A/N: You'd think that with a four-day break from my schooling, I'd get this updated sooner. Nah, I'm lazy. Anyway, I had a lot of fun with this chapter, despite dreading writing it before. I don't know why I had cynicism before I started working on it. It came out so very naturally, I'm feeling quite accomplished with it. My only complaint is that it's not longer, it only took a session and a half to write. JOY!

Ooh, and a personal notey to the esteemed Dust Traveller: You're serious about giving me mention? Okay, but only if you really want to…and only if you really have faith in me…because I don't want to get anybody's hopes up if your going to recommend this. This story's still in the making. It could end up…not so good. That's just like me to plunge into something before carefully planning it out. Your support is ohhh so verily appreciated.

HIT IT DONNIE! ...Ahem...(inside joke).

Chapter IV – Strange Fidelity

There was a considerable amount of time spent watching Mistress upside-down, through my tears, pummeling any machinery she laid eyes on. Quite suddenly she stopped. Her expression was frighteningly apathetic. Such a face I'd never seen on her; it didn't suit her. Her eyes were bugged and blank; her mouth a thin line as she sucked her lips in. She didn't move. I was no expert on the matter, but I took her behavior as an indication of defeat. It was written all over her. With difficulty, I tried to repress the pathetic whimpers that issued from my bereavement. I should remain quiet in times like these. Hopefully, she'd forget that I was there; for I knew what was about to come.

She paced around a bit, and then came to a fixed position almost directly beneath me. She did not look up until a droplet of my tears was released from the tip of my antennae and landed on the back of her head. My breathing was shaky from denying it of woe, but when our eyes met, I wailed. Still, she seemed indifferent. She looked at her feet, noticing that she was in a small puddle of my tears. She tried smothering them into the ground under her boot. Her antennae were raised, and I think I saw her jaw quiver.

The most dreadful sort of anger is the nonchalant variation. It is rare, but when I see the silenced rage in a sentient being, I am paralyzed. My crying ceased, just like that.

Yes, I knew what was about to come.

She stood a little longer in thought. I would have liked to know what she was thinking.

Then she struck, grabbing my antennae and pulling as hard as she might. "GET DOWN FROM THERE!" she ordered.

"I'm sorry," I squeaked, because I would have gotten down already were I able to. I pulled at my tail, but felt no freer from the shackles, then looked to Mistress as if to prove my point, but her Pak's bio-mechanical limbs were poised and her eyes were on the ceiling. In one motion, her limbs lifted her and she dangled next to me. A couple of minutes more and I was released from the claw that had my tail; but Mistress was by no means precise when she sawed it off with her laser beam, possibly by intent. I could smell my flesh beginning to burn and winced as I felt it.

I fell, five feet or more until my posterior side collided harshly with the dampened floor. I couldn't gather my strength before Mistress was leaning over me. The collar of my uniform was in one of her fisted hands, while her other was pulled back high and over her head.

The anticipation felt when expecting pain is far worse than the actual blow.

But the remorse I felt during this mishap, it was even worse. I'd done something very wrong.

Anger. Undiluted anger in those cold eyes and in the folds of her lips as she lashed out at me.

She called me many curses and recited, "You! You!" time after time.

Those words in that demeanor…more hurtful to me than the keenest of jabs. My awareness of her bruising me was minimal. This fate was to be succumbed to. My fault, this was. We were going to be punished at my fault. My wretched curiosity would cost us Mistress's freedom, and quite possibly, my life. I deserved this.

And yet, what was this sense of totality in me? The Tallest could choose to kill us, and though I had not reached my prime, I would be completely okay with dying. So long as I got a glimpse of my homeworld, of my brethren, of my past.

Still, however hopeful these thoughts, they had to be shunned. With difficulty, I forced them to the back of my mind.

I shan't like to defy my mistress, you see.

So I lay in nirvana as she made me a bloody outlet to her rage…

­­­


My head teemed with questions that I couldn't alleviate myself by inquiring about. She bid me to keep quiet as I sat in the corner, a coolant held to my swollen eyelid. I watched her pace around the lounge of our base.

When she was "done with me", Mistress immediately tended to the wounds she'd caused. We shared a strange relationship, the both of us are, after all, strange people. By bandaging the damage she'd done, the apology was implied, and she was able to avert any dreaded sentiment.

As she pressed a pillow of gauze against an oozing wound just below my mouth, she answered the least of my questions. "Tallest Red and Tallest Purple are male," she said, "You and I are female. We look and sound a little different than them, but we are all of the same species, I'm sorry to report."

My response was small, a breathy little moan.

My reaction didn't strike her as appropriate. She gawked at me with a furrowed brow and then had me stand and lift my arms, modeling the work she'd just done. She made some adjustments to a bandage that obscured my vision a bit. Continuing, she said, "Females are often perceived as the lesser of the two. Don't think for a millisecond on that. Are we clear?"

I hummed again in agreement.

"We are Irken."

Hmm…well, that much I had already picked-up on. I became impatient, and looked away from her. The structure of the surgical table suddenly became very interesting.

"But you. You're different and the Tallest are afraid of you because you're different on so many levels. Your appearance, the mechanisms of your thought, even the way you move. I did a bad thing when I rescued you as a smeet." My eyes jarred to hers, but not for too long. "You were supposed to die.

"Skibby, before we are abducted from Retreatia, I want you to promise me one thing," her cold fingers were now thorns in the bend of my arm. Still, I did not meet her eyes until she shook me. Her other hand reached for my shoulder, and I suddenly felt myself come to sense. "Promise me that you'll stay loyal to us. Promise me that no matter how the Irkens prod you for information, that you will not tell them a thing, even if it means my death. Promise me that you'll not give up to fight when they analyze you."

I felt frightened, and my face mirrored that emotion. She shook me again, harshly.

"Pledge your allegiance to our purpose."

What could I do? I was obligated to pledge my allegiance to her, she had saved my life; but to pledge to "our purpose"? What exactly was this purpose?

Later I'd understand that our purpose was to remain as defective as possible.

But now, I feigned a relaxed demeanor through my confusion. "I made that pledge long ago," I said, loyally.

"Perfect," she answered, but flatly. Then she motioned for me to hop down from the operating platform and follow her to the upper chambers of the house.

So there I was, watching Mistress trudge in hopeless circles with my one good eye. The sound of her feet created an infuriating rhythm in my head, and my antennae buzzed. I couldn't sit there anymore. I was writhing with questions, so many questions about my life that would have been appropriate to ask right that moment, now that most of the secret was out. Years before, I had thought of many of those questions, but they seemed too stupid to be answered or even asked. Boldly, I stood on my floundering legs and asked the one that pertained the most to the times, "Can't we just take the Runner and escape?"

"No. The window is damaged, remember? Even if I did order a replacement shield, it wouldn't arrive in time, and Irken manufacturers have probably been notified to deny service to me—us, anyway."

"We could go into hiding in the fields," I declared.

"No," she repeated, "My Pak is bugged. They'll find me wherever I go." Her eyes widened. "But you…you may be able to hide if you wish. I made your Pak so it isn't compatible with their tracking sensors." She seemed hopeful, but this suggestion seemed to contradict her former statement of "staying loyal to us".

I could escape. But what then would I do? I'd have to settle for that fate of being lonely until death on a desolate planet. And I was sure that when our captors arrived, they'd hurt Mistress if she didn't divulge my whereabouts.

"I couldn't do that," I said.

"Good, because that was a test of your loyalty," she said, "Congratulations, you pass."

Again with her hollow congratulations. I felt cheated somehow. I sat back down.

Soon after, Mistress settled down beside me and sighed. "See here," she said, "You're confused. I can see it in your eyes. I promise, all will be made clear at the trial. They'll evaluate my life. You'll learn everything."

I nodded, staring at my knees. This was comforting. I was almost anxious for our captors to arrive.

Mistress got to her feet just as suddenly as she sat down. "These could be our last hours together," she said, "I say we make an event of it." She drifted out of the room, the seam of her robes streaming as she disappeared around the corner. She was back not a minute later, two juice boxes in her hands. She tossed one in my lap and again sat abreast me. "A toast," she said, "To forty years of you and me."

This was very not like Mistress Hexa. I bewilderedly punctured the top of the box with the straw, not removing my eyes from her as she held her own juice box for me to bump. I accepted the toast quickly, though no more understanding of the past events.

We sat in silence, sipping away at sweet defeat.


­­­­End A/N: Please pardon Hexa beating Skibby up. I figured that domestic abuse isn't as profane to Irkens as it is to humans. The two of them are linked, but being Irken, Hexa feels no real strong "family" tie between them. Skibby, however, is unhealthily loyal (like a doomed little human dog-monster) and able to forgive her mistress. I felt this was a good opportunity to showcase Skibby's nature. If she does bear any grudges against Hexa for incidents like this, she chooses to leave them somewhat unexplored. She knows her place. Poor ickle buggah.

And I'm pretty sure Hexa's bipolar. Heh…pretty sure? It's like this story is writing itself (God, I hope that's a good thing).