
“You don’t remember me, do you,” she says. “I’d say that’s a problem. We are… holy shit. We are being chased by a giant space squid that chews you up and spits you back out again.”
I have no idea what she’s blathering about, but it’s not uncommon for humans to be a little strange. They don’t do well with space travel. They’re very anchored in their little worlds. This one is a very long way from home, and probably having a hard time adjusting. That doesn’t explain how she knows my name, though. That’s a piece of strangeness which intrigues me.
I pick her up, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her off to my ship. She doesn’t struggle. That’s good. Makes it much easier to abduct her. The ship is not far away. I am looking forward to getting her there. This is a game of possession. She is in my grasp. She is mine. Mine to transport. Mine to sell.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her, resting my palm over the generous crown of her ass. “You’re safe now.”
“I’m really not,” she mumbles over my shoulder.
I carry her back to the ship without further argument. This is all going so easily I can barely believe it. Usually humans beg and cry and fight and end up hurting themselves. Instead, this girl comes along like a passenger resigned to the ride.
“My name’s Ava,” she says, making her introductions to my back. “You and I have done all this before. A lot.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but it tickles my brain in a way that makes me almost wonder if I do know after all. Sort of a half-forgotten memory, like when you’re trying to remember the lyrics to an advertising jingle from your youth.
I put her down because she’s clearly no flight risk. I inspect her closely and carefully. She’s pretty. She has curling dark hair and bright brown eyes. Her skin is a creamy color which changes from pink to pale to tan depending on the specific part I’m looking at, and her emotional state. Humans have the maladaptive ability to act as chameleons when they are stressed, though it rarely makes them blend in any better with their environment.