Maid For The Alien Primal

Chapter 1

Nyla

The sound of grit on my boot heel is muffled in the claustrophobic afternoon air. Wearing boots in such hot weather isn’t for the faint of heart but I’ve learned from experience that it’s better to be wearing tough shoes that you can run in rather than shoes that give your feet some air.

“Come on, come on…” I mumble to myself, staring down at my busted-ass Misiv. 

It’s been taped and bound with small pieces of twine so many times it resembles a kid’s homemade toy more than it does a communication device.

But it’s all I have and it’s my lifeline so that’s that. 

And right now, I need every message I can get.

This street corner is empty – just the way I like it. But it can’t escape the elements. The afternoon sun beats down relentlessly. After living in Portep, the settlement just outside the Drokan city of Catturn, you’d think I’d be able to better plan my rendezvous points.

At least pick places that have more shade, my oh-so-judgy brain admonishes.

Truth is, there aren’t many places in this Drokan desert kingdom that actually have shade. Everything here is scorched and faded, the sun long ago leaching out anything other than sand and things that now resemble sand.

Except for the fancy Drokan places, I imagine.

From what I’ve heard, the Drokans live in vibrant Technicolor while we lowly humans and Skuyr eke out our days in bleached out beige, dodging the sun’s rays like vermin.

“What is taking so long?” I mumble, my temper rising.

Jesr is late. Again. What’s more, he was supposed to send me a message that he was on his way ages ago and nothing has come through. I should know. I’ve been checking my damn Misiv every five seconds for the last hour.

Like a petulant child, I kick at small rocks on the dusty street, hoping to distract myself from waiting. I hate waiting. Especially for my grubby partner in crime. 

I can’t remember when I first met Jesr. Probably at Bohar’s, my favorite dive bar. That’s where I usually meet my ‘associates.’

As a Scrounger, you meet all sorts of characters. Some I wouldn’t cross the street to save if they were on fire, and some who aren’t so bad. Jesr, for all his faults (being pretty sloppy on personal hygiene and having zero sense of time) isn’t bad for a partner.

In fact, some of my biggest scores have been due to his insights, tips and…well, shall we say, his less than respectful stance towards morals.

For some odd reason, however, he’s never pulled a fast one on me. He probably could have over the two or so years we’ve been working together. Guess there’s an odd trust between us that I’ve never really questioned.

Sweat trickles down my back. I wish he would just get here so we could get on with things. As Scroungers, we need to be on top of things – including figuring out our next score.

We deal in old books, manuscripts, scrolls and sometimes, just great ideas. The Desert Kingdom trades mainly in these things and we humans and Skuyr live on the outer edges of that world, scrounging to get a piece.

Hence the name. I didn’t think it up.

But I sure am good at it. At least I was, until a bunch of amateurs flooded the market. Now, the best scores are becoming harder and harder to find. And more Scroungers are getting picked up because the newbies are so sloppy.

“Where in fuck is he?” I say, pretty loudly, staring once again at my Misiv.

As if on cue, a message pops up:

B thar sun.

Typical Jesr. Can’t spell to save his life. But at least he’ll be here any minute.

My impatience abates somewhat and I look up and down the street on which I stand. It reminds me of the neighborhood I grew up in. Squat buildings nestled in the heat, each house seemingly leaning on the other for support. But it was an okay childhood. My parents were good people. Simple and hard-working.

They died long before they should have and I was left to my own defenses. Or maybe they just got sick of the place and took off. I’m not entirely sure. I don’t like to think about it.

Scrounging seemed the logical next step in order to survive. Better than a lot of other alternatives for women in Portep. Quickly discovered I had a knack for it too.

Leaning back against a wall, I feel the form of the beat-up paperback book I keep in my back pocket. I’d love nothing more than to sit on the gritty sidewalk and read it while I wait, but that would peg me as an easy target.

With so many Scroungers about now and so little material to sell, trade or steal, having an actual book out in the open is an invitation to get scammed. Or worse.

The influx of new Scroungers is no accident. Ever since the river Hubthra began to shrink from the shores of Portep, more and more people have become desperate for jobs. And a lot of them think anyone can do what I can. It’s beyond insulting. 

Seems the market is pretty lucrative right now. Though technology has largely taken over most printed materials, it has had the bonus effect of driving up prices for the actual printed word. Thus, the world of Scroungers was born.

If I had my druthers, I’d sit in a cool room all day, drinking frozen grash and read every book I could scrounge. I’m not one to admit this openly, but I’d rather read than talk most days.

How much longer? I tap angrily into my Misiv. The heat and my own thoughts are starting to get to me. 

Giv me 5. Drokan stops.

Of course. Ever since the Drokan launched their new construction project on the river, the traffic has been congested around the ports. Jesr’s hunting ground. He’s probably stopped at some fancy checkpoint while the Drokan check to make sure we low-lifes aren’t stealing any of their precious construction materials.

Just one more reason to hate those stuck-up bastards.

I kick some more rocks and try to ignore the heat beating down on my hair. With one hand, I lift up my heavy braid to give my neck some much needed air.

Just then, my Misiv beeps again.

Almust thr. Have bad nus. 

I learned long ago that, to Jesr, ‘nus’ means ‘news.’ Sighing, I shove my Misiv in another pocket. I’ve had quite enough bad news lately. What more could he possibly have to share?

Now I’m thoroughly annoyed. He’d better get here soon or there is no telling what idiotic thing I’ll do next.