Pandora Uncaged

Chapter One – Salivating

When Pandora Dayle’s vision went black, she breathed a sigh of relief. The tropical sun was so ferocious today she wouldn’t have ventured out except for her sacred duty to her patients.

A growl, deep enough to make things on the supply shelf rattle, sounded from the dark stretches of the windowless building.

Good morning to you, too, Harry, she said cheerfully as she flipped on the lights. Get enough beauty sleep last night?

The rare Harrison’s Pseudo Reptile rumbled out a huff of breath. Everyone called him a gator because of the vague resemblance to a terrestrial alligator, though he was only six feet long, a herbivore, and bright green.

From the back room came a growl—more of a stuttering bleat, really, with interesting hints of musical overtones. Pandy gave the ear-to-ear grin only her beloved animals ever saw. At first, the new animal’s vocalization had scared her—too much like a beast attempting human speech—but now she appreciated its musical beauty.

When Harry the gator rumbled out another snort, she chuckled. I swear, sometimes it seems you two critters are talking to each other so you won’t feel lonely.

Pandora filled a syringe with antiseptic liniment and pressed her palm to the panel that opened Harry’s cage. Then she went to hands and knees and crept into the cage.

Harrison’s gators were rare here on Passion Island—this was the only one in captivity—so she’d had to learn by painful trial and error that Harry lashed his powerful tail at anything that loomed over him. The first time she tried to treat him, he knocked her feet out from under her and she landed hard on her bum. The second time, she cannonballed into his pond.

But if she kept her face at his level, he was a pussycat. He was one of her favorite animals here at Quak because he made her feel good about herself. She was the only one who could handle him.

As she treated the gator’s infected legs with the liniment, she chided him in a soothing voice. Harry, Harry, I’m sorry to tell you—the beauty sleep didn’t take. With a face like yours, how do you expect to find a nice lady gator once you’re well?

She bent her ear close to his head. What’s that you say? How do I know you aren’t a lady gator looking for a handsome guy? Hmm. Excellent question. I have no idea.

Lying on her side and supporting her chin on a hand, she reached her other hand up to pet his/her head. The skin felt warm and loose, as though his hide were a size too big. He lifted his chin so she could rub his throat and then let out a wuff of contentment.

Tell you what. Tomorrow I’ll bring you a pretty pink ribbon, and if you still think you’re female, I’ll tie it around your neck. Is that a deal?

With one patient taken care of, she put away the syringe and grabbed a couple of huge pills from a medicine bottle. Then she tiptoed into the quarantine’s back room.

She’d yet to discover anything that would soothe the mobeave’s irascible temper. She’d never dared enter its cage, because with its fierce claws and teeth, a wrong move could be serious. Even fatal. No other creature yet discovered on Addoray was as dangerously armed.

Hi, Moby. Ready for your medicine?

The five-foot long, vaguely beaver-like beast didn’t respond. That wasn’t unusual, but it was unusual that the quadruped’s hind legs rested on the pool’s bank while its head was completely submerged.

Washing your face, are you? Good for you. A handsome guy—or girl, sorry—with infected cuts like yours can’t keep yourself too clean.

She donned work gloves and grabbed a couple finger fish from the wall fridge. After stuffing a pill down each of the fish’s mouths, she tossed them through the slit at the top of the transparent cage. The mobeave was constantly hungry.

Ember, Pandy’s big sister, had discovered it high up the mountain, hence the name mountain beaver, shortened to mobeave. It was ill, so Ember had dropped it off at Quak for some TLC—and she’d sheepishly suggested its bleating cry of ffffd meant it was begging for food.

Pandora believed it. In the month since the mobeave’s arrival, it’d learned to say her name, sort of: Pnnntorrr. To clinch the argument, it now said pliss for please. She couldn’t wait for Ember’s return to show off Moby’s new tricks.

Of course, talking was no mere trick. A dangerous predator smart enough to speak? Moby might be one of the most important discoveries of mankind’s eighty-year history on this planet, yet Ember had entrusted her, the screw-up of the Dayle family, with the secret of its existence and health while the authorities decided what to do about it. The honor and the responsibility both delighted and terrified her.

At the moment, delight won out. You’ve come a long way back, girl, she said to herself with a satisfied laugh.

But she chopped her self-congratulations short. The finger fish floated uneaten in the pond, which was unheard of. And Moby’s head was still submerged.

Oh, no. No no, no no no. She pounded on the cage. Are you alive? Moby, wake up!

It didn’t move a muscle.

Her heart galloped. She hyperventilated. To her surprise, the unpleasant sensations didn’t keep her from acting. She slapped her hand on the palm plate.

The door didn’t open. It didn’t open!

She tore off her gloves and tried again.

Success.

She’d never been in the mobeave’s cage—too dangerous—but now she splashed across the thigh-deep pool and lifted its head out of the water. Please don’t die, please. Ember’ll never trust me again and I wouldn’t—

The beast opened its beady eyes.

Then its mouth.

Pandy froze. Ember had told her that those razor-sharp buck teeth could chomp right through metal. Human flesh, of course, would be even easier.

The mobeave stared at her. She stared at it. Its fur felt silky…a dumb observation when staring death in the eyes.

Death’s eyes blinked. Then it stretched its mouth wide enough to take her arm up to the elbow. Pandy swallowed. Moving even that much felt like the most reckless thing she’d ever done.

Ffffffd pliss pnnntorrr ffffd. It closed its mouth.

Food. The word came out in a squeak barely audible over the thudding of her heart. Of course, food.

Without taking her gaze off Moby’s face, she carefully felt around in the pond until she touched a finger fish. No way would she risk her hand by putting it near the mobeave’s mouth, and throwing the fish was no good, either. The sudden motion might startle the beast.

She fluttered her fingers to propel the fish through the water toward the mobeave. When the fish was close, it lunged at it so quickly Pandy shrieked and thrust herself up and across the pond. She tripped on the far bank, fell across the threshold, jerked her legs out of the cage, and slapped at the emergency closure at floor level.

Thank the stars for the foresight that had led her to install a lock down low. This used to be Harry’s cage, and since she went into see him on hands and knees, it had seemed worthwhile to puzzle out how to install a second lock mechanism.

Sitting on the floor in cold, wet clothes, Pandora stared at the mobeave for a good ten minutes. It swam in lazy circles, ignoring her.

Why hadn’t it attacked?

Ember had impressed upon her how horrifying the beast’s temper was. A dozen stunner bursts had been needed to quell it, though one would bring down a man. She’d shown Pandy pictures of a sturdy box it had punched its claws through as though the metal was mere tissue.

Yet it had done nothing to her.

Why not?

She eventually rose on legs gone numb. She tossed handfuls of finger fish into the cage—a veritable feast. Then she left the room, with many lingering backward glances.

***

After the incident with the mobeave, Pandora needed something mindless to help her stop thinking. Mucking out a cage was perfect. Since she was in charge of all the humans—all five of them— for miles around, she dragooned Desmond into helping her.

The cage she was mucking gave the impression of being open on all sides except the back. That side looked like one of the islet’s many rock outcrops, pinkish-grey limestone inlaid with sparkling nuggets of gold. But it was an illusion, all of it. The outcrop was an exterior wall of the small Veterinary Research Lab. The cage’s walls and ceiling were glasteel, cleaned thrice daily by automated mini-squeegees to maintain the illusion of transparency.

As for the nuggets, they were pyrite. Fool’s gold.

The slytherins in the cage were real, though, and too young to be released back into the wild. Their dense, sticky droppings built up to the point that the automuckers got overwhelmed. Hand shoveling was needed every week.

Ten feet away, one of the new guys—one of her new guys, she supposed, since she was temporarily in charge of him—mucked out the neighboring cage. Desmond wielded a shovel identical to hers as he worked around small, furry animals wandering heedlessly underfoot. Trying to avoid them made him appear to be dancing, because his cage housed dozens of boothies suffering from the vague syndrome called Terran Malaise. Depressed by mankind’s invasion of their planet, in her opinion.

She inhaled a deep breath, filling herself with life, possibilities, and animal stench. Then came the inevitable exhale, deflating her completely.

Responsibility, she muttered to herself, stinks.

Did you say something, Pandora? Consuela, another of the new volunteers, was walking past the cage, carrying buckets of birdseed and strips of meat. She put them down and shook her bucket hand.

Just talking to myself, Pandora said.

I guess that comes from living in such isolation. I don’t see how you’ve stood it for six years. After rolling her eyes, Consuela picked up her bucket and continued toward the large-bird enclosure. Because of the tropical heat, she was scantily clad. As though on cue, Desmond stopped working to watch the gentle sway of her hips.

A twinge of annoyance tweaked Pandora. More shoveling, less ogling, she snapped.

For a second longer, he rested his chin on the end of his shovel’s handle while watching Consuela’s hips.

Pandy emptied her shovel into a short, squat barrow-bot. Geez, Des, do I really need to remind you you’re gay?

That tone was better. Humorous, yet it got her point across. She’d get the hang of this authority figure eventually, but until then, trying to figure out how to handle people was exhausting.

He sighed, wiped sweat from his brow, and dug his shovel into the soft mess on the cage floor. I, he said with dignity, am a connoisseur of beauty wherever I see it.

At the moment, Mr. Connoisseur, you’re a shoveler of shit.

He wiggled his eyebrows.

I’m calling the slytherins out to eat soon, she said, and we need to feed your boothies at the same time so they don’t get jealous and throw themselves at the cage wall. Unlike Moby, the rat-sized boothies weren’t very smart.

No fun, this job. No fun at all. But he said it with an ironic headshake.

Pandy held her breath as she dug her shovel into the muck near the manger. When she dumped the shovelful into the barrow-bot, she breathed again. How such funny, clownish animals as slytherins could smell so bad was one of life’s unfair mysteries.

There was talk of attempting to refit one of the orbiting transports for an eight-year return trip to Earth, carrying samples of the colony’s progress. No one would ever ask her, but if that really happened, she thought slytherins should be sent. Their antics would be a hit at any zoo.

Consuela says you always clean the slytherin’s cage yourself, Desmond said. Why?

She pointedly held her nose between thumb and forefinger. You complaining?

Hardly. But I’d do it if you asked.

Would he really? Interesting.

Two more shovel loads and her barrow-bot was full, so she slapped a fluorescent pink lever to send it to the compost bin across the footbridge to the nearby mainland. A replacement bot rolled obediently into the cage.

I do it myself, she said, because it’s the most unpleasant cage. I can’t ask anybody to do what I won’t.

I appreciate that. In return, let me assure you that when you walk by, I ogle your tush, too. Sometimes I even salivate.

Pandy scrunched her face in distaste. How lovely.

That’s why I salivate.

He didn’t mean it, of course. Sure, her tush was in the best shape of her life thanks to ten to twelve hours of physical work every day, but Des and his husband were followers of Counselor Ria, thus sworn to a lifetime of faithfulness. Otherwise, his flirtatiousness would’ve bothered her.

There were only five people here at the Colonial Wildlife Containment Center—CWCC, or Quak. Five people…her entire little kingdom. Aside from the monthly vet visits, the only other humans she saw were occasional scientists and infrequent tourists. A lover boy on the prowl would’ve made life awkward.

When Ember had first gotten Pandy a job here, away from all temptation, Quak was livelier, with twenty workers. Unfortunately, colonists cared less about the fragile balance between humanity and indigenous wildlife. The rising tensions between Eastcott, Pandy’s settlement, and rival Westerlin obsessed folks more. The most recent batch of volunteers was the smallest ever, just four people, and permanent positions like site director remain unfilled. Pandy was acting director for the unflattering reason that she was the only full-timer left.

When she was done shoveling, she got a broom and swept detritus into a neat pile then shoveled it into a barrow-bot. There. She was done, except for the fun part.

She palmed the command plate, but for the second time in one day, nothing happened. The thought of being trapped in here with the stinky slytherins made her shudder, but she wiped her palms and tried again. This time, the system recognized her.

She keyed in the sequence that opened the doors to the animals’ sleep compartments, hidden chest-high in the back wall. Come and get it, guys and gals.

She spoke softly, but slytherins had fantastic hearing. They had good sense of smell, too, according to the vets. Hard to believe.

Round holes in the cage’s back wall came alive. Seven warm-blooded, one-foot long, otter-shaped beasts shot out of the dens and flattened their bodies to help them glide safely to the cage floor.

Well, almost safely. When they landed, they rolled toes over nose then slithered across the floor as though it were a race. Which it was—a race to become the alpha for the rest of the day.

The winning slytherin jumped into the food trough and rolled over, coating itself in gelatinous slop until its dun-colored fur was hidden. Other creatures leaped into the trough to lick the food off the first slytherin, which writhed in the glory of victory. Some of the food splattered out, dirtying her clean floor. A slytherin leaped toward the splatter but then paused to let the smallest animal roll in it, spreading the mess farther while becoming the beta for the day.

Desmond laughed aloud. She laughed with him.

He bent and filled his shovel. Mind if I ask you a personal question, Pandora?

Yes, she did mind. She wiped her shirtsleeve across her brow, belatedly hoping there’d been no muck on the sleeve. Not knowing how to refuse him, she didn’t answer.

Instead, she walked out of the transparent cage. She was eager to shed her clothes, which smelled of slytherin…but not in front of the flirtatious Desmond. Colonists had few nudity taboos, but there were definitely times for a woman to keep her clothes on.

Otherwise, she would’ve stripped, sprinted the short distance to the moat, and dived in. A previous shift of volunteers had labeled her ritual Pandora’s Slytherin Streak.

Desmond was undeterred by her silence. I’ve been here a month and I don’t know anything about you other than your name.

You know I have a sister. Three sisters, actually, but he only knew about one…she hoped. The incident with the mobeave made her less likely than ever to share any secrets.

Yes, he said, but only because I was told that Ember Dayle had captured the nasty beast in the quarantine building I’m afraid to go near.

"The nasty beast you are not telling anyone about when you call home, right?"

Of course not, boss. I know how to keep a secret. He gave her a sideways glance. Though I’m not in your league when it comes to secrecy.

What do you mean? She hopped on one foot as she touched the tab that made her mucking-boots split along the seam, so she could step out of them without getting dirty. And keep shoveling while you answer.

I mean none of us knows anything else about you. We all agree you’re hiding something.

I am. The mobeave you’re so afraid of.

I thought you said its discovery had made the news.

Well, yes, but… Could he see on her face about the terrifying encounter Moby had ended by talking to her? As you say, it’s scary. New animals are discovered often enough that no one’ll pay much attention if we don’t spread rumors about how scary—and especially how smart—it is. The authorities are working on how best to tell the world what the mobeave is like, and until they do, we need to keep the secret. It’s really, really important.

Her earnest tone made his eyes widen in surprise. After a moment, they narrowed in speculation. She squeezed her eyes shut for an instant. A woman whose entire life from twenty through twenty-four was a secret should be better than this at dissembling.

Please? she added in a small voice.

He made a face like he’d bitten into an overripe fire-citrus. After a few heartbeats, though, he shrugged. Actually, I was talking about the other stuff you’re hiding. It’s got to be something personal, right?

Maybe he was trying to change the topic, but this one was no better. Tell him her secrets? No thanks.

She bent to pick up her boots and, more importantly, hide her face. There’s nothing interesting to report in my personal life.

His frown showed skepticism. Hey, I’ll settle for anything. Like, what’s your favorite color? What do you do in your spare time?

Ochre. Read.

Ochre isn’t anybody’s favorite color. Don’t you… Oh, I don’t know. Don’t you ever salivate over anyone’s tush?

Not yours, Des. Sorry.

***

A shaft of light from the open bedroom door woke up Aidan Forester. He blinked and buried his face in the pillow. His mind and body complained in stereo that it couldn’t possibly be morning yet.

Visitor, Aidan, a grouchy soprano complained.

What time is it?

Time to get dressed, Maylee Sigridsdottir answered. Your visitor insists he has to talk to you urgently. Like right now.

Visitor? Who?

Big guy, funny accent, but the kind of voice you don’t disobey. Scanning his ident brought up an official-looking badge and new orders for you. So get up, up, up! She pulled the blanket off him.

Big guy, eh? Aidan was a big guy too, so Maylee’s description didn’t faze him. As for the official-looking badge…he used to have one of those.

He was still sitting on the bed, tugging a tunic over his head, when the visitor burst into the room. Hurry, he boomed.

Aidan froze as he looked up. And up. And up. The word big didn’t do this man justice. Who are you? What do you want?

Hurry, the big guy repeated. We don’t have much time.

Time for what? Because his mind was still fogged by sleep, he added, How tall are you?

Seven feet.

He’d chosen to answer the least helpful question—and from his twinkling eyes, it was deliberate. This guy was annoying. Aidan was the Search-and-Rescue team leader on call, though, and if the giant had orders for him,