by Olivia Myers
Stella blinked and let the book fall to the floor as she stood. “It's about time, I thought you'd sleep forever.”
He shook his head, only to bring on another throbbing pang. “Rhett! Rhett's been sabotaging the robots! Stella—”
She shook her head, lifting a hand to cover his mouth. “Don't worry about it. I know.” She crawled in to sit beside him, crossing her legs and resting her elbows on her knees to get a good look at him. “I'm more worried about you right now. You clocked yourself pretty good.”
He blinked in surprise, but was feeling far from unwelcoming. “I'm fine. Now I am, anyway. Thank you.”
“Mm-hm. Doctor says you should take it easy for a while. I did some light maintenance on your arm and leg. We'll get you some painkillers and get to the heavy work later.” She reached out to feather her fingers through his hair and he tilted his head into the uncharacteristically gentle touch. “You scared me. He could have killed you.”
He could feel his cheeks warm and was suddenly glad the room was dark. That was likely the most affectionate thing she'd ever said to him. The warmth of his blush was nothing compared to the delight enveloping his heart at the moment. Still, he managed to say with his typical flippancy, “I didn't know you cared.”
“You grew on me,” she quipped back.
He couldn't help a smile at that as he shook his head and sank deeper into the pillows. “You grew on me too.” He paused. “What's happening to him?”
She shrugged. “I don't know. Don't care. Whatever the police think he deserves, I suppose. I'm sure he'll get away with plenty, but not fucking over my operation. And he's nothing for you to worry about anymore.”
“For me? He's not going to come loan-sharking?”
“Not if he has any sense of self-preservation.” She rolled her eyes. “You don't owe him anything.”
“Oh. Then...thanks.” He fidgeted, unsure if he could trust the relief welling inside of him. “Do I still have a job?”
Her lips quirked upward. “Yeah. If you want it. And you can stay. If you need to figure out your life.” He looked down at her hand when she reached to squeeze his mechanical knee. “I'd like it, actually.”
Zain felt a burst of happiness at the softening of her expression. “I'd like it too,” he said. “I guess I won't be going anywhere for a while.”
THE END
The Big Bang Alien Love Affair
Larissa stared intently down at the Wytrium's vast open space, at the waitservers going up and down through the air, darting madly with their serving boxes to and from the glittering dance balconies, gambling kiosks and cafes lining the round, sloping walls of her nightclub. The airskayts they wore allowed them to float and dance through the air at all different levels of the towering club. All around, people mingled. Danced. Drank. Laughed. Kissed.
As she watched them, she said to herself, “I’m so tired.”
"What you are, Lady Larissa," a gruff voice said, "is bored."
Larissa looked up, startled, from her prone position on the floor, where her nose had been pressed to the transparent filmglass. She resisted the urge to scramble up like a naughty kid caught swiping candy. Control yourself, Larissa. Nobody can read your mind. They don't have a clue you're scoping out the club for decent men. Even you haven't quite admitted to yourself what you're doing.
"Damn. I didn't see you. Floyd, is that you? What are you doing here?" she demanded. "Employees aren't allowed in the topcourt ballroom. It's undergoing renovation, as you can see."
Negligently, she unstuck her breasts from the floor where they'd been smooshed, plucked her elegant necklace so it lay smoothly on her chest once again, and rose to her feet.
The stocky human, dressed in his silver uniform, snorted, his weathered face wrinkling as his gaze fixed to her cleavage, which rose above the low neckline of her bodysuit. "Airskayt's broke. Twisted my knee when I landed. Went to tell management. Said they'd seen you and your tracker was on. Why you up here?"
She ignored that. "Well, that was nice of them to share my whereabouts with anyone who asked. Guess I'll be having a word with security."
"I ain't anyone—I'm your oldest employee. And your friend, too, right? Who else you got around here to talk to?"
"Just the entire galaxy." She waved her arms. "Look around sometimes, Floyd. You work in the most popular nightclub on Jax-9. I can talk to anyone I like, anytime." If I want to fend off a hundred bizarre sexual proposals from a bunch of strangers, that is. Which I don't. Instead, I want...I want...what?
"Those aliens? They're no company. I'm sick of seein' 'em all the time. They're all rude, slimy—"
"That's enough, Floyd." She tried to ignore the way his gaze still seemed fixed on her chest, particularly the way her neckline rose a mere micron above the aureolas of her nipples. Dirty old man. She felt a bit sorry for him. "How are you? Everything been going smoothly here? Not too many fights breaking out in the gambling rooms? Your health okay?"
"Guess so." He refused to let the subject stay changed. "Don't you tell me you don't care, Lady Larissa. You come from the same kinda background I do. We're both of pure blood, old families, first colonists. Your people's beautiful and rich, mine ain't, but that don't matter. Blood's what matters. Don't it ever get to you? Hardly any humans 'round here no more since the gates fell."
"No, it doesn't matter. I like that my club is the one place on Jax-9 that anyone in the galaxy can come and feel like they won't be harassed. The persecution these people experienced before the reform was bad, Floyd. Real bad."
He persisted. "I never see you with anyone. You're bored and lonely. How long's it been since you went out with a good-lookin' fancy fellow? Look at you, all hard-tittied." He waved at her breasts, and Larissa gasped and actually blushed at his audacity. At thirty-six, she hadn't even known she could blush anymore.
Floyd went on, scowling. "I'd court you myself if you weren't half my age. And who you gonna go with——one of them? You're right to steer clear of this place most times. You go home. Stay away from this club. I know your vippy-vaulty family paid for this place 'cause you wanted it for some reason, I don’t know what. But it's no place for a nice young girl. There's dirty goings on here. You need to find yourself a decent man. Go where it's safe. Use a dating service. That's how I found Julloo, may her spirit ne'er expire."
She crossed her arms over her chest, looked at him sternly, considered firing him on the spot—then burst into laughter. "You're an annoying old man sometimes, Floyd. I don't know why I keep you on. Wait, yes, I do—you serve a mean Freezing Split. Come on, enough about my absentee love life. Let's get a patcher to look at your knee."
As they walked to the perimeter, she glanced down regretfully through the floor at the undeniably wild crowd.
Some of them were human, of course. A few of the waitservers and patrons were as human as she was. Most of them, though, she had to admit, would never have been allowed in her world's airspace a mere decade ago. They'd been universally thought of as freaks on this world—hundreds of different alien races, some humanoid, but most not, and all of them, in their own way, blatantly other.
Larissa sometimes thought she was the only one in the world who was glad the activists had rallied, the gates had fallen, and the aliens had flooded the planet in droves. She'd never shared with anyone that that was the reason she'd opened the nightclub. She'd thought owning a galactic-quality nightclub would guarantee a stimulating circle around her and keep her from the malaise of boredom.
It hadn't, of course. For the first few years, she'd entered into some unwise liaisons with a few of the more civilized humans who patronized the establishment, only to regret it. The fucking was fairly nice, but nothing else was.
Just as had happened her whole life, an impenetrable barrier remained between herself and the nightclub crowds. She was still Lady Larissa Kuttivadapa, one of the elite Kuttivadapas. Nobody—human or alien—quite knew what to make of her spending her time at the seedy, glittering club instead of wh
ere most of society expected her to be—in the judicial and political circles that were her family's heritage.
These days, she stayed away from both circles. That damnable boredom again. Was there no place that was hers?
She left Floyd shaking his head and walked out of the club without doing what she'd intended—finding a man. It was a warm night, so she kicked in her airskayt and flew straight home.
She lived in the penthouse of The Wick, the tallest building in the hemisphere with a peaceful view of the mountains. Her family resided many doyeens away, in the super-conservative, posh area of the city, and her friends, few as they were, were scattered about. But she didn't want to talk to them tonight.
She wanted company. Male company.
It was why she'd gone to the Wytrium. What a useless waste of time that had been. An hour watching the security cameras, an hour spying on her patrons, scoping them out for somebody. Somebody who...she didn't even know what kind of person she wanted. Someone she could connect with in a way that transcended...what?
She sat on her bed and stared at the wall, not seeing the luxury around her. She rarely noticed that sort of thing. Her standard of living was envied by all; she paid no attention to it. It meant security to her, nothing else.
She was thinking of the nightclub and her own idiocy. What was wrong with her, that in this city of millions—including aliens far more exotic than anything she'd imagined existed—she could not find a single man who did not bore her? The patrons of her nightclub made her feel as lukewarm as...as Floyd did.
She smiled, thinking about the old server. He couldn't help being a stubborn bigot; many of the older generations still were, despite the reforms. The really scary people, though, were the Anti-Mixers. They'd organized into a covert brigade that would go to insane and violent lengths to ignore the laws and keep the alien races separate from the humans.
She didn't really understand such people. Larissa had always liked being around people who were different from her.
Even the Gyuostiphs, an aggressive, male-only race with puckered leathery orange hides. Now, they weren't half-bad looking, if you liked knee horns. Which she didn't particularly.
And though they were undeniably repellent, the squat, five-legged Yongers with the parasitic-looking symbionts that lived on their abdomens tipped very generously, according to her waitservers.
Some weird is just too weird.
Come to think of it, Floyd's idea wasn't half bad, she thought. A dating service was old-fashioned, but what did she have to lose? It had been years since she'd looked at what The Gallery had to offer.
The Gallery was an institution. Everyone had an entry there—even if they didn't want it. She knew, because she'd tried to opt out years ago. Even with her family's influence, all she could do was silence her call notifications. At least her own entry was minimal. All it said was her name and her basic data. Nothing personal.
She chewed her lower lip, then undressed, peeling off the bodysuit and even the jewelry with relief, not wanting anything against her skin. Naked, she lay down in bed, clasped her hands together on her stomach, and called up The Gallery on the ceiling with a vocal. If she got bored going through bioplays, she thought, she'd simply go to sleep.
"What three races are you most interested in dating, in order, Lady Kuttivadapas?" prompted the system.
"What?" This was new. Races, huh? "Um. Human. First preference, definitely. Um..." Her mind raced. "How about the BredDG." She recalled that those rather intimidating creatures boasted multiple cyborg limbs, and their processors were capable of who-knows-what. Hard to imagine dating anyone like that, but....
"And the third?"
Oh, for stars' sake. She yawned. "Who cares? Surprise me."
Within ten minutes, she got bored.
Within fifteen, she was asleep.
***
She woke up in a sweat, not sure where she was for a few moments. In her dream, she'd been at the nightclub, but she was the only person moving, and everybody else was frozen and blank-faced.
Strange, disturbing dream.
A deep, husky voice seemed to echo in her ears. Part of the dream? A nice, shivery sound it was...
Very strange dream.
She blinked. The room had dimmed on its timer, telling her it was the middle of the night. But there was a glowing light directly overhead. As her eyes slowly focused on the source of the glow, they widened.
A man was staring down at her. He was like no man she had ever seen. All she could see was his face. It was long and narrow—and green; the same green of the sky in a smoky sunset. The texture of that pale green skin looked faintly rough, but it was hard to tell why she got that impression.
But his odd skin wasn't what held her fixed. That was his eyes. They were larger than they should be, a vivid blue-green where there should be white, and his pupils were vertical slits. Definitely not human.
Her throat tightened, and then her whole body seemed to melt and go rigid at the same time. A flush traveled from her head down to her feet. She could not look away from those eyes. For a few moments, she had absolutely no idea what was happening.
Then she heard a faint click and the face above her disappeared, to be replaced by another face. Another bioplay. This one was smiling and normal. A blond young man. Human. Flat eyebrows. He began to talk. His voice was nasal.
The last remnants of sleep left her.
"Back to the last entry," she said hoarsely. The system didn't register her sleep-thickened words properly. A series of alternate images scrolled past.
"No, no. A minute ago. Wait—no—two minutes. Two minutes back. No, dammit! Not those! Skip the fasties."
It took her far too long to find his entry again. But the moment the bioplay started, she lost all sense of impatience. She froze, staring. Listening to his voice more than his words. Watching him talk, his narrow lips opening to reveal sharp, pointed teeth.
She watched it through three times. By then, she had learned all she could. The man was called Vector Ferhan. He was an armed Cogent, a protector of the city, originally from Resstessa.
Lizard people, she remembered vaguely. Resstessians were supposed to be lizard people. They hailed from the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Very few of them lived on Jax-9. She'd never even met one. Never seen anything like a Resstessian at the nightclub. Never seen one on any public visplay.
This man didn't look like a lizard. He looked like...like...
She shivered. She didn't know what he looked like. She just knew the effect his strange turquoise eyes had on her. It was half-seductive, half-bewitching. And there was a problem.
He'd narrated his bioplay tersely, in a deep rumble and a tone of voice that registered in her brain as deliberate and somewhat grim.
He'd said he wanted to meet a woman. A woman who was strong. Who was independent. Who had an open mind. Who might consider a committed relationship, under the right circumstances.
Check. Check. Check. As for commitment, she appreciated his caution. Check.
And then he'd added, almost as an afterthought, "And you are Resstessian. No negotiations. Only Resstessians."
Check—oh. Uncheck.
Which was her problem.
***
Larissa folded her arms across the chest of her gold-studded bodysuit. She stood alone under a lamp, the light reflecting off her black hair, which she'd had tied into two six-stranded braids, each one wrapped around each arm, winding around her back, and tied together in a formal knot between her shoulder blades. It had been a long time since she'd troubled to visit a salon for one man's benefit. But it was important to her that she look good tonight.
She looked around nervously. The night was lit up by the metallic formal suits of the guests flashing in and out of the bejeweled building on airskayts. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. It was later than her usual dinner hour, and she was a regular at The Aluminum, so she knew exactly which gourmet delicacies she could choose from. Where was he?
She was proud of herself. She'd actually done it. Contacted the man. The Resstessian. The lizard man. Vector. Contacted him from out of the blue, which wasn't easy. Nor had it been easy to convince him to meet her. She suspected there was a good chance he wouldn't even show up.
But she'd done it. Last night, on impulse, she'd sent a visplay, an awkward head-shot because she was naked, with her stammering, "Hello. Happy to meet you. I wondered if you might want to go for a meal. Here's, um, my bio."
He'd responded to her visplay with a vocplay. Even though she couldn't see him as he could see her, she could hear that same ripply, rivery voice that did things to her.
He said one word. "No."
Before she could rethink it, she'd sent a reply without reviewing it. "Look, I know you're only interested in Resstessians. Obviously I'm not one. But I mean, are you finding lots of Resstessian women on Jax-9? Honestly, I've never even met one, male or female, ever, anywhere. You guys must be a bunch of recluses. Why not try me? I know a little place called The Mudpile. It has great sandwiches."
She'd waited. And waited. Finally, she heard back. "Your bio has you as Larissa Kuttivadapas. Of the governing Kuttivadapas. You operate the Wytrium. We'll meet at The Aluminum. Tomorrow. Ten. I'll reserve."
She'd responded, "Okay," with a dazed-sounding voc. And that dazed feeling hadn't gone away. She'd barely slept a wink all night. It was a night of tossing and turning, moving her hands all over her naked body with feverish pressure, seeing those slitted eyes looking down at her. She hardly noticed when her hands went to burrow between her legs, and she found no relief when her hips jerked and the convulsions washed through her. Always those eyes...
"Larissa."
Larissa jumped, brought back to the present. The voice came from behind. She knew that voice. She turned. Gasped. It was rude, but she couldn't help it.
It was him. He was standing a few steps down, but he was still taller than her. Very lean. Long. Too long. She knew it was him. Knew it. And eyes—his eyes—