Alien (23 page)

Three
Moon-risings Outside Khan-Gori Airspace

Zyrus
Galaxy, Seventh Dimension

6049
Y.Y. (Yessat Years)

“You’re looking at me as if I just
sprouted three heads,” Kari mused, her silver-blue gaze trained on Dari.
“Surely out of all the crazy things that go on in Trek Mi Q’an my life story
isn’t the craziest.”

“N-not at all,” Dari sputtered. Her
glowing blue eyes were wide, her hands fidgeting in her lap. Kari didn’t know
what to make of that. “I just…”

“Yeah? You just what?”

“I just need to check on Bazi.” She
soared to her feet. “Leastways, ‘tis a lot to take in, your story.”

Kari frowned as she watched the
princess walk toward the Arakian boy’s sleeping quarters. Every time Dari got
nervous or close to confiding in her, she immediately used Bazi as an excuse to
remove herself from the situation.
That
Kari was used to, but Dari
staring at her as if she’d seen a ghost was a new phenomenon altogether.

Three days and three nights—that
was all they had left before their gastrolight cruiser breached Khan-Gor’s
airspace. And the clock, Kari conceded as she checked the spaceship’s readings,
was ticking. In four mere
Nuba
-hours, three days and three nights would
become three days and two nights. Time was of the essence for it was no longer
on their side.

“Please finish your story,” the
princess said as she came back to the front of the ship. She was carrying a
tray of food and
matpow
—a delicious fermented drink that reminded her of
the mead she’d once tried back home at a medieval fair. “I need to hear the
whole of it before I speak on this.”

One of Kari’s eyebrows inched up.
Dari was hiding something—and that something had nothing to do with the evil
that awaited them on Khan-Gor. Kari’s reminiscing had caused the young royal’s
face to blanch, which made no sense. She accepted a chalice of
matpow
from Dari as she studied the princess’ schooled features.

“All right,” Kari slowly agreed.
She recognized that no answers would be forthcoming from Dari until she
finished her story. “I’ll tell you the rest.”

Hopefully then, at long last, the
princess would trust her.

The
Matriarchal Planet of Galis

Trek
Mi Q’an Galaxy, Seventh Dimension

6039
Y.Y. (Yessat Years)

Seventeen Yessat Years had gone by
since the day Kari emerged from the silver-mirror waters of Loch Valor. She
tried not to think about the fact her sister had been dead for hundreds,
possibly thousands of years, but every anniversary of her arrival on Galis
brought the knowledge and resulting grief to the forefront of her
consciousness.

In the seventh dimension of Trek Mi
Q’an galaxy, time didn’t function as it did back on Earth. The days were much
longer and the months more plentiful. Klykka had tried to do the math once, but
because she’d never trekked to the first dimension of time and space where
Earth dwelled it was difficult to estimate how many Earth years went by with
the passing of a single Yessat Year.
“Between ten to one hundred, sister,
depending upon the year. ‘Tis the best calculation I can give you for time
works differently in each dimension.”

Ten, fifty, one hundred…it really
didn’t matter. Any way Kari looked at it, her sister and Geris had been long
dead. That fact was not only difficult to grasp, it was also downright
depressing.

Had her sister ever married? Did
she have children? Had her life been a happy one? These were the questions that
plagued Kari whenever she allowed herself to remember, to feel, so she rarely
indulged them.

Standing on the maroon shores of
Loch Valor, Kari Gy’at Li stared into the waters that had brought her here so
many Yessat Years ago. She usually avoided this place like the plague, but
today was the anniversary of her departure from Earth. Once a year she made
this pilgrimage; once a year she allowed herself to mourn the loss of her
former self and the accompanying memories that made up who she had once been.

“I will never forget you, Kyra,”
she murmured. “Wherever you are, whatever form your spirit has taken on, I will
always love you.” She swiped away a rogue tear. “I miss you so fucking much.”
Taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, Kari forced a smile to her lips.
“Tell Geris I’m sorry I wrecked her Mercedes that time I borrowed it. It still
bothers me that I blamed it on that poor valet guy.” She shook her head
slightly. “I realize the futility of regret, but there it is nonetheless.”

Kari sighed as she took note of her
image in the silvery waters. The liquid cast back such an accurate reflection
that all Galian mirrors were made from it. Indeed, it was one of the planet’s
biggest exports. Today her likeness echoed back a spectacle that even the Gy’at
Li couldn’t explain—nobody, or at least nobody in Trek Mi Q’an galaxy, ever
aged.

Seventeen Yessat Years had passed
and Kari looked no different now than she had upon her arrival. Had she never
been brought here and seventeen Earth years had ticked by, her appearance would
reflect that of a middle-aged woman rather than a girl in her twenties. Nothing
was the same on Galis. Here she was barely considered a woman. Truly, her
adoptive sisters treated her much like a child. Given that Klykka and Dorra had
both been alive for hundreds of Yessat Years, she supposed she still was by
their way of thinking.

“I love you, Kyra,” Kari whispered.
She indulged in a final teary moment before batting away the moisture from her
eyelashes. “I’ll see you next year, Sis.”

* * * * *

“’Tis a proficient pack-hunter
you’ve become,” Klykka told Kari before picking up her chalice and sipping from
it. “Leastways, every Yessat Year that passes by makes me prouder of your
accomplishments.”

Kari beamed at the rare praise.
Finished eating, she grabbed the towelette from the erection closest to her
without breaking eye contact with her sister. “Thank you.” She dabbed at her
lips, clearing away the remaining juices of the succulent, roasted
vesha
beast they’d just dined on. “That means a lot coming from you.”

“’Tis true, her words,” Dorra
confirmed. “Never did I think you would surpass even myself at bagging and
tagging. Leastways, you have.”

Bagging and tagging. Sweet lord
above if Kyra could have watched
that
ritual unfold! Her birth sister’s
reaction would have been priceless. The mental image of Kyra’s shocked
expression amused her. She picked up her chalice and sipped from it to keep
from smiling, not wanting Dorra to think she was making fun of her.

“What amuses you, sister?” Klykka
asked.

Kari’s eyes widened. So much for
her attempt at camouflage. Deciding to be honest, she told her adoptive sisters
what she’d been thinking. It didn’t take long before all three of them were
grinning.

“What was courtship and mating like
on Earth?” Dorra asked. Her violet gaze perfectly matched the
zoka
she’d
chosen to wear today. “You do not hunt men and men do not hunt women?” Her
expression was confused. “How in the sands does anyone ever take a mate to the
marriage bed?”

Kari couldn’t help but laugh. She
supposed the earthly way of matrimony would seem odd to a people who took whom
they wanted by force.

None of the Gy’at Lis had married
yet. Klykka and Dorra regularly engaged in sex with all the male servants, but
neither had an interest in marrying any time soon. When they were ready, they
would pick virgin males from the marriage auction block or pack-hunt their
grooms by themselves.

Bagging and tagging was how the
female warriors of the Gy’at Li sector earned credits. Working in teams, they
pack-hunted virgin Galian males to sell to prospective mistresses—brides—at the
auction block. The bigger and more cunning the male, the more exorbitant his
asking price was. Yesterday on the auction block in Valor City, they had sold every
single male they’d bagged on their last pack-hunt. The planet’s capital seat,
Valor City attracted wealthy female buyers from sectors all across Galis.

Even though the entire ritual was
collectively referred to as bagging and tagging, the pack-hunters only did the
bagging part, the capturing. The tagging, or branding of one’s mate, was done
by the bride herself after she purchased him.

Yes, Kari mused, grinning, Kyra
would have pissed her pants from shock watching that shit go down.

“On Earth, some couples are bound
to each other without their consent by the bride’s and groom’s parents. We call
that an ‘arranged marriage’.”

“Without the bride’s consent?”
Dorra asked incredulously.

“
Especially
without the
bride’s consent. The groom may or may not have some say-so in the decision.”

Dorra’s expression was grim. “’Tis
a perversion of nature, that.”

“Aye,” Klykka concurred. “They must
share the
vesha
hides with a male not of their choosing?”

Kari nodded. “When I left Earth
arranged marriages were only common in certain parts of the planet. There was a
time when almost all marriages were arranged, but that was long before I was
born.”

“For a certainty would I flee,”
Dorra muttered on a grunt. “And slay any who would try to stop me.”

Kari decided now wasn’t the time to
explain how lowly women were regarded in certain parts of Earth—or how fleeing
nearly always resulted in the female’s death. She’d save that sad tale for
another day. Besides, Dorra already looked primed to start a war. “Luckily,
most marriages where I’m from are a result of two people falling in love and
deciding they want to spend the rest of their lives together.”

Her adoptive sisters stared at her
blankly.

“Falling in love is like…” Kari’s
smile faltered. Her voice trailed off. “Actually I don’t know what it feels
like at all.”

That realization stung more than
she could have guessed it would. Having no attraction whatsoever to the men of
this world, her last seventeen years of life on Galis had been loveless and
sexless. She’d tried more times than she could count to relieve herself with a
handsome servant, but the teary-eyed, emotionally fragile and coquettish ways
of Galian men was like a proverbial bucket of ice water to the libido. As a
result, her sex life consisted of imagination and masturbation. At least in her
fantasies, men were
men
.

Klykka patted Kari on the hand.
“Never fear, sister. When the desire to mate for life is upon you, we shall bag
and tag the finest male specimen on Galis to make your own.”

If only that knowledge made her feel
better instead of worse. “Thank you,” Kari managed. She forced a smile to her
lips. “You’re the best adoptive sisters a refugee from Earth could ask for.”

“We should move on in topic,”
Klykka announced. “As interesting as your stories of primitive Earth are, I
fear we have digressed from the subject at hand.”

Kari blinked. “There was a subject
at hand?”

“Aye. Your proficiency as a
pack-hunter.”

“Oh right.”

“You have proved yourself an
excellent hunter who can be bested by none. Leastways, there is no more need to
apprentice under me any longer so—”

“You’re making me leave?” Kari’s
heart sank and her stomach lurched. Klykka and Dorra were all she had. The
thought of being forced to separate from them was equal parts terrifying and
depressing.

“Nay!” Klykka retorted. “Child, I
have instructed you more times than I can count not to interrupt my words with
every musing that enters your mind. When will you learn?”

She was too relieved to be
embarrassed by the admonishment. Thank the goddess, the holy sands, and
everything else deemed sacred around here. Her silver-blue eyes shuttered as
she blew out a breath. “My apologies, Mistress.”

Klykka nodded, her contrition
accepted. “Leastways, you require no more training in the art of hunting so
‘tis time to train you in the art of warring.”

Kari’s eyes widened. The excitement
she felt was no doubt obvious, but she tried to school her features anyway.
Emotion was not acceptable
at all
when it came to warring; not even when
the emotion in question was a positive one.

“’Tis a certainty you are permitted
to show happiness for a moment,” Dorra interjected. Her lips curled up. “Every
rule has its exception.”

When Klykka smiled too, Kari let
herself grin. “I’ve been waiting for this day for seventeen Yessat Years! Thank
you, Klykka!”

The Gy’at Li schooled her features.
Dorra and Kari followed suit. “Before ‘tis possible to learn the warring arts,”
the High Mystik explained, “one must learn the trade of their sector, and so
you have.”

Kari vigorously nodded, eager for
her to move on and tell her more.

“One must also learn,” Klykka said,
“the erotic arts.”

“I have. You trained me well.” Kari
gestured toward the erect penises of the five male servants The Gy’at Li had
just purchased. “My spell has not worn off.”

“For a certainty it has not, which
is why I am confident ‘tis time to test your skills on the males not of Galis.”

Kari stilled. She hesitantly put a
question to Klykka. “Males not of Galis?”

The High Mystik inclined her head.
Her violet eyes narrowed, underscoring the seriousness of her command. “’Tis
not permissible by Galian law to be taught the final steps in the warring arts
until your Mistress is certain you can control males of all breeds by use of
the erotic arts alone.”

She wasn’t certain what the
connection between the erotic arts and the warring arts could possibly be, but
Kari also implicitly understood that Klykka wouldn’t tell her more than she
wanted her to know until it was time.

“You will trek alone to the heart
of Crystal City, child, and there you will live in the palace that belongs to
me. For three moon-months you will work in the tavern frequented by male
travelers from all over Trek Mi Q’an galaxy.” Klykka leaned in closer to her.
“Including the warriors of Tryston.”

Kari suddenly felt thirsty. She held
up her chalice so a male servant could refill it.

The warriors of Tryston? The ones
who stole Galian females who were never heard from again?

“I would not send you did I not
think you ready,” Klykka said as if reading Kari’s mind. The High Mystik
smirked. “Leastways, the fool males will believe you to be naught more than a
serving wench who puts on erotic shows for extra credits.”

“Humanoids in general, but
especially humanoid males, see what they expect to see,” Dorra intoned. “’Tis
not conceivable to their minds that tavern wenches are warriors in training,
for in their worlds women serve no purpose but to pleasure men.”

Kari frowned. Clearly Trek Mi Q’an,
and Tryston in particular, were in need of some Gloria Steinems. Or some
Galians.

She took a large sip of the
pici
juice her chalice had been replenished with as she marveled at the utter
brilliance of Galian females. Not only were they training for war in plain
sight, but the boot camp was being financed by the enemy.

“Heed my warning, sister,” Klykka said
sternly. “Perform for them, master your ability to control them, but do not
ever—not under any circumstance—allow a Trystonni warrior to bed you.”

Or face being kidnapped,
possibly murdered, by the horrid males you’ve heard so many frightening stories
about…

Klykka’s meaning, unstated, was
nevertheless understood. Kari slowly nodded. “I’m ready for the three
moon-months to begin whenever you wish for me to go.”

The Gy’at Li’s expression was one
of pride. Kari silently vowed to never disappoint her. “You will leave,” Klykka
pronounced, “on the morrow.”