Alien Aladdin

by Zara Zenia

  “Akrawn, are you listening?” she said.

  Her sharp tone jolted me to reality. “What?” I said.

  “Are you hosting a party tonight?”

  “Yes. The women are in transit as we speak.”

  “Is that what you are wearing?”

  “Yes,” I said. I resisted speaking through gritted teeth.

  “Good,” she said with approval. “You look like a proper Trilyn prince. Unlike your brothers.”

  And apparently a wuss.

  Did everyone know that Trilyn dress did not appeal to Earth women? Probably. I was the last holdout among my brothers to cling to traditional clothes.

  “Fine. Send the specs to my AI. I’ll look at them when I get a chance.”

  “I’ll wait upon your call, your Highness,” she said breathily.

  I shook my head. The woman never gave up. “I’ve got to go. Goodbye, Bella.”

  I clicked off that call as abruptly as I did with Rawklix.

  “Sendrin!” I called. “I need to get in touch with an Earth clothes designer by the name of Versace.”

  While I waited for Sendrin to locate this Versace person, I walked into my office and picked up the package on my desk. Inside was a wide flat black box, and I opened it. Across the item inside lay a note:

  Please accept this gift from the Sultanate of Iswan in anticipation of good relations and successful negotiations in opening a factory in Iswan. We expect constructing components for the site-to-site and space fold technologies you offered to our planet will be very beneficial to Iswan. I also extend an invitation for you to visit our fair country where I can facilitate introductions to the princesses of our royal line.

  This piece of jewelry is a called a wesekh collar—favored by both the gods and the pharaohs. From the Eighteenth Dynasty, this was the form of necklace most often given to officials, dignitaries, and soldiers as a mark of honor. This wesekh collar is made of gold and beads of Carnelian, Jasper, Turquoise, and Lapis. Please wear it as a token of our respect for you.

  I look forward to meeting you. —Signed Prince Mohar Mohammed of the Sultanate of Iswan

  It was a stunning piece, and I thought, I will wear it tonight. The photographers who attend these things will take pictures, and the prince of Iswan will know that I honor him and our upcoming business negotiations.

  Sendrin announced the man named Versace was dead, but that didn’t stop the design house from peddling clothes in his name. After confirming that indeed this is a custom on this planet, I had the design house send me a selection by the site-to-site transport in my home. Site-to-site was available on commercial carriers, but one day we hoped to refine the technology so every household could afford one. But I had mine for “developmental purposes,” and it came in handy tonight. I finished dressing just as Sendrin announced the women waited in the reception area.

  I had chosen black denim straight leg jeans, and a black shirt with a design in gold studs called Medusa. The jacket on the tag stated “jacquard Greek blazer” all of which highlighted the wesekh I wore under the jacket very nicely. Despite the lack of Trilyn style, I must admit that I had a different, more authoritative appearance. Thus, I conceded the Earthers might know a thing or two about dressing a man.

  Therefore, I did not understand when I entered the reception area why a man wearing a press pass shouted, and all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 2

  Cat

  “Catwoman strikes again,” sang out my work colleagues as I entered the San Francisco Police Department’s briefing room, coffee in hand. Cheers followed, and the chaos of back slaps plus a few high-fives helped alleviate the sterile blues and greys of the room. That and the clutter of computer and AI gear slung onto the wooden briefing-table.

  Dark circles ran around my red eyes from the late nights solving our recent case of the missing son of a French diplomat. He’d run away to help his girlfriend hide from the authorities after his father had accused her of stealing information from his personal computer at home. The girl was guilty.

  But people got downright blind when someone they loved was accused of something serious, even with irrefutable evidence. I knew this. I’d suffered.

  “Why do they never mention me?” said David Davon from ILE, International Law Enforcement, and my assigned partner for the French boy’s case. “Surely the guys could find a comic hero to suit me.”

  I slid into my seat next to him and dumped my coffee and laptop on the table. “Not possible. Catwoman works alone— sorry David, I’m kidding. And as you well know, Catwoman was a villain so I’m not convinced they mean it as a compliment. Pretending the guys are referring to her years of reformation though, works for me. But you know our success at finding missing people is from our awesome teamwork.”

  “Don’t shy from spelling it out, Cat. I can be too much to handle in social situations.”

  He was right. But for me, a young Inspector, he was an ace partner to have landed, a genius at computer programming and noticing irregularities in patterns or logic in a case. And in my two years here fresh from school, I had lucked into having him most times when ILE assigned him to work with the SFPD. We’d solved every case. If only our colleagues could see him like I did. A keen police dog, who hated the rain, required firm handling, and clear commands. A Frisbee thrown his way now and then also helped.

  Instead, I said, “You’re super friendly, that’s all,” and left out that his hyper-officiousness made my colleagues wary of him. “You need to hang out with the guys more, let them get to know you. How about we meet them at the pub after work? Should be a quiet day.”

  “Cool, Cat,” he replied and sniggered.

  I frowned, but before I could chastise David for his ‘cat’ jokes, our Chief of Police interrupted with, “Good morning all.” His voice rang out in his habitual loud, gruff bass, which matched his no-nonsense manner and his heavy-duty frame. As he sat at the head of the table, he began the day’s agenda. “Bad news, guys, there’ll be no rest for the wicked today, or as the wicked don’t rest, us goodies can’t afford to do so either.”

  Chief Karl Brontsen laughed at his own non-joke, while the rest of us groaned and worried about what new mess San Francisco had landed itself in.

  “First though, excellent work Inspectors, regarding the French Ambassador’s boy, and damned fast too. That’s what we desire in missing people’s cases. It doesn’t matter that the lad ran away and wasn’t abducted. We never know ‘til we solve the case. His father’s agreed to us interviewing the teen today. Plus there’s the press to appease.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever shit had hit the fan while David and I were not-sleeping last night would now not include us, at least today. My head felt too fluffy with fatigue. Brontsen typically let those who solved a case wrap it up and gain recognition for its success. He was, at least, good like that. I looked over at David, prepared to wink, but of course, my partner was so focused on the Chief he failed to notice me. I smiled at myself for thinking one day David might surprise me and sipped my coffee.

  The Chief continued, “So, Inspectors Gonzalez and Ricci, you up for some tidying?”

  Heads nodded, but I butted in before the Chief could continue, earning me a ferocious stare from David who respected authority above all else. “Chief, why not David and I? I know the exact questions to ask the boy—” and how to do it. The boy was a mess after discovering his girl was a fraud.

  Brontsen put his hand up to forestall me.

  I stopped with flushed cheeks. Crap, I’d done it again. Opened my big mouth in the cause of justice at the cost of pissing off the Chief. I so hate it when us cops wade in to ‘tidy-up’ our cases when there was a story underneath the story that needed to be investigated. Yes, the girlfriend was culpable, but what more did the boy know, which the girl refused to reveal?

  “Hand your questions over to Ricci.” He looked at me with knitted brows. “And think before you open your mouth in the future, O’Shea. We’re dealing with a di
plomat here.”

  Damnit, Cat, you’re tired. Questioning the Chief in front of everyone is plain stupid.

  Meekly I nodded and watched Ricci and Gonzalez grin. Sure, they’d been on the case too, but I knew they’d ‘tidy’ everything up neat and present the good news to the media as if the two of them had solved it. And likely the final report they wrote would downplay David’s and my role and ignore digging further into the case. So the extra blood and sweat I’d spent would not fast-track me to that promotion, which I hankered for, to the ILE. I needed out of San Francisco. But not a ‘sideways’ out. I was desperate to leave my ratty adopted parents’ emotional games far away and prove to them that my work-mates and country valued me as a talented team-player.

  Brontsen ran his hands through his number two cut and sighed. “The ILE’s handed us another mess. So, David, your partner will be—” The chief then looked over the rest of us, while we waited tense with worry. We knew this appraising look. Any moment he’d deliver an appalling no-win case to some poor schmuck who had recently annoyed him.

  Holy dog’s dinner, that would be—

  “David, I guess you’d better supervise O’Shea again. You guys track down our resident alien, Prince Akrawn, of the Trilyn, who’s gone AWOL. The Sultanate of Iswan authorities claim he stole an ancient necklace from one of their centuries-old pharaohs. It is a valuable antique piece usually kept in the Iswan National Museum but is on loan to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. The ILE will handle the international side of the matter, but they believe he hasn’t left the Bay Area.

  “How did we catch that one, Captain,” said Ricci. “The prince’s last known location was his home in Tiburon.”

  “Yes, but the ILE thinks he’s hiding in San Francisco, so we get the honor of snaffling him.”

  I nodded as a stone sunk into my belly while the Chief barreled on saying, “ILE agrees that Akrawn is devious and clever enough to have stolen it from the museum undetected. As I said, it’s a high priority case, so chop, chop."

  And the subtext was: results had better come sooner rather than later, or else you, Cat, get more black marks against your name. Not David, because the Chief not only tolerated David as he did the rest of us minions, but he actually liked him. They were both obsessed with comic book heroes.

  We got up from our chairs as Brontsen continued, “Right, let’s get to our third bit of nonsense. The president’s arrival—”

  Damn, I’d hoped to be involved in the presidential case.

  David and I sloped out of the briefing room while I cursed our luck.

  That I’d been denied gaining kudos for finding the Ambassador’s son was sidelined away from the high profile presidential visit and being assigned a lose-lose case. I screwed my hands into fists and followed David to our pair of desks in the main open-plan office room. The public adored the princes, and anyone daring to harass them would become dirt according to the media. However, the alternative was a thorough mincing by the ILE and the Chief if we failed to ‘get our man’.

  Damn me and my big mouth.

  “Cat, sorry, it’s my fault, the Chief thinks of you as my regular partner. I shouldn’t have insisted that I work with you when at the SFPD. It’s because your colleagues are not driven enough.”

  “Awe, thanks David, and this isn’t your fault.”

  “Nah, it’s mine.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. I’m sure it’s because we are brilliant at finding missing people—the best if you look at our record—and Brontsen knows it. I’m more angry that Ricci and Gonzalez, that pair of underhanded toe-lickers, will claim our success as theirs. Why couldn’t the Chief have given the wrap-up to… well, anyone else?”

  At that moment, Ricci waved at me from the other side of the open-plan work area clearly wanting my extra info on the case of the Ambassador’s boy.

  “David, you get started on Prince Akrawn. See what the media is saying and read the brief the chief has, no doubt, sent us by now. I’ll be back in a mo.”

  Ricci was as annoying as ever, but I did my best to get her up to speed. But no way did I want the case to go tits up even if I gained nothing. I had promised the lad I’d do what I could to smooth things out between him and his father.

  Less than thirty minutes later, I was back at my desk staring at a picture of the Prince. Not one to be turned on by a photo, I still had to admit this guy was hot, hotter than hot. He sizzled and popped right out of the screen. And it wasn’t only his gorgeous gold colored eyes. I couldn’t resist my need to see this guy in full 3D brilliance. So I tapped on the small flame icon dancing on a ring on my middle finger, which activated Peri, my personal AI, and brought the annoying entity to life.

  “What may I do for you, Cat? And don’t forget to submit the forms for your overtime.” Peri’s voice was flat, staccato, androgynous, and perfectly annoying. One day, when I had money, I’d get the app upgraded to speak with a smoother more realistic manner. Yeah, and swap its officious personality for something more congenial.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it later, but right now—”

  “And remember to include whether you wish for pay or time off in lieu of the extra hours.”

  “Peri, I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I wish you to render Prince Akrawn as a 3-D holographic projection for me.”

  “What size?”

  I scanned the office. Ricci and Gonzalez had left, so it was empty-ish. However, from the sounds coming from the corridor, I guessed the Chief had let the others out to play and they were headed this way.

  “Um,” I didn’t want the guys making crude comments as they entered the room, so I said, “maybe screen height right in front of my computer…”

  The prince, wearing traditional Trilyn garb, appeared on my desk. Those eyes were even lusher when set in such a pale visage. His gaze caught me in its mesmeric power, but eventually I won and I was free to eyeball his chiseled cheekbones, straight black hair, and sharp aquiline nose. My heart thrummed in my chest. Whoa there girl, you’d better get control of yourself before you meet the real thing.

  “Peri, could you swivel him?”

  “Cat, do you want me to analyze the net videos of his movement and insert representational actions in the hologram?”

  “Oh yes, please, and could you put him in jeans and a tee?” breathed a husky voice behind me.

  I swung around in my chair to see a sea of faces. I swear the whole of the San Francisco Police Department’s women and many of the men were standing behind me gawking.

  As I looked at my co-worker and huffed, she shrugged and said, “I mean, if he’s hiding, he will not be wearing ‘here-I-am-come-catch-me’ Trilyn clothes, will he?”

  Before I could yay or nay her request, Peri had Akrawn re-attired, which unfortunately encouraged another work-mate with her tongue hanging out to say, “Ask Peri to make Akrawn bigger, Cat.”

  “What if the Chief enters?”

  “This is work-related drooling, totally allowable. You never know, any of us might be in a position to identify and apprehend Akrawn. So, let’s have the glorious details.”

  “Cat?” said Peri’s voice.

  There was no escaping my colleagues, so I indulged them—and me. “Go ahead, project him life-sized.”

  “With the movement program I now have?”

  “Yes, please, Peri.”

  The alien Prince standing on my desk flickered and grew, tight jeans and all flashing by, passing my nose until I was staring at a pair of knees. I looked upwards. This was so the wrong angle to dampen my body’s hunger.

  “Peri, off the desk please, and get him walking back and forth.”

  The prince jumped fluidly onto the floor and sauntered away from me.

  “Peri, what is your estimation of the movement program’s accuracy?”

  “Cat, despite this prince being seen out in public the least of the seven, I am ninety-nine percent confident that I have captured him realistically.”

  “Peri,” said another of m
y colleagues, “get him to run, leap from desk to desk, and dive over the office furniture.” And then to me, she added, “We, I mean, you, Cat, need to know what you’re up against if it comes to chasing him through a dark alley.”

  There were lots of accompanying snickers, which transformed into ‘oohs and ahh’s.’ Even the straight guys working at their desks stopped to look.

  Though not David. No surprises there. I doubt he registered anything beyond his computer screen.

  “Cat, you got no hope, darling. You’re on a losing case here. No one this sumptuous and agile will allow the likes of us to catch him.”

  “Then we’d better pray that the police AIs can handle him. Otherwise, we’re sending a clear signal to the aliens that they can take whatever they damn well please without a ‘by your leave’ from us.” The Chief stood in the doorway hands on hips glaring. “Okay, enough of these circus antics. Back to work.”

  And of course, Chief Brontsen came over to give me his extra-intense glower from beneath his craggy brows. “I don’t want to see this sort of thing happening ever again, O’Shea. Do this on your own time, in your own personal space, but not in this office.”