Marauder_A Science Fiction Alien Mail-Order Bride Romance

by Lisa Lace

  “Great. How much do you know about Omicron?”

  “Not a ton,” I admit. “Is there going to be a test?”

  She laughs, but I just fidget. “Of course not. That said, you are our first bride going to—someone with the prestige level of your husband. Have you been taking the supplements and nutrient tonics every morning?”

  “Yes,” I say nervously. “What even were those? Mindy didn’t say much.”

  “In addition to a fertility-enhancing hormone, we’ve provided fortifications that will help you acclimatize to the intense UV rays, since the solar system containing Omicron has three small suns. And your lungs have been enhanced to breathe a heavier hydrogen-based atmosphere. You will be relieved to know that King Ursen does speak Standard, along with some English.”

  “Great!” I say brightly, but my voice cracks. “I haven’t heard from him. Everyone else got to hear from or at least see their spouses-to-be—some of them got presents—no offense, but what’s the deal? Am I going to be a concubine, or is he keeping this on the down-low for some reason?”

  She pauses and stares at me. A moment passes as our eyes meet, and her pink lips twitch.

  “You were selected by King Ursen himself. You truly are the perfect option. You have no contact with your family, any serious relationships, or a secure job. If I were you, I would be thrilled to find out I’m becoming queen of an exotic planet.”

  I bristle. Okay, so I aged out of the foster care system and ended up on my own, but she doesn’t have to rub in how much my old life sucked. “I just want to know who he is!”

  “And we have to respect the king’s wishes for privacy,” Kate returns crisply. “I realize you weren’t important enough to have experience with difficult diplomatic situations back when you lived on Earth, but you’ll have to grow up.”

  “Growing up doesn’t mean I should marry a total stranger!” I shoot back.

  “If you weren’t up for marrying a stranger, you shouldn’t have submitted that form,” Kate returns in a steely tone.

  I’m getting angry at her bitchy tone, but I know snapping at her won’t help. “I’m sorry. It’s not that. It’s just that I feel weird about how secretive all this is.”

  She shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. “Our agency complies with both individual requests and galactic laws in general. I’m sorry his desire for privacy is inconvenient for you.”

  “And I didn’t even get to choose someone,” I complain.

  She shrugs elegantly. “Once again, part of TerraMates’ contract stipulates that although a selection of candidates may be provided, there are exceptional circumstances in which Mates will be reserved for particular individuals.”

  “But it said that happened in less than one percent of cases,” I say.

  “Welcome to the exception clause,” Kate snaps back, clearly unamused. “Are you saying you wish to void your contract and be sent home?” Her eyes narrow at me. “Even though it could enhance a situation of planetary unrest and put approximately two billion people in danger?”

  “That’s so manipulative,” I grumble back. “And I had no idea there was so much riding on this.”

  “Yes, well, I guess you haven’t done as much research as you think,” Kate snips back.

  “I’ve been here for two weeks,” I argue.

  Kate spreads her hands flat on the table. “Listen, Emily Rodriguez Mason. You are a nobody. But you have the chance to become somebody and to stabilize a planet at war. I’m sorry the king has been so cagey, but in this case,” her nostrils flare, “I, personally, understand his reasons. So either you can trust our agency, which has a 99.65% success rate in ensuring matches go well, or you can go back to our backwater dirtball of a planet, and go back to being a nobody.”

  Her words hum in the air. I would be offended if she wasn’t so right.

  I sigh. “Fine, I guess. I’ll do it.”

  Yes, and. But if this goes wrong, maybe I can hijack a ship and run back to Earth somehow, I think wildly.

  Kate slides her holo clipboard and activates a place for me to sign. I press my fingertip next to the box, then hold it up for my iris scan, and sign my name. I know my DNA has been attached to all of this.

  There’s no going back now—unless, of course, I do something wild and crazy, like try to escape. And if I have to, I am totally willing to do so. Hopefully, it won’t be that extreme, but I’ll do whatever it takes to save my own skin.

  “Finally. Thank you.” Kate blinks slowly, then snaps her fingers. The twins I met on the first day return a moment later through the door. I still haven’t learned their names—or if they’re even people or just some kind of weird clone machine things. “Prepare her for transport, please.”

  They slip me into thick gray leggings and a white tank top; then a tight jacket with a collar that zips up to my neck. It's surprisingly comfortable and sporty. For my feet, they give me lightweight plastic shoes which are very similar to sneakers.

  I wonder if this is the fashion style worn by the women in Omicron. I doubt it. It’s probably just the equivalent of dressing for a long ride on an airplane. Not that I could ever afford a trip on an airplane back when I lived on Earth.

  “Why can’t you just zap me here like you did the first time?” I ask, trying not to whine.

  “That type of travel is only permitted between planets and systems in certain diplomatic arrangements. TerraMates has control of this particular moon, and functions as a corporate extension of an Earth-based company, meaning that this moon is basically part of Earth’s dominion. And anyway, that ‘zap’ took sixteen hours. This journey is going to take a lot longer than that. You’re going to want to be comfortable,” Kate returns snidely.

  We pass through the door and into the hallway. One twin, whom I’m calling “Thing One” since she hasn’t really spoken to me, stands in front, while the other stands behind me. Kate accompanies us, as though she wants to underline how important my situation is by being present herself.

  Maybe she just wants to make sure that I won’t try to escape, damn the contract. I’m pretty strong, with a lot of muscle under my generous curves, so she isn’t crazy to be keeping a close eye on me like this.

  All the other people, men and women, have been excited about their new partners. They’ve gotten to know them before they shipped off. Why do I have to be the one exception?

  Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe?

  We make it all the way down the hall, where there are two large doors. Kate presses her thumb against a small scanner. It lights up green, and then the sound of a lock unlatching vibrates through the door. It slowly slides open, and I am ushered into what appears to be their lobby.

  It is excessively bougie and stylish. Clearly, this agency has money. A glass desk sits in the middle, with a strange glowing sign behind it. It appears to be an abstract shape of the female body—kind of neon-looking, and trashy, if it weren’t designed so well—something you might see hanging on the wall of some cheap, downscale gallery.

  A short woman with straight bangs and wide eyes looks up at us. The smile she gives me is over the top, like when someone knows a secret and they can’t wait to spill it.

  I don’t share her eagerness; instead, I stare her down. My interaction with Kate put me in a real mood. A row of black leather chairs lines the wall across from the desk. This is where the women put me. I sit quickly.

  My breathing becomes fast and rigid, and my heart might explode. Is this it? Am I being sent away, to someone I still haven’t seen a picture of, let alone met?

  My mind begins to calculate the probability of a successful escape, but seeing as the only way out is through those metal doors, my odds are not favorable. The feeling of being confined sinks in. I hate it. The secretary nods at me and leaves the room briskly. My eyes fall to the ground. I think I may throw up from sheer nervousness.

  The noise of the door unlocking fills the room. I'm afraid to look.

  I'll see my future husband at any moment, right? I
f I'm lucky, he’ll be handsome and kind. He is a king, after all. And all the other people had such good-looking partners. They were happy. Things usually go well. Kate’s just nervous because this marriage goes against their operating procedures a bit, right?

  What am I thinking? My palms begin to sweat, and my mouth grows dry. I'm not going to experience the galaxy and travel the stars.

  He’s hiding himself from me because this is even more sinister than Kate let on. Did he steal the throne? Is that why he needs to marry me? She said something about legitimizing his succession.

  I start to hyperventilate. The room is spinning around me. I’m never going to see Earth again. This guy can’t be nice if he’s going to be this sneaky and underhanded.

  I hate him. I will always hate him.

  Nothing prepares me for what walks into the room.

  His head ducks under the door frame; it is at least a foot too short. The daunting being is tall, easily eight feet, with thick arms rippling with muscles. His skin has a bluish-gray tint to it, and small white horns stick out from a bald head. He’s as formidable as a brick wall.

  His bright green eyes sit above a long nose and a crooked mouth. His hands are massive and could easily crush my human bones.

  He folds his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look like some king; no, he looks like a scavenger or hunter. He is wearing a hide jacket that is old and worn, not kingly at all. His chiseled chest is bare and uncovered, only displaying an impressive twelve-pack, and his dark brown pants are almost as dirty as his heavy black boots.

  The two workers are on either side of me and rise, their eyes wide with respect. I see them glance at each other and seeming to do their weird silent communication thing.

  I stand, but my legs feel weak. The giant alien gives me a curt smile as I walk over to him. The expression is somewhat reassuring, but damn.

  Why hadn’t Kate given me a warning about how massive he would be? Would it have been too difficult to say, "Oh, by the way, Emily, your new husband is gigantic."

  And how big is his—I blush at the thought. I’m not a virgin, thank goodness, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to handle, well, a dick the size of a normal man’s arm. Although the thought isn’t totally unwelcome, especially if I have enough lube.

  The secretary shoves several papers in front of him. He squints his green, shiny eyes and reads them quickly. He struggles to keep the small pen in place with his thick fingers as he signs the forms.

  Kate sounds chipper. “Don’t forget the receipt, Mr. Mor.” This must be a happy event—for them. He folds the receipt and slips it into a leather bag slung over his chest.

  Kate places a firm hand on my shoulder. “I have to give you a warning. This one is rather feisty. I hope the king is prepared for her—personality.”

  Mor’s eyes light up for a moment. “What is your name?” His voice is deep, and his accent is strange and harsh. The sound reminds me of thunder.

  I take a deep breath and bury the fear inside of me. I have to stand my ground. I can’t surrender. “My name is Emily Rodriguez Mason.” Fear is singing through me, so sharply that tears are stinging my eyes. Even though my legs are shaking and my heart pounds so loudly that I feel it in my chest, I scowl at him with all the venom and fire my eyes can send his way. “I don’t have to like you.”

  He raises his eyebrows, and a smile creeps onto his thin lips. It turns into deep, bellowing laughter, and his smile is surprisingly kind—even if he has too many teeth. “I don’t have to like you, either. But I’m not the one you have to marry.”

  Orien

  I pop the circular, salty disc into my mouth. I bite down with a hard crunch. It fractures in my mouth, and I chew cautiously.

  It’s delicious. Trust humans to put nearly illegal amounts of salt on a strange fried food, and then sell it—as though they had no idea it was dangerously addictive!

  I flip the bag over and scan the title on the front. I read them slowly. “Potato Chips. What’s a potato?”

  Mor and I have learned a bit of English in our travels. A lot of humans speak it, and it’s gotten popular. Still, I haven’t learned much about Earth’s cuisine and culture. Sometimes, to learn about a new people, you have to dive in tongue-first. A lot of happy women across the galaxy have introduced me to their cultures and customs, so I know what I’m talking about.

  But in the meantime, I’m happy with the taste of these chips. They almost made the six-day trek across space worth it. Jumping from system to system is not easy and can take a toll on the ship. We stole this ship from a Baromenian base several years ago after our first one was melted by a high-intensity laser blast.

  It took us three days to infiltrate the base and nab the ship, but it was worth it. Mor named it the “Blue Star.” I think it’s stupid, but I named the last one “The Night Rider,” and it was his turn.

  The layout of the Blue Star is mostly standard. The front of the ship is the control center, where the pilot and co-pilot manage all aspects of flying and all its weapons. Then you have the core hub, the safe room for the crew to stay during an attack. It's designed to handle extreme conditions and impacts. There are several rooms for sleeping, and then a holding cell at the back of the entrance near the engine room.

  The ship’s attacks have limited strength. But what the Blue Star lacks in in brute strength, it makes up for immensely with speed and precision. The best feature of the Blue Star is under the belly, so to speak—her skipper engine is powerful enough for warp travel. The only ships that handle that are usually big fleet carriers; little ones like ours don’t zip between the folds of space in case they get lost.

  The Solar System is the farthest she’s ever been. Luckily, we had a rather smooth journey, with no unfortunate pursuers. The King saw to that, I suspect.

  Getting back in will be another story.

  My eyes scan the monitor on the screen. It blinks, alerting me that someone is entering the ship.

  Well, that went rather quickly. I assumed picking up a bride would take a lot of form-filling and DNA-scanning, but it’s not like I go wife-shopping on a regular basis.

  Another notification pops up, letting me know the small cell in the back has been locked down.

  That surprises me. I think the only time we’ve ever used it was when I got really drunk and tried to fly the ship straight into Baroma’s capital city, Dovenha. And when Mor tried to stop me, I punched him in the face.

  He locked me up in there for a whole day until he was certain I had sobered up completely.

  Sure, we’d smuggled a few escaping refugee families out of Centauran space before, but we usually left them in the guest rooms. They’d been imprisoned long enough. Smuggling someone for pay, well, felt different. Kind of dirty.

  But it wasn’t like we had a choice. At least this woman had signed up with TerraMates of her own free will. The marriage agencies were sticky about that particular condition, I knew for a fact. I had considered signing up for one myself—until I saw all that red tape. No thank you. I like meeting women the old-fashioned way—by luck and chance, or in a suitably sleazy brothel. I like my ladies prepared for what—and who—is coming to them, not just pampered, bored girls who decide to auction themselves off to some extra-terrestrial husband.

  Mor’s heavy boots stomp down the hall as he makes his way back to the control center. He sits down in his chair, wearily letting out a deep sigh. I offer him the bag of chips.

  He looks inside of them. “What are these?”

  “Chips,” I shake the bag to try and tempt him.

  He takes a long sniff. “No, thanks. They smell bland.”

  “They are really amazing. Reminds me of the freeze-dried qualoma eggs the street vendors sell. But these are way saltier, and not spicy.”

  Mor ignores me, as usual. He starts the engine of the ship. It sputters for a second and then ignites. “What was that?” Mor asks.

  “I told you the flex ignition needed to be changed.”

  “No, you
didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “When?”

  “The other day.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” I don’t mention that it was when we were drunk. I’m surprised I can remember that myself. “But it’s fine. It can wait a few days.”

  “Orien,” his voice drags out in a whine.

  “Mor,” I mock his tone, tilting my head the same way. “How’s the bride?”

  “Miserable.”

  “Oh really?”

  “She’s quite lovely, though,” Mor says under his breath.

  I smile, delighted. “Is that so?”

  “Indeed. She is feisty. I suspect that if she were to be trained in the arts of combat, she would be very worthy. She is also very muscular. I was impressed by the width of her hips and the dimensions of her breasts and thighs.”

  “Ever the soul of romance,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Did you tell her that directly?”

  “Yes. She was not impressed. She punched me in the face and told me not to ‘get fresh.’ I assured her I had no intention of doing so and was merely impressed by her appearance. Then I told her she punched well and asked her which quarters she would like to stay in. She tried to kick me, so I informed her that for her own safety, I would be putting her in the holding cell.”

  “Mor! You can’t talk to women like that!”

  He blinked, somewhat confused. “But I spoke to her the way I would speak to one of my equals. Since she has been sold—”

  “No, no, it’s not like that! TerraMates doesn’t—” I sigh. “They aren’t slaves. You can’t talk to her like a slave, all right?”

  He sighs and puts a large hand on his forehead. “How awkward.”

  “Yeah, no shit. I’ll go smooth things out.” I stand up.

  He furrows his brow at me and follows me, turning around. “Don’t go falling in love with her. We don’t need any more reasons for King Ursen to be annoyed with us. Should I get one for you next Day of Birth Celebration?” Mor chuckles.

  “No! Three suns. All that paperwork? No, thank you.”