by Cara Bristol
But what kind of example did you set? For most Parseon citizens, the vendors were the first and only Terrans they would ever meet. Every shopkeeper served as an unofficial envoy of their planet. And until now, she’d considered herself honest.
“What did you get us for lunch?” She redirected her attention to dodge the arrows her conscience had begun to sling at her.
Ramon presented two elasticene carryout containers. “I don’t have a clue,” he said. “Some kind of alien food. But it smelled good.”
Tara twisted her mouth. “If it’s from the planet we’re on, it’s domestic. We’re the aliens.”
“Right,” he said. “I forget. I do like the food, although, to tell you the truth, sometimes I wish I had a hot dog or a ham sandwich.”
“I understand,” she said. Ramon was still getting used to Parseon. He had been with her for only three months, while she had arrived two years ago as one of the original vendors in the Terran Bazaar portion of the Market. She’d handled operations the first year by herself, but as the popularity of Terran wares had grown, so had her business, and she’d hired an assistant. The first one, a woman, had quit after six months, unable to handle the culture. It had taken several months more until she found Ramon.
Not everyone adjusted to the strange and severe customs the way she had. But unlike her, they had not been driven away from Terra, and most still had close family there. With only distant relatives, she’d been on her own since adolescence and had learned to rely on herself. As a result, she’d become strong, tough, and capable. Look at what she’d accomplished. Of the hundreds of vendors, she was one of only a handful of women who’d come to Parseon alone. The others had arrived with husbands or partners. If going solo sometimes overwhelmed her, well then, she sucked up her fear and carried on. Life was what it was.
Provided her business continued to thrive, she could envision remaining on Parseon indefinitely. Which constituted another reason why she should have treated the Alpha better. Here for the long haul, she needed to forge friendships, not create enemies. He had acted like a jerk, but she’d behaved no better. One did not treat customers that way. Or world leaders. She cringed in remembrance.
“Go ahead and have your lunch,” she urged. “I need to go out. I’ll eat when I get back.” She grabbed several packets of the necessary needles and three sets of alloy scissors and shoved them into a bag.
Ramon looked at her. “What are you doing? You’re not going outside?”
“I need to catch the…uh…Commander. He…uh…forgot some of his stuff.”
“You’d better call for an escort.”
“No time.” She shook her head. “I must catch him quick. If he’s still inside the Bazaar, I won’t need an escort anyway.” It insulted her capabilities and offended her notions of fairness and equality that the treaty required a woman to take a man with her if she left the Bazaar premises. The escort walked her to and from expatriate t housing. To and from the Market. To and from everywhere. Male vendors had no such babysitters. They came and went as they pleased.
Ramon set the food on the counter. “I’ll come with you.”
“No.” She waved him off with a frown. “Eat your lunch. You need to stay in case we have any customers.” Although considering what she’d charged the Commander for the fabric, they’d had a record-setting sales day. “I won’t go outside.” Unless I have to.
Ramon’s forehead crinkled with doubt, but before he could voice further protest, Tara dashed from the shop. She zigzagged through the crowded Bazaar. When she walked among Parseons, she never failed to be awed by the size of the people. It seemed as if the entire planet was populated by basketball players. And the Alpha had towered above everyone else.
Tara entered the main corridor and checked left and right but did not see the Commander. She nibbled on a fingernail and considered her next move. Had Alpha left the Bazaar, or was he still inside shopping? If she searched the entire mall-sized tent and he had departed, she’d never catch him in time.
She could have couriered the items if she’d paid attention to his nipple insignia to determine which province he commanded. She knew he did not rule the fifth one where the Bazaar was located, but that left four others. If she guessed, she had a twenty-five percent chance of getting it right.
Without the needles, when he tried to have uniforms tailored, he would assume she had sold a defective product. As a rule, penalties for breaking laws were harsh—but to cheat an Alpha? Tara shuddered to contemplate the consequences. Not to mention news would spread, her reputation would plummet, and business would fail.
A high price to pay for acting out of spite.
She would just step outside the Bazaar into the main Market. She wouldn’t go far. If she spotted him, she would hand him the needles and scissors and dash back in. No escort needed.
Chapter Two
Marlix pasted a scowl on his face and rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger to ward off any who might approach him as he and Urazi strolled through the Market. An unnecessary precaution, since most people went out of their way to avoid him. Fortuitous rumors of his ruthlessness had spread. Fear encouraged obedience and discouraged rebellion.
“Commerce thrives,” Urazi commented.
Marlix eyed the vendors hawking fish and mammal, edible plants, pottery, and metalware. Animals brayed, and live fowl cackled. Barkers cried, customers argued, and coins clanked. He could not deny the success of the Market and the enterprise with Terra. As a matter of principle, Marlix stayed away from the Market city to avoid adding to his rival’s coffers. So it had been many months since he’d visited, and his absence allowed him to note changes. A larger number of alphas and even some betas had strapped daggers to their thighs. Females scurried faster than usual.
Marlix inhaled. The scent of danger mixed with wood smoke. “But it is different.”
“Yes.” Urazi nodded.
“I warned Commander Dak of the imprudence of allowing the Enclave of deviants to exist. The pestilence has begun to spread beyond his territory.”
“You were wise in your predictions,” Urazi said.
Marlix glanced at the bolts of fabric his beta carried. “We must commission new uniforms immediately.”
“I will take care of it right away.”
“It does not take a seer to recognize that alphas taking females as betas will undermine social order. It makes no sense to arbitrarily award status to a gender that is so clearly inferior.” He shook his head in regret. “I did not act as I should have,” Marlix said, lowering his voice as he admitted to his trusted anointed beta what he could not reveal to anyone else. An Alpha could not display fault or weakness, lest he lose respect. “I should have neutralized Commander Dak and voted with the High Council to depose him when I had the chance.”
“Do not fault yourself,” Urazi said. “You faced a dilemma. If you had voted with Commanders Qalin and Tarbek to remove Dak from power, it might have jeopardized your command by setting a precarious precedent. What would prevent members of the High Council from manufacturing an excuse to impeach you and seize your province?”
“That was my reasoning.” However, justification didn’t make him feel better.
“I do not condone fratricide, but I cannot help but wonder if Commander Tarbek had succeeded in assassinating Dak, if that might have solved the problem,” Urazi postulated.
Marlix shook his head. “It would have exchanged one crisis for another. It is true that if Tarbek had eliminated Dak, the Enclave would have been razed, the deviants brought to justice, and the social unrest would have been avoided. However, Tarbek would still be alive and selling breeders to intergalactic slave traders, and soon all of Parseon would have faced a shortage of females and not just Artom, who inherited Tarbek’s province.” He sighed. “It takes females to produce alphas.” He glanced at Urazi. “And betas, of course.”
Neither said anything for a long moment, then Urazi said, “It has been a while since we have indulged.”
Out of the Market din arose a piercing cry. Marlix grabbed Urazi’s arm. “Did you hear that?”
Urazi frowned. “No. What?”
“Listen.” Marlix cocked his head to isolate the sound. “There.” Though faint, the scream trembled with pain and terror.
Urazi shrugged. “An animal of some sort. Perhaps a group of young alphas have cornered a feleen and are teasing it with a sharpened stick.”
Marlix shook his head. “I do not think it is an animal. I am going to check it out.” He pivoted.
Urazi cleared his throat. “Commander!”
Marlix peered over his shoulder. “What?” he snapped.
“Commander…” Urazi began again, “If it is not an animal, Commander Dak will not be pleased if you interfere in the administration of his province,” he warned.
Satisfaction twitched at Marlix’s lips. “That is reason enough for me to proceed.” To irritate Commander Dak would be worth his trouble. He gestured at the bolt of fabric and the netted sack of fresh fruit and vegetables Urazi carried. “Proceed home. I will follow shortly.”
“Very well. By your leave, Commander,” Urazi said.
Marlix backtracked to the Terran Bazaar, from which the cry had seemed to emanate. People scrambled to get out of his way.
Another cry rent the Market.
Like all Alphas, Marlix had been tested in battle, put through endurance exercises few could survive. He had watched men die and had been responsible for some of the deaths himself. Neither fear nor pain fazed him.
This particular cry did.
Marlix ran.
Conscious of the shocked and frightened stares of the shoppers and vendors, Marlix sped through the labyrinth of stalls, cursing the layout that prevented him from traveling in a straight line. At last he spied the large TERRAN ENTERPRISES sign rising over the Market. He rounded the corner.
Three betas tormented a writhing, bloodied creature. The sobbing female crawled toward the tent while the betas kicked her. Her clothing hung in green-and-brown ribboned tatters; her limbs were stained red. The betas had not been careful how they sliced at her uniform with their daggers.
Marlix riveted on the female’s mass of pink hair.
A crowd chanted encouragement. When the trio tired of her, she would be game for the onlookers. Like securing an insect to a mat, the largest of the beta males stomped on her back with his booted foot and pinned her to the hard-packed dirt.
The crowd cheered.
The beta unfastened his uniform and freed his erection. Yanking her by the hair, he hauled Tara to her knees.
“NO!” Marlix shouted. His muscles coiled and bunched in a swell of rage. He charged. Roaring, he grabbed the beta, lifted him over his head, and threw him. The male sailed over the crowd and slammed headfirst into a massive wooden pillar. He crumpled to the ground.
Marlix whipped around to find the attacker’s cohorts fleeing like drakor. He stabbed the crowd with his gaze, aiming at as many individuals as he could to lay blame on each one. Fear rippled on their faces, but so did resentment that he’d spoiled the entertainment. “Disperse,” he ordered.
The spectators slunk away and melted into the Market. Marlix turned to assess Tara’s condition and spied her disappearing into the Terran Bazaar tent.
“Monto,” he swore and raked a hand through his short hair.
He strode to the male’s motionless body and toed it. Dead.
This was why he opposed the alliance with Terra and the opening of trade with the alien world. Where Dak focused on the minute similarities between their two races, Marlix recognized the yawning differences. Now his impulse to defend an alien female might incite further discord. And this wasn’t even his province. Urazi had tried to warn him. Marlix could blame nobody but himself—and the female, of course. Why had she ventured out unescorted?
The vendoress did not belong in their world. Even the treaty recognized that by putting Terran females off-limits. The aliens had some ridiculous custom necessitating the acquisition of a female’s consent before she could be used. It was a wonder they’d managed to propagate their species, because what female would choose to participate in an excruciating act? Even animals sought to avoid discomfort when they could.
Culpability belonged squarely on the slender shoulders of the green-eyed, pink-haired vendoress. She had chosen to put herself in harm’s way. And had she been Parseon, the incident would have been no issue at all. Protocol did not prohibit beta males from taking an unclaimed female for release or sport.
Still, they had been unnecessarily cruel. He glanced at the blood staining the dusty ground. The betas had laughed as they’d kicked her to the cheers of the crowd. She was so much smaller and weaker than they. There was no need to quash her resistance with a beating. To deliberately injure her.
Marlix expelled a heavy sigh as he wondered how severely Tara might have been hurt. Though their two races shared a modicum of DNA after Parseons had used a Terran gene to correct a deformity caused by the Epic Radiation Flare, the earth creatures did not possess the stoutness and resilience of body, nor the advanced metabolism and immune systems that enabled Parseons to endure pain, ward off illness, and heal quickly. After Dak had negotiated the treaty with Terra, he’d instructed the High Council on the Terran’s physical structure, their customs, and habits. It had boiled down to one proviso: Terrans break. Do not hurt them.
Marlix was not alone in wondering why they should bother to engage in diplomatic relations with an inferior race of people with revolting customs and traditions. The aliens refused to recognize or reward natural superiorities.
That was what most people found most difficult to accept. Terran males afforded their subordinate, inferior sex a status that ranked even above beta. Even though alphas partnered with other males, those anointed unions were never comprised of peers. How foolish would that be? Somebody had to be in charge.
Any interaction with a Terran created unwanted complications. Marlix glanced at the Bazaar tent and sighed. It would have been better for Parseon if he had not intervened and had allowed the betas to have their way with Tara. Dak had refused to see reason. Maybe the death of one of their females would have convinced the Terrans of the foolhardiness of the alliance. In outrage they might have severed the treaty. The sacrifice of one Terran could have benefited the many of Parseon.
But he’d been unable to avoid responding to her terrified cries and the sight of her injuries. Despite reluctance to interact with Terrans, she had attracted his interest. She had amused him, the little shopkeeper had, with her pink hair, heavy boots, and bold stare. Her riveting green eyes. She’d granted him none of the reverence that was his due but had acted as if they existed on a level plane. Punishable disrespect so outrageous, it was laughable instead.
But he should not allow her to preoccupy his thoughts. Only the weak wallowed in compassion, empathy, or pity. Not a warrior.
And perhaps the incident would teach her a lesson. Tame her impertinence. Curtail her excesses.
He eyed the soil darkened by her blood. Unless she succumbed to her injuries. She’d been able to flee, but not all fatal wounds resulted in immediate death.
No, she would be fine. She’d made it back into the tent. He grunted. Her people would care for her. The injured alien female with the amusing strut and colorful hair was not his concern. He needed to focus on the restoration of peace and order. Once he outfitted his inner circle of alphas and betas with protective uniforms, he could quash the deviance beginning to infect his own province and work with Qalin and Artom of the High Council to neutralize Dak and cleanse the rest of Parseon.
He spun on his heel to leave the Bazaar. He’d marched a few paces when his boot crunched on something hard. Beneath his foot, he spied a cloth bag. He picked it up, brushed it off, and peered inside. Packets of needles. Several sets of scissors. Terran sewing implements. The metal looked unlike anything he’d ever seen.
He’d just purchased a special fabric. Did the items go with it? Had Tara ventured out unescorted to deliver the bag to him?
Marlix cursed.
Chapter Three
If people gawked, she did not notice. Panic blinded Tara to all but instinct as she tore through the Bazaar. Suck it up. Suck it up. Sobs of relief convulsed in her throat when her feet found their way to her shop. Perched on a counter stool eating lunch, Ramon leaped to his feet as she stumbled in.
“My God, Tara! What the hell happened?” He grabbed a bolt of flannel off its stand and threw it around her, then hugged her to his chest.
Unable to stop crying, she heaved and shuddered as Ramon rocked her and swore under his breath.
“I th-thought it w-would be o-o-okay. I only went out-outside to check.”
Ramon stiffened.
“They grabbed me,” she sobbed.
“They?”
“Th-three males.”
“Fuck,” he swore, his voice laden with concern. He did not need to say I-told-you-so to remind Tara how foolish she’d been. “We need to call Security. The Terran Embassy.”
She shook her head. “No.” The Terrans held little authority and couldn’t do anything. Parseon Security did have power but would do nothing. Nor could she endure an interrogation by males cut from the same cloth as her attackers. Parseon did not consider sexual assault a crime but rather a sport, which was why the treaty attempted to protect its female vendors by insisting they travel with an escort. By venturing into the Market alone, she had disobeyed the rules intended to protect her.
“Yes. My God, Tara, you were attacked.” He dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. “Did they rape you?”
“No,” she lied. She squeezed her eyes shut against Ramon’s shoulder. She’d been pinned to the ground. They had sodomized her with their fingers—they just hadn’t gotten around to the rest of it, because the Commander had intervened. She recalled his growl, his shadow. The boot on her back had lifted, and her attacker had flown through the air. She’d heard a thud and a snap, and then the pounding of feet as the other two attackers had scrambled away.