Wyst

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  Did I mention how much I hated the mother-fucking alien who thought to enlighten me about me and my life? But how did I address his summation there in the lonely cabin of the enhanced SUV we were traveling in? “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.”

  Yeah, that was telling him!

  “I can tell you are hurt by what I said, but I didn’t mean to make you mad or defensive.” The note in his voice gave credence to his words, which only made my shoulders creep up to my ears in an effort to deflect his sincerity.

  Maybe his words were true, and perhaps he even meant them. But the fact remained, he’d uttered them out loud, exposing my underbelly in a way I couldn’t allow. “Here’s an idea, shithead. Why don’t you let me sleep until you, in all your awesome knowledge, decide when we can actually stop for a break. Until then, just ignore me and let me snooze away the time we’re forced to be together. Does that work for you?”

  Did it matter to me that he didn’t respond either in my head, with a change in his posture or verbally?

  Not in the least.

  But then I had to go and blow it with one errant thought. I wonder when we’ll be able to come home?

  I probably should’ve asked that when Bronsyn first announced Wyst and I were going to follow Leah and Rykhan, but I didn’t. And because I hadn’t, I just assumed it would only be a matter of time before we’d all meet up again and I’d go back to my original life. But as the SUV ate up the miles of the empty highway, I wasn’t so sure that was the case.

  I do not know if that is even a possibility for either one of us, pixie. At least Wyst wasn’t trying to blow sunshine up my skirt, but his response only solidified the melancholy creeping into both my heart and mind.

  What was going to happen to all my stuff? Not that I was a big believer in ‘things’, per se. I was, however, a huge collector of memories—and most of my possessions (aside from some fantabulous clothes) held a story, prompted a recollection of who, what, where and when. Of the good times, bad times and the ones in between. Most of them captured in pictures I’d framed and which either hung on my walls or dotted the various tables and shelves in my apartment. Pictures I hadn’t thought to pack, blithely unaware I wouldn’t be coming back.

  Photos of my dear Grams, God rest her soul.

  Of me and Leah when we’d both been younger versions of ourselves.

  Of the good guys and the bad boys who’d taught me so much and on so many levels.

  With a desolation so complete, I closed my eyes to hold back my tears.

  Chapter Three

  It didn’t take long before I got a handle on my tears and felt fortunate Wyst hadn’t commented on them. And after a while, I was able to sleep until Wyst woke me at a roadside rest stop where we were able to use the restroom and stretch our muscles a bit before hitting the road again. For awhile, I stared at the screen of the Escalade’s GPS system while Wyst talked into his tresl using, what I assumed, was his mother language. Either the Picari or Nutrolian dialect, I didn’t know which. Nor did I care. It sounded like a bunch of growls and coughs to me.

  After all the last twenty-four hours had thrown my way, spending the time with a gorgeous alien in a great car on a stretch of darkened highway as I listened to the soothing sounds of his manly voice was not much of a hardship. So much so, I let my eyes drift to the windshield before turning over onto my side to rest my cheek on the seatbelt. I couldn’t see anything but reflections in the glass, the dashboard lights and our bodies outlined in the glow of them. Tiredness settled in and I found my eyes blinking, shutting for longer and longer periods, lulled by the movement of the car and his deeply rumbled, but unintelligible mouth sounds.

  The next time I forced my sticky, heavy-lidded eyes open, it was to bright lights and even deeper growling noises than those of Wyst’s voice. I looked around while moving my feet to the floorboard of the car, idly noting he wasn’t in view. Not in the car nor at the pump where the Escalade was parked.

  He’d taken us to a gas station of the gaily lit, chain-variety kind. One that held a multitude of slots for both personal vehicles and big-rigs, the sort who announced in huge letters they were open twenty-four, seven.

  As I scanned the acre of forecourt for Wyst, jiggling my legs to get my circulation going, I saw another sign. The type so many Americans, especially deep in the grips of food deprivation, salivate over at only a glimpse of their golden arches. I reacted not only in a Pavlov-esque way, but with a hearty, unladylike gnarl of hungry protest originating from somewhere around my toes.

  Snatching the key fob from the ignition, I reached under the seat for my purse and as I slid off the high seat to the pavement, my goal became two-fold.

  First the ladies room, then fast food.

  Halfway to the cashier/convenience store/restaurant/rest rooms though, I realized I should probably let my traveling companion know I had the car key. Or whatever you’d call the USB looking-thingy that worked in the ignition. I made an effort to open up my mind, allowing myself to broadcast my thoughts. The only way I can describe how that works is to compare it to watching TV. When you’re alone and find something humorous in whatever you’re watching, most of us don’t laugh out loud. But if we’re watching the same stuff with someone we trust and like, we’ll let loose, sharing what we find funny.

  Although I wasn’t as good as he in shielding my thoughts, I was working on it.

  Don’t freak out if you go back to the car and I’m not there, I sent out along the damned mental link connecting us. I’ve got the key. I’ll be back in a few.

  Maybe it was because my need for the toilet increased with every step, or because I was getting entirely too much attention from the different truckers milling around the area, but when Wyst didn’t immediately respond the pissy-side of me came roaring up to the surface. In fact, I was almost to the doors of the large facility when he deigned to reply.

  No problem. I am engaged in conversation with two human females who seem curious about me.

  Almost running down the aisles, following the signs for the restroom area, I could’ve cared less whatever he was working. I had a more urgent need requiring all my concentration. His words came back to me after I’d taken care of my pressing business and stood across from the mirror trying to tame my hair and take my smeared eyeliner out of the Goth range. Curious?

  Yes. They appear to realize I have money and keep pressing for some in exchange for services they are both willing to provide.

  My hands stilled and for some reason the song, A Trucker’s Lament by Wynter’s Viscous began to resound in my head.

  Oh shit.

  Although I cannot understand most of what they are saying, his mental voice continued. What is a blow-job, pixie?

  Jay-sus.

  Seriously?

  Grabbing my huge purse from the long vanity, I yanked the Ladies room door open so hard it bounced against the wall as I stormed out. Where are you, big guy?

  It was just my luck to be the only person available to save a clueless, horny alien from a couple of truck-stop whores out in the middle of nowhere.

  I am at the far corner of the building. They want to take me into the shadows, though. Why do they want me away from the lights?

  For the hundred and forty-third time I wished Wyst and I shared the emotional connection Leah and her man had, because if we did I could get a read on what he was feeling. I didn’t care if he wanted a quick BJ or screw in the parking lot of a gas station since enlightening a horn-dog, even one of the out-of-this-world variety was none of my business. But from what he’d said, I suspected the ‘human females’ had a different plan in mind.

  One that included separating a naïve foreigner from all the cash he carried.

  Stay put, Wyst! No matter what they say, what they do, make sure to stay where others can see you!

  I went out the main doors just as quickly as I’d entered and, scanning from right to left, I saw their little group on the far edge of the sidewalk in front of the store. Slowing as
I approached, I did a quick recon of the situation.

  Wyst had his back to the wall, large fast-food sacks clutched against his chest as he filled his mouth with a handful of french fries. To my mind he looked…amused.

  Intrigued.

  And didn’t take his eyes off the two women, one a skanky shade of blonde and a brunette sporting blue highlights, arguing in front of him even though I knew he heard my heels on the pavement.

  “I said I’ll take him, in my mouth or bent over the trashcan for fifty!” The blonde in the too-little-to-be-believed halter top screeched, her breasts almost breaking free of the thin, striped fabric.

  “Never mind her, sugar. I’ll do you for all to see, any way you want, for forty-five.” The brunette took a half-step back on her towering heels, running her hands down her curvaceous body before clutching at the hem of what she called a skirt. It was the size of a groom’s cummerbund especially compared to her long, long legs. “I don’t mind providing a show for other people. Free advertising, you know?”

  Both the girls clued into my presence when I was four steps away, their eyes raking me from head to toe, cataloguing all my assets and defects. The brunette glared but the blonde was the one to actually protest my interruption in their negotiations. “We already tagged him, sweetie. So get your cute, tight ass back out onto the forecourt and find your own stud.”

  “I’ll let you watch a pro in action,” the brunette countered. “But the lessons ain’t free. It’ll cost you a twenty to learn something new, little girl. And that includes a fashion consult.”

  My eye-roll escaped before I could restrain it, much like my thoughts. I only want the food. And whatever money we have left after you pay these girls to get you off.

  I do not know what that means.

  I sighed and glanced at the back at the girls before zeroing in on Wyst again. They are prostitutes and want to exchange sex for money. Sometimes women like them will rob the men they…consort with.

  Reaching back into the bag to grab another handful of fries and making me almost drool, his gaze slid back to the women. “You want to share sex with me? For money?”

  The blonde disengaged herself from Wyst’s side and looked to her co-worker. “Ain’t that what we’ve been in negos over for the last ten minutes?”

  Negos, pixie?

  She means negotiations. They’ve been trying to negotiate a price with you to have sex. Their price points are for different positions, different ways of making you orgasm. In all my life, I never, ever thought I’d have to explain this kind of shit to another person, much less an alien guy. Just hand me the food and all but fifty of the cash. I’ll wait in the car.

  I had his full, undivided (and dare I say, unwanted) attention for a full minute.

  “I’ve wasted enough time on this asshole, Arleen,” the blonde groused, yanking at her tiny top and shimmying her breasts back into place. “Take him, but remember I get half of the extra.”

  As the blonde strutted away, the blue-striped brunette propped her hands on her hips and moved until she was standing with all her weight on one foot. Even I had to admit to being jealous of her long shapely legs, shimmering in the overhead lights. “So what’s it gonna be, honey? Your car or mine?”

  Licking his salt-dotted fingers, Wyst grinned before shifting the bags into his other hand and shoving them my way. “Give me a minute with my companion and I will willingly accompany you to your transport.”

  *.*.*.*.*

  Back at the house in Troon North, the mood was decidedly gloomy after Pam and Wyst left. And Bronsyn was unsure what he could do to lift the warriors spirits. He’d had no training or experience in all that had happened over the last twenty-four heras and even though he was a very seasoned warrior and an adept leader, he was out of his depth. Had he made the right decision to send the pairs away? Or would they have been safer staying in Phoenix with the other warriors to protect them?

  He glanced around and saw Gyard pacing the long length of the hall that ran from the front door to the back. And every few steps, the large blonde warrior slammed one fist into his palm, frustration clearly showing in both his expression and movements.

  Laxon, the youngest of the group Bronsyn led, sat alone on one of the sectionals staring at nothing.

  Arbrynt, the mechanical genius of the band of warriors, sat at the large table tinkering with some sort of new device. But as he watched, Bronsyn noticed Brent (as Wyst’s Pam called him) had trouble selecting the right tool, picking up one and then putting it down without using it.

  “Where is Tyshar?” he asked to no one in particular. He didn’t know why he felt the need to keep tabs on the Quest warriors still in residence, but it seemed important somehow.

  Laxon jumped at the sound of his commander’s voice and turned to look around, blinking as if coming up from a sleep cycle. Gyard stopped his pacing and simply stood, his huge fists opening and closing in a move Bronsyn thought was involuntary.

  It was Arbrynt who answered, although he did it without once looking up from what he held in his hands. “He is in the pool, trying to work off his anger.”

  To Bronsyn’s mind that wasn’t a bad idea and he was about to suggest they join their warrior brother when his tresl chirped, announcing an incoming call from Stege, the Commander of the Gal-Trol Quest Committee. Of everyone he didn’t want to talk to at that moment, his former friend and co-diplomat was at the top of the list. Especially since over the last few days their communications had dissolved into arguments, disagreements Bronsyn knew he couldn’t win. Not with the man who was his commander—and who Bronsyn was convinced had gone mad with the power he’d been given.

  “Stege,” he announced, wondering if he should take the call in front of his team or in the little house he used located out beyond the swimming pool, patios and gardens. Looking to the other men and noting their worried faces, he considered if he might need witnesses for what was sure to be a ‘blame and shame’ call. “I need you to observe and listen, but not speak or disclose your presence in any way. Do I make myself clear?”

  All three men nodded as Bronsyn opened the comm portion of his device. “Commander Stege. What can I do for you?”

  One glance at Stege’s face on the screen told Bronsyn the male was already in a high temper with his flashing eyes and reddened cheeks. It was even more evident when the man dispensed with the formalities and got straight to the point. “I want the two human females returned to the Searcher immediately!”

  “Are you saying they are no longer on board?”

  Stege’s angry glare made Bronsyn want to swallow but he knew any movement even the smallest action could provide his commander a clue to what was happening on Earth. “They somehow escaped and I want their immediate return.”

  “Commander—”

  “Captain Pryntal’s logs show the ship’s TIPS array was activated and they returned to your abode. I order you to return them.”

  Bronsyn inhaled as quietly as possible before making his reply. “They are not here.”

  “You lie!” Stege fist pounded against his desk on each syllable. “The reports are infallible in tracking life forms and it clearly indicates the two humans coalesced in one of the structures on your property.”

  “I understand what you are saying, Commander. But they are not here. Why would they flee the Searcher? You used the word ‘escaped’. Were Rykhan’s mate and the Pamela Swain being held captive? If so, why?” Bronsyn hated to lie, so he simply played ignorant of what had gone on earlier in the day although the two females provided a very thorough and exacting recap of their fight to get off the starship afterward.

  And he’d been a witness to the Committee leader’s conversation with Rykhan, although he’d remained out of sight. Still he’d overhead Stege telling Rykhan he was banned from returning to the Searcher and until his mate agreed to give up her youngling as well as her ovaries, they would be denied access to one another. Bronsyn was proud when the Protector Rykhan stood up to the supreme commi
ttee leader of the quest, arguing he would follow any orders given as long as they fell within the Picari Protectorate Credo.

  Stege drummed his fingers on his desktop impatiently as he glared into the screen. “The two humans had not requested nor received approval to disembark the vessel. I may have misspoke when I used the word ‘escape’. However, the way they did it and the damage they caused in their wake must be addressed.”

  “Damage?” Bronsyn forced himself not to smile, remembering Wyst’s little pixie reporting how she ‘popped more than a couple of caps into alien ass’ when she and Rykhan’s mate fought Dr. Jyrl’s crew. “What kind of damage could two females cause in simply trying to get off ship?”

  Stege coughed and looked away from his monitor. “It seems there might have been a misunderstanding between Dr. Jyrl’s staff and their orders to ensure the females remained on board. The result of that miscommunication was some form of physical altercation that caused damage to the ship. I intend to hold those females responsible and make them face the consequences for their actions.”

  Bronsyn blinked, his mind whirling with possible scenarios of the way Stege could make Rykhan’s Leah and little Pam pay. Not for the damages to the starship, but for escaping the committee leader’s clutches. “If I see them, I will have them report to you immediately.”

  “That is not enough!” Stege’s face again began to color with emotion. “I order you and your warriors to capture those two disrespectful and disobedient females at the soonest possible moment. The human-hybrid youngling Rykhan’s mate carries belongs to the Committee since it is half Picari and was conceived during our glorious quest.”

  Bronsyn tried to find the words to flatly refuse without losing his commission or his temper. “Our laws are clear regarding when any Picari seeks to subjugate another species. And since they are on their home planet, not on the Searcher or within our system or on one of our planets, neither the quest Committee nor our Protectorate have the right hunt or control them in any fashion.”