Pairing with the Protector Read online

  Whitney looked at the space he had cleared of grass and winced. There was indeed a picture of two tweedles—one man and one woman, both naked with long hair and large, blank eyes. They looked like the animals the Tuskers believed them to be, Whitney thought. There was nothing remotely human in their vacant expressions—no emotion, just tranquil empty space.

  “They look so…mindless,” she muttered, staring at the ad. “How awful!”

  “They’re probably Mindless Ones,” Yancy said with a shrug. “Most tweedles are, you know. We Thinking Ones are the minority—probably not one in ten of us is able to communicate and think.”

  “Which is more than the Tuskers want,” Yarrow said sourly, frowning. “They’d prefer us all to be mindless—though we’re not much of a threat to them considering the size difference.”

  Whitney remembered that Dood had said something similar and wondered why the Tuskers felt so threatened by tweedles with the “Speaking Disease.” She supposed they wanted to believe themselves the only sentient species on the planet—it probably made them feel unsafe to know that another thinking people, no matter how small—was sharing their world with them.

  “That’s too bad,” she murmured with a sigh. “If only the Tuskers would be willing to recognize the Thinking tweedles as a real people.” Though she supposed it would never happen. After all, look at the history of her own world, Earth, where people had been subjugating and enslaving other humans for centuries, based on looks alone and size wasn’t even a factor, like it was here.

  “They won’t,” Yarrow said shortly. “Are you almost done with the lesson, Yancy? I’m hungry and we haven’t touched our shroom slices yet.”

  They decided to break for an early lunch, going back to the center of their cages. Whitney examined the large, gray, irregularly shaped slices dubiously. It seemed to be made of some light, porous material which felt a lot like memory foam and she doubted it would taste very good. Still, it was what they had been given so she took a bite.

  Sure enough, it was bland with an unpleasant spongy texture that felt wrong in her mouth—like eating carpet lining. She swallowed one mouthful with difficulty and put the slice down.

  “This is disgusting! I’m eating the rest of my alien radish from last night,” she announced. “Doesn’t Mama Tusker ever give her tweedles anything good to eat?”

  “Well, the special food is nice,” Dood remarked from his cage. “Though you might not like the effects.” He had come over to the bars of his cage and was looking across to them. “Saw you talking to Yarrow and Yancy,” he said, tossing his hair in the direction of the other cage opposite his own. “You guys making friends?”

  “They seem like a very nice, er…” Whitney stopped herself from calling them a couple at the last minute. “They seem very nice,” she finished lamely.

  “Yeah, but don’t let ‘em fool you with all that ‘pretend breeding’ stuff,” Dood said contemptuously. “They’re goin’ at it all right, they’re just more careful where Yarrow finishes than they were before Yancy had her litter.”

  “That is enough,” Rafe growled, glaring at the other male. “We do not wish to speak of such things,”

  “What? Yancy and Yarrow going at it or breeding in general?” Dood demanded. “Because you’re going to have to do that eventually, you know—especially if you want to go to the show.”

  “The Tweedle Beautiful show, you mean?” Whitney asked. “When is it, anyway?”

  “Tomorrow, I think.” Dood tossed his hair again. “Mama’s going to pick me to go, I’m sure. I always put on a good performance at the shows. But whether she takes the two of you along as well is completely up to you.”

  “I don’t see how we can influence her decision one way or the other,” Rafe growled. “I thought you said she wouldn’t want to take me because of my scars?” He nodded down at his broad, bare chest with its long, white scars. Whitney still wondered where they had come from, though she didn’t quite dare to ask.

  “Oh, she’ll take you all right—now that she’s determined you two are a matched pair,” Dood said, nodding. “As long as you’re at least acting like your lady is in season. A breeding pair always shows well and Mama loves it because it makes the other tweedle breeders jealous. Also, she gets a lot more interest if it looks like there might be a litter to sell after a month or two.”

  “A month or two?” Whitney demanded. “How long is the gestation period for you tweedles anyway? I mean, how long does a pregnancy last?” she explained, seeing Dood’s confused expression.

  He shrugged. “It depends on the number of babies in a litter. The rule is usually one solar month for every infant. Most tweedles in captivity only have one to three at a time, though I’ve known Mindless Ones to have as many as six out in the wild.”

  This was extremely interesting to Whitney, although she couldn’t imagine having six babies at once. But again, if the infant mortality rate was so high, it made sense that the tweedles would have evolved to have more babies in a shorter gestation time. Though she couldn’t imagine how anyone could take care of so many infants at the same time.

  “Tell me,” she said, thoroughly fascinated now. “How long does it take you tweedles to grow to maturity? Are your babies born being able to crawl or walk right away?”

  “Of course!” Dood exclaimed. “I mean, how else would they stay away from predators? Little tweedles can crawl right away and run before they’re a standard week old. We grow to maturity in about a solar year.”

  “And how long is your life span?” Rafe asked, also apparently interested now.

  “Oh, we’re a very long-lived people,” Dood said proudly. “Our Elders—when they survive—can get to ten solar years. I’m four, myself,” he added proudly.

  Whitney frowned. Was a solar year longer here? Maybe it took their planet a very long time to go around their sun. Or maybe a year here comparable to an Earth year and the tweedles just had very short (by human standards) life spans?

  The second idea seemed more plausible, considering the quick gestation and growth rate. She wished for a moment that she could stay and study the tweedles. Only not as one of them, she thought with a wince. I really don’t want to be trapped here. Oh, please let us get back home!

  It was half thought/half prayer and for a moment she felt a comforting presence around her.

  Do not worry, daughter, a strong, feminine voice murmured in her ear. All will be well.

  Whitney supposed this ought to have startled her but she had been raised in the church all her life and despite her scientific background, she had a strong faith. She felt comforted by the voice, though she wondered if she might have imagined it because of the stress they were under.

  “How long have you been a captive, if you are four now?” she heard Rafe asked Dood.

  “Oh, about two years now.” The tweedle shrugged. “Mama Tusker treats us right. She wasn’t even mad after my escape attempt. I’d still like to get out of here but if I can’t, well…” He shrugged philosophically, as though being kept in captivity for the rest of his life was a nuisance he was willing to put up with.

  “Will you help us escape when we go to the show?” Rafe demanded. “You have been there before—you know more about the security around such events than Whitney and I do.”

  “You mean if you go to the show,” Dood snapped. “And sure, I guess I can try to help you get away, though Mama won’t like it. But I’m not going with you—not in the Tusker city. It’s way too crowded with Tuskers—most of them happy to squash you flat if they see you loose out on the street—to be safe to escape from there.”

  “We will see about that,” Rafe said darkly and Whitney knew he was planning to escape any which way he could, be it from the city or from their cage here in Mama and Papa Tusker’s home.

  Twenty-One

  They spent the rest of the day perfecting their reading skills, which came quite easily to Rafe, once he had learned the alien alphabet, and talking to Yarrow and Yancy. Whitne