Page 1 of Chained

CLEO

My name is bellowed down the corridor, and I give the Cirmos with the large ladle in her paw a long-suffering look.

“What have you done this time?” Tibi asks calmly, the tip of her tail twitching as she goes back to stirring the large pot of stew on the heating rack.

“Not be where he wants me to be.” I sigh. “I’m never where he wants me to be because I can’t read minds.” I tap the side of my head and Tibi hisses out a laugh.

The little striped Cirmos, an alien who bears a remarkable resemblance to a tabby cat with her tan and black fur, large ears, and green eyes, is an incredible chef, providing the best dishes, on demand, all day every day.

“Do you want to taste?” she asks, offering me the stirrer.

Bile rises in my stomach. I feel like I’m going to puke at the mere suggestion of food. I clamp my teeth together and shake my head.

“Can’t do spice this early in the morning.” I manage a watery smile.

Tibi narrows her eyes, the slit pupils becoming round as she does.

“You eat hardly anything. You’re like a teeny tiny Jiaka. You’ll fade away to nothing,” she admonishes me.

I laugh at the reference to the four-armed creatures which seem to inhabit every uninhabitable area of Trefa, the planet I was dumped on after being abducted from Earth.

“Like a Jiaka? Really?” I move away from the heating element and rearrange my clothing. “Humans don’t eat much.”

Tibi snorts her disapproval. “Everyone eats.”

Everyone who can keep their food down,I think to myself.

“Gak you, Cleo.” Retah shoves his huge horned head through the doorway. “Why are you never where you’re supposed to be?”

“I am where I am,” I say, doing my best to not appear as bilious as I feel.

“Come on, we’re due in the dome this morning. I want this contract. Supplying weapons to the dome is a…”

“…surefire way to make credits.” Both Tibi and I finish his sentence in unison.

Retah huffs at us. The horned Remek is grizzled, his dark hair and beard peppered with grey. His exposed arms battle scarred.

He does his best to hide his morose side when he can. Like too many others who end up on Trefa, in Tatatunga, he has a good reason to want to hide himself in this city of a thousand sob stories.

Tibi has told me he was once a warrior who fought hard in the wars before and after he lost his planet, which was taken by another group of aliens and most of his species exterminated. But now he deals arms to anyone who wants them instead.

I guess I’m not the only one who has problems. Although mine are very, very different to his.

“Look, if you want me to continue to pay your wages, you’ll take this seriously,” he says, hands held out flat towards us.

“We always take you seriously,” Tibi says. “Would you like some sweet kifili before you go?” She nods to a tray of bright pink, iced pastries.

“Oooh, yes!” Retah says, far more excited about the sweet treats than a huge horned creature should be. Swiping a couple up with his claws, he immediately covers his face and hands with the pink icing as he munches happily.

Yes, I work for one of Tatatunga’s foremost arms dealers. The one currently making himself stickier than duct tape. I absolutely know my situation could be worse. Given I was wandering the streets of Tatatunga in a daze after my abductors suddenly released me when Retah took me in, and as bosses go, I have absolutely lucked out.

I have the wonderful contradiction which is Retah. A hard-nosed arms dealer, who loves his sweet treats. A boss who expects perfection and who pays me very well for doing things I know he could do himself.

Retah licks at his fingers with considerable satisfaction, although it makes little difference to the amount of icing covering him. He could probably use a hose down.

“I’ll finish off getting the samples ready,” I tell him, feeling the nausea rising once again. I scuttle out of the kitchen before either of them notice.

“Make sure you put in the blades and swords,” Retah calls after me. “That’s what the gladiators prefer, and we got some good ones from our last trade with Sartak.”

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