“We would have had a nice family,” I whispered in the darkness as he slid his other arm around me.
“Mm,” he murmured.
“I would have liked it, too, I mean,” I went on, not sure what compelled me to speak. “I realized that I would rather be in this prison cell with you, halfway freezing, and facing death, than… on a date with some smarmy hipster from Williamsburg who only ever talks about IPAs and wants me to listen to his band’s EP.”
Odrik chuckled lightly in my ear and pressed a kiss to the back of my head. “I have no idea what any of that means,” he said. A stretch of silence lapsed between us and I thought perhaps he had fallen asleep. But then he broke the silence, his voice small and distant, even though his body was pressed up against mine. “Promise me you won’t forget about me,” he whispered, “no matter what happens.”
“I could never forget about you, Odrik,” I said. “Never in a million years.”
“Take the belt with you, when you go off planet,” he went on. “Keep it. All right? Will you?”
“Yes.” I turned over onto my other side so that I could face him. “Yes.” And I pressed my lips to his in the kind of kiss that is born of a hunger that feeds on itself. And by the time morning came, our lips were red and raw from the expression of our desperate love.
CHAPTER 14: ODRIK
I do not believe we slept at all, not really, though I know we dipped in and out of consciousness, grasping at precious moments of slumber, from which we were jolted awake by the power of our shivering. The metal was like sleeping on ice, and neither one of us could get comfortable for more than a moment at a time. Just when I thought the cold would lull us into a hypothermic state, I saw the starlight start to rise, glinting in from the tiny window just below the ceiling.
Though day brought me no relief, as I was groggy, bleary, and had conceived of no plan to escape the looming execution. Even then, when I knew that I would be burned upon a pyre, my priority was to ensure Novalyn’s safety. I knew that if Yorn got his hands on her, she could look forward to of a lifetime to being his slave, just as Fegar’s mate had become an ornament, and a tool of satisfaction. Perhaps one day, after she had given him sons, she would move up in value to him, but I would not have staked my life on it.
I heard the footsteps above us, and they roused me to full alertness. I sat up and gathered Novalyn into my arms, pressing her fiercely to me. “Listen to me,” I said, feeling anxious, urgent. “They will ask me if I have any last words, and I shall give them… I do not know… something. Anything at all, to give you time to get away. All of their eyes will be on me: my death is a long time coming, according to Fegar and his followers. So, when I speak, that is when you must go. Do you understand?”
She shook her head frantically from side to side, and I heard the footsteps of the guards grow closer. Soon, they would wrench her from my arms, and I would never feel her skin against mine again. I clung to her. “Tell me you understand. I will speak, and you will run. Promise me.”
“No, Odrik — ”
“Promise me.”
The guards came and threw open the bars to the cell, walking in and beginning to rip us from one another. But we held fast, and I said to her, “Please. Do this for me. I cannot go to my death knowing you will simply stand there and watch it happen.”
The color drained from her beautiful face and she gave a nod of her head. “Yes, all right,” she said. “I promise.”
We kissed like we had never tasted lips before, when finally the guards succeeded in pulling us apart. To their credit, they seemed to take no pleasure in their task. But had they been bigger men, perhaps they would have turned a blind eye as we slipped together out of the village entirely. No such luck, I am afraid.
They marched us up the steps and out of the spire, into the harsh light of day and toward the center of the marketplace. A scaffolding had been constructed, with the kindling they would need to burn me alive for the pleasure of a live audience. I felt the bile of denial rising from my stomach and burning hot in the back of my throat. I willed myself to hold it down.
A crowd of three or four dozen had gathered to watch the goings on, faces I recognized, people who whispered my name as I passed. They marched me up the ladder to the top of the scaffold, and held me by the elbows. But I would not run, so long as I thought my Nova could make a clean break.
Yorn was there, in the back of the crowd, and Fegar was in the front. This time, he had left his little pet at home, it would seem, for she was not kneeling dutifully at his side. I kept my eyes on Novalyn, for hers were the only eyes that could calm my roiling soul. But she was not looking at me. Why was she not looking at me in these final precious moments? Why was she looking at the sky?
I heard it then, an engine that roared and drowned out any other noise. And finally, I looked up at the sky and saw it: a ship, a great ship, three times the size of the spire, floating overhead and hovering amongst the clouds like a miracle. Nova caught my eye then and smiled, something bright and genuine. Good, I thought, at least now I know she will be safe.
Part Five
CHAPTER 15: NOVALYN
I remember the first time I saw an airplane. I was very little, five or six maybe, and growing up on a farm in Nebraska meant that I rarely saw much of anything at all, outside of tractors and barrels, livestock and pickup trucks that were five times as old as I was. But eventually my grandmother got too old to do much around the house, let alone tend to the farm single-handedly. So, eventually, she paid to have her fields crop dusted. A man came in a little prop plane, painted yellow with red stars on its nose, and it swooped low over my grandmother’s cornfields, spraying a trail of pesticides behind it. And I stood just past the steps that led up to the front porch and marveled, my jaw hanging slack as I craned my neck to watch the plane arch up high and turn around and come back again.
This was long before I’d ever set foot on a commercial plane, so it seemed almost magical to me, this man-made contraption soaring amongst the low-hanging clouds as naturally as a bird. And that wonder, from the mind of a child, was nothing whatsoever compared to what I experienced when I saw the Atria, in all her glory, break through the atmosphere and hover overhead.
It was a convex dome that first broke through the altocumulus clouds, the great belly of the beast. Then, the thrusters, spewing forth bolts of sparks and orange fire that turned toward the surface of the planet, and even at such a distance, I could feel the heat emanating from them. The Qeteshi men stumbled back, as though they were trying to clear a landing spot for the great ship, a ship that would have crushed the whole of their little village, and then some. They looked frightened, expressions of abject terror contorting the features of this proud people. Except Odrik.
When I looked back at Odrik, he wasn’t even looking up at the ship. He was looking right at me. His eyes were stern, his jaw set, and his meaning was clear: Get onto that ship. Get off of this planet.
The presence of the spacecraft had halted the execution proceedings, and I waved my arm frantically at Odrik, trying to indicate that he should take this opportunity to run. But he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head and stayed precisely where he was.
I glanced frantically around the crowd of people — more and more had gathered since the appearance of the ship — trying to find a friendly face, someone who might be darting forward to help Odrik. But I saw no one, just the stunned faces of Qeteshi men and frightened human women, all of whom had tilted their heads back to peer up at the sky.
The roar of the engines was deafening, and even when I screamed out, “Odrik! Run!” my voice was swallowed up. The blast from the thrusters made dust swirl about and whipped my hair around my face, my dress blown back against the curves of my body by the force of the wind. I squinted and held a hand up against the glare of the daylight and the force of the wind, barely able to make out the small shuttle as it descended from the great ship to land about twenty yards back. Once the shuttle
had made a safe landing, the thrusters burst white and red and sent the ship back up into the atmosphere. We all watched it climb ever higher until it was a silent satellite, hovering somewhere above the tropopause, like a watcher, some kind of ancient God-made manifest. And when I looked back to Odrik, he had an expression of panic, as though he were wondering whether I hadn’t missed my opportunity to leave now that the ship was out of reach. But he had not seen the shuttle. I had.
The air smelled of electricity as the smoke cleared and the wind settled, and the ringing in my ears gave way to the sound of frantic voices rising in a crescendo of panic. My translator was going mad as it worked to give me the words from hundreds of different mouths, in Qeteshi, and in human languages I would not have naturally known. Spanish, Arabic, Mandarin, and others. How many girls were here? I couldn’t remember how many I’d seen in the pods when they had shot us here in the first place.
After a few moments, I saw the crowd part and make way for a small cavalcade: members of the Echelon, no doubt, on a number of small, hovering vehicles. They looked like two-person motorcycles that floated above the ground on invisible wheels, propelled forward by magnetism or some sort of advanced technology my puny human brain couldn’t begin to deconstruct. There were six of them, all told, and of varying species. The front of their flying V held a familiar face: Tymer Maferen, his blond hair held back in a ponytail that exposed his distinct earlessness, his pale blue eyes narrowed against the bright light of day. He wore a finely tailored suit in royal blue, a small pin in the shape of an “A” fastened to his lapel. His eyes were roving over the expanse of the crowd, and he gave a little start when they alighted on me. He was staring; I looked away, though I felt my heart thrum like a timpani in the hollow of my chest.
Next to Tymer in his vehicle was a tall, elegant-looking woman — also sans ears — whose pale skin was tinted blue where her veins showed through. Her head was shaved, and her brows were dark and thick and arched high above eyes the color of sherry in a crystal glass. She wore a suit similar to Tymer’s, tailored to show off her slender form and ample breasts; she had the same “A” on her lapel that he did. Behind them there was a distinctly human-looking ambassador, a woman, who was zaftig and stoic, wearing black slacks, a black collared shirt, and wide black sunglasses. Her red curls were piled high atop her head, and her red, red lips were unsmiling. Next to her, a Qeteshi ambassador, aging but proud, whose horns were gold and broad, and sprouting from his forehead, curling together in a spiral that made him look like he was wearing a permanent crown. His skin was the color of fresh-brewed coffee, and even at a distance I could see his eyes were the same gold as his horns. He was all muscle and sinew, with golden scales down his left arm. The only thing that gave away his age was his gray hair and beard, and the fact that he was slightly hunched and gripping a staff to keep him upright. He wore a Roman sort of tunic in white with a gold belt; he was a brilliant sight to behold.
In the final vehicle were two armed guards, one of the same species as Tymer and the grand lady at his side, and the other… not. The other was shaped like a humanoid, but his entire body was covered in green scales, and he had the eyes of a lizard. I sighed. I was not prepared to enter yet another type of alien species into the ever-growing database inside of my brain. So I decided that he was just like that guy back on Earth who had gotten all those tattoos to make him look like a snake, and left it at that. I tried not to think about whether his tongue was like a lizard’s tongue.
The vehicles looked like something straight out of an Apple commercial, sleek and white, made of plastic and glass, and gold. They were elegant, rounded, streamlined, in stark contrast to the tribal village into which they rolled. Or, rather, floated.
But Tymer was here. Maybe he would help Odrik. Maybe he would help me.
All six of them disembarked from their vehicles and stepped, in a stunned sort of silence, onto the dirt in front of the platform for the execution pyre. The woman at Tymer’s side brushed at her sleeve with a sour sort of expression that bespoke how unseemly she found the entire planet.
“My name is Mireena Mafaren.” Mafaren — was she his wife…? “And we are here on behalf of the Echelon aboard the Atria, Federation vessel 4199. We received a distress signal sent from the Arclight, Federation Ship 45813. We are seeking Transfer Subject E29-2114.” She inclined her head slightly toward Tymer and said, “Translate.”
And he did. He puffed his chest out slightly and, using all his might, broadcast the message in several languages to all of those standing around him. English, French, Spanish, Mandarin, Arabic, and then, finally, Qeteshi. As the rest of the crowd relaxed with the understanding that they were not experiencing an invasion or an overthrow, the tension went out of the warriors in the crowd. They began to stand with arms crossed in front of them; they began to spare glances to Odrik, who was standing stock still on the scaffolding.
“Transfer Subject E29-2114,” Mireena said, her eyes roving idly over the crowd. Finally, Tymer spoke for himself.
“Novalyn Bryce.” He had his eyes right on me, and when he said my name, Mireena turned and looked at me as well. I was frozen in place: despite having sent the signal myself, there was something frightening about it all, as though I had done something wrong and I was to be publicly reprimanded. I didn’t like being the center of attention. I had rather hoped all of this wouldn’t have to go down in front of an entire alien village, but there was a life to save. A very important one. So be it. “Come forward,” Mireena called, a finger curled and beckoning. I obeyed.
The crowd parted like the red sea around me and I came forward, trying to hold my head up. I glanced at Odrik and he gave me a nod, and I knew his eyes wouldn’t leave me for an instant while I was under the scrutiny of basically everyone on the planet. This knowledge was comforting to me, somehow.
When I stood before them, I bowed my head. There was something about Mireena that inspired me to demur.
“Look at me, child,” she said gently, and I lifted my head. She looked slightly older up close, with smile lines etched around her mouth and a crease between her eyes. But she was stunningly beautiful, if a little severe. “You sent the distress signal.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I confirmed.
“Because you do not wish to live on this planet?” she asked, canting her head gently to one side.
“I — ”
“Of course she doesn’t,” Tymer chimed in. “Look at this place. I can’t believe you made me send her here.”
“You will have to forgive my son, Ms. Bryce,” she went on. “I’m afraid he doesn’t understand the parameters of his new position.” Her son? I blinked in rapid succession, glancing from Mireena to Tymer, to Odrik, and back again.
“I have so many questions — ” I stammered.
“I’m sure you do.”
“But right now,” I went on, feeling bold, “there is a… er, local matter. They are going to execute that man.” I pointed to Odrik who stood, still and proud, on the platform, clutched in the hands of his would-be executioner.
Mireena didn’t bother to look at Odrik, but Tymer did. “Why?” she asked.
“Because the man who usurped him, Fegar Gael, apprehended us trying to send the distress signal. He seemed to think he had some right to me, and threw us both into captivity. And now they’re just… they’re just going to burn him alive.”
Mireena gave a slow shake of her head. “The Echelon does not typically involve themselves in the affairs of foreign politics.”
“Bullshit,” I spat, and Mireena’s eyes widened. “Why did you put us women here if not to meddle?”
“To save a species,” Tymer rejoined. “It’s noble work.”
“Oh, sure, noble,” I said, “to pluck women up out of their lives, to abduct them and drop them off on a foreign planet.”
“Most of them were not abducted,” Mireena said. “You were, but that was because of my son’s… overzealousness. No, the rest of the women o
n this planet came of their own accord.”
The news hit me like having the wind knocked out of me. “What?” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.
“Most of the women signed disclosures and understood what they were getting themselves into. They consented.”
“But,” I said, blinking, “but… one of the girls died. She died when all of the pods landed.”
“I know,” Mireena confirmed. “An unfortunate accident.”
“And another!” I shouted. “Another… another was basically enslaved.”
“Was she mistreated,” Mireena asked, “or did she find a compatible lover? If it was the former, I am sorry for it. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t agree to come here in the first place.”
“And…and the women… when we were in our pods,” I went on, running out of steam. “They looked just as scared shitless as I was. They looked — ”
“Well, but of course they were frightened,” Mireena gently cooed. “They had never been in a capsule like that before, shot through space at such incredible speeds. I was terrified my first time in one of those contraptions.”
“But…”
“I know, Ms. Bryce. We owe you quite an explanation. Or, at least, my son does.”
I was baffled. But then I remembered the women from the market, and the woman I’d seen with her Qeteshi companion on the road to the village. They had looked contented, happy, even. They had wanted to come. I wasn’t rescuing anyone with that distress signal. Only myself. And in the process, I might be leaving my Odrik to die, might be leaving Fegar to rule over the entire community, his brutality reigning.
“Please,” I said at last, “please help Odrik. I’m begging you. Don’t let them kill him.”
Mireena finally looked up at Odrik and the pyre behind him and gave one sharp nod of her head. “Very well. We shall hear his case. Bring him forward.”
Alien Prince: (Bride of Qetesh) An Alien SciFi Romance Page 32