Alien Survivor: (Stranded on Galatea) An Alien SciFi Romance

by Juniper Leigh

  “No,” I confirmed. “He’s the leader and war chief. His second in command, however, is a Qulari priest. We have always needed our leaders not to be priests.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Balance. If the priests run everything else, it is vital that the Qet who wields the most power did not come up in the priesthood. There is rather a bit of indoctrination, as you might imagine.”

  “Mm. And what about the women? Before, I mean. What was their role in your society?”

  I furrowed my brow, trying to consider what she might have meant. “I do not understand — our women held positions, the same as the men. We have had female war chiefs, female priests. Our women were strong and tall, much larger than the likes of you Earth women. And they were spectacularly beautiful.”

  “Were they, now?” she asked, and I wondered if I did not hear a slight twinge of jealousy. I could not help but grin.

  “Oh, yes. Powerful limbs, long, lustrous hair, with skin that glimmered in the starlight and scales over their breasts. Beautiful creatures.” I lifted a hand to brush my fingertips over the arm that she had about my neck. “But not as beautiful as my lady Novalyn.”

  I heard her audibly scoff, and chuckled quietly. “Right,” she said. “Sure.”

  I was groggy from the restless night before, where I had wanted nothing more than to press my body up against hers; I was agitated from the revelations of our hearts, where I had begged to stay with her and had been rebuked; I was dejected, pained by the very notion of her impending departure. And yet, even still, as we grew nearer and nearer to the village, my heart swelled. It was good to be home.

  Qular wasn’t much to look at, though it was a cheerful little village. Festooned with colorful prayer flags that linked each stand of the marketplace, it had once been a bustling metropolis. But ever since our women had died out, a sort of gloom had descended over the place. Sure, the Qet took male lovers, but our women had brought life to the planet, and the village seemed sadly desolate now that they were gone. Maybe, I thought, just maybe, some of these Earth women would stay and imbue the place with some life again. The notion warmed me, even though I was certain Fegar would not let me stick around to see it.

  I set my lady on the ground when we reached the outskirts of town. “Stay close, stay hidden,” I whispered to her. “I do not know if my former friends will turn on me and give me to Fegar, and we cannot expect that he will let us simply walk into the center of town.” She nodded her head in confirmation, and we began to creep through the small city that was the place of my birth.

  When I was small, we had been building, hoping that our population would grow. But because all of our breeders had died off, the homes on the outskirts of town were abandoned, locked up, waiting, empty, for a family to occupy them. It was easy to move through these abandoned buildings, these vacant side streets. The layout of the city was supposed to be a simple one: the homes of warriors were to be on the outer reaches of the town, with priests and merchants, midwives and healers living in the more insular rings. Then, the marketplace with open-air stalls, and finally the spire, which was really just the ship that had brought my people here, in the center of all of it.

  I wondered, as we moved silently around the small homes, then the marketplace stalls, if it looked anything like the city where Novalyn was from.

  I hated that I had to sneak through my own hometown, ducking down behind a crate, pressing my back against a building whenever I saw any other members of the Qet. But it heartened me to see a few Earth women roaming the village with them, looking happy enough to be where they were.

  “I should go to them,” Novalyn said, seeing a pair of women examining fruit on display in the marketplace.

  “No,” I said. “Hail your ship. When — or if — it arrives, then you can give them the option to leave with you.”

  She nodded, and we proceeded forward, moving on tiptoe, darting from spot to spot like bandits in the night.

  Finally, we reached the spire and took a moment to marvel at it. The chrome shined in the last vestiges of starlight, coming to an elegant point, around which curled wisps of decorative metal. It was a beautiful vessel, though it was doubtful, given how it was embedded low in the dirt, that it would ever take to the sky again.

  The hatch was open, so Novalyn and I slipped inside. They had turned what was the cargo bay into a place of worship and meditation: the floor was covered with all manner of plush velveteen pillows and woven rugs; candles lit everything in a warm orange glow. “This way,” I whispered and led her toward large porthole-like passageway, into a corridor, and up a narrow flight of stairs.

  “You know your way around this place pretty well?” she asked in low tones, following close at my heels.

  I gave a nod in response. “Yes,” I murmured. “Like the back of my hand. I ran these halls as a child when my father was Chieftain.”

  It even smelled the same, though I could not remember the last time I had seen it. The day of my exile, perhaps, when Fegar’s men had set upon me and sliced off my horn so that I would never forget the shame of the day I had lost my position at the head of my clan.

  Once on the second tier of the spire, I crossed past a ladder that would have taken a ship’s mechanic to the engine room, and moved toward the bridge. It was not a gargantuan ship, but it had brought a thousand people across the vast expanse of the galaxy, so it did take us a significant amount of time to get where we were going. We ducked into darkened halls when we heard voices, tried to quiet our breathing, but I could almost hear my heartbeat, it was beating so loud.

  Finally, we reached our destination and moved to a dark communications panel.

  “Do you know how to work this thing?” Novalyn asked in hushed tones.

  “Not a clue,” came my reply. Novalyn ran her fingers carefully over the panel.

  “I recognize these markings,” she said, leaning in to examine them more closely. “I saw them in the pod that took me here, and also on the Echelon ship I woke up on.” She explored it, allowing her eyes to come to a close as though she were attempting to access a deeply embedded memory. After a few attempts to turn the machine on, she found the right button and the panel hummed to life. Novalyn lit up as it sputtered and glowed.

  “Welcome,” said the machine, just as it had in the pod when we discovered our translators. It was a woman’s voice, just as before. “I am Federation Ship 45813, the Arclight. I am an internal AI. Please identify yourself.”

  Novalyn and I glanced between one another; I shrugged.

  “Novalyn Bryce,” she said, loudly and firmly.

  “Thank you. Processing.” The air was quiet between us for the span of a few breaths. “Thank you… Novalyn Bryce, Transfer Subject E29-2114. Please choose from the menu items.”

  “It knows me…” she marveled, pressing her palms against the console like she was gently stroking a living creature. I felt my heart drop like a stone into the pit of my stomach. I realized only then that I had held out hope that our plan would fail, that she would stay with me forever.

  “To access the mainframe, say ‘mainframe’; to access engine diagnostics, say ‘engine diagnostics’; to access life support systems, say ‘life support systems’.”

  Novalyn rolled her eyes. “God, even with all of this advanced technology, they still construct these things for morons.”

  “To access the communications panel, say ‘communications panel’; to access — ”

  “Communications panel!”

  My lady flung her hand out and gripped mine, lacing our fingers together. She seemed excited by our process, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.

  “Communications panel. To access internal communications, say ‘internal communications’…” The machine went on speaking like this for a while until some of Novalyn’s enthusiasm had died down. Finally, it said, “To send a distress signal — ”

  “Distress signal!”

  She held my ha
nd, she gave it a squeeze; I did not know how to feel, but I could not shake a cold sense of disappointment as our plan came to fruition.

  “Thank you. A distress signal has been sent to: the Atria, Federation Ship 4199. Main Menu. Welcome. I am Federation Ship 45813, the Arclight. I am an internal AI. Please choose from the main menu…”

  “So, that is all, then?” she asked, and I reached out to switch off the console the same way she’d turned it on. We were cast suddenly into silence and darkness.

  “It would appear so,” I whispered. She drew nearer to me then, snaking her arm about my waist and leaning her cheek against my chest.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you for helping me.”

  I wanted to tell her there was nothing I would not do for her, that she could always rely on me to be at her beck and call. And perhaps I would have if, as I leaned in to press a kiss to the top of her head, we had not been interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice.

  “I was wondering when you would be back, Odrik Nuh’ar.” I gave a start and shot around, my eyes landing on Fegar Gael. In his fist, he gripped a chain that was attached to a collar worn by the girl we had seen him take. On his other side was his constant companion, Yorn, tall and spindly and hunched forward with his fingers steepled in front of him.

  His mate wore nothing, save the collar about her neck and the same little jewels on her nipples that I had seen on Novalyn. Her hair was black, thick, with elegant waves, and she wore it high. Her skin was the color of a snow-crested mountain top, and her eyes were black as mine. When he had tugged her fully into the space, she obediently dropped down onto her knees and bent herself forward so that her cheek was pressed to the cold metal flooring. She shifted so that her bottom was to Fegar, and reached back with both hands to spread her cleft wide open. He had, no doubt, trained her to assume this position at all times; she seemed eager in her obedience.

  Novalyn and I cast glances between us, her eyes wide with alarm, and I squeezed her close to me, enfolding her in a protective embrace.

  “I do not know how you have come to have a female, Odrik Nuh’ar, but you will turn her over to us immediately,” Yorn growled, running his tongue over his lips as his eyes swept over my Novalyn. The bulge in his breeches was visible even to me; no doubt he was at his wits’ end, spending all of his time around a naked, open girl he could not touch.

  “Absolutely not,” I spat back. “I see how you treat your women. I would not subject my lady to such humiliation as this.”

  Fegar chuckled wryly and crouched down by the girl, like she was his little pet. “On the contrary, Odrik,” he hissed, “this is my Queen.” He ran his fingers over her backside and down the sensitive slit between her thighs, and her eyes came to a close. A little groan escaped her lips as Fegar slid two of his thick fingers into her. “And she loves me dearly. Do you not, my Queen?”

  “Ja, Fylkir,” she answered in my native tongue. Yes, my King. After a moment, Fegar pulled his fingers free and stood upright, licking her juices from them as he moved. “At any rate, you have no say over the matter, Exile. You will hand her over.”

  “I am not a sack of grain to be traded,” Novalyn shouted.

  Fegar quirked a brow, confused by Novalyn’s sudden outburst. He was not wearing a translator, so her noises sounded like gibberish to him, despite the fact that she could understand him quite clearly.

  “What did the little shrew say?” Fegar asked.

  I couldn’t help but smile a bit, showing my teeth. “She said she was not a sack of grain, that she would not be traded amongst us.”

  “Of course not, my dear,” Fegar said, turning his eyes on her. “You are much more valuable than that. You shall belong to Yorn, and you shall spread your legs for him, and you shall bear him a litter of Qetlings.”

  “I shall do no such thing, you son of a bitch,” she spat back. Fegar arched a brow, his smile fading. He did not need a translation to know what she had said.

  “She is mine, Fegar,” I asserted. “I have already had her. And according to Qeteshi law — ”

  “Yes, yes, according to Qeteshi law, she is your wife. A pity we have to make a widow of her so soon after the marriage’s consummation.”

  “What?” Novalyn asked, her panic rising.

  “Take her,” he said to Yorn, and Yorn advanced immediately, curling his fingers around Novalyn’s arm. I did not hesitate to punch him in the throat, and he dropped to the floor like he was the sack of grain. He writhed where he landed, gripping his neck, trying to catch his breath.

  “Oh, get up, Yorn,” Fegar hissed, and tugged his ‘Queen’ to standing as well. As Yorn began to climb to his feet, I turned my eyes on Novalyn and whispered, “Run.”

  She gave an almost imperceptible nod before we both sprang into action. I landed a few solid hits on Fegar, using the points of my knuckles to make contact with his jaw, and the side of his head, just below his horn. It was enough to jostle the chain from his hands, enough to get his hands up in a defensive position, but it was not long before Yorn had joined the fray, and swiped my feet out from under me. I crashed to the floor, my hip digging painfully into the screws that bolted the metal plating in place, and struggled to stand again with Yorn on top of me the way he was.

  But it was over in an instant, when Fegar’s mate shouted, “I have her!” And we all froze to look in the direction of his little slave Queen. She had taken the chain that bound her to Fegar and caught Novalyn around the neck with it. She was holding it taut, and Novalyn was gasping for air and clawing desperately at the links about her throat.

  “Please, do not hurt her,” I shouted, holding a hand up. Novalyn wriggled where she stood, the fear painted plainly across her face. Fear, and something else: something like regret.

  “Take them,” Fegar said on the wings of an exasperated sigh. “Lock them both up. The girl can spend the night considering her options: either she may throw herself on her husband’s funeral pyre, or she can become Yorn’s mate after his death.” He turned his cold, dead eyes on me then. “For either way, Odrik Nuh’ar, you shall be executed come the morning.”

  Chapter 13: NOVALYN

  Fegar had a team of cronies come and fetch us like common criminals. They marched us down to the bowels of the Arclight until we’d reached the brig, cells with metal walls and iron bars and two small windows toward the ceiling that showed we had reached the dead of night. Everyone else was wearing thick fur coats and boots, but Odrik and I had been relieved of our pack, and we were left in our light summerday clothing.

  They hurled us unceremoniously into the cell and slammed the iron bars closed behind us, leaving us to sit, cold and alone, in the darkness of the cell. I ran forward and curled my fingers around the bars, giving them a shake with all my might. “You can’t just leave us here!” I shouted into the blackness, but the guards had already gone home to the warmth of their own beds. I supposed it didn’t matter to them if we froze to death in the night when they were planning to execute us in the morning anyway.

  No, not us. I could have a way out.

  I drooped down onto the floor and sat cross-legged on the icy metal. I couldn’t look at Odrik. I couldn’t stand it. It was my fault that he was in this position. I heard him move to the far end of the room, which was not terribly large to begin with, no larger than his old dwelling. He sat, and I smiled a little to think that I missed his tent in the clearing.

  “Odrik,” I whispered, not daring to look up. “I am so, so sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” came his low reply.

  “But it’s all my fault,” I said, my voice heavy and choked with my sudden surge of emotion. “I should never have made you bring me here.”

  “Made me?” he echoed, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “You didn’t make me do anything — I would willingly have suffered much worse than death for you, Novalyn.” I sniffled and looked up at him.

  “I’ll try to bargain,” I told him. “I’ll tell
them that I’ll go with Yorn, and maybe — ”

  “No,” he sighed. “No, there’s no use to it, Nova. All that you can do is try to run away when they take me to the pyre.”

  “I’m not going to run away when they set you on fire!”

  “What will you do instead?” he asked, an edge to his voice. My eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and I could make out the shape of him against the far wall. “Throw yourself onto the fire with me?”

  “Yes,” I shouted, without meaning to. “I-I m-mean,” I stammered, “I just… I — ”

  “No, Nova. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid, like throw your life away because of me. I would never forgive you.” My heart was a railroad spike hammered into the hard earth of my chest, and all I could do was nod my head. I wanted to be with him with a desperate sort of clarity that came altogether too late. I wanted him, I wanted Odrik. But I didn’t know if I had the strength of character to die with him, and it shamed me utterly.

  “So, this… law,” I murmured. “Qeteshi law. We’re — ”

  “Bound together,” he said. “Yes. Legally.”

  I smirked. “So, what, you just… fuck someone on this planet and suddenly you’re married?”

  “It’s about intention. When two consenting adults come together for the purposes of procreation, it’s — ”

  “Is that what we did?”

  “I thought it was.” He paused, and I thought maybe I saw him trembling, either from the cold or from the force of what he was feeling. “Come to me now, Nova,” he whispered. “Please.” But I was stuck in place, worried that if I so much as moved a single muscle that I would burst into tears. And I needed to be strong for him now. “You wouldn’t deny a dying man,” he asked, his voice full of sadness, “would you?”

  “Oh, Odrik.” And I went to him, flung myself into his arms and threw my arms about his neck, hugging him close and tight and hoping beyond hope that he would never let me go. He gathered me up close to him and ran his hands up along the line of my thighs, over the curve of my bottom, taking the hem of my dress up as he went. He reached between us then and freed his cock, already rigid with expectation, and I could feel his insistent head push against my dripping wet opening. But he didn’t plunge into me right away as I expected him to. Instead, he bent his head forward and kissed me with a startling sort of urgency, tangling his fingers in my hair as he did. He leaned back against the cold, metal wall of our prison and I situated myself so that I was sitting in his lap with my legs on either side of his hips. I reached down then and curled my fingers around his shaft, wanting to guide him home, but he stopped me.