Tyree

by Alana Khan

  “You can have them all in four days. I can’t imagine I’ll ever wear them again.”

  “You’re going to do fine, you know. Your music is amazing.”

  “Thanks, Savannah, but hearing it and believing it are two different things.” I pause, then grab her hand. “I’m nervous and scared, but I need to step up, put on my big girl panties, and do us all proud.” She smiles at me. “Oh, speaking of which, you didn’t happen to order any underwear, did you?”

  “You won’t need a bra. The dresses themselves do all the heavy lifting. And yes, I ordered panties for every woman on this ship. We deserve it, and even if the guys find out, I don’t believe one of them will complain.”

  “You’re right. None of the horny guys on the ship are going to gripe about their women having sexy underwear.” I walk to the door, trying to get used to the idea of wearing those fancy dresses. “Thanks, Savannah.”

  Tyree

  “Tyree and Grace, could you come to the bridge, please?” Captain Zar’s voice booms over the loudspeaker.

  Captain Zar, Callista on comms, and Axxios, the pilot, are on the bridge when I arrive. Grace appears a moment later.

  “Thanks for coming, have a seat. I trust you’re all recovering from last night’s close call.” Then Zar gets down to business, “Callista gathered some intel I wanted to review with you before we hit atmo on Emirus.”

  I sit in my first mate chair while Grace grabs a spot on one of the small jumpseats ringing the back wall. I can tell she’s nervous and seems to want no part of this briefing.

  I calm her from here. I don’t even close my eyes; I just push a gust of serenity at her. I see her shoulders relax. I blast her with another round and see her take in a full breath. She glances over at me and smiles.

  “Callista? Go ahead.”

  “The MarZan cartel has definitely intensified their search for us in the last few days. Not only did we disable their ship the other night, I wonder if they figured out it was us on Ortheon II a month ago when Shadow and Petra killed two MarZan operatives on their mission to the surface.

  “I’ve been picking up space chatter between MarZan ships several times a day. They’re on the hunt for us in a big way. Seems we provoked the head of the syndicate, Daneur Khour, and he doesn’t like to lose face. Or money. Or possessions, which is what we are to him. Not to mention this vessel.

  “So far, I’ve heard absolutely nothing about Emirus. I don’t believe they’ve linked the concert to us. But I know this is an important mission, and I wanted to make sure everyone was apprised of this status.”

  “So, nothing in particular to worry about. Just something to keep in mind. Thanks, Callista. Good work.” Zar nods at her. It often strikes me that although he’s the least humanoid in appearance of anyone on board, with his feline features and furred body, he’s one of the strongest, most compassionate males I’ve ever met. He’s taken on a lot. From being born a slave to leading an insurrection with his mate, Anya, to captaining this ship. I have tremendous respect for him.

  “Shadow’s been trying his hand at a lot of jobs around the ship since he decided he wants no part of the gladiator’s life. I tasked him with looking into Argento Quirinus, the Emperor.

  “He briefed me on some information I thought you should know. This is not a democratic planet but is ruled by the royal family, of which Quirinus is the head. The planet is well run with little petty crime, few murders, and clean streets. And before you decide this sounds like a good place to move, what it really means is that the citizens are terrified of their leader and walk the straight and narrow under fear of severe punishment.

  “That’s about all we know. It sounds like this mission should be a quick in and out. You’ll have a solid gladiatorial guard, including Shadow.”

  “But I thought he didn’t want to…,” Grace interjects.

  “He demanded to go,” Zar answers. “Said he wouldn’t hear of Grace or Tyree going to the planet surface without his personal protection. I’m certain you’ll all be fine.” He pauses, then, “As long as you don’t spit on the street. It’s a punishable offense. Don’t sit before the Emperor is seated. If he invites you to dine with him don’t eat before he does, and don’t stop until he pushes his silverware into the middle of his plate.”

  “Punishable offenses?” Grace asks, eyes wide in fright.

  “Punishable offenses,” Zar nods. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Can I get up now, or is that a punishable offense?” Grace jokes.

  “You’ll do fine down there. We get there by lunchtime tomorrow. Savannah suggested that Petra should accompany you, to do...let me check my notes, hair and makeup. You’ll pick up your gowns and do any last-minute alterations, then arrive at the concert hall by 1830. The performance starts at 2000.”

  Chapter Nine

  Grace

  I wake the next day, my skin covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. I was having the naked performance dream again. Enough of this shit! I don’t have time for anxiety.

  I run at top speed all morning, taking care of loose ends. At one point I realize all I have for shoes is a pair of crappy alien flip flops, but Savannah assures me she’s found a store on Emirus near the dress shop.

  Finally, I’m waiting at the ramp to leave, my two instruments carefully wrapped in a large roller bag which Petra kindly takes control of. Tyree’s there and looking handsome in his new uniform with his chainsticks and laser on his belt. The males could all be mistaken for Chippendale models with their muscular physiques, black leather kilt-like bottoms, and black sash-covered chests. They look imposing—and like an efficient machine.

  “All this for me?” I whisper to Tyree.

  “It seems you’re famous now, Amara. Crazy things happen. We want to make certain you’re protected.”

  “Can I have your attention?” Zar’s sonorous voice intrudes over the cacophony of voices in the small exit area we’re crammed into. “Doctore and Stryker, you’re going to accompany Maddie to the mercantile and back as she picks up supplies. When she’s safely back here you’ll proceed to the concert hall to wait for the others. I’d like you to check out the hall itself, and the room where Grace will be housed prior to and after the performance. I want this to go off without any problems.

  “Shadow’s in charge of this mission, I want you all to report to him. He’ll make all decisions on the ground. Theos, Dax, Steele, and Tyree will accompany Grace and Petra on their shopping trip, then to the concert hall. No extra stops. The concert hall will be easier to defend than any random street corner. Are we clear?”

  “Is this really necessary?” I ask.

  “Callista’s been monitoring comms. Sounds like off-worlders are pouring in from every corner of the galaxy for the concert. Scalpers are selling tickets for over five thousand credits apiece. We just want to keep you safe.”

  My knees actually buckle. I would have hit the floor if Tyree hadn’t caught me under my arm and held me up.

  “Shadow, keep me informed at thirty minima intervals,” Zar says. “Be safe out there.”

  My guards form a phalanx around me, except for Tyree who stays at my side, one hand respectfully but firmly under my arm.

  With over a thousand pounds of well-armed muscle surrounding me, it takes a moment for me to see what awaits us outside our vessel. My feet barely touch the tarmac when I see hundreds of aliens of all sizes, shapes, and colors. Some are behind ropes; those must be civilian onlookers. But there are dozens of beings inside the ropes, many taking pictures with tiny devices. Some are shouting questions at me as they press closer.

  I feel Tyree tense beside me. “Can you walk on your own power, Grace? I’d rather have both hands free to protect you.” His eyes are scanning the environment for threats.

  I nod and move away from him, walking on my own steam. Okay, Grace, this is the moment of truth. You need to pull yourself together, I scold myself. I flash pictures on the mental screen inside my head—dozens of them. Times when I found my ow
n inner strength and took care of myself. I straighten my spine, ball my hands into fists, and lift my chin.

  I can do this. Dealing with Barbarian was harder than this. Calling 911 at age six when my mom overdosed and passed out on the bathroom floor in a pool of her own vomit was harder than this. Coping with the kids at school making fun of me because I smelled like dirty laundry was harder than this.

  Fuck you! I think. Fuck you all. I can do this!

  My spine is ramrod straight as I step forward. I’m going to meet an Emperor today. But I’m a queen, I tell myself. I’m a fucking queen, and they can all kiss my ass. I’m going to play music the angels would be jealous of. People are paying five thousand credits a ticket to hear my music. And I’m worth it.

  The gladiators protecting me are all vigilant. I can see their tight muscles; they all have both hands on their weapons.

  “Out of the way!” Shadow orders the onslaught of reporters as we move to the waiting hovercraft.

  “I had no idea…” I breathe when we’re zipping through the streets of Almering toward the dress shop.

  “I knew you were popular,” Shadow says, “but I didn’t know the crowd would look like that. I’m going to have Callista comm the Emperor’s staff and see if we can have reinforcements meet us at the shop and stay with us through your entire engagement on Emirus. There must have been a hundred reporters swarming us. This is a circus.”

  Our hovercraft is speeding fast, like we’re on some important mission rather than going to a dress shop. I sneak peeks at the scenery out my side window. The Database said there were over twelve million people in this city, but it seems almost like a small town. Street after street with shops at street level and living spaces up above. Everything seems immaculate. I guess that’s what happens when you’re ruled by a despot who forbids spitting and littering.

  When I get a glance through the front window I’m struck by two things: the pink sky (how’d I miss that when I stepped out of our vessel?) and tall buildings up ahead. They look hundreds of stories high. We must have landed in the burbs and are now traveling toward the city proper.

  The dress shop had already closed its doors to the public, so it’s just the gladiators, Petra, and me in the small fabric-strewn space. It’s maybe thirty by thirty feet, the floor is grimy, but the dresses hanging on racks in every available space look like the most glorious things I’ve ever seen.

  The staff is comprised of four spindly humanoid females with elongated faces. Their skin seems to be stretched too tightly over protruding cheekbones. I have no idea about intergalactic fashion trends, but one sports a lime green wig, one is neon pink, one fire-engine red, and the other is cotton-candy blue.

  Their fingers are long and slim. Perfect, I guess, for seamstresses. The three dresses Savannah ordered are hanging neatly over a three-way mirror. My breath gusts out in a huff of surprise when I see them. I’ve certainly never worn anything so fine or fancy.

  There’s a private room in the back for me to try them on. My image looks so foreign to me, it’s hard to register what I really look like as I’m helped into the first one. Blood red, it’s some type of material that feels softer than silk.

  “Grace, you look hot,” Petra says, then licks her finger, presses it to her hip and makes a sizzling sound. “Amazing.”

  I look girlier than ever in my life. The waist is nipped, the hips are accentuated, and the color brings out my features. But the neckline is way too low. If I take a deep breath my areolas will show.

  “Beautiful, ladies,” I inform the seamstresses who all seem to wait breathlessly for my pronouncement. “Can we...add some lace here?” I point to the decolletage.

  “But that’s the style, Madam. And it looks so lovely on you.” The one with the lime green wig informs me.

  “Right you are,” I tell her. “But I want to show less. Would lace work or do you have another idea?”

  The four women put their heads together, then lime green shows me some black lace and tells me this will look attractive. We’ll use the black lace retrofit for the red and green, white lace for the white dress—all will be done within an hour.

  It’s like that scene in Pretty Woman with all of them kissing my ass—so courteous and concerned about my every want and need. I’ve decided to just enjoy my little moment of fame. It will be the first and last time in my life I’m treated with this much deference.

  Petra informs me we won’t have to leave the dress shop to look for shoes; they’ve hauled in a variety in my size from the store down the street.

  I’m still wearing the emerald green dress, as we search for appropriate shoes. I need a pair that is the right fit, the right height and, most importantly, doesn’t have heels so high that I fall over when I walk.

  If I wasn’t already embarrassed about the excess boobage spilling out the top of the dress, the look on Tyree’s face would push me over the edge. I’ve never seen him in this particular shade of red. His face is pinched in anger as he tries to keep his massive body between me and the gladiators so they don’t get a chance to ogle me.

  I glance out the storefront windows and glimpse what looks like hundreds of onlookers pressing toward the glass. “Um, guys, could the weight of all of those people actually break the glass?”

  The males follow my gaze and see the crush of people. Some of their features are distorted because folks from behind are pressing so hard they’re being smashed against the window.

  “Tyree, Dax, you stay here and guard her. Theos and Steele, come with me, we’ve got to break this up,” Shadow orders. “For drack’s sake, get her out of sight.”

  Tyree and Dax hustle Petra and I into the windowless fitting room. The males have both drawn their guns and are on high alert. I have no idea what’s happening outside this room, but I’m waiting to hear the sound of the huge plate glass windows splintering at any moment.

  “Ladies,” Dax calls to the seamstresses in the tiny adjoining sewing room. How do they even work in there? They’re elbow to elbow, colorful heads bent low over their work. “Is there a back entrance to this shop?”

  Cotton candy blue points to the back wall behind her. We’d have to move four chairs, four women, and two sewing machines to be able to open the door.

  “If we hear glass break, we’ll be forcing through that door,” Dax informs them. “Best to get out of our way.”

  Luckily, moments later we’re joined by Shadow and his men. “The Emperor’s guards have arrived. They managed the crowd. We’re fine.” He looks shaken—lips pulled down in a scowl, swallowing hard.

  “What happened out there?” Tyree asks.

  “Brutal. Shock sticks. Many of the soldiers were on mronckback and used the animals to push the crowd down the street. At least five were trampled and badly hurt by my count. It was just an eager crowd. They wanted a glimpse of Grace, they’re calling her ‘Musician of Angels.’”

  “People were hurt? Trying to see me?” My panic hits in full force. It’s mingled with something else. Guilt? My chin quivers and I take a deep breath.

  “It’s not your fault,” Shadow tells me. “You certainly didn’t ask for this.”

  The ladies finish the dresses one by one. As soon as I try one on to make sure the lace looks right, they present me with the next. The gowns are wrapped as if they’re precious jewels, then we’re off to the concert hall in our hovercraft, surrounded by five similar craft holding over a hundred of the Emperor’s soldiers.

  Tyree

  I can’t wait until we’re safely in the concert hall. Grace is far too exposed and vulnerable as we move her through the city. Luckily this vehicle’s windows are obscured, so no onlookers can see Grace’s lovely face pressed against the glass as she gawks at the sights.

  “Oh my gosh. That building has to be three hundred stories high.” Her mouth is actually gaping open in awe. “Is it peaking above the clouds? And the pink sky! I can’t get over it.”

  Even though we’re surrounded by soldiers as well as our own glad
iatorial guards, I stay attentive. That said, I can’t help occasionally glancing out the windows myself. I’ve been a slave for a long time, either kept underground in a cell, on board a ship, or as a housepet. My home planet’s major mode of transportation was ortoni-drawn wagons. We had no structures higher than three stories. I must admit I’m fascinated by what I see whizzing by these windows.

  At last, we pull up to the concert hall, which occupies an entire city block. I look over at Grace and see her swallow several times as she absorbs the enormity and scope of the building. To compare it to a palace would be a disservice. It’s incredible.

  I keep myself focused on the business at hand, reminding myself that my primary mission is Grace’s safety. The other males are highly-trained gladiators. Until recently I was tripping over my own feet, still getting used to my new size. Despite that, I have an important job here. I need to protect her, preserve her safety, and keep her calm enough to perform.