Marauder_A Science Fiction Alien Mail-Order Bride Romance

by Lisa Lace

  I grit my teeth. Emily’s eyes are closed. She is angry, huffing and rolling over several times; then she grunts, kicking at the earth.

  She reminds me of a child, stubborn and immature. If only she could understand what I’m trying to tell her. She wouldn’t survive a day on her own in the Centaurus System.

  I take a deep breath and hit the back of my head against a tree several times in an attempt to clear it. I lay awake, with thoughts racing around in my head until Mor wakes up to switch watch with me.

  Even when I close my eyes, I still don’t sleep. Thoughts of Emily override all my physical needs.

  Emily

  This morning, a heavy mist hangs like a thick scarf in the air of the jungle. It wraps through the air, dampening our clothes and hair. A flock of feathered, winged creatures flies past us, screeching in a frenzy. They fill the sky with brilliant colors of pink and orange.

  I stop and watch as they disappear deeper into the shadows of the trees. Part of me wonders if we should be following them. Where are they flying in such a hurry?

  “Look!” Orien shrieks with laughter.

  “What?” Mor grunts.

  “Tracks! Real prints from civilized beings.”

  We all rush over to where he’s standing, and sure enough, there in the mud, footprints are dented into the soft earth. Two small sets of prints next to one another, twisting and continuing down into the path.

  “These are fresh ones, too!” Orien places a finger in the mud and smells it triumphantly. “Looks like I was right all along.”

  “You got lucky.”

  Several days of trekking through the jungle, and we’ve now finally got some good news.

  Orien slaps Mor on the shoulder. His whole demeanor has completely transformed. He and I both woke up angry, not saying one word to each other.

  But I don’t feel happiness from finding the tracks. Instead, a feeling of dread wells inside of my stomach. The footprints mean we’re closer to my new husband.

  Orien keeps his eyes off mine when I look at him. He’s avoiding me. I hate it.

  Mor starts to walk forward down a path that has already been cleared through the brush. “It splits here.”

  “Huh?” Orien runs forward. There’s a clear divide in the prints. One continues straight forward, and the other veers off left. “We just keep going in this direction.”

  “No, look—the tracks here are clearly far more worn down.”

  Orien sucks on the inside of his cheek. He scratches his chin, then glances back at me. He switches to whispering.

  I roll my eyes. Now he’s just being childish. There is no reason why I can’t be a part of the discussion, but I’m done trying to fight him.

  I sit down on a thick log, heavy with green moss. I fan myself with my hand. The humidity here is unbearable. I watch them.

  Mor is growing rather heated. Veins bulge from his neck, and his voice is boisterous, barely contained, but his body remains still and tense. No wonder he has no one else. He looks extraordinarily frightening.

  Orien mentioned King Ursen was like Mor. I mean, they’re both from Omicron; are they all the same, then? Mor wouldn’t be an awful husband, but he’s just such a massive being.

  My focus shifts to Orien, who’s being incredulous. He’s smiling and shaking his head. The morning honey glow of the sunlight bathes him, and he looks like a work of art. His back flexes, and I can see the lines of all his muscles taut underneath his shirt.

  The image of his back flexing while he ate me out flashes before my eyes. My pussy clenches. This would be so much easier if he didn’t look like a golden angel.

  He glances over at me. Can he sense I’m thinking about him like this? No, I doubt it—but the devious smile he gives me says otherwise.

  But then Mor stops. He grows silent, and his eyes widen. I see something, a glimpse of movement behind the line of trees.

  “What?” Orien asks.

  Mor presses his finger to his lips.

  My heart skips at the sight.

  A creature five times the size of Mor has emerged from the thick foliage. At first, it looks like a massive bird, but with a long snout that turns into a beak. Thick black goo drips from its snapping jowls. Its neck is covered in brilliant green feathers. I notice that the rest of it its body and wings are covered in lizard-like muddy scales. Its two massive feet are black and curved, stomping into the ground.

  An ear-piercing screech tears from its throat. I clasp my hands over my ears, and the leaves around us shake wildly. Birds and small creatures scurry away in fear. I wish we could do the same.

  “Oh, that,” Orien whispers.

  Instantly, he leaps in front of me; he reaches behind and shoves me down, and I land behind the log with a thud, falling on my back. His eyes catch mine for a split second. His knife is already drawn and pulled over his chest.

  The monster comes rushing toward us. Its beak stretches open to reveal hazardous teeth.

  “Fucking three suns!” Orien bellows.

  The creature’s teeth slam onto the knife, inches from Orien’s arm. It turns its head and yanks the knife from his grasp, throwing it far into the forest.

  “My knife! Oh, you’re going to pay for that.” Orien leaps up and kicks the creature in its neck.

  I am amazed by his speed and skill. His movement is nothing more than a golden flash. It screeches, staggering from the hit, but lifts its deadly claw to strike.

  “Orien!” Mor screams. Its wings flap wildly, and its hard beak snaps. A blast of Mor’s gun ricochets through the air, piercing right through its wing. It squeals and flaps back, spraying the trees with its black blood.

  If the creature wasn’t mad before, it is now. It charges Mor, taking several bullets in its chest before Mor has no choice but to dodge the attack. Several trees topple over as the huge body smashes into it. Pieces of wood and debris fly through the air.

  Orien uses this time to strike again with fluid and precise action. He’s quick, forcing me to take a moment and focus on him. In a blur of speed, he slides underneath the giant belly of the creature, and his knife slashes through its tendons.

  More of that dark blood sprays everywhere. Sounds of pure agony escape the beast’s throat.

  It spins wildly, slamming its long tail against Orien. The impact throws him through the air, and his back slams against a tree.

  I watch in horror as it rips through his leg with a talon. Orien screams, clutching the gash in his leg.

  The creature opens its beak. The black liquid drips out.

  It's going to eat him! Adrenaline overcomes my fear, and before I can think, I’m up and running.

  “No!” I bellow.

  Its slimy orange eyes pin on me. In an instant, it lunges forward.

  Time itself seems to slow down as I stand seconds before my death. I hear Orien yell my name. I close my eyes tightly. This is it.

  But another blast of Mor’s gun lands through its skull. It stumbles to the side, squealing and thrashing. Then in one last attack, its large beak snaps right around Mor’s leg.

  An unholy sound of pain comes out of Mor. He lurches forward and collapses. His whole body shakes violently. The thick black goo covers his leg and saturates his flesh. He grows still next to the dead beast.

  “Mor! No!” Orien shouts. He grunts as he stands. Blood trickles down his leg, but it's already starting to heal.

  “Is he okay?” I ask, running over to him.

  “Shut up!”

  Orien clutches, and he closes his eyes. His golden tattoos glow brighter and burn like fire. He’s going to heal him.

  The minutes transform into hours. Sweat crawls down Orien’s skin. He scowls and holds his position, then he finally pulls away. The color of his skin is faded, and his tattoos are barely visible.

  “Damn it!” Orien screams. “It poisoned him! I can’t heal that!”

  I don’t know what to say or do. I feel so useless.

  Orien reaches under Mor, and he scoops him up, th
rowing him over his shoulder with a grunt. He’s strong enough to carry him?

  Mor’s body hangs limply over his back. His face is pale, and for the first time, he looks weak and fragile.

  “You good to walk?” Orien asks.

  “Yeah.”

  Can you? I wonder. His leg is still torn up, and he looks exhausted after trying to heal Mor.

  “Then let's start going and hope we find someone soon.”

  We walk in silence, following the path Orien chose. His breathing has grown ragged. Every now and then, Orien stops and tries to heal Mor, but I can see it’s wearing him down greatly. His body begins to shake, and his muscles strain to carry the huge alien.

  Mor looks dead, hanging from Orien lifelessly, except for the shallow breaths letting us know he is still fighting. I don’t know what Orien’s plan is, or how we’ll be able to save Mor; I just hope we find help soon.

  The day turns to night quickly. Time isn’t on our side. The expanse of the jungle seems to be never-ending, and we walk for hours without any stops. My feet have grown swollen and sore, and my legs burn.

  Then I see it. It takes me a second to believe my eyes.

  The jungle comes to a sudden stop, and the line of trees ends. We have found a city.

  Orien

  I can’t stop now. Every inch of me is screaming to sit down, but I can’t. I’ve used all my energy and power on keeping Mor alive, and my power is limited. Even if I’ve slowed the process greatly, the poison from that monster is still making its way to his heart.

  My walk has turned into a run, and Emily is doing everything she can to keep up. We rush forward, down the hill, into the clearing. The sight of the city and its lights gives me some energy.

  “Hang on. We’re going to get you help,” I whisper to Mor. The soft, muddy ground slowly transform into hardened stone, and we find ourselves on a wide road, leading straight into a cluster of short, stout buildings made of a thick, sturdy material.

  The air around the city smells of cooked meat and burning wood. Smoke rises from several structures, and the flicker of lights in the tall, open windows is comforting. Here, this small city stands, defying the treacherous nature around it. I just hope they have a cure for this poison. We’re so close to that monster, I am sure we can’t have been the only ones who’ve run into it.

  Several people mill about on the streets, meandering. All stop and freeze when we pass by, staring with wide eyes.

  Do they recognize me? My paranoia starts to creep in. Baromenians are not favored in the Centaurus Galaxy, but if they recognize me as the prince, we could have some problems. My father could be alerted to my location, and we’d just be sitting ducks.

  “Why are they looking at us like that?” Emily asks, increasing her pace to keep up with mine.

  “They must not get a lot of visitors,” I mutter, looking around. “We need to find a doctor.”

  I haven’t ever seen these people before. They are small, no taller than five feet, and yellow, with white eyes and hair. Their noses are squashed flat, and their lips are extremely thin. I hope they speak Standard.

  I approach one who’s brave enough to hold eye contact with me. “We need help for our friend,” I say slowly, pointing to Mor. “He was poisoned by the bird monster in the jungle.”

  The man’s mouth opens, and he points a finger at me. His whole body begins to tremble. “Baromenian,” he croaks.

  Great. I roll my eyes. “Yes. We aren’t going to hurt you.”

  The man backs away into a run and disappears into the fearful crowd.

  Well, that went great. I sigh and whip around. “We need help!” I shout. “My friend has been poisoned.”

  My pleas are met with nothing more than silent stares and looks of fear. My father’s rule has known no limits. How much have these people suffered, and why?

  “Please. I will give you money!”

  “There is no need for that.” One of them breaks through the line. He is old, with only wisps of white hair and a bent back. He hobbles forward holding a curved wooden cane. His ancient eyes examine us carefully, and he twirls his long beard around a finger. My impatience is growing. The old man coughs, then taps the top of his cane.

  “An Omicronian, a Baromenian, and—what are you?” He stares at Emily with confusion.

  I become immediately defensive. “She’s with me.”

  “You are no ordinary Baromenian, either. You bear the markings of the Emperor himself.” His eyes squint, “Pri—”

  But he doesn’t finish. His words have already spiked a mass frenzy among the citizens. Their voices grow loud, in a panic. The old one slams his staff against the road. I clench my jaw.

  “Look,” I cut him off quickly. “Let’s work out the details later. My friend needs help now!”

  “What happened?”

  “We were attacked by a large winged bird thing?”

  “Ah, yes. He has the black poison in him. There is not much time. We will help you.” His eyes study mine. Does he want something?

  It doesn’t matter now.

  I glance over at Emily. I hate how fearful and confused she looks. “Thank you,” I say.

  The old man nods and begins to walk, wobbling through the mass of people. They part quickly, avoiding me, clearly frightened by my presence.

  “We haven’t had a Baromenian, let alone one of such prestige, visit since the Great War, when our land was enslaved and stripped of its resources by the emperor.”

  “I promise, I have no authority or power, or any sort of prestige.”

  The old clicks his tongue. “Then you are in denial.”

  “Sure, Grandpa.”

  We are led down the street, to one of the grey buildings. A strange sign has been carved into the wooden door. I assume it is the symbol for a doctor or healer. We wait for a second, and then it swings open.

  A fat woman whose hair is piled on top of her head in a large mess, with hundreds of wrinkles carved into her face, appears on the other side. She looks rather upset by the late disturbance, but then her eyes fall on me.

  I sense the extreme fear in her heart. She shakes her head and tries to shut the door, but the old man presses his hand against it and forces it to remain open. She stumbles backward and begins to curse under her breath.

  The old man speaks to her in strange clicking sounds. She looks nervously between him and me.

  I try to give her a reassuring smile, but it’s not going to work. Who knows what terror she has felt at the hand of my father who I, unfortunately, resemble exactly?

  She eventually nods, motioning to an old wooden table inside the small room. I gently place Mor down. He lets out a groan, and his head rolls to the side.

  “Looma will see to your friend,” the old man begins. “She is our healer.”

  “Thank you.”

  The room is stocked with shelves holding various jars and containers filled with strange liquids and substances, all different colors and consistencies. Several candles line the walls and give off a dim, flickering light.

  The woman looks at Emily and motions for us to leave the room. She points to a door down a narrow hallway. Her aged hand trembles with the motion.

  “This is where you will be staying the night,” the old man says. He comes with us to the tiny room. The bed is no larger than a child’s, but there's a wide window that lets in a cool breeze, and a chair in a corner. A simple room, I guess, meant to be used by patients during their stay.

  Emily walks in and sits on the bed. She’s been so quiet.

  I watch for a moment. “Will you be okay in here?” I ask her.

  She nods. “It's better than sleeping outside.”

  I begin to follow the old man back down the hall. I want to be there for Mor and make sure this woman knows what she’s doing.

  But the old man spins around and jabs his staff into my chest. “No, Baromenian, stay here. Looma must not be disturbed while she heals your friend. The infection is bad.”

  My fist clen
ches tightly. I want to protest, but instead, I sigh and lean against the wall. I can’t risk getting in the way. This Looma is already scared shitless by my presence.

  I scratch my chin. “Do you have a ship we can buy?”

  He narrows his eyes. “We may.”

  “Look—I need it. I’ll pay you.”

  “I can work something out, perhaps. But if we help you, you must help us.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “We need money and trade to return to our planet’s shores.”

  “I will see what I can do.”

  It’s a lie. He’s helping us because he thinks I’m still the prince. He smiles and bows.

  I shake my head and look up.

  Looma stands over Mor. She sees me, then slams the door shut.

  I close my eyes; all I can do is hope for the best. I return to the small room, where Emily is lying on the bed. She looks young and vulnerable, like a child. I don’t know what to say or do.

  Is she still mad at me? She lifts her head and watches me.

  I sigh and slide to the floor. “This is all my fucking fault!” I murmur. I hit my head against the wall several times. I should be the one taking care of Mor, but here I am, sitting on my ass. I take a deep breath and examine my leg. The wound is starting to heal.

  “You got him to safety,” Emily whispers.

  “I brought both of you here to this shit place.” I look out the window, avoiding Emily’s hovering gaze. I don’t like her seeing me like this—weak. “I should have left when I had the chance. None of this would have happened. Mor wouldn’t have gotten hurt, and I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

  I bite my tongue. I can’t believe I said that out loud to Emily. I shake my head and start to laugh. Love? Is that really what came out of my mouth?

  “I honestly don’t know why I just said that. No—that’s a lie. I do know why. Because it's true. I love you, Emily.”

  It feels good to say. She might as well know.

  I look at her, and all I can see in the darkness is the outline of her face. I am relieved we can’t see one another.