Page 23 of Homebound
The alien - a Tarai, if she was correct, - looked at her in surprise still gripping a handful of Simon’s beautiful hair.
The crowd gave a short ripple, and Number 34 appeared.
“You shouldn’t be here, Gemma,” he said quietly. “You need to leave. Go on your break.”
“Like hell I will. What do you want with Simon?”
Number 34’s black rodent eyes flickered. “The Rix is a threat. No one feels safe.”
“He’s unconscious! He can’t move! Leave him be.”
34 shook his head slowly.
Out of somewhere and at random, the Obu mowed a couple of aliens in his haste to jump up to Gemma, all excited grunts and lack of personal space. He took her hand and started rubbing his own forearm with it without her consent.
“Not you. Not now!” She snatched her hand away. “If you want to be useful, hold them off. Can you?”
The Obu mooed and tried to take possession of her hand again. The thing had an IQ of a potato.
“I’m taking Simon back,” Gemma snapped at 34.
“Not yet.”
“You don’t tell me what to do.”
Suddenly, 34 pushed in between her and the Obu, so close she could feel the heat of his large body. She could definitely smell his sweat.
“He can’t break out of his stasis. He’s as good as gone already,” he whispered in his clucking, choppy accent.
His words were like a bucket of cold water on Gemma’s senses. At the same time, the Tarai holding Simon’s hair reached with his other hand and grabbed him by his exposed throat, ready to crush the helpless Rix’s trachea. The Tarai’s hairy ears twitched, and the others began chanting their approval.
The protective feeling came from somewhere up high and filled Gemma to bursting. Without thinking, she whipped out her taser.
“Stand back,” she said through her clenched teeth. “All of you. Back!”
There were so many of them, large agitated males, most of whom could snap her in half with a flick of their wrist. Cold sweat exploded all over her back, and her taser slipped in her damp palm. She gripped it tighter and stuck it up and out at the Tarai.
“Let him go, or I swear I’ll put a charge right through ya. Do you understand?”
The Tarai’s proficiency with Gemma’s language might’ve been so-so, but the weapon thrust under his nose conveyed her message clearly enough. He shrunk back letting go of Simon’s throat but not his hair.
The frenzied chanting went out of tune.
Reluctant to abandon their murderous plan, the aliens milled around Simon and Gemma. Someone stepped on her foot, and she reacted out of surprise by sending a short zap at the offender.
He yelped and crashed on the ground, taking a few smaller-statued inmates down with him.
The Obu.
She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but as her luck had it, the incident communicated louder than words that she meant business. The tight crowd loosened.
“Let. Go.” She pointed her taser again at Tarai.
Slowly, he released Simon’s hair and took a step back holding his hands up in a universal sign of assent.
Gemma found the wheelchair’s handle by touch - her eyes were shifting madly between the aliens to keep them in her line of sight - and started walking backwards, pulling the heavy chair after her.
The inmates followed her with their eyes but made no attempt to approach. Even the Obu stood back, his ardor zapped out of him, so to speak.
