"The only memories I have of your kind are pleasure slaves," he offers.
I don't know what to do with that information. I want to scream, because of course he sees us as living blow-up dolls. They're not his memories. They were either implanted or leftovers from the cloning process, but it's not his fault that he views us as objects, just like everyone else. Maybe I just keep it clinical. Facts only. "My people are not space-faring. We've only recently started to explore our universe, and we haven't met alien life forms." I give him a tight smile. "The people on this end of the universe view mine as inferior and enslave us, even though it's against the law."
"The laws don't stop many," Crulden muses. "Especially not those with deep pockets."
Boy, he's not wrong about that.
He rubs his wrists again and tilts his head, regarding me. "Humans seem very…"
"What?"
"…vulnerable." Crulden holds a hand up, showing off dangerous, dark claws that tip each finger. "You have no defense mechanisms. Your teeth are small and square. Your hands have no claws." His big hand slides up to one of the spikes that march along the backs of his arms and legs (and his back, as well). "You have nothing to protect you. Why shouldn't you be enslaved?"
I keep my smile cheery, even though I want to take that bowl of water sitting just outside his cell and dump it over his head. Is he trying to rile me? To get me to show temper? I refuse to rise to the occasion. "Because enslaving people is disgusting and immoral. You cannot own another sentient being."
He snorts, and the sound is amused. "No wonder these people think humans are stupid."
"Are you trying to make me angry, Crulden?"
"Yes," he says bluntly.
"Why?"
"We are arguing. I want to win." He gives me another toothy grin. "It's what I'm best at."
"Arguing?"
"Winning."
Interesting. "So your implanted memories are focused in regard to victory?"
"I suppose they are."
"Do you view all of this as a game, then?" I gesture at our surroundings. "A competition?"
His expression tells me the answer. He does.
That could be problematic. "And what will you do if you find there's nothing—or no one—to fight? What will you do if there's no challenge to be had?"
"There's always a challenge." His eyes turn to slits, but his expression remains amused, like he's enjoying our conversation. I have to admit, I'm kind of enjoying it, too. He's not talking down to me. He's not acting like I'm a precious doll that needs to be coddled and protected. He's not acting like I'm a victim, or that I'm damaged. To him, I'm a…challenge?
That's a little odd to think about, but I'm starting to suspect it's true. If he thinks of all of this as a game or a competition, then I'm either someone he needs to defeat or a prize to win.
I'm not sure I like either option.
"If you settle here," I point out, "you're going to be expected to abide by the laws. To be cautious of the humans that live on this planet, too. Most of them are women. Women that have been treated poorly. You need to understand that…" I cut myself off, because it feels like I'm giving information I shouldn't. Crulden feels a bit like a fox about to be let loose in the hen house, but doesn't he deserve to know what is expected of him if he settles on Risda? How he'll be expected to behave? I finish primly with, "You just need to understand how things are viewed here."
"And were you treated poorly?" His gaze is intent.
I clasp my hands in my lap and keep smiling. "I don't wish to answer that."
He grunts, and I suspect we both already know my answer.
After that conversation, we don't talk about much at all. I probe to see what he knows, but sometimes Crulden just doesn't feel like answering, and I can't blame him. Sometimes the conversations feel like a sparring match, and by the end, I feel like I've lost a battle somewhere. It's obvious that Crulden is extremely competitive. He likes to have the last word in our conversations. He views everything as some sort of sport or challenge, and I worry that with the wrong focus, that competitive side is going to work against him.
The good news is that I don't think he's bloodthirsty. I think he's just bored and likes a challenge, and mauling guards was a challenge. He hasn't done it since I first started talking to him, and I don't think it's because I've made some sort of spectacular breakthrough with him. I think the new challenge is me, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Like I do most days lately, I leave the guard barracks late, and I'm not entirely surprised to see Riffin waiting for me.
"Bee, we've talked about this," he complains to me. "I don't want you staying late. It's dangerous. Promise me that you'll go home on time tomorrow."
His face is full of worry, his expression downright insistent.
I smile at him. "I always try to leave on time, Riffin. You know that. It's just that sometimes things get away from me. We're making such progress—"
"No, Bee." Riffin frowns, putting that possessive hand on my shoulder. "Listen to me. They're changing my schedule at work and I won't be able to escort you safely home if you stay late. Promise you'll leave before dinner."
I gaze up at my boyfriend in surprise. "Why are you so worried? If you can't give me a ride, maybe one of the other guards can." We've become friendly over the last few weeks, thanks to the bonding powers of pastries.
Riffin's face hardens, and he practically scowls at me. "Just do as I ask for once, Bee? Can you just give me one yes without turning it into a fight? It's like I have to struggle to get even a smile from you lately."
Hot guilt rushes through me. He's not wrong. Everything I've done lately has been Crulden-focused. From staying up super late to make batches of baked goods, to blowing all my savings on flour substitutes to obsessing over Crulden and getting him to open up to me, it's been my sole priority lately. I've really and truly been a terrible girlfriend in the last few weeks. "I'm so sorry, Riffin. I'm just…this job means a lot to me."
"I know it does, but you're wasting your time, Bee." He gives me a firm, unyielding look. "A creature like that can't be reformed. He's bred and programmed to be a monster. The sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be."
I fight back the wave of irritation his words send through me. He's lashing out because he's hurt that I've been ignoring him. I need to be a better girlfriend if I'm going to make this work. Of course, part of me doesn't want to make this work, and that makes me feel guilty, too. There are several women that married aliens to procure safety for themselves, and I know there's a lot of miserable marriages out there on Risda. Riffin is kind, and he lets me do my own thing, and he's patient. I should pay more attention to his needs, too.
"I truly am sorry, Riffin," I say, giving him my best happy Bee smile. "I guess I've been a little focused lately."
He gives me a tender look. "I don't mind your focus, Bee. I guess I'd just prefer it was on me and not on some lab-created thug." He touches my cheek and I bite back an unpleasant retort that wouldn't solve any of our problems. "Just promise me you won't stay late tomorrow. If there's one thing you can promise, do that? You're wearing yourself out."