Free The Druid Gene by Jennifer Foehner Wells

the schedules for ablutions, nutritive consumption, and voiding. You must stay within your designated area except at the appointed times or the consequences become increasingly dire. I urge you to comply.” He turned to leave.
    “Wait! Someone was taken with me, at the same time. His name is Adam. I need to find him.”
    “I know nothing of this. I must return to my post.” He skittered away.
    She found herself calling after him, “Thank you, Tesserae71! My name is Darcy!”
    She wasn’t sure why she’d done that, flung her name at him, vainly hoping she’d made an impression on him that could work in her favor. She immediately regretted it. He didn’t even turn to acknowledge that she’d spoken. And now all those around her knew her name.

8
    D arcy slowly turned in a circle , forlorn, scanning the sea of prisoners for a glimpse of Adam’s dark, curled hair. She couldn’t see him anywhere. Either he was the one getting the language chip right now or he was in another room.
    “You must be someone very important,” an imperious voice lisped from behind her.
    She turned to see who had spoken, taking in more fully the individuals closest to her. She managed to hold back from a double take, but only barely.
    Inside the next cell was a cobalt-blue slug-like creature that was roughly the size of a plump house cat, though much longer. Crowning its head were two cone-shaped stalks with brilliant orange comblike markings. They undulated bonelessly, moving independently of each other. It had raised lime-green stripes running the length of its body. It held itself up and leaned forward on two stubby tentacles protruding from its single foot. It seemed to be peering at her, but she couldn’t detect any eyes.
    Darcy looked around, unsure.
    “Yes. ’Tis I who speaks at you, mammal.”
    It was the slug who was speaking.
    “Um, hello?”
    “Who are you?” The sound of its voice was haughty and almost…slurpy.
    She’d just said her name out loud. Saying it again wasn’t going to change anything. “I’m Darcy Eberhardt.”
    “This tells me nothing. They rearranged every person in this entire section before bringing you out. I want to know why.” It turned, its body rippling wavelike over the rubbery floor, leaving a glistening trail in its wake. It presented its backside to her, where a froth of fernlike tendrils sprouted.
    She didn’t have any idea what it was talking about, so it seemed wiser to stay silent. She watched as the creature took a turn around its cell.
    “I can practically taste your fear,” the mollusk accused. The stalks on its head pointed at her in condemnation and seemed to vibrate with anger. “There is copious mammalian stress-hormone in the air, and it’s all emanating from you. I demand that you stop. It’s a form of emotional pollution and I won’t have it.”
    Darcy’s eyes widened. She didn’t know what to say. It seemed best to placate. “Okay. I’ll try.”
    “Nembrotha is an irritable individual. I find it’s best to ignore them when they work themself into this state. I am called Selpis,” a rich, feminine voice said gently to Darcy’s left.
    Darcy stared at the slug for a moment, realizing the person speaking was using a third set of pronouns that Darcy hadn’t heard spoken yet—she only knew what they meant because of the chip. They were gender neutral in nature and translated in her mind as the singular “they.”
    This new voice was the most comprehensible to Darcy’s ear of any she’d encountered so far. As Darcy turned to look, she noted satiny, muted-green and brown scales making up Selpis’s skin. That, as well as her decidedly nonhuman features, marked her as reptilian in origin—as did the tail that effectively doubled the length of her body.
    She was of a comparable size and shape to Darcy, but was leaner, wirier. She moved with a sinewy grace and wore the same white jumpsuit, drawn out into a gauzy, flowing skirted garment. Nembrotha was unclad.
    “They?