“You risk our discovery, young Dracoth,” Demon Egg-Head mutters, keeping his voice low while casting a wary glance over his shoulder. “It would be wiser to hasten to Scarn.”
Dracoth whirls on him, stopping so abruptly that I nearly crash into his broad back. “Wiser if the females don’t collapse from hunger. Wiser if you keep your pointless bickering off the streets.”
You tell him, Dracoth!
Because honestly, I’m starving for some actual food, and these delicious smells are making my mouth water.
Demon Egg-Head waves a dismissive hand. “Lead on, oh wiseWar Chieftain,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery—probably because the title is a complete fabrication in Dracoth’s head.
We weave our way through the crowded streets, exchanging sharp glances with aliens who glare back. They’re all so bizarre. Some have scaled skin and spiky heads; others have muzzled, furred faces. A few green-skinned ones with four arms carry trade goods, and several insect-like creatures with flat heads, blade-like arms, and twitching antennae tinker with a flickering neon sign. The sight of them makes my skin crawl.
Sandra and I nearly jump out of our skins when one of the holographic displays bursts to life as we pass. I gasp, recognizing myself projected with stunning clarity in the simmering red light.
The display shows our likenesses wearing and modeling different clothes. The outfits are the same boring leathers, furs, and overly bright plastic material that looks suspiciously like colorful garbage bags.
But one thing is certain—I make a hot model.
The dazzling display cycles to a long dress with strange high collars that doesn’t look...awful.I wave my hand through the holographic advertisement, watching it distort and ripple, then snap back into place.
“Class!” Sandra declares, grinning.
Before I can reply, the chain around my neck jerks me forward, a sharp pain shooting through my throat. I stumble, turning my glare to Dracoth, who stands a short distance away, gesturing impatiently for us to follow.
“I swear to God, Dracoth! If you don’t stop doing that, I’ll... I’ll...” But my words trail off, like my impotent rage. Dracoth, intypical bore fashion, says nothing, shows nothing, turning away to stride down the street again.
“Can’t even window shop for two seconds,” I mutter, scowling at the ground.
Sandra gives me a nudge with a kind smile—a caring gesture. I attempt to mirror it back, though it’s a brief thing that doesn’t reach my eyes or heart.
“Look over there,” she says, pointing to an open area filled with ornate wooden cages. Inside, massive beasts shift and snort. Most are huge, brown-furred creatures with six legs, buffalo-like heads, and curved antlers jutting from their skulls. Aliens crowd around, bartering loudly, arms flailing in animated gestures.
I gasp as I spot even stranger animals: aerial creatures flapping their wings and squawking against the bars, their iridescent plumage shimmering in hues of turquoise, indigo, and deep violet. Another cage holds small, reddish snake-scorpion things with bulging eyes and spiny ridges running down their lengths.
It becomes clear that much of Star City’s trade revolves around livestock. The air takes on a distinct manure smell, mingling with the more alien scents.
We pass through winding streets, the alien crowds lessening. Sandra and I exchange frantic glances, drinking in every strange sight. Adrenaline pulses through me. I’m torn between the urge to flee and the desire to explore every alien wonder. The deeper we move into the labyrinthine streets, the fewer neon lights and holographic advertisements we see.
There are fewer aliens now, most of them Clown-dathians, but they all appear older, with long gray hair, horrendous facial scars, and mechanical limbs. My stomach churns as they eye us with unsettling interest. I’m suddenly reminded of how tall and broad they all are. Even the buildings, with their immensedoors and windows, make me feel like a child lost in the wrong neighborhood.
The streets narrow, twisting into an endless warren. I glance over my shoulder, a knot forming in my gut—I have no idea how to make it back to the ship. Not like it matters now.
Some of the sand-colored buildings have female aliens lurking in the doorways, barely dressed, looking like sex workers.Ugh, of course Dracoth takes us through an alien red-light district—the kidnapping perv who runs away from sex.
“Hey, big boy! Bring your friends. We can have a party!” A brown-furred, muzzle-faced alien shouts at Dracoth, laughing as she trails a finger over her exposed breasts, swaying her hips.
“This issofucking gross,” I whisper to Sandra, who mutters back in agreement.
Dracoth stomps ahead undeterred, like a red mountain that someone drew a frowny face on.Good,I’m glad he’s ignoring them—I’m way hotter than these bitches, anyway. I frown, noticing Demon Egg-Head’s hood tilting toward the women as he starts drifting over like a horny dog, only to stop short and clear his throat.
Maybe they’re both pervs?
A shorter Clown-dathian—but still much taller than me—stands in a doorway of a wooden building that looks grown from the roots of an immense tree. I nearly jump six feet into the air when a holographic display bursts into life, filling the air with lewd noises and flashing scenes of aliens having sex. I avert my eyes from thebarf-inducing scenes, my hands clenching tighter.
“What happened to getting food?” I snap, waving a hand at a pair of glowing blue breasts on the display. “Or is staring at boobs more important than eating?”
The giant prick just ignores me and keeps walking, but the Clown-dathian in the doorway doesn’t. His blue eyes light up as he notices us.
“Oh, would you look at this!” he exclaims, stepping toward us with a wide grin that makes my skin crawl.
