by Olivia Myers
She blushed. "I don't know where my head is. You told me. It's on your bioplay. Yes, I knew. I guess I thought...or actually, I didn't think." Be honest with yourself. Did you really want to think about how he was bound to leave?
Now she did. And they weren't good thoughts.
She looked at him with her heart in her eyes.
He frowned. "I'll be back."
"In six months."
"Yes."
"And during that time?"
"I'll call when I can. It'll have to be vocplays. But don't expect a lot. Things are complicated."
"What about...women?"
"What about them?"
She wanted to smack him. "When you're gone, will you see other women?"
"Probably. Just as you'll see other men."
Was he crazy? Did he really think anybody else would do? Maybe he had a point, though. Now that her body had been awakened from its too-long hibernation, she didn't know how she'd survive one night, let alone hundreds of them, without male company.
But the thought of seeing anybody but him just made her shudder. "I don't want to," she said honestly. "It's you I want. Only you."
He didn't answer.
Suddenly she had a sinking feeling in her gut. "You're not coming back, are you?"
"To Jax-9? Sure, I'm coming back."
"But not to me. That's why you never...that's why you haven't..."
He was out of bed and baring his teeth. "That's right. Because this whole thing is doomed."
She drew in a sharp breath. "Because I'm not Resstessian."
"Don't get me wrong. You've been fun, Larissa. But I don't have time for fun. So date all the men you want while I'm gone. I recommend you stick with humans—you're not really cut out for mixed relationships, are you? I certainly will take as many women as I want. When I get back, I may look you up—or not. As for those vocplays, don't wait up for them, okay?"
And that was the last she saw of him.
***
"Well, well, well. If my eyes don't lie, it's you, Lady. Where've you been?"
Larissa nodded gravely at Floyd. She wasn't surprised by his astonishment. Her presence at the nightclub had diminished almost to nothing lately. Partly that was due to her chronic glumness since Vector had stormed out of her life so long ago. But part of it was Floyd, himself, and the increasingly tense climate here at the Wytrium.
In the last several months, normal activity all around the city seemed to have frozen to a near-standstill as the region was wrapped up in a frantic kind of tension. Violence, mostly originating with activities of the Anti-Mix Brigade, was breaking out in pockets all over the city. An alien was shot in a courtroom; a school that taught mostly aliens was burned to the ground. The media was blasting reports of anti-alien sentiment all over town, and the import and sale of flajecs was going through the roof.
Here at the nightclub, Floyd had been acting happy for once. He no longer made any effort to hide his contempt for aliens, and it had been all she could do to pacify the staff, who complained of his rudeness to the non-human patrons.
One night, with her consent, a representative from the pro-alien activist group delivered some brochures to display on the Wytrium's ceiling. Floyd erased them all and then posted a pro-AMB poster in its place. A riot broke out at the club, and she had to come in to troubleshoot.
Since then, she'd been coming in every night simply to keep the peace.
If she weren't otherwise so depressed, she knew she'd have gone further than just hiring a few extra security guards by now. Much as she hated to do it, Floyd had to go. So did several other waitservers and one chef. They weren't doing their jobs and they were making the place impossible for her customers. The only reason she was here tonight was to get the unpleasant task of firing Floyd and the others behind her.
"I need to talk to you, Floyd," she said now.
"Anytime," he said, chuckling. "Been interesting around here lately, hasn't it? Looks like all them foreigners are getting their due, huh? Much fewer around here lately, have you noticed?"
"That's because they're wearing flaj," she said, rolling her eyes. "There are still just as many. It's just that it's not safe for aliens anymore, haven't you noticed?" And you're a big part of the reason why. Why do you and the others have to fear people who seem different from you?
That damn Resstessian Vector Ferhan most of all...
"Whatever happened to that good-lookin' young fancy fellow I saw you with a while back? You and he seemed to be so hot for each other. It's time you settled down with a nice man, Miss Larissa."
Her mind went blank. Who was he talking about? She hadn't dated anyone regularly since Vector. And certainly not any human.
What she had done was launch herself on a flurry of dates with the very people Floyd despised—aliens. That first month after Vector left, she'd gone through every alien listed in The Gallery within a five-doyeen radius. She'd kissed so many strange mouths, walked hand-in-tentacle with so many intelligent but ugly creatures, and dined with so many gut-turning exotic appetites that she could no longer call herself an alien virgin, even though she'd never managed to go so far as to have sex with any of them.
It had been pure rebellion on her part. Whatever she'd been trying to prove, though, she failed. She hadn't enjoyed any of the dates. And not just because they were weird.
Some were very nice. Even attractive. Not really very strange at all.
But they weren't Vector. Vector, who'd no doubt take her failure to make love with an alien as proof of his point, that she wasn't cut out for a mixed relationship. If he even knew about it, which of course he didn't, because he hadn't once contacted her the whole time he was gone. The bastard.
Bitterness does not become you, she told herself sadly.
And then the lights went out and the music around them died.
In the sudden crashing silence and darkness, Larissa's heart stopped. Oh, no. She had a feeling—
Pressure explosions rang out. People screamed. Crashes were heard, and soft thumps followed. She knew that sound. That was the sound of people on airskayts colliding and falling. The emergency softpad popped from below, but she didn't know if it was in time to catch the fallen safely. All the power was out, even the backup. No lights visible except the tiny dim organic ones on the ceiling and the railing lining every room of the Wytrium, making it look like the sky at night.
Even as she called security and the authorities, she knew it was futile. She could hear the panic around her, the shouts, the curses, the cries.
"It's the AMB!"
"Someone call the Cogents!"
Once again, Larissa tried doing exactly that; if they could get here, she was confident they could stop this. As expected, the call didn't get through. She wouldn't be surprised if the whole city was lit up with this tonight.
She tried to calm people down, but that was impossible without lights and with the explosions still happening. Where was security? This was madness. Too close for comfort, another pressure explosion shook her and slammed her against a door.
From too far away came a voice... "They're shutting you down, Miss Larissa."
That voice should have been next to her, but it came from over by the rail. "Floyd? Is that you?" she called.
"Had to tell 'em," came his soft croak. She struggled upright and moved quickly towards the voice, wincing when her leg finally bumped something soft. A body.
"Who? Tell me who, Floyd!"
"The Anti-Mix. Brigade. Not right, all these aliens usin' our services, eatin' our food, mixin' with humans, specially their youngsters....had to give 'em codes...rooms...had to help 'em. Didn't want to hurt you. You shouldn't have opened this nightclub. The gates should never have fallen. Don't know what this world is coming to...."
His voice died. Larissa did not want to think about what that meant. Her throat tightening, she calculated the chances that he hadn't been fatally hurt by that blast and didn't like her sums. Pressure blasts were more of a disruption t
han a weapon, but to the old and frail they were deadly.
The lights went on then, and Larissa flinched. The light was dazzling. As her eyes adjusted, she caught sight of faces she knew, and bodies—most of them moving, thank the stars. At her feet, Floyd wasn't moving, just as she'd feared.
But the far more disturbing sight was the huge number of black-suited, hooded figures running about, their weapons at the ready.
The AMB. So many of them. And then there was no time to think. Something hit her on the hip and grabbed her, and she was yanked off her feet. She felt herself upturned, her arms flailing. It was terrifying. She craned her neck and saw a black hood. The arm around her waist was garbed in black.
"No!" she yelled and tried to twist down far enough to grab the figure's foot. If she could just get...yes! She got it! But her hand slipped away as her captor shifted her to a different angle.
The high-pitched zip of his artillery whizzed by her ear. The heat from his weapon was terrible. It seemed to burn through her clothes. She yanked her arms and legs and every part of her that she could move, determined not to make it easy for this bastard.
She'd almost lost hope of being released when she felt herself flying through the air. For a moment she thought the power had resumed and they were moving on airskayts—but no. She fell, fell...
...and landed with a thump on the softpad. Even after she landed it felt like she was continuing to fall as it did its job of absorbing the impact. She'd forgotten about the bounce; as it came, the grabby fabric hooked to the tiny loops in her bodysuit to keep her from shooting right back up. It tore a gaping hole in the side of her suit, but that was the least of her worries.
She looked around wildly. There was no sign of the figure that had grabbed her down here, so she knew it was still on the ledges. There was still nobody airskayting, so no air power; the lights had to be backup. Who had turned it on? The AMB? Black-suited figures ran at the rails all around. But something made a leap of hope jump in her heart. A flash of red. Another flash. Red flashes all around.
The Cogents.
Cautiously she got to her feet. The others that had fallen around her were less ambitious. They were groaning and yelling. Someone pulled her down, and she was thankful, because it probably wasn't a good idea to stick her neck out right now.
The Cogents were here. And now it wasn't a raid—it was a battle.
While the fighting went on, Larissa started herding everyone who'd fallen onto the softpad over to the sides. She wanted them as far under the ledge floors as possible, to get them out of the way of the action. It wasn't easy. Many were injured and their clothes were hooked to the softpad. Some of the more able-bodied helped lift the less-able-bodied ones and carry them along. She saw aliens helping humans, humans helping aliens.
She peered up at the rails where she'd been standing and saw Floyd's body. Someone was picking up the body, and Larissa knew she'd been right. The old man had been killed in the explosion caused by his own heroes. She shook her head.
With the Cogents invading, it took only a short time, shockingly short actually, for the masked black-suited raiders to be taken down.
Soon she saw the reason for the efficiency of the operation. One of their numbers had turned on the others. While the AMBs tried to elude the red figures, the one black-garbed figure kept slipping behind the others and stunning them with pressure darts. She didn't know what made her think it, maybe the size of the figure, but she'd bet anything it was the raider who'd grabbed her and dropped her.
Without moving, she watched him patrol for a while, somehow absolutely certain it was a "him."
And then, in a wave of dizziness, she knew him.
Almost the moment the last raider fell, the power was restored. The Wytrium's airspace quickly filled with people—mostly red-suited holding black-suited, carrying them away.
She only saw one. The figure in black leaned over the rail and looked down at the softpad, scanning, seeking...stopping when it found her.
Her heart felt like it was waiting to beat. The tall hooded man went motionless. Then he moved almost faster than she could follow with her eyes, taking off, zooming down and landing within arm's reach of her. She backed up instinctively. She was almost sure who it was, but just in case....
He ripped off his hood.
She said stoically, "Still pretending to be human, I see."
He was breathing hard, staring at her hard, looking her up and down. "You knew me?"
"I don't know how, but yes. Hello, Vector. What the hell are you doing here?"
"We can't talk here. Come with me."
"Why can't we talk here? Have you been paying attention? The world's just gone blackhole on us. Are you an Anti-Mixer? Are you a spy?" She yelled out the questions as he dragged her away from the pad and flew with her in his arms. Soon they were shut up in one of the empty gambling rooms. She backed away, even as he approached.
"We couldn't talk there," he said deliberately, "because you're half naked."
"What? I—" She glanced down. Oh. Her left breast, along with her naked hip and thigh, were gaping blatantly out of the hole ripped by the softpad. "That's your fault," she accused. "You threw me down and—"
"Threw you? I got you out of the way, dammit. You—" he stopped and drew a deep breath. "Could you please close that?"
"Close what? This?" Vengefully, she ripped the hole in her bodysuit even wider, until both her breasts were free and her nipples stood out proudly, practically as angry at him as she was.
He actually took a step back and very deliberately kept his gaze above her neck. "Listen. I'm sorry I couldn't warn you about any of this. I've been working on this sting a long time. We knew your nightclub was a target. It's one of several hit tonight all over this part of the galaxy."
"Galaxy? The AMB isn't just on Jax-9? I thought it was our problem."
He shook his head. "It's the AMB here. Something else somewhere else. There's a bigger organization pulling the strings, manipulating locals to do their dirty work. Look, I can't say much about it. I just wanted to say I'm sorry. You had nothing to do with this. I almost warned you. But that old man—what's his name—"
"Floyd?"
"He betrayed you, Larissa," he said soberly. "We needed to see which side he was really playing."
"You could have told me. You have to know I'd have helped you with your mission."
He frowned. "You? How would I know that? You're friendly with the man."
She thought he knew a hell of a lot for somebody who didn't patronize her club. "Correction: I was friendly, because he needed an ear and I needed a waitserver. He's dead, you know," she said quietly. "It was one of the AMD pressure explosives."
"I'm sorry."
She shrugged. "He brought it on himself." She walked over to the wall and looking out the viewport. The Wytrium was clearing out. Only Cogents were left. Probably friends of his. She wondered if he'd told them all about her—if she had been part of his mission somehow. She found she didn't want to know. She turned and faced Vector.
They didn't say anything for a while, just stared at each other. Larissa wondered if he'd just leave now. He hadn't come back for her, after all. His mission was the all-important thing. When he just stood there, his eyes never wavering, the look intensifying, she felt the warning flutter in her heart.
"Oh, no," she said, backing up. "Don't you dare turn those Resstessian eyes on me. You never called once. How many women did you take?"
"A few." He swallowed visibly. "Not many." He closed his eyes. "All right. None. I dated a few times. They weren't...."
"What?"
"Weren't nearly hounding and annoying enough." He scowled and his eyelids lifted and pinned her. "I hear you've been busy."
"Oh, yes?"
His voice was lashing now. "How many aliens have you fucked, Larissa? What's your favorite species? Any of them do you in the ass?"
Was she imagining the note of anguish underneath the taunt? She was tempted to reply in kind
with "All of them," but couldn't bring herself to do that. A seed of hope grew. Could he be jealous? It had never occurred to her. But if so....
He growled, "Never mind. I don't want to know. Bye."
This man. She stomped her foot. "Vector! Don't you dare leave now!"
"Larissa, I'm warning you one more time. Cover those tits up, or I'm going to tie your hair around them and then around your wrists and then around those chair balusters and—"
"Do it, then," she whispered. "And get rid of that flaj while you're at it."
"Really? You want to see me without the flaj? You want it? All right, Larissa. Hold tight. Here you go." He began to walk toward her. His clothing fell from his body, starting with the black bodysuit and boots. By the time he'd reached her, his hand was at his throat. In a flash, he'd ripped off his artificial skin. By then, he was microns away, too close for her to get more than an impression of a blur of pale green. He grabbed for her.
The touch of his hand wasn't rough and moist, as she'd half expected. It was smooth and dry. She stepped back from it. He yanked her forward. She squirmed and pried herself away, then was forced back again, so close to his body she could feel the heat of him like fire.
"Stop fighting me," he bit out. "I could hurt you if you fight, you know that."
"I'm not trying to fight. I'm trying to get a good look at you," she retorted. "Stop pulling me so close, so I can see you." Abruptly his rigid hold eased. She leaned back as far as she could. It was enough. It was Vector. The real one.
Transfixed did not begin to cover it. Hypnotized. Novas in space, those eyes. Liquid blue, slitted, and far more human in shape than the low-res bioplay had shown.
To her relief, those Resstessian eyes revealed his mood as well as any human's could. They said he was wary and furious.
An ache clenched deep in her sex.
She reached up and touched his face.
Green was not the word. His scales were more like soft shell than anything else, half-transparent, so very tiny and each one a different color, together giving the effect of iridescent, shimmering green. They felt almost smooth on his angular cheekbone. She trailed the back of her hand down his neck and found the scales on his chest were larger, rougher. They almost had a velvety feel.