by Lisa Lace
Zandra was silent. On the way there, she had planned a forceful search of the premises, finding and rescuing Alisha. Now that she was here, she was no longer convinced Alisha was in the building. In the harsh fluorescent lighting, the party room seemed benign.
“If you would like, we can go to my office to call the police,” Maxine offered.
Zandra nodded weakly, feeling as though she might cry. She allowed Maxine to rest a hand on her arm, lead her across the room and down the hallway to her office. She could feel tears of frustration forming in her eyes. If only she hadn’t left Alisha last night. She could have met anyone after I went home. She could hear voices behind some of the doors they passed. The conversations were calm, light. She pictured women creating their profiles, just as Alisha had the night before. These were women who were happy—looking forward to adventure, husbands, new lives on distant planets, leaving Earth behind forever.
Maxine opened the door to her office, ushering Zandra in ahead of her. It looked exactly as it had before—not a single thing out of place.
“Have a seat,” Maxine instructed. “We can wait for the police in here.”
Zandra nodded, walking mechanically over to the couch, where she sank back into the cushions. The matchmaker walked over to her desk, picked up the phone, and pushed a button. “Would you please bring some tea to my office?”
Zandra pulled her phone out to call the police. Her hand was shaking as she tapped in her code to unlock it. “I have no service,” she said, frowning.
“Don’t worry,” Maxine assured her. She picked up the phone again, speaking into the receiver. “Would you please get emergency services on the line?” She placed the receiver back down before moving to an armchair. She crossed her legs comfortably and eyed Zandra intently.
Zandra sat silently, biting her lip as Maxine fixed her gaze on her.
“You have such lovely red hair, Miss Zane,” she began. “Is it natural?”
It was a common enough question that Zandra hardly noticed it anymore. She nodded, her eyes on the perfect cream carpet. Her mind was running through possibilities. She looked up at the matchmaker. “Do you have security cameras?” she asked.
“Certainly. When the authorities arrive, we will look at the footage together,” Maxine replied. “Do you exercise much?”
Zandra frowned at the woman before answering. “Alisha and I do Pilates together.” This odd line of questioning brought back all her anxiety, and she was suddenly alert.
Maxine nodded absently, looking away. They were silent for a moment. Zandra cleared her throat. The awkwardness of the moment was broken by a soft knock on the door. A young man, much like the one who had brought the champagne the night before, entered, carrying a tray of tea. He placed it on the desk.
“Thank you,” Maxine said shortly. He nodded, leaving the room as quickly as he had entered. “How do you take your tea?”
“Just sugar,” Zandra replied automatically.
“Are you sure?” Maxine asked.
“Yes.” She frowned at the peculiar question as Maxine handed her a delicate bone china cup. Zandra looked down at the liquid. Maxine had added milk anyway. The matchmaker was settling down in her seat with her own cup of tea.
“Go on, take a sip,” she prompted with a smile. “A good cup of tea always makes me feel better.”
Zandra took a small sip. The tea was hot and creamy and tasted strongly of bergamot and lavender. Almost too sweet for her. She glanced up from her cup to see that the matchmaker was watching her intently. “Shouldn’t the police be arriving?” Zandra asked.
“Any moment now,” Maxine said. “Don’t worry. There will be someone to let them in when they get here.”
Zandra nodded. She took another swallow. Oddly enough, she was starting to feel a bit better…calmer.
“Does your family live in Boston?” Maxine asked.
“My mother lives in Allston-Brighton,” Zandra replied.
Maxine nodded. “It’s so nice to have family nearby,” she commented vaguely.
Zandra wondered what the woman was getting at.
“Are you close with your mother?”
“Yes. Very.”
“I see.”
“Do you talk often?”
“Enough,” Zandra replied. She was beginning to feel tired. She figured it was the stress of the day getting to her as the adrenaline wore off. She began to think of her mother. She should call her. She should call Marla. Let her know how the search for Alisha was going. Her awareness suddenly returned to the room where she sat. She felt warm. Maxine was still staring at her intently, holding her teacup but not drinking.
“Such pale skin,” Maxine said, reaching out a hand and caressing Zandra’s cheek.
Shocked, Zandra moved away. The woman’s fingers were like ice against her flushed cheeks.
Maxine moved closer. “My mother had skin like that. It’s the funniest thing. Our offworld clients are all manner of colors, but they all ask for skin like cream. Hair like fire. If you would just change your mind, we would be able to find you a match worthy of stories. You would be a queen among your new people.” Maxine stroked Zandra’s hair.
Zandra started to stand up, but her legs buckled beneath her and she fell back on the couch, her teacup dropping from her hands. Maxine said nothing about the spreading stain on the flawless carpet. Zandra fought to sit up. Her mind felt cloudy, unclear—she couldn’t properly form the thought that she needed to. Maxine was staring at her keenly. Her eyes were cold, with that vicious glitter Zandra remembered from the night before.
Maxine wasn’t drinking her tea. The tea. Zandra tried to say something, but it came out slurred, as though she were drunk. Too drunk. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. Her stomach began to roil, and she thought she might vomit. She ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to get her mouth to form the words she wanted to say. She found it too hard to think. She tried again, a small line of drool dangling from her lips.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Maxine asked. There was no concern behind the words, however. Instead, she was smiling, a look of triumph on her face.
Zandra knew she should be panicking right then. But she felt…slow. Sleepy. The room began to darken, her eyelids fluttering, as the office faded away. She fought to stay awake. Zandra felt herself falling forward, but she never felt herself hit the floor.
Jurgen (Six Months Later)
Jurgen was lying in the fields outside the settlement. It was a bright, sunny day, the heat of the suns warming his skin. He opened his eyes to see Lilat watching him. She smiled at him, reaching over and placing a soft green-gold hand upon his cheek. She was slender, but she had rounded hips and breasts that completely enchanted him. He felt his whole body react to her touch. The sensation lingered on his skin long after she had left his presence. Her eyes were a golden yellow, her irises dark slits. A strand of gray hair was stuck to her full lips. He reached up to brush it off, taking her chin in his hand, running his thumb over her bottom lip.
“How are you going to tell my father?” she asked, causing his heart to flutter.
“Man to man. As he deserves,” he replied.
“Oh, Jurgen. So confident.” She laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound Jurgen had ever heard.
“Of course, my love,” he said, suddenly realizing that this day was long gone. “Lilat…”
“Yes?”
“You’re dead,” he replied, sitting up and looking around as he remembered. The sky darkened overhead. Jurgen found himself standing on the slope of the mountain. He could hear the screams of the dying. He turned, falling to his knees. Lilat was on the ground, her filmy garments soaked in her own blood. She coughed. He pulled her into his arms, holding her to him one last time.
“Lilat,” he said. He had something he needed to tell her, quickly. But her eyes had a faraway look in them. He was losing her. “Lilat!”
She was seeing something, something far off, a ghost of a smile on her blood-flecked lips.
She breathed out, a slow, agonizing rattle, and then she was still. Jurgen screamed like a wounded animal. Lilat suddenly sat up. She grabbed at the neck of his plate armor. Her eyes glowed red.
“Leave me where I belong,” she told him.
“What?”
“Leave me here,” she repeated, her voice taking on a strange, dark tone.
Her skin turned to ash as she crumbled and was swept away by the wind. Jurgen watched in horror, feeling the depth of his helplessness.
He sat up in bed, his heart pounding as he came suddenly awake. He looked around him. This was the house he had built after Lilat’s death. Everything there—the tapestries on the smooth rock walls, the deep blankets on the bed, the wooden chairs—she had had no part in it. She had touched nothing. Things that had nothing to do with Lilat, that had never existed in her universe, held little to no attraction for him. They were mere objects.
He had been dreaming of her lately— and all of the dreams ended with Lilat’s return as a shade. It felt like she was telling him something, but he hadn’t understood the message yet.
Meanwhile, in his waking life, preparations for the human brides were well underway. Grav had been in touch with the matchmaking company on Earth. He had negotiated a bride price, which Jurgen had agreed to. Soon, the matchmaker would arrive to begin the matchmaking process.
Grav had spotted the ship on their radar as it entered the lilac-tinted atmosphere of Erusha. After communicating with its captain, he had alerted the tribe to its arrival. The whole of the Apaknor Tribe, Alphas and Betas alike, had gathered, all of them watching as the sleek silver vessel descended. It appeared as a tube with a tapered nose. Windows formed a long line around its long, slim width.
Jurgen stood, arms crossed. He kept his face neutral. He knew the rest of the tribe would follow his lead. He could hear excited conversations breaking out. Grav and Auslur stepped up on either side of him.
“Is everything prepared?” he asked them.
“Yes,” Auslur replied. “The first half of the payment is ready. The second half will be due on delivery.”
“Good,” Jurgen muttered. He sighed. He was dressed in his best attire—tight-fitting gray cloth pants and a dark-gold woven cloth shirt with sleeves that clung to his arms. The front was open to show his tattoos. His fingers were covered in gold rings, and he wore a crimson silk band around his upper right arm to denote his rank in conjunction with his elaborate tattoos. He wore no armor or weapons, except for his hunting knife in its leg sheath, as a sign of his peaceful intentions toward their visitors.
The ship landed with a rush of air. The whole tribe pressed nearer, striving to see the activity. Jurgen stepped forward as the ramp was lowered. It was a few minutes before they heard a whoosh as the airlock was released. The door slid open, and out stepped several armed guards in crisp, white spacesuits. They kept their helmets on and their blasters sheathed on their hips.
Flanked by the guards, a pale human woman emerged. She carried a thin, square, brown leather bag in her hand. She walked with a straight back, head raised. Her warm yellow hair was pulled back tightly in a knot at the top of her head. She wore red paint on her lips. Around her neck was a string of spherical, white, luminescent beads. She wore a snug collared shirt and the bottom half of a dress. She wore tiny, raised shoes that made a clacking sound on the ramp of the ship.
“Jurgen Apaknor, I presume,” she said grandiosely, speaking in Standard. “Chieftain of the Apaknor Tribe.” As if she needed to remind him who he was.
He nodded gruffly. “And you are?” Jurgen recrossed his arms, a sign of respect. He was looking down at her. She was short, despite her raised shoes.
“Maxine Smith,” the woman replied. She held out a tiny hand. Jurgen stared at it, unsure what the gesture meant. She exhaled, withdrew her hand, and smiled after a moment. “I am going to help you find your queen.”
“I thank you for your assistance,” Jurgen said. “Come, we will show you our settlement.” He turned and headed for the village. He took a few steps before realizing that for every one of his strides, the tiny human woman needed to take two. He paused, waiting for her to catch up. He watched for her reaction when she saw the settlement.
Her eyes widened, and she cocked her head to the side. “How…cozy,” she remarked.
“We have just rebuilt,” he offered.
“Because someone destroyed it?” Maxine asked.
“No,” he said. “We renovated after the peace treaty was signed.”
This seemed to please her. The Alphas had needed a project in the absence of war. Building had suited their need for physical tasks. He led her to his house. As chief, his was the largest. He opened the door, allowing her inside. It had two floors, and the ceiling of the first floor was open to the arched roof over the second, making the space seem larger. She looked around, walking slowly and nodding.
“This is appropriate for our female client base,” she said. She turned to look at him. “The artistry of these tapestries is exquisite. Who made them?”
“We have a Beta male who specializes in their creation,” Jurgen told her.
She nodded. “And what, should they come, would the women be expected to contribute to the running of the household?” She glanced at him expectantly. Her hands were clasped in front of her.
“Females raise the young,” he replied. “If they have special talents, they are encouraged in them. Menial labor such as cleaning and cooking and the production of food is done by the Betas.”
She nodded. She was studying him, her tiny nose wrinkled. “Very good,” she said. Seeming to consider his words, she walked to the door.
“Do you not want to view the rest of it?” he asked. “There is a second floor.”
“I would like to visit the other dwellings in the community,” she said. “Then I will sit down to discuss potential matches with each of the males who seek to acquire a bride.”
Jurgen nodded. “As you wish,” he said, following her outside. “Auslur will assist you.”
Auslur swept into a bow. He was the tribe’s best negotiator, so Jurgen had appointed him to oversee the matchmaker’s visit. Already, he was winning over the tiny human woman, for when Maxine smiled, holding out a hand, Auslur took it in his own for a second, raising and lowering it before letting go.
“It is an honor,” Auslur said.
Jurgen watched as Maxine positively glowed.
“Will you be participating in our matchmaking services?” she asked him as they walked off.
He did not hear the older man’s answer as Auslur allowed her to place her tiny hand in the crook of his arm. Jurgen could already tell he had failed some sort of test. He was more mystified than upset.
Grav stepped up beside him. “Auslur and I spent a little time researching some of Earth’s customs,” he said.
“They are a bit strange,” Jurgen commented.
“Apparently, the origin of the handshake is in ensuring that your enemy is unarmed,” Grav informed him.
“That is actually quite reasonable,” Jurgen mumbled. He frowned, glancing over at the small Alpha, who seemed to be holding back laughter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’ve been in a vile mood all week,” Grav pointed out, clearly not worried about raising the ire of his chief. “We wanted to keep our heads.”
“That is…reasonable. Regardless, I should have you both drawn and quartered for making me look foolish in front of an interplanetary delegation,” Jurgen said.
Grav chuckled. He knew his skills with technology made him invaluable. “No matter, you did just fine,” Grav assured him, slapping him on the shoulder before turning to walk off.
“You should start training your replacement,” Jurgen muttered insincerely.
Grav merely waved over his shoulder.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jurgen watched the matchmaker at the feast prepared in her honor. She sat beside him at the long table that had been set up in the tribe’s common building. It w
as laden with the dishes the tribe usually feasted upon, mostly meats, roasted or cooked in gravies. She looked at the leg of roasted meat that had been placed on her plate. She was wrinkling her tiny nose as she picked it up with two fingers and studied it before placing it back down with a loud plop.
“Is everything to your liking?” he asked her.
She glanced at him before taking a white cloth out of her jacket pocket and wiping the grease from her fingers on it. “Where is the silverware?” she asked him, sounding deeply concerned.
Jurgen frowned. He didn’t like how he constantly felt he wasn’t measuring up with this woman. “I am not familiar with this term.” Was she asking about payment already?
“Utensils. Forks? Knives?” she half-explained.
Jurgen nodded. He pulled his hunting knife from its sheath, placing it with a clunk on the table next to her. She looked at it for a moment, eyes wide, before taking it in her hand. Her fingers barely met around the hilt.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
“Certainly,” he replied.
She took the meat in her right hand, gingerly pinching it with two fingers, while she sawed at it with the knife in her left. Jurgen watched, taking a bite of his own meat, chewing as he watched her. She sliced off a tiny sliver, picking it up, and then taking it to her mouth. She chewed it for a long while before swallowing. She turned back to him as she wiped her fingers on the white cloth again.
“Do you eat any vegetables?” she asked. “The women will need vegetables. And fruit.”
“They eat plants?” he asked.
She nodded. “The women must have a well-rounded diet,” she told him, “in order to be healthy.”
“We can do this,” he assured her, making a mental note to attend to these changes. They would have to grow the extra food outside the settlement.
She nodded, satisfied with his answer. He realized this was part of the negotiation. He set his meat down on his plate—he needed to focus—and waited for her to continue.
“And tell me, is the war truly over?” she asked, crooking an eyebrow.