Alien Skin Market by Lizzy Bequin
CHAPTER 7: DAGGOTH
The alien skin market.
Goddess, Daggoth despised this place.
Gilaa was one of the ugliest spaceports in the galaxy, and the district which housed the skin market was one of the darkest and dirtiest in the whole city. The sky overhead was all but blotted out by walkways, energy cables, and a low-hanging miasma of dense smog. As a result, hardly any sunlight filtered down to ground level. That was probably for the best, Daggoth mused, when one considered the walking filth who crowded the streets. Alien life forms of the lowest order, rough-looking spacers and pirates from the farthest reaches of the galaxy. They filled the air with the cumulative stench of unwashed flesh and pungent narco-smoke.
But these were not the real reasons Daggoth despised the skin market. In truth, he was not particularly put off by the unappealing setting or the unfriendly denizens who populated it. He had harrowed far worse places than this. Hell planets. Death worlds. Prison pits where pain and torture had been elevated to the level of high art. A bunch of drunken spacers on shore leave didn’t pose any threat to his life. And even if they did, Daggoth no longer valued his own life very highly anyway. Not after what had happened to his mate and his daughters.
But Goddess, he would practically welcome death over this demeaning task.
He stood in the street, staring at the grimy front of the skin market. A menagerie of exotic alien creatures had been arranged against the front wall of the establishment, some in cages, others collared and leashed by lightropes. The shop’s proprietor, a multi-legged Arannian was scuttling back and forth, inviting passersby to stop and sample the wares before the auction began.
A feminine voice spoke from a fist-sized metal comm-orb hovering near Daggoth’s shoulder. It was the voice of his employer, Mistress Nekrona.
“Why the glum face, Daggoth? I know this job displeases you, but surely it can’t be that bad, can it?”
Daggoth flicked his ears.
He found the question ironic, considering Nekrona herself would never deign to step foot in this sector. Currently, she was comfortably ensconced in her lavish ship, high in orbit over the planet. As usual, she had sent Daggoth to do her dirty work for her, along with the comm-orb, which allowed her to monitor the scene from above.
“Mistress, of all the multifarious functions I perform in your service, you know this is the one I find most distasteful. I am a warrior, an assassin, a torturer well versed in the ways of death and pain. I cannot understand why my Mistress insists upon sending me on these ridiculous shopping excursions like some common foot servant.”
The comm-orb released a burst of static followed by laughter, cold and mirthless.
“Come now, Daggoth, don’t be so dramatic. You know you are much more to me than that. And you know full well why I always assign this task to you, my handsome Raksha. Of all my servants, you are the most perceptive. The most…sensitive.”
Daggoth nodded.
He already knew this, of course. As a Raksha, millions of cycles of evolution had honed his predatory species to have some of the keenest senses in the galaxy. For example, his orange hunter’s eyes, which were adapted to spot prey from a great distance and in near total darkness, were also useful for microscopically examining the quality of an exotic animal skin. And his sensitive nose could detect even the faintest of scents that might taint an otherwise perfect hide or garment.
But most important of all was his exceptional sense of touch.
His employer, the crime boss Mistress Nekrona, was a cyborg with bionic appendages. Even though her neuro-tactile sensors were state-of-the-art, they left something to be desired. That’s why she required Daggoth to help her select the finest exotic animal skins for her enjoyment.
“Very well, Mistress,” Daggoth sighed and swished his tail. “Where would you like me to begin?”
There was a pause, and the comm-orb swiveled as its camera took in the row of animals on display.
“How about that serpent near the end there? The green one.”
“This one, Mistress?” He approached a cage containing a massive, coiled reptile.
“Yes,”
“It is more blue than green, Mistress. The light here makes it difficult to see clearly.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. You see, my dear Daggoth. This is precisely why I require your sharp eyes for this task. No one else would do. Well…blue is an acceptable color. But how does it feel?”
Taking care to stay clear of the serpent’s fanged mouth, Daggoth slipped his fingers between the bars of the cage and stroked the creature’s cold, scaly skin.
“The scales are exceedingly hard and smooth, Mistress, but the flesh beneath is supple.”
“Excellent. I think this one would make a suitable dermis, don’t you agree?”
A suitable dermis.
There were many skin markets here in the Gilaa Spaceport, but most of them sold their wares already killed, skinned, and fashioned into clothing. Nekrona was not interested in mere clothing.
The Mistress wanted dermis—living dermis—with which to cover her metallic skeleton and hydraulic musculature. She had been collecting for many cycles now, and her wardrobe of skins was vast. Yet no matter how many skins she collected, Mistress Nekrona never tired of acquiring newer and more exotic specimens. She changed skins the way other beings changed outfits.
However, the process was a complicated one. The skins had to be removed while the creatures still lived, so the nerve endings could be integrated with Mistress Nekrona’s neuro-tactile circuitry.
That was why Nekrona always sent Daggoth to this particular market, where the skin “donors” were sold alive and breathing.
Daggoth drew back his fingers from the cage, sniffed them, frowned. He leaned closer, scenting the air wafting off the coiled blue serpent.
“Is there a problem, Daggoth?” Nekrona’s voice asked through the hovering comm-orb.
“The smell, Mistress. It is slightly malodorous. The stench is only faint, but—”
“No, no,” Nekrona interrupted. “The last thing I want is a stinky skin. Let us see what else is available.”
There was a commotion at the far end of the row of animals. A small crowd of spacers had gathered around a specimen there, and their filthy bodies were packed in so tightly, Daggoth couldn’t even see the creature they were looking at.
“What is going on over there?” Nekrona asked.
“I don’t know, Mistress. Apparently one of the creatures up for auction has really caught the crowd’s fancy.”
“Let us go have a look then, shall we?”
Without a word, Daggoth rose and strode down the length of the shop front to the place where the knot of spacers had clustered. Nekrona’s comm-orb hovered along at his shoulder. Daggoth was taller than most of the gathered aliens, but still he could see nothing of the creature they were examining except for a wild mane of tangled brown hair. However, he could hear the creature’s plaintive, high-pitched cries.
There was a time when such cries would have tugged at Daggoth’s two hearts, but no longer. He had long since abandoned himself to the dark side.
The Arranian auctioneer was scuttling frantically around the little crowd, trying to get the aliens to disperse.
“Please,” the auctioneer said in broken Lingua Galactica, the common language of the Galactic Covenant. “Please, move back. You are going to damage it.”
But the curious spacers totally ignored the auctioneer’s pleas.
Daggoth decided to help.
“MOVE…BACK…NOW!”
His roar exploded down the street, reverberating off the walls of the buildings like a peal of thunder. The gathering of aliens started and quickly scattered, making way for the dominant Raksha warrior.
None dared to challenge Daggoth.
“Subtle, as always,” Nekrona chuckled.
“You do not employ me for subtlety, Mistress.”
“No, I employ you for your effectiveness. Now, let’s see what all the fuss is about here…”
The last of the small crowd of spacers dispersed, and Daggoth was finally able to get a look at the creature they had been so enthusiastic about. His hearts jolted at the sight, and his cock thumped with unaccountable arousal. Luckily, the camera of the comm-orb was turned toward the creature, so Nekrona did not see the sizeable bulge straining at the front of Daggoth’s black leather combat trousers.
“Goodness,” Nekrona said. “What is that thing?”
“I don’t know,” Daggoth murmured. But he intended to find out.
He intended to inspect the creature.
And he intended to be exceedingly thorough.