Page 90 of My Wild Pet

A hush settles over our group, and the shaved-headed woman clears her throat. “You’d be better off trying to find Gael the Returner,” she whispers to us. “Word is he’s here today.”

Gabriel and I exchange a glance. “Where?” I ask.

“No one knows. He’s keeping a low profile. Some say he’s disguised as a trainer; others claim he’s hiding in the ventilation systems. But if he picks you as a candidate for freedom…” she stops speaking and lets her face expression say the rest:You might get out of here alive.

A whisper of hope passes through me, warring with the fear that it’s all a trap or even worse just a rumor. I notice the woman who propositioned Gabriel eyeing me with a mix of curiosity and resentment, like she’s sizing up whether I might overshadow her chances with Gabriel. It’s frightening, how quickly trust dissolves among humans.

Before any of us can speak further, an attendant’s voice crackles over the intercom, calling my name and Gabriel’s in Imperial. Time to return to our quarters, presumably. We stand, and the small group disperses.

As Gabriel and I head for the corridor, I can’t shake a sudden certainty,We can’t let them decide our fate.Aefre, Kaelin, the doctor, Ira, the Empire—they all see us as nothing more than exotic playthings. We have to find Gael, if he’s real, if there’s even a chance at a future together.

Gabriel catches my hand briefly, giving it a small squeeze.

Tomorrow might bring another victory, and I’ll be momentarily satisfied with my accomplishments and feel good hearing Aefre praise me for being a good girl, but one thing’s certain, I can’t live like this for long, with rumors of breeding dates and showpieces overshadowing my humanity.

One way or another,I vow silently as we pass under the watchful eyes of a drone overhead,we’ll find a way out.

CHAPTER 54

Aefre

I stand in the center of the observation deck, arms folded behind my back. Around me, half a dozen trainers are gathered together, sharing the usual gossip about upcoming auctions, pet shows, and legal and illegal human pet modifications. Over all of this, there’s a question that hangs in the air and one that comes up more often now than it ever has in the past, since the IGC made it illegal to own humans as pets: Are humans sentient? It’s been scientifically proven that they are not, but the discussions with other trainers who doubt Imperial science always leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

“All I’m saying,” proclaims Marath, a lizard-like alien with shimmering jade scales from Callix Prime “is that these humans can’t be so different from the rest of us.” She flicks her serpentine tongue. “They breed humans into Imperial lines, don’t they Aefre?”

I clasp my hands more tightly. “The Imperials have always allowed crossbreeding if it strengthens the gene pool,” I say, keeping my tone measured. “But that doesn’t mean humans are fully sentient. They simply share enough baseline DNA to produce viable offspring.”

A few of the non-humanoid trainers exchange glances. One of them, a floating organism encased in a translucent shell, quivers in a way I recognize as disagreement. “They stand upright, they speak languages, they have culture,” it clicks through an external translator. “That sounds sentient to me.”

A silence follows, thick and uncomfortable. I feel all their eyes—biological or otherwise—on me. I’ve spent forty years as a human pet trainer, climbing the ranks and perfecting my methods. I’ve brushed up against this question time and time again:Are they sentient?But I’ve always answered with a steadfast “no.” Humans exhibit limited capacity for higher reasoning, failing to plan for the future, easily forgetting important details. They’re practically children with adult bodies. They have short memories, get confused by complex instructions, and can’t handle technology beyond the simplest of gadgets. If that doesn’t define partial sentience, then I don’t know what does.

I calmly meet the floating organism’s gaze. “They are… close to us genetically, but that doesn’t make them fully sentient. They’re missing certain… attributes. Long-term thinking, for instance. The ability to retain knowledge from one generation to the next without outside influence.”

I can sense the tension rising. One by one, the other trainers find reasons to drift off—someone goes to check a com-link, another starts fiddling with an IC. Only a handful remain. Marath crosses her arms over her slick chest, her tail coiling around her ankles. “You do realize the IGC, which is mostly made up of Imperials, passed a ban on human ownership, yes?”

“I’m aware,” I respond briskly. “But it’s never been enforced. The IGC?—”

“They still could enforce it,” she interrupts, her eyes gleaming in the artificial light. “Everyone but Imperials and other humanoids, see humans for what they are, an intelligentspecies, just unfortunate enough to be technologically behind everyone else in the galaxy and physically adorable. Let me cut to the chase, is the IGC going to enforce this law? Are you going to recognize that humans are probably genetically yours? What’s that religious myth your zealots go on about? The Lost People?”

I clench my jaw, a surge of discomfort rising. I’ve heard the religious myths, how some factions believe humans might be Imperials who evolved differently, their skin pigment shifting to adapt to Earth’s environment. If there’s even a grain of truth to that, that humans are, in fact, our genetic cousins, then my entire career has been built on the subjugation of near-equals. It’s an idea that nags at me especially more lately with Ember and his reaction to Fifi’s death. But whenever it creeps in, I remind myself of all the other humans I’ve trained and how I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they are not fully sentient.

I force myself to answer Marath with composure, “I don’t pretend to be privy as to why the IGC actually passed this law. As I’ve mentioned to others here, some humans, one in a million show signs of intelligence and sentience. I believe that’s what’s happened now with humanity’s sudden burst of technology, but like with everything with humanity, it will be merely a blip and then they will destroy it themselves because they will have forgotten why it was important in the first place. A truly sentient culture never behaves in this way. I personally am not worried about the IGC, they are always slow to act when the laws come about these ways… by default, but not reasoning. And many of the humanoid races would never tolerate losing their pets. It’s an industry woven into our culture.”

“So, you’re content to keep enslaving them and ignore the possibility they might be more like Imperials than you’d like to admit?”

My throat tightens. I shift my weight, letting my gaze drift to the staging area where a young human is being put through her paces. She looks pale, trembling slightly, her collar blinking with the newest compliance tech. I see the fear in her eyes, the raw intelligence—maybe not enough to pass an advanced Imperial exam, but enough to register her own situation. “I’m not ignoring anything,” I say, forcing a calm I don’t feel. “They have no real technology, no real civilization and they have had more than enough time to build something substantial, but choose to fight amongst themselves instead. They scavenge Earth’s resources with minimal efficiency. Earth is on the outskirts of the Milky Way—practically a backwater. A sentient people would have thrown everything into technology to learn about the galaxy they live in. Humans instead, have chosen to create technology for the promotion of their most base carnal and violent desires. Would you call that a truly sentient society?”

One of the other trainers, a spindly-limbed insectoid with glistening black eyes, pipes in. “I visited Earth once,” he chirps, mandibles clicking. “For scouting. They have art, music, and architecture. And it’s true, they are behind in starflight, but they exhibit all the hallmarks of a developing civilization. Perhaps if they weren’t abducted so regularly, they’d have advanced further by now. But so it is with many of the losers in the galaxy. We take what we want from them for our own pleasure and entertainment. For me, there’s no question of humans being fully sentient. They are. But I don’t want the laws to be enforced because I enjoy my little pets as I think we all do. You, as an Imperial, Aefre, genetically similar to humans, have more to lose with this. The mighty Empire is such a proud place and a proud people, imagine if it were discovered that there were Imperials who chose to live as uncivilized as humans?”

Some of the other trainers chuckle at this, which is irritating, but not uncommon. I know they think humans are sentientwhich is part of the reason that the IGC invoked this law. They believe humans would willingly choose to be their pets, which makes every Imperial uncomfortable as it begs the question if humans were sentient and chose to be pets to these other aliens, then would Imperials choose to do the same? Of course not. We are not the same as humans.

A hush lingers among us, each alien lost in their thoughts. Then Marath strides off to oversee another training session, her tail flicking in agitation. The floating organism drifts away without another word. I’m left alone, staring at the labyrinth course below. My heart pounds in a way that reminds me I’m not as young as I once was. Forty years in this business, and I’ve never truly doubted the basis of it—until recently.

I recall my earliest days as a trainer, full of righteous confidence, reconditioning humans to be obedient showpieces. They were and still are so… childlike in their curiosity, easily frightened and easily bribed with treats or gentle praise. And I was proud of my skill, proud to have turned so many unruly creatures into model pets. But now, as I watch the trembling girl in the staging area, a prickle of uncertainty nags at me.

“Is it possible?” I murmur under my breath, thinking about Ash and Ember. If humans are in fact sentient then I’ve spent my entire adult life enslaving people not so different from my own species. The shame that thought conjures is too big to face, so I shove it away, forcing myself to recall every instance of a human failing to follow directions, every meltdown, and every short-sighted decision.

My mind drifts to the IGC’s ban, enacted but unenforced. I rely on that limp piece of legislation to assuage my conscience. If the IGC truly considered humans equals, they’d be enforcing the law.

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