“Adorable isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” says the woman to Molly’s side. Emery, I think her name is. She’s mated to the one they call Calix. Ozias explained it all to me yesterday, but it was an information overload, even for me.
As the girls chat about Legolas between themselves, I try to remember what Oz told me about the facility’s inhabitants. Their commander, sort of like their leader, is the biggest mort of them all and his name is Breccan. He’s a little intimidating, nothing like my mischievous Oz. His mate is Aria. She’s sort of the female version of a leader. Her I do remember from Earth II. She was famous before she was shipped off to the prison. Her face used to be plastered on TVs and billboards. It had been a heck of a shock to wake up to find her here. They even have a little baby boy, a half human half alien named Sokko. He is about the age where he’s trying to put everything into his mouth. Not quite crawling, but soon. Apparently alien babies grow quickly.
Then there’s Emery and Calix. They’re very sweet-natured compared to Breccan and Aria. Calix studies diseases and Emery helps with the greenhouses. Their son is Hophalix. “Like hope,” Emery had explained. “Because it’s the most important thing to have these days.”
The scariest of all the morts is the scarred hulking Draven, Breccan’s lieutenant. I don’t understand how he’s mated to a woman as sweet and bubbly as Molly, but it’s only been a day. I haven’t even begun to understand the idiosyncrasies of such a diverse group. Molly doesn’t seem like the type of woman who would let anyone push her around—even a beast like Draven. She looks like she’s about to pop with their own little mortling, I think they call them.
Even more curious is Grace and her…two mates. She’s currently huddled across the cafeteria with them and their young baby named Sareth. I’d seen them when I first walked into the cafeteria. Sayer is the communications and linguistics specialist and Jareth is Oz’s best friend. He works with metal, building things, I think. Probably why he and Oz get along so well. I wonder how it works having two morts in a relationship with one woman…
The unmated morts here are Galen and Oz. There are three other morts at the prison, Theron, Hadrian, and Avrell. But I haven’t got to know them as well. Not to mention all the women they’d found at the prison.
Like I said, it’s overwhelming.
“Are you sure it’s safe to keep that thing as a pet?” Molly asks, scooting a few inches away when Legolas twitches and begins rubbing his legs together on my shoulder.
Emery snorts as she checks on her baby, who is napping in what I think is a Moses basket, but made out of metal instead of the traditional material. I’d need to get a closer look, though, to know for sure. “Who are you to talk? You have a pet cow!”
“You have a pet cow?” I ask with interest. I wonder what an alien cow would look like. Then I wonder if they can eat them, but I don’t voice that thought out loud. If Molly keeps one for a pet, she’s probably not keen on turning them into alien hamburgers.
“She calls it Eileen. They’re called rogcows here, but they don’t look anything like the ones back home. These have eight legs, two tails, and one big ole eye,” Emery tells me like she’s relating a secret. She shudders a bit in mock horror. “You get used to it after a while. Although if you keep spiders for pets, the rogcows may not freak you out as much.”
“Legolas won’t hurt you any more than Eileen would. I spent most of the night observing his behavior and it’s remarkably the same as our arachnids. The only difference aside from his physical appearance, which is to be expected considering the radiation that caused the mutations in the morts and animals, is how he traps his prey. A traditional spider would trap his prey in a web. Legolas does build a web, but he uses it mostly for housing than attack. When his prey gets close to his web, he attacks them by spitting out a string of web to ensnare his victim and pulling it back to the web, kind of like a frog would. It’s fascinating.”
Emery and Molly make sounds of disgust, but I don’t take offense. Not everyone can see the beauty in these creatures. Aria moves from the distribution line of food to our table. “Hey, guys,” she says. “What are we talking about? Oh my God, is that what I think it is?” she asks when she sees Legolas on my shoulder. Her son Sokko gurgles happily from inside a sling of fabric around her shoulders and chest.