BOOTY HUNTER

by Huss, JA

  “We have laws here,” he says. “How do you think we get two million people to live together?”

  “The hostess has a plasma rifle strapped to her back, Serpint.”

  “Yeah, but she showed us to our table, she didn’t pull it out and try to rob us. If she ever does pull that rifle off her back to use it here, she better have a damn good reason. Because ALCOR will strike her down with one blast. Everyone knows what happens if they don’t try to work shit out without killing. Of course, murder happens. We have a police force here and many murders. Just like any city. But ALCOR makes all the difference. He sees and hears everything.”

  ALCOR. Where the hell did that thing come from, I wonder? I’ve seen my share of sentient AIs but none of them are in charge of things like this one seems to be.

  It’s kinda scary, if you ask me. Letting a machine have so much power.

  “Are you ready to order?”

  I look up and find a waitress holding a tablet. She’s got bright purple hair and her whole body is covered in metallic scales.

  “Umm,” I say, then point to the menu. “I’ll have this?” I say, showing her the menu item.

  Serpint laughs a little.

  “What?” I ask.

  “That’s what the stupid bot told you to get.”

  “Well, is it bad?”

  “No,” he says, taking my menu and handing it to the waitress. “I’ll have the same.”

  “Be right up,” the waitress says. Then leaves.

  I look around and realize there’s a lot of metallic people here.

  “Armor,” Serpint says.

  “Oh,” I say. “I guess that makes sense.”

  “Makes them feel safe, ya know? Old habits.”

  “Right.”

  “So… you said you know about people like him.”

  “Who?”

  “The cyborg master,” Serpint says. “You said you know his kind. What’s that mean?”

  “I told you, I just know.”

  “OK,” he says, taking the hint. But he has a look on his face that tells me he’s not gonna let this go.

  Luckily a tray bot appears with our food and its articulated grippy appendages place our plates on the table.

  “Pancakes,” I say, laughing. “They’re pancakes.”

  Serpint thanks the bot, then smiles at me. “Eat up, princess. You’re gonna need your energy once you meet my brothers.”

  Hmmm. We’re on day two of this little… friendship? Relationship? Whatever it is. And I’m already meeting the family.

  What a weird, fucked-up world.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - SERPINT

  I watch her as she eats breakfast. Pancakes. Not called pancakes here. But pancakes are pancakes and she likes them.

  Knowing about her seems to be an unconscious priority for me. Something I still don’t understand. And even though last night was fun—hell, who am I kidding? It was mind-blowing—I’m a little worried about tonight. After the memorial service, after I introduce her to my brothers, after everyone has to go home and we’ll be alone…

  I worry about that.

  Because I do not understand what’s happening to me. Or her, for that matter.

  Soulmates? Like… shut the fuck up. There’s no such thing. I’ve been in plenty of relationships with lots of different women and even though one or two of them felt like maybe they had potential, only one of those women is still around.

  And her name is Booty.

  So no. I don’t believe in soulmates. But there’s definitely something strange going on between Lyra and me.

  Add in the fact that just thinking about being away from her makes my heart speed up. And not in the good way.

  I think it’s fear.

  Which is so stupid. I don’t even know her. She has no clue about me either, and aside from the sex, I don’t think we’re even compatible.

  But there’s too much going on today to stop and chat to ALCOR and Crux about this. Crux should be able to give me some answers. He knows more about Cygnian princesses than anyone outside Cygnia. He’ll have opinions.

  But first… I sigh. We need clothes for the memorial. And then we need to go see my brothers. Who will have a lot of fucking questions for me, and none of them will have anything to do with Lyra. They’ll want to know why I stole the queen, how Draden and Ceres died, and what we should do about it.

  Because something has to be done. Someone has to pay for the deaths of our family members.

  An eye for an eye, that’s how we roll.

  “In here,” I say to Lyra, placing my hand on the small of her back to guide her into a storefront. “This is where I shop.”

  She shoots me a look because she saw my closet. My clothes might not be exciting, but they are custom. And this is where I get them made.

  “Raylor,” I say, extending my hand to the man who runs the boutique. “I’d like you to meet Lyra. She needs something in black for this afternoon.”

  He takes my hand in both of his, shakes it gently, and gives a very sad look of sympathy. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “It’s so sad about Draden and Ceres.”

  “Thanks,” I say, then sigh. “I guess I’ll need something too.”

  He pats my shoulder and says, “We will dress you appropriately.” Then he turns to Lyra and takes her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Miss—”

  “Princess,” I say, correcting him. “Princess Lyra.”

  He nods and smiles bigger. “Princess. My apologies. If you will just go with Miss Alee, she will dress you as well.”

  Lyra shoots me an apprehensive look as she’s led away by Alee and I feel the same way.

  Heart fluttering, then racing, then pounding. “Um,” I say, reaching for her as she disappears behind a wall.

  “She’ll be fine,” Raylor says. “Trust me.”

  I nod, take a deep breath, and will my heart to stop this bullshit. I do not love her.

  But my heart doesn’t seem to agree. Either that or my willpower is shit today.

  “Here,” Raylor says. “Drink this while we discuss what you need.” He hands me a cut-crystal glass of whiskey and I take it. Down it. Then hold it out for another and drink that too.

  Helps. Just a little, but enough.

  He points me to a long couch and I take a seat as he starts cycling through suits appropriate for a memorial service.

  I just stare at them as they go by. Seeing them, but not seeing them.

  Draden is really dead. The past twenty-four hours have felt a little unreal. Like it didn’t really happen. Like any minute now Draden and Ceres will barge in here, drunk, or just happy, or maybe fresh from a fight. Draden sporting a black eye and Ceres with new dings and dents on his outer armor.

  But when I look at the door, they’re not there.

  And they never will be again.

  They’re gone.

  With Raylor’s constant prodding and help, I manage to choose a suit. Then I get to wait while it’s tailored for me, which only has my mind wandering back to Lyra again. Every now and then I can hear them in the other room. Lyra’s soft talking or Alee’s authoritative opinions.

  I force myself not to drink any more, even though that bottle is calling my name. It would be a very bad idea to be drunk for the service.

  Just a few hours, Serpint. Just get through a few more hours and then you can drink yourself into oblivion.

  Raylor appears, broad smile across his face that doesn’t reach up to his eyes. He was one of the very first haute couture designers to make Harem Station their home. He legitimized us in this regard. Took a huge risk by leaving the Prime planets and hitching his rising star to a bunch of outlaws.

  But it worked. Hundreds of eager up-and-coming designers and creatives followed his lead and within a few years, people who were not welcome here wanted to come, just for the fashion and the art.

  That was over a decade ago in Akeelian time and we’ve been friends ever since. He’ll be there this afternoon to pay his respects.

&n
bsp; “We’re ready for you, Serpint,” Raylor says.

  “Great,” I say, following him to the back room to be dressed.

  It’s a weird thing to be dressed by his cyborgs because they were built on a sex-borg model. Two tall, clearly-female cyborgs begin undressing me. One unbuttons my shirt, another goes for my pants, while two more are fussing with the new suit off to one side.

  Normally I enjoy this. Under different circumstances I might even let them pleasure me.

  But not today. So I place a hand on each of theirs, telling them to stop. “I can do it,” I say.

  Raylor claps his hands two times and the sex-borgs back off and begin doing other things.

  I strip down to bare flesh and pull on the underclothes.

  “Would you like a shave?” Raylor asks.

  “No,” I say. I know that’s the wrong answer. I should shave for my brother’s service. But I don’t want the borgs touching me right now. So I say it once more for emphasis. “No.”

  He nods, then motions for the dressers to proceed. They come at me again and help me into a crisp black shirt with a stiff, high, tight collar that I know will bother me until I take the shirt off later. But it’s not optional. Every man in the ceremony will be wearing the same irritating collar. And every one of us will endure it without comment out of respect.

  It occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve had to dress in the ceremonial garb since we left Akeelian space. I’ve been to many memorial services on Harem over the past two decades for friends who died, been one of the witnesses on the platform a dozen times or more, but never part of the immediate family.

  Every alien culture has a different way of paying their last tribute to their inner circle and ALCOR will accommodate them all. But we decided early on that Harem will have its own customs as well. That we would be more than just a collection of outlaws on a station.

  We would be a nation of people. A collective of thought, and customs, and history.

  So every service uses the same platform, and the same announcement signals, and follows the same ascension ritual.

  The pants go on next. Dressy, high-quality black slacks made of the finest silks in the galaxy. They are so soft and comfortable, they almost make up for the collar.

  Then the shoes and then the accessories.

  Raylor stands in front of me holding a flat velvet box. I nod to him and he opens it to reveal the medals and ribbons ALCOR and Crux had printed for the service.

  “Pink?” I say, unable to hide my smile.

  “She’s very pink,” Raylor says, smiling.

  “Ah,” I say. And I even laugh a little. Because he is matching me with Lyra. “Well, that’s a first for me. I’ve never had a woman at my side for a ceremony before.”

  “It’s a good first,” Raylor says, snapping his fingers at one of the borgs.

  She approaches us, lifts the pink ribbon from the box, and places it against the shirt collar. A second Borg is already behind me, reaching for the magnetic ends so she can snap the ribbon tightly around my neck.

  A third is lifting out the familial medal. Mine is also pink to match Lyra and it has me wondering what she’ll look like when she comes out from behind that wall. Surely, she won’t be in pink. But there will be pink on her. Ribbons, and medals, and other things too. Lingerie, maybe. Things I won’t see now but will be a nice surprise later.

  Which reminds me of later. My thoughts cloud with memories of last night as the borgs fasten the accessories onto my suit.

  The familial medal, signaling that I’m Draden’s brother, goes over my heart. Five more are lined up underneath, military-style. All in shades of gray, and black, and pink. One for each of us—Crux, then Jimmy, then Tray, then Valor, then Luck. Underneath there is another, larger medal that belongs to Draden and Ceres.

  My heart is heavy with the burden of these symbols. And not just because they have literal weight.

  A dozen smaller ones climb up each of my shirt cuffs to represent how many life-and-death battles Draden, Ceres, and I have been in—and won. And then the ribbons are snapped into place on my shoulders to signify the weight I will have to carry now that they’re gone.

  When they are done, I step back out into the lobby, look in the full-length mirror, and barely recognize myself. My hair is messy and my face is ragged with a few days of beard. I should’ve let them shave me, I realize. I’m about to ask if that can still be done when my link chimes.

  I pinch my fingers together and open up a screen.

  It’s Jimmy.

  I tab the accept button and say, “Hey, when did you get in?”

  “A little while ago,” Jimmy says in his deep, rough voice. He’s already dressed too, only his accessories aren’t pink, they’re silver with shades of gray, black, and white. He stares at me in the screen and I want to cut the connection to make that unnerving scrutiny disappear, but I don’t. Because I can’t.

  I have to face up to what I did.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “For what?” I ask. “It’s me who should be saying that to you.”

  He presses his lips together. Like he’s trying hard not to frown. He’s not shaved either and he looks as strangely unfamiliar in his ceremonial garb as I feel, which comforts me a little.

  “We knew this day would come eventually,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  He opens his mouth to say more but the station chime sounds, signaling that people should start making their way to the ceremonial platform.

  And then I open my mouth to say more, but that’s when Lyra appears from around the wall.

  I stare at her, unable to take my eyes off her, and say, “I’ll see you in a little bit,” as I end the connection with Jimmy.

  She is… stunning.

  Magnificently stunning.

  Her long black gown has elaborate skirts that go all the way to the floor. The bodice of her dress is woven with black crystals, so that the soft light in the room makes her shimmer as she walks towards me. Over her heart is one jeweled-pink medal. For me, I realize. But on her shoulders are the same weighty pink ribbons.

  ALCOR, I think to myself. What did you do?

  But then I notice the high collar of her dress is open and I can see the cleavage of her large breasts, which rise and fall rapidly, like she’s scared, or excited, or maybe both.

  “We need to take the collar off so she can wear this, Serpint,” Raylor says. And then I notice he’s holding another collar in his hands. This one is made out of pink and white jewels. Maybe even diamonds.

  “Right,” I say, stepping forward.

  ALCOR. What did you do?

  “You look nice,” she says, frowning. Like she’s unsure if she’s supposed to say that when a person is dressed for a memorial service.

  I stand in front of her, just staring down into her eyes. She’s glowing just a little bit. So pink against the black dress. Her hair is piled up on top of her head, but it spills out of a tiara made of the same pink and white jewels as the collar in Raylor’s hand.

  “Princess Lyra,” I sigh, reaching behind her neck to remove my ownership collar.

  She smiles. Weakly. Then has trouble meeting my eyes and looks down, just as a burst of glow flows up from her breasts.

  I hand the collar to Raylor and then reach for the buttons on the top of her open bodice. Fastening them all the way up her throat.

  She sucks in a breath. Maybe because the fabric is tight or maybe just because I’m making her nervous. Then I take the new collar and snap the magnetic ends around her neck.

  It still says Serpint, because it must. But it’s very small and my name has been printed in black diamonds.

  “I don’t know what to think about this,” Lyra says. Her fingertips lift up her floaty skirts and then let go, illustrating her point.

  I let out a breath that, surprisingly, comes with a small laugh. “Me either, princess. Me either.”

  The station chimes
a second warning that people should be on their way to the ceremony, so I just hold out my hand and say, “Shall we?”

  She looks up at me, then down again, and nods her head as she places her fingertips in my palm.

  I turn to Raylor and say, “I can’t thank you enough.”

  He smiles at me. A warm smile that says he’s sorry, and I’m welcome all in the same moment. “I’m going to close up and then we’ll be right behind you.”

  I walk her out looking down at our entwined hands and notice another small medal on the cuff of her long sleeve. “What’s that?” I say, holding up her hand with the medal towards her face.

  “It’s for the bot,” she says. “I don’t know why, or understand any of what just happened back there, but…” She inhales deeply, lets it out. And then shrugs.

  “The bot?” And just as I say it, he’s here. In front of us. Hovering. Except his dingy gray sphere of a body has been repainted in matte black. And encircling that black body is a strip of glittery pink. “What the hell?”

  He chirps out a quick litany of responses, which I don’t understand. But Lyra says, “ALCOR made him mine. So he gets to come too. And he has to match.”

  I huff a small laugh through my nose.

  So now we are three.

  ALCOR. What are you doing?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - LYRA

  “This way,” Serpint says, leading me through a bustling crowd of people who all seem to be heading in the same direction. “We’ve got a lift.”

  Everyone is heading for the moving sidewalks that lead to the various levels, but Serpint takes me over to the edge of the open walkway and opens a door built into the glass half-wall.

  He pans his hand, motioning me to step forward onto a small landing pad, then follows me through and shuts the door behind him. The bot—my bot now, I guess—hovers just at my shoulder as a flat ship-like bot floats up to us.

  “Step on,” Serpint says, holding my hand to keep me steady as I board the lift-bot. “The ceremony starts at the bottom.” He smiles at me, but I can tell he’s not really smiling. It’s a very sad day. All the dresser borgs were talking about his brother Draden while they were busy getting me ready. He was well-loved on this station. The baby of the family, good-natured, charming, and even though they didn’t hide the fact that he was as ruthless and dangerous as the rest of the brothers, they brushed over it like that was just a small part of him.