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Three.

 

Two.

 

One.

 

I stepped forward, a controlled half-step, one that elicited no disapproving glares and no lashes to my bare feet. The branch of a walnut tree slid against my exposed thigh, but it didn’t break. Thankfully. The ranchers would have scolded me for such a disruption.

 

They rode on horses, herding cattle, not more than thirty yards ahead of me on the road. At least I hoped it was thirty yards. My current owner, Branford, had ordered me to maintain that distance. With the afternoon sun at my back, I’d been using my own shadow as the measuring stick, since I’d been told my height was over twenty-six yards.

 

Clever.

 

Of course, Branford would disagree. That’s why he was selling me today; I was too stupid to handle simple tasks on his ranch. Too stupid to avoid tripping and tearing the roof off his barn. And as the sun dipped further in the sky, as my shadow lengthened, undermining the reliability of my ‘measuring stick’, I once again acknowledged his assessment of my intelligence.

 

Half-step.

 

Still, I hoped someone would purchase me at the noonday auction. Otherwise, I’d be left to starve, and I didn’t want to die. Not yet. I might be too stupid to deserve life, but I wanted to live — extremely selfish as Branford had rightfully accused, but I feared death. And I couldn’t control my fears.

 

Half-step.

 

Sweat dripped from the tip of my nose and landed on my right foot, absorbed by dirt-caked skin. Strands of muddy hair hung over my eyes and stuck to my neck. Matching my hair’s filth and stickiness, perspiration-soaked linens wrapped my torso and waist. If my new owner valued cleanliness, I’d be doomed.

 

“Fyth!” Branford circled back on his horse, trotted up to my toes, and pointed toward a concrete platform. “Get o’er thar ya worthless sack. Stand up straight and don’t hunch yer shoulders. Remember if no one buys ya, I sure as hell ain’t keepin ya.”

 

“Yes, sir.” I winced as a drop fell from my chin and splashed on his leg.

 

“Get!” He cracked the whip, but the mud on my toes blocked most of the sting.

 

I walked carefully around the cattle and the other ranchers, stepping onto a platform that had been cleared to make room for larger animals. The crowd grumbled and several groups departed for the surrounding refreshment stands.

 

“Hold up.” The auctioneer bellowed into the microphone. He paced in front of my feet, waving his hand. “What we got here is a fine specimen of bioengineering: none other than a Fyth from Serus Prime. Nineteen years old and standing at seventy-nine feet tall, she’ll pull as much as a hundred oxen.”

 

“Yeh, she’ll eat as much as a hundred oxen too,” someone in the crowd yelled out. A bold-faced lie, but I kept my mouth shut and endured the chorus of laughter that followed the man’s remark.

 

Undeterred, the auctioneer continued. “She speaks English, she’s had her shots, and she just ate three days ago, so —”

 

My stomach growled, evoking another round of laughter. It had been a week since my last meal, not three days, and I was starving.

 

“Start the bidding at two hundred dollars.” The auctioneer pointed his finger toward the the outer railing. “And we’ve got two hundred. Do I hear three?”

 

“I heard she’s clumsier than One-Eyed Jonas after a handle of Jim Beam,” someone yelled.

 

I ignored the chuckles and concentrated on the bidder, zooming my vision to magnify his appearance. He looked young, much younger than Branford. Black sunglasses concealed his eyes and intricate tattoos covered his forearms. His tousled hair was dark brown and long for a man, too long for a farmer. Why would he want to purchase a Fyth like me?

 

It didn’t matter. I would have a new owner, a new residence, a new permission to live...

 

“Sold to the man in the back for two hundred!” The auctioneer pounded a wooden gavel.

 

Relief flooded my body and I exhaled.

 

I stepped off the stage and walked to the loading area, a wide-open field where customers claimed their purchases. A few barns lined the main road, but I kept my distance from them.

 

A pickup truck, old with rusty fenders, stopped at the loading area’s entrance. The driver handed cash to the collector and drove up to my feet, a trail of dust in his wake.

 

The man, my new owner, stepped out and walked up to me. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t carrying a whip either. If anything, he appeared a bit nervous, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, the other holding a Fyth command pamphlet open. Maybe he’d never owned a Fyth before.

 

“Kneel.” He pocketed his sunglasses and looked up, his blue eyes shielded from the glare by my shadow.

 

I knelt onto both knees, sitting back on my feet as I’d been trained. I may be stupid, but I knew the basic commands and how to execute each with precision. Though clumsy, I’d never harmed a human, and I never would. I’d end my own life if I thought otherwise.

 

“Up,” he said.

 

I lowered my right hand, fingers unfurled, and waited for him to board. After a brief hesitation, he stepped into the center of my palm. I mentally cringed at the dirt — should’ve licked it clean beforehand, but I forgot.

 

I paused long enough to determine he didn’t plan on sitting, and lifted him to my face. My hand didn’t waver, not in the least. Even standing, he was in no danger of falling, but some humans preferred to sit.

 

“Mouth o —” He sighed. “Fuck it. You understand English right?”

 

“Yes.” I spoke in a low volume. No one was nearby to hear our conversation, but I didn’t want to stress his ears.

 

“Good.” He tossed the pamphlet, leaving it to flutter to the ground. “Now open your mouth.”

 

I complied, drawing my tongue back and lips up.

 

“Looks like you’ve got all your teeth.” His feet shifted against my skin. “You’re dirty and you smell like sweat, but you appear to be in good health.”

 

I nodded slightly, eager to confirm his assessment. Fyth’s didn’t generally have health problems, especially after receiving vaccinations to human ailments. We healed from injuries quickly and feared little beyond starvation.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“F-1235, sir.”

 

“No, not your identification number. Your name.”

 

“I don’t have one, sir.”

 

“Stop calling me sir. My name is Kenji. What do you mean you don’t have a name?”

 

“I haven’t been assigned one, s — Kenji.”

 

“Well, what do you want your name to be?”

 

“My name?” I fought to control my nerves, unaccustomed to such a strange conversation. “I don’t know. Branford called me Fyth.”

 

“Branford’s a fucking moron. That would be like you calling me Human. See the problem?”

 

I blinked. I didn’t see the problem. There weren’t many of my species on this planet. Surely my race would be enough to distinguish me from other animals.

 

“You’re not too bright, are you?”

 

“No, sir. I’m sorry. I’m not very smart at all.”

 

He scratched his head, messy hair becoming even more disheveled. “You know how to work a farm?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“You’re not going to stop calling me sir, are you?”

 

I looked down, unsure of how to respond. I’d already forgotten his simple request and we’d only just met. He wouldn’t keep me. He’d probably demand his money back or —

 

He laughed briefly and massaged his left eyebrow. “Your name is Alani. Got it?”

 

I nodded. Alani. A weird feeling sprouted in my chest, a warm feeling, but not like the sun on my back. Why? Was I getting sick? That couldn’t happen. And strangely...it felt good.

 

In spite of my preventative efforts, my stomach rumbled again.

 

“I figured that asshole wasn’t feeding you. I’ve got a load of Rouean in the truck bed. Put me down.”

 

I lowered him to the ground, my mouth salivating as my eyes stole glances at the covered object in the back of his truck. Rectangular and roughly six by four feet, the payload matched the dimensions for a Rouean container.

 

“This shit’s expensive, so you’re going to have to do some work to pay me back.” He removed the cover and I whimpered at the sight of the precious liquid, it’s metallic green color visible through the translucent container. I hadn’t meant to make a sound, but my body had acted of its own accord. I could barely restrain my hand from reaching for the sustenance.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Might as well drink it here. I sure as hell ain’t lugging it all the way back home.”

 

I nodded and carefully plucked the container from the truck, it’s rear rising with the lessened load. After unscrewing the top, I poured the contents into my mouth, careful not to spill a drop. The taste surprised me so much that I almost choked. Top quality, high grade Rouean — a delicacy that Branford had never purchased.

 

As I screwed the cap back on and returned the empty container to the truck, I reveled in the sensation of raw energy. Scratches and cuts healed within seconds, exponentially faster than they ever had in the past. Tears of gratitude stung my eyes. Although the initial sensation wouldn’t last long, I didn’t deserve to feel this incredible. I didn’t deserve an owner like Kenji.

 

“I might not always be able to afford the premium shit, so don’t expect this every week. Had to sell my motorcycle for a month’s supply of this stuff.”

 

“Thank you.” Moisture rolled down my cheeks and seeped into my mouth, tasting both salty and dirty. I wiped my face with the heel of my hand.

 

“Stop crying. Got a few miles to drive and I don’t want people thinking I’m already beating you.”

 

He tossed the tarp over the container, but it slid to the side. I pinched a corner and pulled it all the way over.

 

“Thanks,” he said as he secured the ropes. “I’ll be driving around forty miles per hour. Think you can keep up?”

 

I nodded. Although his description of speed meant nothing to me, I couldn’t imagine the little truck moving much faster than a galloping horse on the dirt road.

 

And to me, a galloping horse was slow.

 

***

 

“Shit.” Kenji knelt to examine the flat rear tire. It had popped several minutes into the journey, and he didn’t have a spare.

 

I marveled at the pickup, red with white letters on the back: F O R D. I didn’t know what those letters meant, but I’d seen them on a few other trucks we passed. Humans created such amazing machines.

 

I’d walked beside the road, several yards away to avoid distracting motorists or damaging the ground. But I’d walked, relishing every step as his speed nearly matched my full stride. No more half steps. Whatever forty miles per hour meant, I hoped he’d travel that fast again, or maybe a little faster.

 

Since no vehicles approached from either direction, I stepped toward the road and knelt behind him, knees pressing into the grass and shrubs. The wheels on the vehicle were composed of a soft material, even softer than the thin metal that comprised the truck’s frame. I knew this from the time I’d accidentally stepped on the back of Branford’s truck.

 

Kenji sighed, slumped against the tire, and ran a hand through his hair. “My dad always waited until something broke. Get new tires when they’re bald? Nah, just wait till they fuckin’ explode he’d say.

 

“Same thing he said about his chest pains before his heart attack. Don’t need a doctor, just wait till it fuckin’ explodes. Now I get to clean up his mess and I haven’t got a fuckin’ clue what I’m doing. Fuck!”

 

He slammed his head back into the fender, and rust flaked to the ground. After a few deep breaths, his eyes met mine. “And you probably have no idea what I’m talking about.”

 

I didn’t move because he didn’t ask me a question. And because I was confused. Although most of what he’d said made no sense, it had upset him and I didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing. Every human had two parents, and the loss of a mother or father frequently caused sadness. Maybe his dad died recently.

 

“Well, we’re walking.” He headed down the road. “Luckily, only a couple miles left. Got a spare tire at home —” He stopped and turned to me. “You coming?”

 

“Should I bring your truck?”

 

“What?” He scratched his head. “You mean carry it back home?”

 

“I’ll be careful not to break it.”

 

“I’m not worried about that. I just...well, I guess I can’t see why not. Go ahead; carry it. Saves me a trip back.”

 

“Do you want to get in first?”

 

He paused, then walked to the driver’s side door and opened it. “You know, you’re not a complete idiot. I don’t care what they say.” He hopped into the vehicle and closed the door.

 

Even though he was wrong, even though he’d change his mind over time, I couldn’t contain my smile. I’d had a good idea, and he seemed happier because of it.

 

I slid my fingers under the truck and raised it into the air. Holding my breath, I stood and brought it to my chest, concentrating on balance. So light, so fragile; he might not be worried, but I was.

 

He rolled down the window. “Just keep following the road. Take a right at the intersection and walk until you reach my house.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

***

 

By the time we arrived, the sun had ducked halfway behind the trees, painting the farmland in shades of orange and gold. I knelt and set the truck down near a green tractor. Both vehicles rested in front of Kenji’s house, a two story building, sky blue with white around the windows.

 

“Kenji!” A small girl with long brown hair ran out from the front porch. “You got her! You really got her! She’s so big!” She stopped at my knee and looked up. “Hi, my name’s Lyric. What’s your name?”

 

I looked at Kenji for guidance, but he was already on his way to the house, his hand massaging his neck. “Alani,” I said.

 

“Lyric, I want you inside for dinner in twenty minutes!” He disappeared through the door.

 

“Alani.” Lyric’s eyes widened, blue like Kenji’s. “That’s a pretty name. You’re dirty though. I bet you’d be pretty too if you weren’t so dirty. How did you get so big? My father read stories about f—fites. Are you a fite? You must be, because you’re a giant girl. Even though I’m a girl, father said I’ll never grow as big as a fite. Can I touch you?”

 

“Yes. Is Kenji your father?”

 

“No, Kenji’s my brother.” She placed her palms on my knee. Should I warn her not to get dirty? Humans valued cleanliness before they ate.

 

“You’re so warm.” She plastered her body against my skin, her cheek touching and her arms spread wide. Then, she stepped back and hopped. “Can you lift me up?”

 

I winced at the smudge on one side of her face. “I don’t know —”

 

“Please!” She clasped her hands together. “Please, please, please.”

 

I smiled and lowered my hand. She stepped on and sat down in the middle before I raised her to my face. Only rarely in the past had I interacted with human children. I understood them even less than adults, but something about Lyric tempted laughter to rise from my stomach.

 

She leaned over the edge of my hand and I readied my other, just in case. “Wow, look how high I am. I can see the roof of our house. Your fingers are as long as me.” She returned to the center, causing me to breathe easier. “You have pretty teeth. Bring me closer to your face, please.”

 

I sealed my lips shut and brought her close. She crawled forward and touched my lips, my nose, my cheeks, everything within reach. Her tiny fingers tickled but I dare not open my mouth; I didn’t want to frighten her. Some humans had irrational fears about being eaten by a Fyth, and while I doubted Lyric had such fears, I didn’t want to risk it.

 

After she sat back down, I pulled her away to study her.

 

“You have pretty eyes,” she said. “They’re purple. I wish I had purple eyes. All the boys at school say I’m ugly. Well, not all of them, but one of them does. I used to like him, but now he’s mean to me and I hate him.” She crossed her arms and frowned.

 

The human concept of beauty confused me, perhaps because I seldom spoke with women. Was it external, internal, or both? Could it be objectively measured or was it felt, like the way Lyric made me feel... “I think you’re pretty.”

 

She blinked, then a wide smile replaced her frown. “You do?”

 

I nodded with enthusiasm. She giggled and my heart lightened. 

 

Then, she stared at me with a serious expression. “Alani, will you be my friend?”

 

A concept I understood even less than beauty. “I…”

 

“It’s ok.” She shrugged. “No one at school wants to be my friend either. I just thought that since you were going to live with us, you might be my friend. You don’t have to though. You’ll still talk to me, right?”

 

“Yes.” I could see the moisture in her eyes, and I wanted to say more, but I didn’t want to lie.

 

“Lyric!” Kenji called from the front door. “Inside now!”

 

She wiped her eyes and her smile returned, though it wasn’t as broad. “Kenji acts mean but he’s nice. He’s just been sad since…”

 

Not finishing her sentence, she jumped off and waved. “I’ll see you tomorrow after school, Alani!”

 

“Bye, Lyric.” 

 

After she shut the door, I focused my eyes on the windows, trying to detect movement. Unfortunately, the drapes blocked most of the view. But what was I doing and why?

 

Kenji and Lyric fascinated me, unlike any humans in the past. In a single afternoon, I’d experienced a hurricane of emotions, both exhilarating and intoxicating. Would every day be like this?

 

So small and frail, yet so smart and wise. And kind. My owner gifted me with health and compliments. His sister offered companionship, and she wanted to talk to me.

 

Without a doubt, that night, I was the happiest Fyth alive.

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