Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

by Christie Golden

  “Hey!’’ Valerian protested. “I’m only working with my partner here!”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep. We’re a team.”

  Gibson glanced at Laureline, raising an eyebrow. She shrugged. “Funny. Because Sergeant Laureline will arrive at the drop in precisely twenty minutes, and you will have ten seconds to make the transfer.” An unpleasant smile quirked his lips. “Or didn’t you read the memo?”

  “Of course I did,” Valerian lied, with just the right combination of annoyance and weariness.

  “You better have.” Gibson’s tone of voice and skeptical, slightly worried expression gave Valerian the distinct impression that the major wasn’t fooled.

  The two agents were bumped and jostled as the vehicle made its way across the desert to their destination, moving over the endless sand and passing through shade provided by the enormous rock formations. Laureline pulled out a tablet and quipped wryly, “Hey, how about we look over the memo? You know—one last time?”

  Valerian, feeling his face getting hot, shrugged nonchalantly. “Can’t hurt,” he said casually, stretching and slouching in the uncomfortable bus seat.

  Laureline pulled up a map on the tablet, pointing to it with the tip of one long, elegant finger.

  “Section four. Aisle 122,” she stated. “Suspect claims to be a bona fide art dealer. His name is Igon Siruss.”

  She called up the suspect’s image. Valerian, like most humans, had gotten used to aliens of nearly every shape and size imaginable. Even so, he had a sneaking suspicion that in this case the suspect had a face even his mother would be hard-pressed to love.

  Bald, with reddish, slightly shiny skin, Igon Siruss was jowly and sullen-looking, with eyes so tiny they were all but swallowed by rolls of extra flesh. But that was not what had caught Valerian’s attention.

  “Wow!” he yelped. “What’s with the three sets of nostrils?”

  “He’s a Kodhar’Khan,” Laureline explained. “There are three seasons on his planet. The dry season brings suffocating sandstorms. The rainy season results in clouds of noxious sulfur dioxide fumes. And then there’s winter, when you can breathe pretty much normally. Each nostril set has developed separate air filtration capabilities and can be sealed off voluntarily, just like we can close our eyes.”

  Not for the first time, Valerian looked at his partner with open admiration of her beautiful brain. “How do you know all this?”

  “I paid attention in school,” she said archly, then grew serious. “When you head in there, you should take extra precautions. Igon’s right-hand man is his son, goes by the name of Junior. He has a list of crimes almost as long as his father’s.”

  “How bad can someone named ‘Junior’ be?” scoffed Valerian confidently. “Bet he got picked on at Kodhar’Khan school.”

  Laureline’s lips thinned. “In addition to Junior, Igon’s said to have quite a lot of private bodyguards, and Kodhar’Khans are reputed to be very aggressive due to a lack of females on their planet.” Private bodyguards were often encountered on Kirian. The native population known as Siirts allegedly provided security, but they often did not measure up to others’ standards.

  “Really?” Valerian grinned. “Aggressive because there’s competition for females, or aggressive because they don’t have to deal with them?”

  “You know,” Laureline said in a conversational tone, “another thing I learned in school is that planets where women are in charge are usually eighty-seven percent more likely to be peaceful, prosperous worlds where art and education flourish, and the males think before saying really stupid things.”

  Laureline patted his thigh, then, to his disappointment, rose to settle into another seat by herself. Valerian shrugged and made the best of it by stretching out more fully in his seat, fishing out a pair of sunglasses he settled over his eyes, and grabbing a catnap.

  He hoped he wouldn’t dream.

  * * *

  Valerian blinked awake as the bus arrived outside a long, high wall of red stone that marked the parameter of Big Market. As it chugged along, Valerian could see a gargantuan ornate gate soaring into the air, covered with what looked like gold. This gate marked the main entrance to Big Market.

  Valerian sat up, yawning and stretching, and watched as they pulled up beside hundreds of other tourist buses. The vast majority were similar to the decrepit workhorse of a vehicle that had ferried the two spatio-temporal agents through what looked like an empty spot in the desert. A few buses, though, were of radically different design, meant to accommodate aliens of equally radical design.

  Valerian had never been to Big Market, but had heard about it, of course. Few sentient beings in the known universe hadn’t.

  Nearly every civilized world had its tourist clusters, and where there were tourists, there was money to be made. And there were few better ways to make money from tourists than by providing shopping opportunities. Judging from his experience, Valerian had formed a theory that the desire to shop was the driving force in the universe. Even more important than another certain driving force that most species in the galaxy shared. Not everyone procreated in pleasurable ways, but everyone did seem to enjoy returning home after traveling laden with souvenirs that were often outrageously priced and wholly unnecessary.

  “So,’’ Valerian said to his partner as they hopped off the bus, “think you can survive twenty minutes without me?”

  Laureline rolled her eyes. “Could anyone?” she replied, melodramatically. Then she sobered and touched his arm gently. “Go. Be careful. I wasn’t kidding when I said this species was aggressive.”

  Valerian nodded and walked away toward the gathering crowd of tourists. He slowed and came to a stop, considering something very intently. The decision made, he whirled and briskly trotted back to a perplexed Laureline.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I must be getting old.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I agree, but what makes you admit it now?”

  He squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye. “I completely forgot that I have a question for you.”

  She eyed him. “Okay,” she said, curious.

  “Will you marry me?”

  The expression on Laureline’s beautiful face shifted, darkening with a thunderous frown.

  “Not funny!” she snapped, turning, but Valerian grabbed her arm.

  “Laureline, I’m serious,” he said. “I was thinking about what you said earlier and—” he swallowed hard. “You’re right. I need to move onward and upward.” Then the words: “I need to commit.”

  Laureline blinked in confusion, caught utterly off guard. She looked around, at the overheated crowds, red dust clinging to them, at the guards who were too far away to hear the words but were definitely watching with curiosity. At the rickety old bus and the soldiers in and around it.

  “Here?” she said. “Just like that?”

  “Why not?” He grinned suddenly. “They sell a zillion things here. I’m sure we can pick up a priest who’ll be happy to oblige.”

  His grin faded at her expression.

  “Marriage is no laughing matter, okay?” she stated flatly. Coldly. “Not for me, at least.”

  Oh, shit. She assumed he was kidding. His throat constricted with the sudden awful thought: I just blew this.

  “I’m not joking,” he protested.

  Laureline continued with her flinty stare for a long moment, searching his eyes, then she softened ever so slightly.

  “Valerian,” she said, not angry this time, “you and I get on just great. The best team ever, you’ve said. And I agree. We get along. You flirt, I smile. It’s light and it’s fine. Why reconfigure what we’ve got?”

  Words tumbled out of him, erupting from some place deep inside, nearly as surprising to himself as he uttered them as Laureline seemed to be at hearing them: “Because I’ve been working nonstop since I was seventeen. I’ve fought in battle, and I’ve killed and I’ve protected. I’ve spent my whole life going on missions where
I’ve saved entire worlds and peoples. But when I think about it, all I’ve got is the mission. I don’t have a world of my own. No home. No family.”

  “You have coworkers,” Laureline deadpanned.

  That zinger stung, and he twitched slightly. “I don’t want coworkers,” he said, honestly and intently. “I want you to be my world.”

  Laureline smiled at him. His words seemed genuine, but they were almost impossible to read. She further confounded him when she leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Her lips were warm and soft, and Valerian trembled inside, just a little. Gently, he again caught her arm as she turned to leave.

  “Hey,” he said, “a kiss is not an answer.”

  Her inscrutable smile suddenly turned impish. “You’ll get your answer at the end of our mission.”

  For a second, Valerian wanted to tear his hair out in frustration, and then he realized: She was not saying no.

  Oh.

  All at once, everything in the universe seemed possible, and he smiled back at her. “Works for me.”

  A large uniformed Siirt, bulkier than was usual for the spindly-bodied species native to Kirian, came up to them. Valerian didn’t understand the words, but his hat that bore the word POLIZ, a red and black decorated baton, and a variety of gestures toward them, the bus, and the horizon made his request very clear. Laureline threw Valerian a last smile, then climbed back on the bus.

  Valerian watched the ancient transport cough and chug on its way for a moment, then turned back toward the throng of tourists.

  He was going to get this mission done in record time.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Valerian threaded his way through the crowd, moving toward Big Market’s main gate. It really was pretty impressive—tall, wide, with gold stones on one side and a sturdy metal door open in the center. Valerian wondered how many people thronged through it daily.

  He ambled amiably toward a group of tourists, nonchalantly attaching himself to the edges of the cluster. The slender Siirt employees of the tourist trap were handing out the equipment necessary to fully appreciate “the premiere place for galaxy-sized bargains,” as Big Market brazenly advertised itself. Valerian accepted his own set of shopping gear: a lightweight yellow and black helmet with a large visor, gloves equipped with sensors, and a bulky belt. The employees were loaded down with sets designed for humans, as his species was among the most avid tourists and, apparently, extremely fond of tchotchkes.

  The herd of eager shoppers that Valerian had joined tramped through the gate, and it closed behind them. They were within the market’s walls, along with other clusters of shoppers, but the four walls that enclosed several square miles contained absolutely nothing else.

  “Welcome, everybody!” came a cheerful voice. Valerian turned to behold one of the most outlandish things it had been his honor—or misfortune—to witness… and it was a human. A thin, tall, lively man with an enormous smile, wide eyes, scrawny beard, and an outfit straight out of a third-rate theater troupe, lifted his arms expansively. His robes were long and flowing, striped in orange, yellow and red… because, you know, desert. Huge hoop earrings dangled from his ears.

  But what was most arresting about him was his turban. It was about three times the size of one that was usually utilized in hot climates, and presently it perched atop his head like a brightly colored beehive. He was now waving for silence, and the excited murmuring of the throng died down.

  “Welcome, everybody!” His voice could not be any more cheerful. “I am Thaziit, and I have the honor of being your guide for today.” He bowed, hand on his heart. “So, whose first time is this at Big Market?”

  Half the tourists raised their hands, tentacles, or other appendages, but not Valerian. He listened with half an ear as he frantically examined the market’s map, prominently displayed on a nearby wall, trying to locate Section 4, Aisle 122.

  “Wonderful!” Thaziit exclaimed. “Let me remind you that there are nearly one million stores in Big Market, so, I’m so sorry—we won’t be visiting them all!”

  He feigned sorrow and a chorus of awwwwww went up. Then he brightened.

  “But! But, but. But we will try to get to the most interesting ones! But before we go, just a few reminders so you can stay safe and shop happy! Remember that for each section, you will pass under a portal.”

  Valerian saw no portals. The living giant turban continued. “Important safety tip! Watch the letters on the top and verify that the ‘U’ for human is full green. That’s for your own security. Big Market cannot be held liable for any mishaps humans encounter if the U is not green. Now!’’

  He clapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly, his eyes so wide open the pupils were completely encircled by white.

  “There are seventy-eight sections and more than five hundred streets. We’re going to see amazing sights! Find incredible bargains! But above all, we’re going to try not to get lost!”

  Knowing laughter rippled through the crowd and Thaziit laughed the loudest. Valerian, still perusing the map, felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, as if he were being watched. He spun around, staring through the visor of his helmet, but he saw nothing.

  “So!’’ the ebullient guide was saying. “Everybody needs to keep together right behind their guide, whose name is…?’’ He spread an arm expectantly and held his other hand to an ear completely enveloped by the brightly striped turban.

  “Thaziit!” the tourists replied in unison, exchanging smiles and chuckles.

  “Glad to see that some of you are paying attention,” Thaziit approved, glancing around meaningfully at others whose eyes were fixed on their gauntlets or busy reading the map—like Valerian. Again, there came the friendly ripple of laughter that conveyed that this was a group of happy people filled with anticipation.

  “You can activate your systems… now!”

  Valerian, along with everyone else, hit the button in the middle of his belt buckle. Light streaked and sparkled across his field of vision as he observed Thaziit, the tourists, and the walls that enclosed the empty Big Market compound.

  Then, suddenly, the guide, the tourists, and Valerian appeared to be surrounded by a staggering variety of stalls, run by vendors who seemed to represent every alien species Valerian knew.

  A murmur of delighted amazement rippled through the crowd of bargain-hungry tourists.

  “Welcome to Big Market!” announced Thaziit, and grinned.

  * * *

  Laureline sat with her cheek pressed to the grimy window of Major Gibson’s bus. The view was of the massive red wall that delineated the space of Big Market, but she didn’t see the stone barrier, and she wasn’t thinking about shopping.

  She wasn’t even thinking of the mission right at this moment, which was completely out of character for her.

  She was thinking instead about what Valerian had said, and wondering if her next step after this mission would be to kiss him on the lips, or kick him… elsewhere.

  If you’re joking, Valerian…

  The smart money would be on that, she mused. Laureline knew, after serving beside him for two years, that there was much more to the young major than met the eye. She was well aware that despite his antics, he took his position very seriously and with a great deal of respect. He was courageous, dedicated to his job, and more intelligent than his frequent goofiness would let on to those who didn’t know him well.

  But there were also things that he didn’t take seriously or with respect, and the sort of traditions and rituals that Laureline valued deeply were among that number. Relationships for him were so fleeting and insubstantial that Laureline didn’t think she could even grace them with that name. Flings, she thought, would be a better word.

  Not that Valerian was cruel or manipulative; despite his nigh-constant wheedling, he never had—and never would—try to force himself on or bully any woman. Most girls were more than pleased with his attention. As for the sergeant and the major, their flirting was establishe
d, familiar, and Laureline had to admit, she always enjoyed it as much as he did.

  Until today.

  His proposal, if it truly was such, had come absolutely out of the blue, and she had no idea how to respond to it. He knew she was old-fashioned and that, despite her occasional aloofness, a false proposal would wound her deeply. Not to mention she’d find a way to show him in no uncertain terms what a terribly bad idea that would be.

  So that meant…

  Laureline lowered her face into her palm for a moment. A fake proposal would be awful, but a serious one just might be worse.

  She sighed and looked out on the desert once more. They had almost reached the eastern gate of the empty Big Market compound, and ahead she could glimpse the shape of a water tower—their initial objective. With the ability to seemingly effortlessly compartmentalize things that so often exasperated her partner, Laureline folded the whole married-to-Valerian idea into a tidy little box, closed the flaps on it, tied it up neatly, and put it into a distant corner of her brain.

  Time enough for that later, as she had told Valerian. Right now, her part of their mission was about to begin.

  The bus lurched to a halt at the base of the tower. Laureline smoothed her dress, fluffed her hair, put on a vacuous smile, and flounced out of the bus. She walked toward the tower, shielding her eyes with one hand as she waved cheerily with the other.

  There was a single figure standing guard at the watchtower: a Siirt who peered down at them anxiously, its gaze flitting from Laureline to a few of Gibson’s people, draped in ponchos, as they too climbed off the bus.

  The half-humanoid, half-reptilian Siirts were a gentle people, if rather low on the intelligence scale. They were employed by the Big Market Corporation as guards and police, but generally were too easily distracted and too friendly to be terribly effective. Laureline knew that many of the merchants who wanted reliable security simply hired their own—like Igon Siruss. Siirts loved meeting new people, and their culture was based on a philosophy called Unbugalia, which essentially meant: “The more happy people there are, the greater the happiness.” The throngs coming to Big Market, Laureline mused, doubtless made these rather kooky beings ecstatic. They didn’t see any of the profit, though. Their species had nothing resembling “currency.” As a result, it was difficult to keep them employed.