Strange Love

by Ann Aguirre

  The ship came in too fast for her to see if there was any ground traffic, and soon her view was blotted out by other ships and the inside of the docking facility. Spaceship port? Whatever. Zylar was a good pilot; she barely felt the jolt when they touched down. Relieved, she unbuckled the straps keeping her safe, and Snaps promptly peed as soon as she set him on the floor, right on the base of the pilot’s chair.

  “That’s mine now,” said Snaps.

  Beryl wasn’t sure what alien customs said, but that was how it worked in the animal kingdom on Earth. If you pee on something, it belongs to you. She glanced at Zylar for confirmation.

  “I will have the chair removed,” he said. “And ask personnel to bring it to your quarters for Snaps to use.”

  “I like him,” Snaps said.

  She crouched and looked Snaps in the eye. “That is the first and last thing you pee on to claim here, okay? We’re guests, and we need to make a good impression. You know perfectly well you’re not supposed to do that inside.”

  “Sorry,” said Snaps. “I’m nervous.”

  There was no arguing with that, especially when she recalled the vast alien skyline. She wanted to pee too. Clenching with an anxious Kegel, she turned to Zylar. “Let’s go.”

  “This way.”

  Outside, she took her first breath, sucking in alien chemicals and—wait. “I’m breathing. How am I breathing?”

  “On the ship, I gave you a respiratory booster, one that we administer to all visitors. You will need to receive it regularly if you make this your home.”

  “Sort of like a breathing treatment?”

  “Precisely. We may be able to tweak your physiology with gene therapy if the booster loses efficacy over time.”

  “Did you do that while I was unconscious?”

  “Apologies. You and your small friend were in distress.”

  So far, he hadn’t touched her, except to install the translation thingy and the breath therapy. No exploratory butt stuff, no sign that he was about to be overwhelmed by her sexy human pheromones and assault her in a frenzy of uncontrollable lust. Hopefully this nest-guardian stuff wouldn’t turn out to be too taxing, as she hadn’t done particularly well in PE. Always chosen last for team sports—that was her athletic legacy. If the driving off predators he’d mentioned before was literal, not figurative, she might be in trouble.

  Hopefully, in a high-tech world like this seemed to be, nest-guardian was more of a ceremonial title, and she’d just need to learn how to take care of his kids. Wait, did he have some already? He’d said they would out-bond, build a life, and raise young, so she wasn’t clear if he expected her to physically gestate them. Maybe the Barathi had a baby-making machine where they input DNA samples and, presto—in five minutes or less, viable offspring. With him setting a brisk, no-nonsense pace through an incredibly alien warren, this didn’t seem like the time to ask.

  Beryl had to trot to keep up. Even the way he moved was alien, a sort of fluid placement that made her think his hip joints didn’t work like hers. If he even had joints. Snaps seemed fine with everything, eagerly sniffing around as he ran alongside, occasionally pausing to paw at some unidentifiable piece of tech. Zylar didn’t scold the dog, but he did stop to instruct a couple of workers—oh my God.

  He was serious about the chair thing. He’s giving the seat to Snaps.

  The urge to laugh swept over her in a drowning wave, but she quelled it. If she started, she wouldn’t stop until she was curled up and rocking with her head between her knees. Staying calm was starting to feel like Mission: Impossible, but retreating to wordless screaming wouldn’t help the situation. She caught her breath while he finished the exchange with two spaceport staffers, both of whom were brighter than Zylar. One had skin in sunset shades, orange and rose, while the other was a study in seascapes, all the rayed hues of the Mediterranean. Both were…prettier than Zylar, even by her standards. Their colors were, anyway.

  Her appreciation dimmed when the blue one gawked at her and said, “What is it?”

  “That is Beryl Bowman.” Zylar indicated her with a flourish of his left claw. “Fearsome, is she not? Her companion is Snaps.”

  “I’m a dog,” Snaps said.

  Before the workers could say anything else, Zylar escorted her away, with what she’d consider a protective gesture. At least, he put his body between them and hustled her out of what looked like an alien public parking facility. She knew her Earth comparisons might not hold, but she had nothing else. Literally nothing but the alien beside her and a talking dog. Okay, the talking dog part was cool.

  Maybe being abducted by an alien would improve her life in other ways. As of now, it was too early to tell.

  Zylar guided her to a niche where another alien waited, this one white and silver with markings that reminded her of a rat snake. “I need to apply for residency. My prospective mate is not from Barath.”

  “You are willing to sponsor…” The alien seemed unable to find the right word.

  “Beryl. Pronoun is her. I’m a woman.”

  “I see.” The alien made a note, and damn—so cool—the clerk used his claws as a stylus, writing directly on the work surface, which was also an alien computer. Or she guessed that from the symbols appearing, lights flashing away.

  She understood none of it, of course. Unfortunately, the gizmo Zylar’d popped into her brain stem didn’t teach her to read their language. Understandable, since he’d said it was old tech used to communicate with semi-intelligent beasts of burden.

  Yeah, still not over that.

  “What Coalition Planet does Beryl hail from?” The clerk directed the question at Zylar, as if she couldn’t speak for herself.

  Not loving this either.

  The spikes on Zylar’s back jutted out farther. What did that mean, she wondered? “Beryl Bowman is from a non-allied homeworld. She comes from Aerth, the States United of Missouri, city of St. Louis.”

  That was impressive recall, considering how she’d been babbling at him in the beginning, and it was close to correct. She didn’t bother to amend the minor errors. The Barathi record-keeper wouldn’t have heard of Earth anyway. Zylar had said it wasn’t in any of their databases.

  Rat Snake stared. “You brought a—”

  “Think again,” Zylar cut in.

  Probably a slur, Beryl guessed. Still, she was glad that Zylar wasn’t letting some random asshole call her a lower primate. Hesitantly, she tapped her alien on the arm to get his attention. “Is this against the Choosing rules somehow? Am I not allowed to be here?”

  The two Barathi exchanged stares that seemed pissy to Beryl, but she’d be the first to admit she had no idea how to read their faces. I need to take a class. Is that possible?

  “Not against the rules,” Rat Snake finally said, grudgingly. “Highly irregular. I will have to process a TI-5476 form. I have never processed a 5476.”

  “Uh, okay.” Now she really had to pee. And Snaps was chewing on something in the corner. Before she could call him, there was a bzzt sound and sparks flew. The lights dimmed as Snaps yipped and flew back a few feet. “Shit! Are you okay, buddy?”

  The good boy lay on his back for a few seconds, paws twitching. Then he said, “That. Was. Awesome!”

  My dog is the smart one. He thinks electrocution is cool.

  Zylar joined her, running his scanner-thing across Snaps. “His heartrate is erratic, but he seems to be otherwise unharmed. Does he taste things this way often?”

  “More often than I’d like,” she mumbled. “Maybe I’m not the best dog mom. He gives me sad eyes when I tell him no and—wait, that doesn’t matter right now.”

  She got a little shock when she picked Snaps up, not enough to do more than numb her fingertips. Probably.

  “Okay, new rule. Do not put your mouth on anything that I didn’t tell you to eat. I’m serious. This place could be dangerous! We’re not in Kansas anymore, Snaps.”

  “Fine,” said Snaps.

  “I thought you wer
e from the States United of Missouri,” Rat Snake said.

  “Just process the 5476, so we can leave,” Zylar interrupted. “There are other formalities that must be attended before I can let my ______ rest.”

  Beryl blinked. “Your what now? That didn’t translate.”

  “My intended. My Terrible One.”

  “Ah, right. More of your sweet talk, got it.” Still, she figured it wasn’t worse than some of the shit Stuart used to say after he got liquored up on Saturday night.

  “Are you sure about this?” Rat Snake asked.

  She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or Zylar, but they both answered at the same time. “Positive,” and “Absolutely certain.”

  Maybe her heart fluttered a little. For damn sure, her alien hadn’t meant to steal her, but he was dead set on keeping her.

  [ 3 ]

  Zylar had never successfully intimidated anyone in his life, possibly part of why he’d been consistently overlooked in the Choosing.

  This was clearly a day for firsts, as the clerical worker uttered subharmonic protests, but he did process the 5476. “Present your…appendage,” he said in a decidedly cross tone.

  Beryl extended a grabber, emitting a squeak when the clerk chipped her—a supposedly painless installation, but their tech wasn’t meant for soft-skins. She jerked her limb back and rubbed it a few times. “What was that?”

  “Your immigration clearance. We’ll take care of Snaps next.”

  She started to say something, studying the small being currently cradled in her arms. When she lifted Snaps to be chipped, he attempted to taste her. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

  “I’m a big deal,” Snaps said, whipping his rear appendage in various directions.

  Zylar believed that must be true, as Beryl seemed more concerned about Snaps than herself. That was surely the mark of a higher social caste. Quietly, he ran another scan, but the shock hadn’t harmed the fur-person in any manner his equipment could detect. While he couldn’t find much to appreciate in Beryl’s appearance, he was grateful she didn’t have as much fur as Snaps.

  The clerk completed the next form, based on Snaps’s short, often puzzling replies, then he input the immigration data. Snaps didn’t flinch or cry out, making Zylar wonder if he was of warrior caste. Beryl didn’t set him down, so Zylar guessed she must have intended to port him as an honored guest.

  “This is wild. I have the same status as my dog.”

  Zylar beckoned. “I know it’s been a long, strange day, but we’re coming to the end of it soon. The only thing left is for you to greet my progenitors.”

  “You have pro-generators?” Snaps asked. “What’s a pro-generator?”

  Beryl answered in a low voice. “We’re meeting his parents, I think.”

  “New friends!” Snaps crowed in a gleeful tone.

  “That remains to be seen.” Zylar hated to quash their enthusiasm, but his progenitors could be difficult. They’d long since lost interest in his personal business, and had, he suspected, resigned themselves to him becoming a drone.

  “Not very comforting,” she mumbled.

  With a sideways glance, he assured himself that she was following and led the way out of the spaceport warren. This corridor was a honeycomb of little-used offices. Across the way, some enterprising merchants had set up food stalls and souvenir stands, nothing official or licensed, so the moment anyone in authority glanced in that direction, the vendors would scramble, wreaking havoc among the aliens that thronged the walkways looking for transport off-world.

  Outside, he took a deep breath, luxuriating in the fresh air and sunlight. Beryl put a grabber over her eyes, so perhaps the sun was brighter than she was used to. “Is it too strong? I’ll look into a solar-shielding treatment.”

  “It’s no worse than ______,” she said.

  That didn’t clarify anything, but he hurried them to a connected building that would take them up to the platform where they’d wait for transit. His progenitors lived across the sprawl at the highest point in Srila, the undisputed heart of Kith B’alak. While Beryl might not grasp the gravitas of belonging to one of the Founding families, Zylar had carried that weight long enough to be well-acquainted with it. There was always an unspoken demand to be better and do more, a requirement he often failed.

  At least they aren’t comparing me with Ryzven anymore.

  Ryzven graduated first in his class. Ryzven invented a vaccine that will cure Red Pit Fever. Ryzven was Chosen before anyone else—in his first season. Zylar had heard all those accomplishments and readily acknowledged that his elder nest-mate was exceptional. Just as Zylar was not.

  Belatedly, he realized they were still standing on the platform, but he hadn’t activated the controls, and both his primitive associates were staring at him. “My apologies. It’s been a long day for me as well.”

  Zylar input the commands and the mechanism smoothly flowed into motion, hovering with technology that was, frankly, a mystery to him as well. Ryzven could probably explain it. Beryl let out a shrill sound and scrambled behind him, peering toward the edge in tiny, abrupt motions.

  “Is this thing… We could fall out!” she babbled.

  Her terror communicated itself through her voice, body language, and the smell wafting from her. At least he would always know when she was frightened, even if he couldn’t interpret anything else. “Easy,” he soothed. “There’s an energy field around the platform.” To her, it must seem as though they were floating, vulnerable to attack.

  Snaps took advantage of her distraction to leap from her arms and scamper toward the edge of the disc. Based on past precedent, Zylar expected him to charge the protective shield, but instead, the fur-person paused at the edge and lifted a limb. Tap. Tap. Tap. Blue light rippled outward, and Snaps spun to face them, mouth open.

  “Awesome! It’s awesome! It’s a wall that’s not a wall,” he declared.

  “Come here, little daredevil,” Beryl whispered. “You’ll scare me to death before we manage to meet these progenitors.”

  She scooped him up and rubbed her cheek against his hairy head. For one that Zylar had taken as a fearless warrior, Snaps didn’t object to her handling. In fact, he settled in with a comfortable sound and rested his head against her. Watching them, Zylar registered an inexplicable lightness of being, nothing he could easily define or express.

  He was so caught up in his observations that he startled when the disc clicked into the upper platform, connecting them to the sprawl’s transit system. Here, twenty Barathi were already waiting for the next arrival, and they all stared at Zylar—well, to be more precise, they gawked at Beryl and Snaps.

  The shielding at the back flickered out, allowing them to disembark. Beryl was too busy looking at the sky-station to notice the attention at first. “Are we taking one of the pods that I saw coming in? The ones that’re like cable cars? If you have that hover technology, how come there are lines everywhere? Is it in case someone hacks the grid and suddenly all the pods go crashing down?” Her acuity surprised him so much that he blinked both membranes, and she goggled at him. “Whoa, you have an extra eyelid. Is one a nictitating membrane that—wait, no, you didn’t answer any of my other questions yet.”

  “Yes,” Zylar finally said, when she gave him space to speak. “You’re correct. Long ago, they did experiment with the discs, but between security threats and the energy cost to maintain that many shields, it was deemed inefficient for traversing longer distances.”

  The initial interest had died away, though other commuters were still sneaking looks at their group, and a few were openly eavesdropping. Beryl met those stares with frank curiosity of her own, and Zylar didn’t know if he should be encouraging that. While he couldn’t keep her in isolation, the more Barathi she met, the faster she’d realize he was nobody special. Her attention drifted to the approaching transit unit, her whole aspect brightening. Even her scent changed, a sweetness that drew a few more eyes to her.

  How intriguing.
Many of her moods came across his olfactory sense like colors. Her enthusiasm had a sunshine feel to it, all cheerful and warm.

  “Oh, the sky pod is here. Can we all fit?” Even as she asked, she was already hurrying toward it with no prompting from Zylar.

  He tried to imagine how he’d react in her situation, stranded with an unknown being on an alien world, and he concluded that he wouldn’t bear up so well. Her adaptability alone would mark her as highly desirable in the Choosing, maybe even enough to make up for her dearth of physical beauty. When the other contenders learn about her experience as a nest-guardian, Zylar’s chances would diminish further.

  Hastily, he followed her, just before the unit sealed. It would be a disaster if they got separated. Zylar worked his way to the back, where she’d found a spot near the viewport so she could admire the sprawl. Most Barathi were bored to the vista by this point, so he tried to see Srila through her eyes. There was no need to answer her question, as everyone crammed in, leaving him to serve as a shield since she didn’t have any protective chitin. He didn’t hate standing behind her like that, though she was engrossed in the buildings that spun so slowly that one could spend all day waiting for a complete revolution.

  “How long will it take?” she asked.

  “One transfer.” That probably didn’t tell her much, and he wasn’t sure if their means of demarcating time translated properly.

  Between them, so much—everything, truly—was unknown, but he was starting to look forward to discovering the answers.

  This is no big deal.

  Maybe if Beryl told herself that enough, she would be calm instead of faking it with everything she had. Nervous jitters ran down her spine so often that it felt like fever chills from when she had chicken pox as a kid. Standing in a sky pod with a bunch of aliens? No big thing. She did appreciate it when Zylar put himself between her and the rest of them, helping to block some of those invasive stares.