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The plan had gone much better in Milo's head. Get down to the docks, check the manifests, find a ship headed outward—for planet Earth if he was extremely lucky, or just in the general direction of Sol, if only slightly. Of course, he'd overlooked one very crucial point. After being kept naked in his cell for months—if not years, who knew how time passed up here—it hadn't even occurred to him to consider the matter of clothing. At least not until he'd crawled up out of the ventilation shaft, into the station's main hub, and found every single eye in the room instantly plastered onto him like flies on paper. Being naked, and human, was like having the universe's biggest target drawn right on his chest. He might as well have rolled around in some honey and dropped himself into a bear cave.
God, he'd kill to see honey again. Even a bear. Those were the inappropriate thoughts running through his brain as he tore his way through the station, bare feet slapping on the metal floor panels in time with the sound of the various clicks, squeaks, and trills of his pursuers.
He couldn't go back there, that he knew for sure.
He didn't know exactly where they were in space, but it was far enough most had never seen a human before, much less had the pleasure of a live exhibition. That was why he was so popular. For a low, low fee, he was there to be poked and prodded, ogled and fucked, the hungry touches and endless torments all blurring together until he'd stopped seeing his body as his own.
Even now, fleeing for his life, he had the detached thought that his body shouldn't be doing this. It should be pinned to the wall like the piece of meat it was. Held still for those aliens behind him to inspect and sample at their leisure. That was how it had been for so long, day in, day out. Why was it running? Why was it trying to escape?
Up ahead, the corridor split into a series of tunnels. Milo ducked into the far left, sliding through on his bare back and wincing at the burning drag of the metal flooring along his skin. Through the far end of the tunnel, the docks appeared before him. He still remembered being groggily carried through them on his arrival, him and the rest of the unfortunate haul. As a human, he'd shortly become the main attraction of the sleazy institution they'd been taken to. The other captives, he'd never seen again.
The sounds of his pursuers were still echoing down the tunnel—growing louder, but still distant. Whatever could be said of humans—weak, vulnerable, fleshy as they were—they were smaller and faster than most species. His scrawny human legs might not have scales, or tough hide, but they'd won him just a few minutes of breathing room.
Looking around wildly, he saw that the closest docking port was unoccupied, but the next one was open, in the process of being loaded up with cargo. He leapt onto the conveyor belt, hugging the crate in front of him, and somehow the loading robots didn't take exception to his presence, only slammed a second, identical crate behind him.
Was that it? Was he going to make it onboard? Peering out from over the crate behind, he saw that the first of his pursuers, a praying mantis-like thing with wicked scythe arms, had fluttered out of the corridor and was swiveling this way and that, like a hunting dog scenting the air.
Milo ducked back down, heart hammering in his chest. He wasn't a stranger to that species, far from it. He still had the scars to remember a few such visitors by.
The conveyor belt angled around a corner, hiding him and the crates from sight, and Milo breathed the shallowest sigh of relief. As long as they didn't come looking too closely, he was in the clear. Aliens on this station were very touchy about their personal property—surely the captain of the ship wouldn't take too kindly to others searching it. Surely he was safe now. Surely—
The crate in front of him suddenly dropped from view.
That wasn't good.
Milo scrambled backwards, only to hit the crate behind him. The conveyor belt pushed him forward just slowly enough that he had a long, harrowing moment to face the plummeting drop before him—
And then he was falling down into the hold.
When Milo came to, the floor was rumbling underneath him. He had never been so happy to feel the hum of a ship's engine. They were moving, which meant at least he was leaving this horrible station. As for what was next...
Milo tried to sit up, and had to choke back a cry at the white-hot pain lancing through his arm. The hold was packed full of crates, loaded in neat rows, with a gap exactly the size and shape of one crate left for Milo's huddled form. He should be grateful that the automated systems had registered him and not dropped the next crate on his head. It was tough to be grateful when his arm ached so badly he could hardly move it. Just sitting up was enough to make the ceiling swim. Was it broken? That was going to make it harder to stay unnoticed down here, and more importantly remain undetected when he crept off at their destination.
Stiffly, he gathered his arm to himself, using his opposite arm as a makeshift sling. Beyond the crates, there were two doors, panels firmly closed. Probably best not to go through. If there was something in the crates he could use to splint his arm, that would be best. God, a Tylenol would be amazing, right about now.
He swiveled around to check the other side of the hold—and let out a scream.
Unlike the other two doors, the third one behind him was open, and there was someone standing in it. The alien was silvery-blue all over, ending in great, thick tentacles instead of feet—at least a dozen of them, splayed out and anchored to the ground and various points of the doorway around him. As Milo crashed backwards in shock, the alien surged toward him, tentacles moving in horrible, intricate concert, suction cups flashing and popping as he glided forward with terrifying speed.
"I'm sorry, please don't hurt me, I'm sorry," Milo sobbed, ducking back into his little cubby of space.
"Peace," said the alien, in a voice low and melodic, like a tenor in a choir. "Peace. My name is Anwana, and you're aboard my ship. Stop that, you'll hurt yourself."
Milo stiffened and looked up—only to flinch again. Anwana was looming right in front of him, gripping several of the nearby crates with his tentacles, so that his head could lean in close. He had two eyes, like a human, but instead of a mouth, there dangled a short beard of tentacles that wriggled when he spoke, as if with his breath.
"There, that's better. Now, what are you doing here? Are you... lost?"
Anwana extended a single tentacle, almost like an outstretched arm, and Milo shuddered as it wormed closer. He could just imagine it wrapping around him, all the others taking hold of him, binding him, lifting him helpless into the air. He'd be left with their suckers marked all over his skin for days—and that's if they ever deigned to let him go.
"Please," he said breathlessly, "please, just take me back to Earth. I can't pay you, but I'll do anything you want."
The tentacle stopped short of touching him, curling into an inquisitive question mark.
"Earth, you say." Anwana's face tentacles wavered in a perplexed way. "By Inanao, that is far! Earth is your home? Could you be... human?"
And that was it. Milo had never known an alien to resist the temptation of having a taste of the rare delicacy of human flesh. There was nothing he could do to stop it, so he struggled to make it sound like something to be bargained, rather than something the huge alien could easily rip from him without a hint of struggle.
"You can do whatever you want to me," he said, all in one breath. "Just please, drop me off. Anywhere on the way to Earth. That's all I ask. Just get me a little bit closer to home."
"It will take very long indeed to hitchhike all the way back to your galaxy." Anwana's tentacles rippled in place, almost thoughtfully, as he swayed. "Besides, I don't think my storage hold is the best place to discuss this. Come, let's move somewhere more comfortable."
Right. More comfortable.
The tentacles reached for him, and Milo resigned himself to their touch. He'd done what he could. His fate was now in this alien's hands... tentacles... Tentacles that were quite careful, wrapping around his shoulders and waist, supporting him to stand upright. When he didn't make a move to climb out over the crates, they picked him up instead, cradling him. They were cool to the touch, slightly slippery, but they didn't grope, didn't squeeze, just carefully lifted him and carried him to the door. As they angled to maneuver him through the narrow doorway, the motion jostled his arm, and he gave a short cry, positive now that it was broken.
"Are you injured?" said Anwana, quickly returning him to his previous position.
"N-no." Milo wished he'd had the presence of mind to keep silent. If Anwana found out about the weakness— He'd press it more just to hear Milo scream—
"Please don't lie to me," said Anwana, and though the voice was pleasant rather than stern, it sent Milo trembling from head to toe. He was on the alien's ship, literally held within his grasp. He couldn't afford to anger him any more than he already had.
"I'm sorry," Milo said quickly. "Yes, it's broken, the bone. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Please—"
"Your body is broken?"
A tentacle slid down to the break in Milo's arm, as expected. Helpless to defend himself, he braced for the pain—
Only for it to secrete a sticky substance, in a slightly lighter hue to Anwana himself. With circular motions, the tentacle spread it over the break, and a substantial portion of the rest of Milo's arm besides. Where the goo touched, a blessed numbness spread.
"There," said Anwana, "that should help. Now, what do you need to repair it?"
Milo was brought to a small room several levels higher in the ship, and laid into a hammock-like sling with a cool, rubbery texture. It felt not unlike being cradled in Anwana's tentacles, but for some reason he found himself relaxing into it.
At least until Anwana said brightly, "This is my room," and Milo had to hold back tears, even as the alien shortly left.
He knew better than to get up from where he'd been placed. He'd been brought to Anwana's room, and here he'd be kept until the alien tired of the novelty. He'd save his prayers for mercy for then—for when it came time for Anwana to decide where and how to dispose of what was left of him.
When Anwana returned, he was carrying a number of things in his tentacles. One of them was a rod with a curve to it, that fit surprisingly snugly to Milo's arm. With an unexpected care and patience, he splinted the arm, drawing out a few diffident suggestions from Milo as he went.
"In case you get cold," Anwana said afterwards, and spread a blanket over Milo's body. It had a strange texture to it, like a plastic tote bag, but he could have wept just for the joy of having his nakedness covered again. He considered broaching the idea of clothing, but decided against it—Anwana certainly wasn't wearing any. The alien rippled his way around the hammock, setting down a few other things he'd brought, before shifting towards the far wall.
"I've forgotten to show you my favorite thing about the room." A few tentacles swept over a panel, revealing a broad window set in the wall: a view right out into the pitch blackness of space. In the distance, there glimmered faint stars, or maybe galaxies—so many of them, so far away. Was Earth out there, a twinkle between stars? Would he ever see it again?
As if reading his thoughts, the tip of a tentacle tapped the glass, near the lower left corner. "Earth should be right in that direction, if I have my bearings correct. I do have quite a few deliveries ahead of me, but if you'll bear with me, I should be able to make a trip there in time. I know what it's like to be far from home—and I'm long overdue for a vacation anyway."
Milo stared at the blackness at the tip of Anwana's tentacle, and tried to feel—something. He had no way off this ship, except at Anwana's pleasure. Trips could be extended, urgent legs added to their journey, and Milo could do nothing but be thankful for the faint pretense of hope.
"Thank you," he said shakily. "I'll earn my way however you see fit, I—how do you want me to start?"
"Just rest. I don't know how your human bones work, but all bodies need rest to heal, correct?"
"Y-yes, that would be helpful. Thank you." Milo didn't know what Anwana had in mind for rest, but if it was to be a period less demanding on his body, then he would have to make sure to properly appreciate it, before the payment started in earnest.
"Ah, that reminds me, I brought you something I think you'll like." Anwana turned towards the hammock, back framed by the dark of space behind him, and offered up something carefully, from two tentacles.
Something that made Milo almost choke—on either a laugh or a cry, or maybe both trying to squeeze out at once.
"I might not have been there recently, but my delivery routes do take me all over. I'm even carrying a few shipments now. Earth goods are in high demand."
"Earth goods like me," Milo whispered, but Anwana didn't seem to hear, only handed the precious bottled into his trembling hands, and waited to release it until he'd gotten a secure grip. The thing was shaped like a little bear. He hadn't seen anything so out of place and yet so nostalgic since he'd been dragged out to the vast loneliness of space.
Carefully, he dabbed a drop of honey on his tongue, and melted into the taste.
It was as sweet as the light of his own sun, and just as warm.