The Complete Alien Apocalypse Series (Parts I-IV Plus Bonus Novella): An Apocalyptic, Romantic, Science Fiction, Alien Invasion Adventure

by JC Andrijeski

  “…Our Eldest and Most Revered Son, Laksonagiki-Antualogi, lost lo these many years, due to the factional struggles of ingrates, usurpers, traitors, and the impure, has risen once more to his rightful place…”

  Jet pressed her lips together at that one.

  Laksri himself had been the head ingrate, usurper, and traitor.

  “…Blessed be our gods, who have returned him to us, when he himself was unaware of his own exalted place among our people…

  “…Most auspicious tidings, that our Honored Son has taken as a wife one of our hosts on this most glorious world and new Capitol of the Nirreth Empire…”

  Wife?

  She let that blow by, too.

  Jet found herself tuning out again.

  She and Laksri sat on a high, flat platform, cross-legged above the crowd.

  Laksri wore a wide, carpet-like cape, so heavily embroidered with detailed designs, Jet found it difficult to look away from the metallic threads. The images combined what she now recognized as symbols for the gods from the Nirreth pantheon. Maps of constellations stood in the background, all surrounding a traditional image of the royal family tree of the Ukanazi done in red and gold thread.

  The latter had been rendered in such detail, Jet actually recognized faces from paintings she’d seen scattered around the royal compound.

  When Laksri nudged her lightly with his arm, Jet tore her eyes off his cloak for easily the twentieth time since the droning speeches began.

  Avoiding his concerned look, she focused on the crowd ringing the small stage.

  Her eyes caught rippling banners in all of the colors of the different houses that made up the royal family, cascading in long streams from tall poles of gold and green metal.

  She scanned faces without making eye-contact.

  She found herself pausing on the faces she knew, including Trazen and one of his walking human dolls, who’d probably been stung a good six or seven times before the ceremony. She leaned on him languorously, stroking his tail where it wrapped around her waist. Looking away when she realized she’d been focusing too intently on the motion of the woman’s fingers, Jet gritted her teeth, giving Laksri a bare glance before focusing back over the crowd.

  She saw the only human to serve on the Rings Board, too, a woman she now knew to be named Patrician Thorne.

  Thorne sat beside the Voice of the Rings, Metzet, who took the center spot in the very front row of chairs, like he did on the Rings Board.

  Jet caught Richter’s profile a few beats later, where he sat with Anaze and Yulark, one of the Nirreth government officials Jet met following the death of Ogli’s parents.

  Yulark’s new role had been part of the compromise with the usurpers.

  His previous title read something along the lines of “Secretary Overseeing Human and Nirreth Encounters,” which, from what Jet could tell, was a joke. Most “human and Nirreth encounters” in reality were handled by the military, and to some extent, the Trade Commission.

  Yulark’s office had no real power at all.

  The Queen recently elevated him to the role of Supreme Chancellor, however, the same role Ogli’s father held until the day of his death.

  The Supreme Chancellor answered only to the King and Queen. They had authority over the parliamentary-type group that made laws for the colonies.

  Jet didn’t know Yulark at all, but she knew he had ties to the same Nirreth faction that bombed the Royals’ compound that night.

  For that reason alone, she treated him carefully.

  She tore her eyes off his face when she saw that he’d noticed her stare.

  She saw the curiosity in his eyes, and hoped it was benign.

  Hopefully, he was just a fan of the Rings.

  Truthfully, Jet didn’t mind the Rings themselves so much, not anymore.

  Fighting in the weekly competitions was one of the few distractions she could stomach, maybe because they didn’t involve as much political maneuvering, backstabbing, lying, and posturing as living in the compound of the Royals did every day.

  Laksri reached for her under the blanket-like robe, squeezing her knee.

  She almost wished she’d asked him to sting her before this.

  For one thing, her heart rate wouldn’t be through the roof as she waited for someone to aim a gun at her head. For another, she’d have a much clearer idea of what Laksri himself was thinking.

  She might also know what this ritual was even about.

  Maybe she could remedy that tonight.

  The part about what Laksri was thinking, anyway.

  Something of her thoughts might have reached him, because his hand grew heavier on her leg, right before he turned, meeting her gaze. Seeing the heat in his expression, she smiled. The Nirreth returned the look in his more subtle, Nirreth way, then turned his eyes back to the crowd, but not before he stroked her leg more deliberately under the robe, his tail coiling closer to her on the podium they shared.

  She considered returning the affection, if only to distract herself, but, just then, sound exploded in the small chamber, shocking her.

  Gunshots.

  She’d expected this.

  Somehow, expecting it didn’t help.

  The sound still managed to paralyze her briefly.

  By the time the rush of adrenaline hit her bloodstream, Laksri had already pulled her down, behind the wooden podium, crushing Jet’s head and most of her upper body under his muscular chest.

  Jet forced her knee up when the shots continued.

  Grunting a bit under the Nirreth’s weight, she managed to get the pulre out of her boot.

  “Jet, no,” Laksri said.

  She struggled her way free of him, anyway. Peering over the low platform, she saw Nirreth and humans fleeing. She ducked reflexively as another volley of pulre blasts blew apart a section of the stage. Turning her head, she glimpsed Trazen crouched against a pillar, a different kind of weapon in his hand.

  He glanced at her the instant she saw him and frowned, right before he motioned her sharply to get down.

  Showing him the gun she held, she stayed where she was.

  Trazen continued to frown, but seemed to shrug it off.

  His tail lashed behind him before he disappeared behind another pillar, out of Jet’s view.

  Jet peered through the smoke wafting through the now nearly-empty aisles, and saw at least one Nirreth on the ground. Whoever he was, he was still moving, gasping as he clutched a wound on one thick leg.

  When a flash came from the end of the rectangular pavilion, Jet fired without thought, watching the white flame leave the end of the pulre even as the kickback drove her arm and shoulder back sharply, making her gasp.

  Laksri grabbed her, jerking her back behind the platform.

  Knowing the pulre had to charge up for twenty seconds or so anyway before she could fire it again, Jet didn’t fight him. When she glanced up next, Nirreth security guards crouched over her and Laksri, their tails lashing aggressively.

  Then everything went dark.

  The Nirrith guards smothered them both with a heavy blanket that cut out all light.

  Jet fought to breathe in the dense space, gripping Laksri’s arm as shots continued overhead. Still, she understood what they’d done.

  The “blanket” was more protection––a bizarre, tar-smelling, flexible but hard material that could stop most conventional bullets, even those used by the Nirreth military.

  From what Jet knew, it could stop pretty much anything from a hand-held projectile weapon, even pulre, with the sole exception of the new exploding tips that just popped up on the grid, what the humans called “fireflies.”

  Containing a napalm-like substance in the tips that could apparently melt metal and bone, fireflies were recent imports from one off-world colony or another, but had already been found on some of the local rebel factions, along with a number of black marketeers.

  All of this flashed through Jet’s mind as she crouched under the black blanket.
r />   Still, her frustration rose as adrenaline seethed through her blood.

  She’d rather be in the fight. It wasn’t arrogance or bravado; she wanted to know who was trying to kill her. She could never trust anyone else to keep her safe, especially here.

  Another volley of shots erupted, that time directly overhead.

  Jet gripped the pulre, biting her lip when Laksri held her roughly against him, as if feeling on her that she wanted to get free of the black cloth.

  Jet knew the proximity of the shots meant the Royal Guard found a target and were shooting back. She wanted to raise her head and see who it was, at least if they were human or Nirreth, but Laksri growled against her ear when she struggled against his hold, gripping her tighter in his muscular arms.

  When she tried again to writhe free, he wrapped his tail around her too, and she felt the threat of a sting when he poised the end of it against her belly.

  Letting her muscles relax, she elbowed him sharply, if only to let him know she was angry. He didn’t budge, not even to remove his tail.

  Seconds later, someone grabbed both of them from behind.

  Laksri continued to hold her as Nirreth hands jerked the two of them backwards.

  He gripped her tightly with one arm and his tail as he used his other hand for balance, yanking her unceremoniously to her feet and climbing nimbly up beside her on the platform.

  Still holding her, he fumbled in a pocket with one hand as he walked under the urging of the Guard. When Jet felt his arm next jostle against her back, she realized he clutched a gun, something bigger than a pulre.

  Maybe one of the smaller blasters.

  Maybe what Trazen carried.

  She hadn’t even known he was armed.

  Then again, Laksri wasn’t your average Nirreth, much less your average Eldest Son of the Royals.

  Knowing him, the weapon was his own.

  Jet knew Laksri had been imprisoned when he was younger, and that he’d had his own people turn on him before, including his own family. He’d been forced to fight in the real-life Rings, what they called “Retribution,” which not only involved torture and a fight to the death against ungodly odds, but often the torture of loved ones, as well.

  Unlike the recreational version, no one got out of Retribution alive.

  Well… Laksri lived.

  He only survived because a rebel faction broke him out before the Retribution could be completed. He still lost members of his family who wouldn’t denounce him, two of his closest friends, and his current girlfriend.

  According to Laksri, he’d been lucky.

  It was a good reminder that Nirreth weren’t always as civilized as they pretended, no matter how fancy their clothes, or how many talk shows they hosted.

  Another peppering of gunfire had Jet ducking reflexively in Laksri’s arms, right before someone else grabbed hold of her from the front and shoved her through a narrow doorway. Jet didn’t realize she’d been forced inside a vehicle until it began to move. Even then, the motion was so smooth and soundless that she doubted her senses at first.

  Seconds later, the dark blanket was yanked off her head.

  Jet found herself sitting on the floor of one of those trolleys that looked like sailboats, that followed tracks all along the streets of the Green Zone.

  Well, that explained how quiet it had been.

  “Damn it, Laks,” she snapped at once. “Why didn’t you let me go?”

  Laksri grinned, lying on the floor next to her.

  Coiling his tail around her back, he used that and his hand to grip her waist and shoulder.

  “What are you grinning about?” she said, still breathing hard, fighting to catch her breath now that the suffocating tarp had been removed. “Seriously. Why give me the gun at all, if you’re just going to go all macho guy on me?”

  “Your hair, Jet Tetsuo,” he said, still laughing that Nirreth laugh. “You look funny.”

  “I look funny?” Jet said. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

  He shrugged, letting out an exhale close to a sigh.

  His eyes rolled sideways, meeting the backs of the five security guards crouched around them in a ring, blocking them from all of the windows. Tugging the gold, embroidered cap off his head, Laksri sighed again. His four-fingered hand took hers, caressing her skin with his jointed thumb.

  “We are alive.”

  Jet grunted, rolling her eyes. “Fantastic. That’s the baseline now?”

  He smiled. “They got enough footage to broadcast the coronation. It is all that matters.”

  “And all the people who were there?” Jet said. “What about them?”

  “Most would know to expect this.” He purred softer, still stroking her arm. “There will be complaints about the security measures. That is all.”

  “I didn’t only mean that,” Jet warned.

  “They will be checked by the security team.”

  “I didn’t just mean that, either,” Jet said, feeling her mouth harden. “How many of them were killed Laks? Or is that only a detail, too?”

  “No one forced them to attend.”

  “So why did they?” Jet retorted. “Nirreth machismo?”

  Smiling faintly, as if the idea amused him, Laksri shrugged, pulling at his tunic.

  Following his eyes, Jet saw that the shoulder of the garment was wet, dark with what had to be blood. He winced, tugging the fabric away from the hole in his midnight-blue skin and prodding it with a long finger. It looked like little more than a graze, but Jet felt her teeth clench as she stared at the wound, remembering how he’d pulled her down while she sat there like a wooden duck at one of those old carnival shooting games.

  She was still shaking from adrenaline.

  That was a lot of her yelling at him too, she realized.

  Sliding closer to him on the floor with her arms, she examined the wound, confirming it was mainly superficial. Then she looked and felt over the rest of him. He winced, but didn’t pull away as she examined his long form and limbs, only letting out a short gasp when she found the hole left by another bullet on his other arm.

  Looking at the blood soaking his dark shirt, Jet felt her lips press together harder.

  “Don’t do that next time,” she said.

  He gave her an amused look. “Do what?”

  “Get your own damned head down first,” she said sharply.

  He hissed in mild disapproval, but didn’t bother to argue, other than to brush her fingers off when she tugged at his hurt arm.

  Her frown deepened, even as she muttered again, “Nirreth machismo. Unbelievable.”

  He chuckled that time, wrapping his tail around her tighter.

  “You don’t give me orders,” he reminded her. “Anyway, you might as well get used to this. It will be worse, when I am king.”

  “Really?” she said, meeting his dark gaze. “So this is our life now?” She held her expression still, fighting for the same nonchalance as him. “Periodic bullet wounds? Finding it a cause for celebration that the news crews got enough footage before the shooting started?”

  He studied her face before answering.

  He winced at her hand on his wound, even as he fingered the hair out of her face.

  “This is our life,” he agreed, exhaling in a kind of purr.

  4

  The Giant Woman

  Jet stood in the cavernous amphitheater that comprised the main Rings stadium.

  Standing next to Alice Rajpoor, her human trainer, she folded her arms.

  Jet had been permitted to keep Alice as a trainer despite the older woman’s race, probably because she kept winning. As long as she won, Jet had a fair bit of say in who comprised her prep crew, human or Nirreth.

  Laksri continued to hang out at most of her trainings, too, just like he had before, when he was just a bodyguard and not the First Son of the Royals.

  Given that Jet’s sponsors expected her to be stung regularly as a part of her training, Laksri’s presence wasn’t r
eally an option at this point. Well, not unless he decided to let another Nirreth sting her in his stead, and he’d made it pretty clear he wasn’t in favor of that.

  In fact, Laks made it publicly clear he didn’t want other Nirreth stinging her, male or female. The news met with a fair bit of grumbling, and not a small number of attempted bribes, both of Laksri and of Jet herself.

  That was especially true now, with Jet rising in the ranks of the Rings’ pro-level contestants and gaining a lot of overly-enthusiastic fans.

  Between that and her role with Laksri, they couldn’t let anyone get that close to her anymore, not without a full contingent of bodyguards.

  Anyway, Laksri had an excuse now, at least.

  Before, he’d mainly cited the Queen’s codes to maintain his rights of exclusivity.

  Those still held weight, but hadn’t been enough to keep them from being pressured by other Nirreth.

  Trazen, in particular, had been persistent about voicing his desire to “borrow” Jet for a period of time, but others made the request, too, including Metzet, Voice of the Rings himself. A number of her more avid Rings fans did as well, some of whom were Jet’s most generous sponsors.

  The general belief among male Nirreth seemed to be, even if Jet and Laksri’s sexual relationship remained exclusive, it would be more “polite” if Laksri didn’t monopolize the new darling of the Rings in all respects.

  Al-En Mosq, the previous Ringmaster, even planted the seed that Laksri had something to hide in his refusal to share Jet. Mosq had also been recorded saying, to the media no less, that Jet likely required “more Nirreth companions and guides” to fully appreciate the complexity of Nirreth culture.

  Laksri and Richter both seemed to think he’d likely said it under pressure from Trazen.

  Knowing that didn’t diminish the impact of his words.

  Al-En Mosq also insinuated, more than once, that he, himself, should be the first on that list of candidates, despite the blatant conflict of interest that presented, in terms of his role. Mosq may not be Ringmaster any longer, but he still could be called in to judge at any point, or act as a “neutral” consultant to the Board in the event of a problem.