Kazan

by Starr Huntress

  In short, space dating on steroids.

  I’d never really paid much attention to any of that, truth be told.

  I’d never met a single Jorkan who was genetically matched with an Earthling, and I sure as hell hadn’t thought it would happen to me. I mean, children? I’m a fucking warrior, an intergalactic thunderstorm whose sole purpose lies in defeating the Rippers. I couldn’t give any less of a shit about playing house with some delicate human female.

  “I’m sorry, guys, but I’ll pass.” Reaching inside my pocket, I threw a couple of hard credits onto the counter and turned my back to the two lawyers. “Buy yourself another round. I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time.”

  “We didn’t waste our time.” Again, I felt one of them holding me by the shoulder. Instinctively, I turned on my heels, my hands balling into fists. “This is the law, Colonel, and you’ll have to adhere to it. There’s already a shuttle waiting for you on the rooftop, and it’ll take you to a ship that’s waiting in orbit. Earth and the Jorkan have a small station on Pluto, and you are expected there.”

  “What if I say no?”

  “In that case, you'll be stripped of your military rank and court martialed.” The answer came in a deadpan tone, and I had to make a very conscious effort not to punch these two assholes into oblivion. “Again, this is the law. All Jorkan have to obey it.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Thirty days, right?”

  “Thirty days,” the lawyer replied. “After that, you and your genetic mate will be free to go your separate ways, if you haven’t reached a mating agreement. That’s all we’re asking of you, thirty days.”

  “Alright,” I sighed. “Let’s get it done.”

  Elle

  I jolted awake, a little like waking up hungover.

  It felt like a hand grenade had gone off inside my head, and now it was time to be conscious. God, I thought to myself, I really have to find a wine that doesn’t have this effect on me. And the dream I’d had—I’d never dreamed anything like it. Whenever federal agents decided to visit me in my dreams, I was usually the one tying them in knots, making them uncomfortable.

  I stretched my arms over my head and squeezed my eyes shut. Damn, I was going to need a good hour of yoga to shake off this night. An hour of yoga on a remote beach, preferably with cocktails after, and no work to come home to. The company of a sexy distraction wouldn’t go amiss, either.

  As I raised my hands up, I hit a padded headboard.

  Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. I opened my eyes and was nearly blinded by crisp white everywhere I looked. Crisp white curtains and crisp white bedding, a crisp white lounge chair next to a light wood TV table. The room was impossibly luxurious and impeccably clean, although a little small for all its expensive taste. I was under a lightweight, tufted bedspread and a beige throw blanket, as if someone had no idea how I liked to sleep.

  Where the hell am I? Some sort of luxury hotel? The room seemed so…devoid of personality, yet full of expense. Was this some sort of partner hazing? There had been no hazing when I became a junior partner. My mind was racing, jumping from thought to thought, trying to work out where I was and what the hell was happening.

  I had no patience for uncertainty. I grabbed my growing fear and panic by the throat and stuffed them back into a mental box. No problem could be resolved through panic. I could sit in the middle of the floor and have a fit once I was safely home.

  Finally, I flipped back the blankets and swung my legs to the side of the bed. I was barefoot, but otherwise still wearing my pencil skirt and white button-up shirt I had used the day before, two pieces which I had picked out specially for the day I would finally become a full partner.

  Was it just the day before?

  Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

  In a way, though, I was relieved to be in an outfit chosen for power. I needed to feel powerful right now. Standing up, I smoothed the wrinkles carefully, knowing they would stay wrinkled, but I found a sense of grounding in the movement. Wherever I was, I was Elle Ashby and I was in charge. It didn’t matter who else knew it or not—I knew it. A mantra for this crazy day.

  I noticed that in front of me was a large window with curtains drawn tightly together. All I needed to do was open those curtains, let in the sun, and find someone to explain to me why any of this was happening. Determined, I crossed the room and threw open the curtains.

  Staring back at me was the deep, dark blackness of space. I really had never seen anything like it. It was darker than any night, pinpricks of starlight faintly in the distance. Nothing, nothing, and more black nothing for as far as I could see.

  I felt bile rise in my throat.

  I can’t handle this, I thought, I can’t handle any of this. I must still be dreaming—this was a nightmare because of all the stress of making partner. I found a small beige trashcan tucked in the corner and reflexively bent down over it. I was going to throw up, I was sure of it.

  Instead, I just spit into the can.

  NO! I was Elle Ashby and I was in charge.

  I spat out the last thought of throwing up and shoved the can back in the corner.

  I jumped up and smoothed the wrinkles again. If it worked once, it would work again. I would be grounded. I would find someone to explain all of this. Just in that moment, I heard the sound of a door opening behind me. I turned, and nearly fainted. My physiology was being pushed to its limit, and I was pretty sure that my mind had already broken.

  This wasn’t a dream—it was a goddamn hallucination.

  In the doorway stood a giant, scaly man at least seven feet tall. Well, he had the outline of a man. The face of a man. Plus horns. He was blue, with scales scintillating in the overhead lights, and as he walked through the doorway a tail swung behind him. A very big, quite long tail, I should say.

  “Hello, Elle, did you sleep well?” the alien slash hallucination slash man asked. “Sometimes the loss of consciousness affects the rest of the body and that can be unpleasant.”

  “I… did I sleep well? Are you fucking kidding me?” A seven-foot blue man was asking me if I had slept well after I had been drugged, kidnapped, and woken up in deep space. “NO, I DID NOT SLEEP WELL!”

  “I understand you’re frustrated, but please, try to calm yourself. Things will—”

  “Calm myself? Calm myself? You calm your fucking self!” I was frozen with rage. Rage was more dignified than gibbering fear. If I moved a muscle, I would destroy the room and twist that blue bastard’s neck.

  “Things will go more smoothly and easily. I promise, I will tell you what is going on.”

  The words clicked in place—words I shouldn’t understand. I did want to know what was happening. Rage wasn’t control. The name’s Elle Ashby and I am in control, I reminded myself. I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth.

  “I am calm,” I said, throwing all of my lawyerly poise into the sentence. “Please, tell me everything you know, starting with why I can understand you.” The words coming out of the alien’s mouth weren’t English, but my brain reformatted the syllables into the language I understood.

  “We took the liberty of fitting you with a translator patch for ease of communication. I assure you, there are no known side effects with human physiology. We are the Jorkan, a race of what the humans might call ‘aliens’. Earth has a treaty with our people, as we are protecting your planet from what are known as the Rippers.”

  “What kind of bullshit treaty is this? One that entails kidnapping?”

  “Not exactly, but… yes.” He took one step toward me, and I instinctively stepped back. “You see, the Rippers have made all of the Jorkan females unable to conceive children. And so, we need genetically viable women to mate with our men. It just so happens that some Earth women are able to bear Jorkan children. So, we struck a deal in exchange for continued protection of your planet. We call this the Earth-Jorkan Protocols. When we find a genetic match for a Jorkan male, your government helps s
et up the match. We have a mandatory thirty-day period in which you spend time with your potential future mate.”

  I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

  “After the thirty days are up, if you and your mate accept your union, you two will be joined together by the Signing Day. We expect you to become pregnant and bear a child. While we can’t force you to, we very much expect you to. The future of our entire race falls on your choice to bear our children.”

  The man grew very solemn as he said these last words. For once in my life, I was absolutely speechless. For a moment. Then I was filled with words.

  “And so, what am I supposed to do? Fall over and spread my legs for someone who looks like you? Just like that?”

  The alien man flushed a pale blue that I supposed must have been him blushing.

  “That’s what the thirty-day period is for. We simply hope that, after thirty days together, you’ll find enough attachment to bear a child.”

  I laughed. I mean, what else was there to do other than laugh?

  He turned a dark blue color and scowled.

  “You will meet your mate soon. We suggest freshening up from the long journey here. We thought you might like some fresh clothes.” He walked over to a small door and opened a closet. “I hope you’ll find something to your liking.” Then he walked to the other side of the room and opened another door. I could see sparkling white tile and the lip of a high-end tub. “In here, you’ll find the bathtub.” With that, he strolled out of the room, leaving me in a stunned silence.

  I don’t know how long I stood there. After I worked through my rage, my sense of injustice, the total what the fuck that this was happening to me, I took a deep, cleansing breath. What could I control? Right now, nothing but my emotions and reactions.

  So first things first. A bath would help calm the fight-or-flight hormones rushing through my blood so I could think clearly and begin to prepare a strategy. And lacking a coherent strategy, the appearance of compliance never hurt anything.

  I mustered up the resolve to examine the bathroom. It was gorgeous. A pity. Under normal circumstances I would have loved it. White tile, white tub with jets lining the edge of it. It did look relaxing. Maybe I could enjoy a steamy bath. Maybe. But first, I had to find out about those clothes.

  Hanging in the closet were three different outfits, all dresses. One was a little black thing, thin spaghetti straps and flowing, just long enough to graze my butt. Another was a red tube dress, sleeveless with a deep V cut out, again just long enough to leave a man guessing and wanting more, but not long enough to cover my thighs. What did these assholes think I was? A space stripper?

  Gritting my teeth, I looked at the third dress.

  It was a laughable attempt at modesty. A floral dress, tight on top and cut like a tank. It at least looked comfortable, and the dress would come to the top of my knees. Despite the faux modesty, it remained a sexy dress. It seemed that every piece of clothing in here had been cut out from a lingerie magazine, outfits to express sexuality with every curve, from overt sex with the red number, to the soft femininity of the floral dress.

  Whoever these people were, they had another think coming. I felt the determined energy rising up in me again. I would not be pushed around by some aliens. They thought a little time would have me falling for some tall and hunky alien man?

  I didn’t have time for this kind of ridiculous game.

  But, if I was being forced to remain here, I sure as hell would make sure nobody would play me for a fool. I stared at the floral dress again, narrowing my eyes. It was the least slutty dress, and I figured it’d help. Men always expected the least from you when you played into their expectations, so it was time for me to turn the tables.

  This “future mate” had no idea what he was in for.

  Kazan

  “Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?”

  Damn right I was sure. The pilot threw another wary look up my way, and I gave him a snort and kept up my tight strides. These transport shuttles were always cramped, but it felt like I would explode if I sat down. So, pacing it was. If that made these government pilots anxious, well, tough for them.

  “Suit yourself.” He turned back to his controls, and I wanted to throttle him. There was something in the smug certainty of every official I had encountered that filled me with a desire to rebel in whatever way I could. If that meant staying up when they wanted me to sit, so be it. This part of the trip was going to be played by my rules.

  I was giving them my thirty days, but I didn’t have to pretend to be happy about it.

  “I should really be with my team right now,” I said. No response. “We have an op coming up with a covert counterstrike against a Ripper sub-battalion, and I’m slated to head it.”

  “We read your file, Colonel.”

  The little prick didn’t even look at me. All I wanted to do was yank him out of his seat and toss him up against the wall. It was a satisfying thought—wiping that self-satisfied little smirk off his face, but I knew that the demerits that would bring were steep. Damnit!

  “Well, who’s leading the training in my absence?”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Tarnug.”

  “Are you fucking serious?” I flared up and landed a solid punch in the back of my seat. “That idiot doesn’t know the first thing about how to train an elite team like mine! Why didn’t they hand it over to Tarnik?”

  “Rank, sir.”

  Well, now I was really fuming. It was bad enough that I had to spend the next thirty days cooling my heels with some human woman against my will. Now I had to swallow the prospect that when I finally got back to my men, I was going to have to undo a solid month’s worth of worthless training.

  Thankfully, my team knew better than to listen to anything that asshole had to say. Subversion was something I could tolerate, so long as it wasn’t pointed at me. I had built one hell of a team, and training under that idiot was something they could survive.

  “You really might want to sit down, Colonel.”

  “Why,” I spat back at him.

  “We’re coming in to dock. I’d hate to see you fall over.”

  Again, his tone made me want to crack him one, but I slumped into my seat and buckled in. I’d taken a few docking spills in my time, so I was just going to have to eat this one.

  We landed, and I was out of my seat and tapping my toes at the portal before either of the pilots had even reached for their buckles. All they had to do was reach up and hit the airlock button, but they were going to make me wait for it. I was so angry, I almost made it a point to learn their names. For later.

  Pluto Station. It had been a long time since I had been here for my Tri-Point orientation, and it had changed a lot since then. Of course, by now it had been completely turned over for the purposes of the Earth-Jorkan Protocols. You could smell it all over the place. Everything was clean and smelled nice. I hated it.

  “Colonel Kazan, welcome,” chirped some tailored jerk with an infopad. Why was I bigger than everyone around here? It’s as if only the weakest Jorkan were relegated to doing this matchmaking work. I wondered if he resented it as much as I would.

  Falling in step behind the little weasel, we wound down the gleaming corridors toward my holding pen. Even if this level of opulence wasn’t my style, I had to admit it was impressive. Well lit, high ceilings, everything tidy and just to proportion—they really had it all figured out.

  We came to a stop, and with a few strokes on his pad, the door slid open and I peeked into my holding tank.

  “Sir.”

  “Thank you.” It was a reflex to the tight little bow he gave when he ushered me into my room. The last thing I wanted to do was be cordial to any of these pricks, but they were just so damned polite, it made it hard.

  I whistled through my teeth. This room was nice. Not the biggest, but I’d gotten accustomed to managing without a lot of space. After all, I wasn’t staying here. This was just the meet-and-greet.

  And
, as if they knew I was coming, there were a couple of bottles of booze settled on the gleaming table behind the couch. No doubt, any Jorkan who stumbled into this mess found themselves needing a drink. I was going to make the most of it.

  To their credit, whoever set this whole thing up wasn’t skimping on anything. I took a hard slug, only to discover that this wasn’t the cheap stuff, not by a handy margin. With that in mind, I poured a second, healthy glass and was more deliberate in how I tasted it.

  “Goddamn,” I couldn’t help sighing as I plopped down onto the couch to wait. They had given me precious little information about how this whole thing was going to go. Or maybe I wasn’t listening. As angry as I had been, that was entirely possible.

  Shaking my head, I leaned back to wait. For some reason, I couldn’t get comfortable. Was it possible I was nervous? I’d had my turn with plenty of women over the years, but something about the seriousness of all this, of a genetic match, clearly had me rattled.

  The booze helped. As it settled my nerves, I kept thinking about how badly Tarnug was going to fuck up my team over the next thirty days. How much was I going to have to retrain when I finally got out of this mess?

  There were a few brisk beeps, and the door slid open again. Instinctively, I got to my feet and braced myself. Nothing could have prepared me for what stepped through the door.

  With two curt steps, a short woman in her fifties snapped into the room. She had the roundness that all humans come to as they get older, and her silvering hair was swept back tightly over her scalp. My heart shrank in my chest.

  Oh, no. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. Not for a match, not even for thirty days. I mean, look at her—was it even possible for her to bear a child?

  “I’m sorry,” my voice was more urgent than I would have liked. “There’s been some mistake…”

  “Miss Ashby, please.” The little woman made the same bowing gesture that the Jorkan attendant had offered me, and I clamped my mouth shut.