Alien Barbarian’s Little Human

8. Chloe

CHAPTER 8

CHLOE

H is agile fingers glide along my hip before diving insistently between my thighs. I gasp, straining against him, feeling the hardness of his horns under my palm. My horned lover lifts me up as light as a feather and places my back to a hide covered wall. I pant and sweat, writhing against him as we seek a perfect synchronicity--

“Ambassador Kuul?”

I ope my eyes to see a humanoid woman with green, scaled skin. Of course, the thing most people notice about Shorcu like my assistant Jode is the third eye in the center of their forehead.

“What is it, Jode?”

“I’m sorry to awaken you, but the captain says we’re nearing Ishani space.”

“Oh, the Captain says so? Come on, give me a break. He’s a civilian, he’s not military. He’s a pilot, not a captain.”

“Well, ma’am, as this is a human vessel, we go by the age-old tradition of the Captain title.”

“It’s pretentious bullshit, is what it is. Not tradition.”

“You’re always grumpy before your coffee. Lucky I have that covered.”

She holds out a saucer bearing a steaming cup of Vakutan coffee. My absolute favorite brew, and she knows it. I reach for the coffee but she pulls it out of reach.

“Ah ah. First you have to promise to be nice to the Ishani representative.”

I sigh.

“You can’t do anything but be nice to Ishani. They refuse to take anything the wrong way. Did you know what the Vakutan ambassador Wova said when meeting an Ishani for the first time?”

“No.”

“The Vakutan ambassador said your nose looks like my dick. ”

“Oh my,” she says, struggling not to laugh. “That’s terrible.”

“No, what’s terrible is how the Ishani responded. He looks right into the Vakutan ambassador’s eyes, and, I shit you not, tells him why, thank you. You must have a very handsome penis. ”

We both burst into laughter. She’s good people. I like her. It will be a pity if galactic war breaks out on the Ishani homeworld and we all perish.

There’se a good chance of it. The Ishani have long held themselves separate from Galactic civilization at large. They claim to hold a direct lineage back to the Precursors themselves. They have never taken sides in the Centuries War, other than to promote peace.

Now, thought, the Coalition and the Alliance have set up embassies on the Ishani homeworld. That means the IHC wants their own embassy.

“I don’t even know what we’re doing here,” I grumble as she hands over the coffee at last. “I mean, we’re already obligated to help the Alliance against the Coalition by treaty. What good will having an expensive to maintain embassy on the Ishani homeworld do for us?”

“It’s a calculated political move. The IHC is trying to show that they are their own man, so to speak, on the galactic stage.” Jode shrugs, a gesture she picked up from me. “Other than that, I see little to gain, either.”

I sigh.

“If you ask me, the IHC is flexing hard here because they feel like the Alliance made them look like idiots.”

“How do you mean?”

“Earth made first contact with the Vakutan, and then shortly after signed the protection pact. It was as much because the IHC feared the Vakutan might attack if they didn’t sign the pact as anything. Then, we find out after the fact that the Vakutan have just dragged us by proxy into a galactic war that’s been raging for centuries.”

Jodi nods.

“Okay. That does make a lot of sense. I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“Because you’re a Shorcu. If you can’t hack it, build it, or assassinate it, it doesn’t exist.”

“Ha ha. If I’m an assassin why haven't I killed you and taken your job?”

“Because you don't want the stress, and you’d miss my charm and savoir faire.”

She laughs. Hard. And long.

“Okay, okay, you don't have to think it’s that funny. Go and tell the bogus captain that I’m awake and preparing myself for this meeting of vital importance.”

“All right. Don’t tell the Ishani his nose looks like your dick.”

“I don’t have one of those.”

“Well, what do I know about human anatomy?” her voice dwindles as she walks down the starship cabin.

My reflection shines back at me from the glassteel windows looking out on the wonder of the cosmos. I’ve flown in space a hundred, maybe a thousand times, and I never get tired of the sight.

If only those shining celestial bodies didn’t hide the truth of our galaxy: Everything was soaked in blood. The Centuries War has been raging since long before I, or any other human, has lived.

The religious fundamentalist Coalition has long since tried to expand its holdings. But then again, the secular Trident Alliance has been even more aggressive in the exact same effort. It’s hard to paint anyone as the good guy or the bad guy in the conflict.

Officially, the Alliance and the IHC are on the same side. That would technically make them the good guys in the eyes of Earth, but there are plenty of war crimes and atrocities on both sides of the conflict.

The Ishani have languished for a long, long time in their own little corner of the Galaxy. Said to be the closest living descendents of the legendary Precursors--whom I, quite frankly, don’t believe in--they’ve held an important role as antiquarians and guardians of history.

About ten years ago, the Coalition decided that it would be a major political coup if they could convert the Ishani to the worship of Ataxia, their goddess of flame. The Alliance, though technically not a religious entity, nonetheless reveres and practically worships the notion of the Precursors, and therefore hold the Ishani in high esteem.

This means the Alliance are not going to sit by and let the Ishani be converted. Though the Ishani world holds little strategic or military value, its propaganda potential is nearly unlimited.

My job is to convince the Ishani to sign a treaty with the IHC. By proxy, this will sort of ally the Ishani with the Alliance as well. The Coalition are understandably not too happy about this plan.

So when I go into the lavatory to spruce myself up for the coming meeting with the Ishani ambassador, I make sure to check that my holdout plasma pistol is tucked inside my shoulder holster. I doubt I’ll have to use it, but I feel better being armed.

My fingers seek out a sleek metal cylinder inside the magnetically secured lavatory cabinet. I set the dial to one of my custom configurations and then hold the cylinder about a foot from my face.

Cosmetic application in progress. Please avoid unnecessary movement.

The soothing, but clearly electronic voice heralds a hiss of nanoparticles issuing from the end closest to my face. It sort of feels similar to light rain hitting the skin as they adhere to my face and change pigment.

Cosmetic application complete.

I check the work in the mirror. Light, smoky purple eyeshadow and off-red lips create the perfect balance between attraction and professionalism. I don’t know if the Ishani ambassador is male or female, but I’ll take any advantage I can get in these negotiations.

The ship drops out of superluminal speed just as I’m applying a bit of perfume. Sometimes weird things happen to the body when you return to ‘normal’, still mind-boggling speed. But it’s still a shock when my image in the mirror changes.

My face doesn’t look the same, like I’m a different woman entirely. My red hair is honey blonde, and I appear to be dressed like an ancient Earth cavewoman. The only thing that remains unchanged in my reflection in the mirror is my blue eyes.

A strange word/sound/concept slides through my mind, and comes out on my lips as a hushed whisper.

“Gog…”

I shake my head, grunting in annoyance and squeezing my eyes shut. When I open them again, my reflection has returned to normal and I’m cursing the bogus ‘captain’ who can’t even do a proper superluminal calc.

I try to blow off the strange incident, but it lingers in the back of my mind as the ship comes in for a landing vector on the Ishani homeworld. Their world is said to be one of the most beautiful in the galaxy, so I’m intrigued to see if it holds up.

The purple and silver orb resolves into seas and continents, then nations and cities, and finally a collection of delicately twisted and arched structures. My mouth falls open at the sight of the Ishani capitol city.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Jodi sighs and folds her six-fingered hands in her lap. “They don’t build their structures, they grow them.”

Everything in the Ishani city is super tall and super thin. The structures twist into outrageous, gigantic works of art. Sea shapes, like twisted nautiloid shells and jellyfish-like domes dominate the architecture. The decor changes slightly the deeper into the city we travel. Changes in building trends, maybe? Or a slow and steady refinement of technique?

“I can see why they don’t want to leave their home planet.”

“Yes, well, don’t let the fabulous surroundings distract you. Remember the mission.” Jodi gives me a stern look. “And don’t go comparing body parts to the ambassador’s nose.”

“I’m sure I’ll come up with an even more creative blunder. Wish me luck.”

The shuttle vectors in for a landing on the top of a massive blue-gray arch. A variety of other craft sit parked on the flat tarmac as well. No docking ports, no numbering system, and no way to collect credits.

“We just…we just park here? And no one charges us?”

“That’s the way it works on the Ishani homeworld. Your credits are useless, ambassador, but you won’t have need of them anyway. The Ishani are always willing to give.”

The way her three eyes light up when she speaks of the generous nature of our host leaves no doubt what it is they’re willing to ‘give’ to her. I tried not to be envious. Jodi might have been a mere assistant, but to her, the night was wide open.

She could meet some dashing alien royal and fall in love, or at least get laid. Me, I could look forward to a good meal and a whole lot of boring talk that would go nowhere. I had no idea what we would offer the Ishani in return for an alliance. They had no need of money, seemingly no need of anything.

Maybe they really are the closest living embodiment of the Precursors. If I believed in that crap, which I don’t. Might as well believe in past lives and reincarnation.

The ship settles on its landing pylons. I’m down the gangplank before it fully extends. My first breath of air on the Ishani homeworld leaves me feeling light headed and giddy. There’s almost a pink tinge to the air, as strange as that might seem.

Then I remember what Jodi told me: Ishani breathe a higher concentration of oxygen that humans do. I try to take shallow breaths, and move slowly to give myself time to acclimate. The drugs and nanite injections I took before leaving Earth should help speed up the process.

Indeed, by the time I make it to the pod transit station, I’m already feeling better. I settle into the pod, which has instructions written in galactic standard. I don’t think the Ishani need to use them, being able to fly and all.

“Green Angel Tower One,” I say, over enunciating a little. A heavenly chime sounds and the door closes.

The pod lurches forward, but inertial dampeners mean I don’t feel a thing. The pod speeds along the glowing electromagnetic track, almost like a phantom trail in the late afternoon light. Everything here is so damn beautiful.

Or at least, it is until the car rounds a bend in the track and plunges into the heart of the city. That’s when I see the overturned barriers, the fires, and the masses of sapient beings.

“Oh great, just great,” I mutter. My blood runs cold at the thought of trying to make it through this riot. It looks like the Coalition aliens are protesting the presence of the IHC, and the Alliance is marching to meet them in kind. Neither side has broken into open violence, yet, but some debris is being tossed back and forth.

I’m in a pod that only goes one way, and that’s right into the middle of this bedlam. I left my pistol back in the ship like a good ambassador. How am I going to defend myself from aliens bigger, stronger, and sometimes even faster than I am without a weapon?

I’ll have to try and make for the tower. It’s only a block and a half away. It’s a good thing I’ve always been a good sprinter.

Metallic bangs sound out as debris pelts the transit pod. The first thing I see out the windows when it comes to a stop is the dancing of flames and a horned Grolgath standing before it.

I came out on the wrong side of the riot. The Coalition side, the one that doesn’t want any human presence on the Ishani homeworld whatsoever.

As soon as those doors open, it’s open season on me. Well, if I’m going down, I’m going down swinging. Let that be humanity’s legacy.

I left my gun, but I brought my gravity skates. One of them, at least. The thing about gravity skates is, if you reverse the polarity chip and slap in a battery pack three sizes too big, you can end up with a portable gravity pulse generator of about sixteen Gs.

I slip the skate onto my hand, and the second those doors open I rush out and smash the gravity skate’s business end into the chest of a blue furred Odex about nine feet tall.

The pulse thrummed out, enveloping him. He flipped end over end, propelled away from me with the equivalent of more than ten times Earth gravity. WIthout slowing down, I swung the skate into the foot of a nearby masked Shorcu.

I left him howling with his smashed foot and rushed down the street. A few of the urchins parted way without me having to get rowdy. They’d seen what had happened to their friends.

Half a block gone already. My legs are a little stiff from riding in a ship for so long. I should have stretched first. Why am I worried about stretching when my life is in danger? Where are the Isahani? Shouldn’t they intervene?

One block gone, but now I have to pass a makeshift barricade formed of scrap metal and brick, manned by several Grolgath wearing construction gear. The Ataxian Coalition has spread all kinds of propaganda about cheap labor from human immigrants costing the Coalition aliens their jobs. After all, the Ishani only grew buildings for themselves.

The age old hate speech works. The Grolgath see me and jump out with murder in their eyes. I try to back away but ran into a fur covered brick wall.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

The Odex I’d batted away has returned. He doesn’t even look hurt. He grabs the skate away from me with a speed that belies his bulk.

The Grolgath hem me in from behind. I have nowhere to run and no weaponry. I hpoe they make it quick…

A shadow falls over us. As one, we look up to see a tall, angelic being floating toward the ground. His gigantic feathered wings make nary a sound as he touches down with a single, slowing beat.

One of his feathers flies off, curling through the air until it brushes my cheek. My eyes widen at the electric touch. It feels divine, yet why do I get an image of the horned lover from my dreams?

I try to catch the feather out of the air, but it flutters away from my grasp. The Ataxians gawk at the sight of the Ishani as he turns to address all of them at once.

“You all must leave now. Return to your dwellings or your lodgings at once.”

I gasp at the power of his voice. It reverberates over me in pulsing waves I can physically feel. The Ataxians are even more affected. They clasp their hands over their ears and turn, fleeing back down the street.

How powerful is this being in front of me, if just his voice alone can send an Odex running in terror?

He turns to face me, and I get a look a good look at him for the first time. His features are long, elegant, and handsome. But it’s the deep, visceral purple of his eyes that truly draws me in. I feel almost as if I’m staring into the twin maws of dueling black holes, pulling me inexorably into their depths.

A word/sound/concept comes to my lips.

“Verona.”

It’s not a question. It’s the name of the being before me. A being whose perfectly sculpted, winged body is humanoid in all respects. And I do mean all respects. He’s not wearing any clothing Not a stitch.

His eyes widen, and I feel myself released from their grasp, albeit temporarily.

“Chloe. I have waited for you for so long, Chloe.”

“Um, that’s nice, but we’ve never met.”

I take a reflexive step back as he comes closer. Part of me wants to run away screaming. But maybe a bigger part wants to jump into his arms and let him fly me away somewhere.

“Not in this lifetime,” he says as casually as if talking about the weather. “But we are soulmates. You are my jalshagar.”

Oh, fuck no! That’s pure fiction and I’m not here for it.

“I…I have to speak to the ambassador,” I stammer. “Thanks for the rescue. I have to go.”

“Chloe, wait,” he cries as I duck under his reaching hand and sprawled wing.

“I have to go!”

I run all the way to the tower and don’t stop until I’m safely through the doors. No way can he be my fated mate. Fated mates are just myth and legend.

Aren’t they?