by Jade, Elsa
She pursed her lips. “Explore or exploit? The words are similar.”
He grunted, half amusement, half acknowledgment. “There are other shapes of bodies and minds out there, but the fact that Tritonyri and Earther females are so similar in a vast universe causes me to suspect that we were not brought together by pure accident.”
“Why are you here at all? I mean, why use an Intergalactic Dating Agency? What’s wrong with your Tritonyri women?”
His shoulders tensed again before he let out a sigh. “All Tritonyri are male, or a close enough equivalent to the Earther term. Our women are called Tritonesse. But our world has a shortage of Tritonesse. Which is why we turned to the IDA for reinforcements.”
“Reinforcements? Sounds like you are still fighting that war.”
He stared out the window of the car, but she had the feeling his icy eyes saw nothing of her world. “The battles are over. The IDA would never have agreed to let us to bring back brides to a world actively at war. They are, however, less restrictive of a planet struggling to rebuild.” He grimaced. “As long as we had the funds to open a profile, they were willing to introduce us to potential partners.”
“So your commander matched with Marisol, but he was the only one?” She flicked a glance at the male next to her, trying not to consider what she would’ve thought had she been swiping through a dating app. “You and the rest of your planet are just playing wing man to your commander?” She huffed out a breath. “Or I guess not wing, but fin man.”
“Once we can show that Tritona is alive and thriving and bringing in new opportunities, we hope to attract other females.” He added in a mutter, “Maybe not pay for them next time.”
She frowned. “What do you mean alive?”
“The war left Tritona in a bad place.” He swallowed hard.
Ridley bit the inside of her cheek. She’d signed on to go to war, although she’d never been deployed to an active combat zone. Certainly not in her own land. She’d pondered—briefly, while trying not to imagine too much detail—what it must be like in the theaters of war. The idea that she might be able to bring stability to someone else’s broken world had been one of the reasons she’d joined. Well, that and the promise of stability in her life. But even after watching World War II movies, she couldn’t picture an entire planet engulfed in war.
Tritona didn’t need a half trained fighter like her. They didn’t need an heiress like Marisol either, or even a dreamer like Lana. A recovering war zone needed… Hell, she didn’t know. An economic stimulus package or something. Not the kind of stimulation available through a dating app.
“How is one alien bride supposed to change everything for you?”
His jaw shifted from side to side as if he wanted to snap back but couldn’t quite find the words. “There was supposed to be more than one,” he admitted finally. “We didn’t know how expensive it would be to save our planet.” He slumped back in his seat, his hair rippling back over the headrest, his iceberg eyes closing. “Still, even one immigrant will show the transgalactic council that Tritona is committed to coming back, no matter what.” He swallowed hard again, and for an instant, the disturbing flicker of the gills in his neck looked as if someone had cut his throat. “If we can’t show any progress, the interstellar refugee commission will declare Tritona a disaster zone and relocate all survivors to another planet. Tritona would be no more.”
She stared at him, then wrenched her gaze back to the road. “So it’s not a war zone,” she said tightly. “You’re trying to bring unsuspecting women back to a dead world?”
“Not dead,” he snapped. “Struggling. And you might want to take a look at your own oceans before judging ours.”
“I’m not judging you,” she reminded him. “Some transgalactic council with the power to boot you to the stars is judging you.” She shook her head. “And you want one Earth girl to turn the tide.”
“Battles have been won or lost on less.”
They were both silent, the tension broken only by the soft blip of the device on his arm guiding them toward some answers—hopefully.
But she wondered what hope there was for his world.
Chapter 8
He shouldn’t have told her of Tritona’s desperate straits. Maelstrom would’ve thrashed himself with his own dive fins except this wheeled vehicle was too small. Not to mention he’d been dry docked so long he’d almost forgotten what it was like to swim. The moments in the well with Ridley had been his longest time in the water in far too long. And if she convinced Marisol Wavercrest to claim some breach of contract, they’d be out the bride price as well.
Although it was seeming ever less likely that any legitimate IDA contract was in effect at all.
Letting out a harsh breath, he glanced at Ridley. “Tritona’s problems are ours to solve,” he said tightly. “But when the Tritonesse told us we needed help, the Tritonyri didn’t hesitate to seek out IDA brides to save our world. Just like you are seeking help with the Wavercrest Syndrome.”
“But we’re not seeking out unsuspecting men to trick into marriage to save us.” Ridley shot him a chiding glance. “You say we’re in this together, but you seem to be holding back on a lot of important information. If you want a real partnership, you can’t keep clamming up, even if it’s hard.”
“Clamming?” He returned her look with narrowed eyes. “I am not a clam. But Ridley the rock is going to tell me to be open and trusting?” He snorted. “Maybe my universal translator isn’t getting this right.”
For an instant, her frown seemed genuinely pained. Then she laughed aloud. “Fair enough.” Her amusement faded. “I guess we’ve both been burned before.”
When his datpad beeped a new direction, she followed the indicator then let out a short, sharp breath. “Okay, so I was taken from my mother when I was young. We call it child protective services, when a parent can’t take care of their kid.” She shrugged. “Maybe it was protective, I don’t know. I stayed with people who’d been paid to take care of me, and even though I went back to my mom a few times, it never stuck. I liked the idea of the Navy because they paid me to be stuck with me.” She repositioned her grip on the wheel, as if even on that simple circle she couldn’t find a good hold. “When I freaked out and couldn’t dive anymore, I felt like… I felt like I’d become everyone who’d ever let me down.” She looked at him. “You see why I can’t fail, why I need this so bad?”
He gave a curt nod. “I’ve already failed,” he said softly. “So you understand why I can’t fail again.”
“If we’re together because we have no choice, that’s got to mean as much as any IDA contract.” She flashed a sad smile at him.
Maybe such pragmatic fatalism should’ve disappointed him, considering that the Intergalactic Dating Agency promised passion and true love. Maybe a lifetime of war had withered those ideals in him, leaving him as dead as Tritona’s seas.
The little flicker in his heart, like an out-of-place spark of bioluminescence, wasn’t hope or even the surge of bloodlust that a Tritonyri male suffered in the midst of battle. No, this was just the last flare of the dying embers in his heart.
“I don’t know what we’ll find at the IDA outpost,” he told her. “I promise whatever I discover, whatever I believe might be of use to you, will be yours.”
She nodded. “Back at you.” She slanted a glance at him. “I’ve never really ever had a partner,” she admitted. “It’s always just been one person after another telling me what to do and me not being sure it would ever be enough.”
“Oh, I’ll also tell you what to do,” he assured her. “Just because the war’s over doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to do that.”
She chuckled again. “Just make sure your commands are something I want to do and we’ll have no troubles.” She winked at him.
Strangely, that spark in his core flickered brighter for a moment. “I’ll make sure all my orders are ones you’d like.”
This time the look she gave him was quiete
r, deeper. And maybe hotter.
When his datpad beeped again, indicating another turn, Ridley’s gaze slid away from his back to the road. She followed the change of direction, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be as responsive to his other orders.
He forced himself to focus on the datpad. If only its blankness was something he could internalize… He frowned at the display. It was too blank.
“Pull over here,” he said.
“This doesn’t look like an Intergalactic Dating Agency,” she grumbled, but she obeyed.
He had the sense that while she might listen to orders, she would always question. “We’re still a ways out,” he said. “But even at this distance, I should be picking up the outpost’s transponder beacon. It’s a close-range, encrypted beacon so that your Earther authorities don’t lock on it, but we’re close enough that I should be getting something.”
“And nothing?” She peered over him. “Not a good sign, huh?”
He shook his head. “I’m thinking we go on foot from here.”
“Let’s find a place to tuck the car. I don’t like the idea of anyone from any planet stealing our ride.”
Yes, she’d question him, and he’d be a fool not to listen.
They found a narrow track off the main road. It wasn’t exactly a mimic shield to hide their presence. He showed her the topographical map that included the IDA compound. “They’ll have defenses to keep out the unwary and uninvited. While they aren’t a military organization, they do have a financial stake to protect. So we should be on our guard.”
She nodded. “I might’ve washed out of my special forces training, but I was certified in small arms.” She peered at him. “I’m saying that if you have an extra ray gun, I’d totally take it.”
He snorted at her. “Ray gun. Our mission to Earth was supposed to be a first date, not a military exercise.”
“So you’re saying you don’t have a ray gun?”
“I’m saying I don’t have one for you.”
She snorted back, but her gray eyes twinkled. “Then you go through the defensive perimeter and any doorways first.”
He gave her a look, as if that had been open for any sort of debate. “And you watch my back.”
The amused glint sharpened in her gaze, the gray edged like honed steel. “Right there,” she promised.
He’d sworn he’d never lead the way into danger again, and she’d never found anyone she trusted enough to follow. These were not good odds for his imperiled planet.
Nevertheless, side-by-side, they threaded between the large trees that ringed the compound. He halted and she was right there with him.
“There should be some acoustic disruptors up there,” he said, gesturing into the trees. “It’s the first line of passive defense, unconsciously redirecting anyone who might accidentally wander this way.”
She tilted her head. “I don’t hear or feel anything, and I definitely shouldn’t be here.”
“The defenses must be off-line. But that doesn’t mean the offensive blasters are off.”
“Blasters? Is that a kind of ray gun?”
“Ray cannon,” he corrected.
She whistled under her breath. “I’m assuming that’s as messy as it sounds.”
“Not really. At a high enough charge, the plasma vaporizes everything it explodes.”
“So kinda like my attempts at therapy,” she muttered.
They paused again at the edge of an exposed field. Across the overgrown lawn was the unobtrusive, low roofline of an industrial-looking building. Maelstrom aimed the datpad toward the building. “That’s the IDA compound. I’m getting a signal lock but no response.”
“You’re knocking but there’s nobody home,” Ridley translated. “Presumably we didn’t come all this way to turn around now.”
“No.” He glanced at her. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to let me go alone.”
“No.” She didn’t even return the glance.
He sighed to himself. “Even if I told you that at its lowest settings, a blaster can stun someone into unconsciousness just long enough for someone else to risk their life?”
“Not much point in having an unconscious person watching your back,” she murmured. “Or leaving another enemy behind you where there wasn’t one before.” This time she did glance at him, and her gray eyes were steady and cold. “I have panic attacks but that doesn’t make me a coward.”
He winced. “I didn’t mean—”
“Let’s move on before you blaster your own foot off,” she growled.
As they moved forward, he kept the datpad tuned to its most responsive frequency. He’d rather risk another censure from the local closed-world protections authorities than have Ridley exposed to any alien defensive measures. But the sensors were flat across all frequencies.
“Nothing here,” Ridley said. A less nuanced analysis of the situation than what the datpad reported, but essentially the same.
His pulse stuttered, an angry rhythm of war. With no opponent in sight to take the pounding of his wrath. “They lied to us,” he snarled. “They took our bride payment knowing there was no chance of a compatible mate on this planet.”
“Well, somebody did that to you,” she corrected. “But nobody here. This place is dead.”
As would be Tritona without new blood. Just thinking the words made his viscera curdle and congeal like the most poisoned streams in Tritona’s oceans.
“This outpost has been closed for a while.” Ridley gestured at the lawn. “See the saplings growing up where the edge used to be cut? Gotta be a couple years at least.”
“I know nothing of this land,” he snapped. “Or any land for that matter.”
She shot him a hard glance, not quite as obliterating as a blaster cannon. “Maybe you don’t, but I’m telling you, whatever messages you’ve been getting, they haven’t been from here.” She strode forward. “Let’s find out why not.”
With a muttered curse, he strode after her.
He half wished the blasters would open fire, obliterate him from this incompatible planet. Failure upon failure, spiraling into the deeps. He couldn’t go on this way.
But Ridley kept moving forward. And he couldn’t let her take the brunt of whatever risks lay ahead.
Cautiously, they skirted the edge of the overgrown field of land kelp or whatever it was, circling the building. Not unlike the way he would’ve approached the Wavercrest compound had he been invading. The small defensive pistol he kept for his own use suddenly seemed too small, when he’d told himself he never wanted to touch another one of the blaster cannons that had scarred Tritona. He slanted a quick glance at Ridley, who held the short, sharp weapon in her hand with an ease that spoke of training but a subtle tension that revealed her foreboding. And rightly so. He’d come here expecting a bureaucratic argument, maybe to demand a refund along with an explanation. To find this abandoned outpost suggested something much more nefarious.
As they came around the side of the building, a low, sheltered area reminded him of the IDA brochure that showed would-be alien mail order brides in a variety of Earther shapes and sizes, sipping beverages in the company of ardent suitors. This patio was deserted and derelict. The concrete slab was cracked, which never would’ve happened with plasteel. The sight sent a surge of hopelessness through him in a way he couldn’t combat, not with any size ray gun. The empty loneliness reminded him too much of what Tritona might become.
Ridley huffed out a breath and straightened. “No threats here,” she muttered, gesturing at the strange arcane symbology marked on the wall behind the patio.
He stared at the markings, unsettled. “My universal translator can’t decipher the meaning.”
“It says ‘Marco was here,’” she reported. “And for a ‘good time’, you’re supposed to call Jennifer.”
Maelstrom frowned. “The Intergalactic Dating Agency is supposed to facilitate long-term mated relationships, not just good times.”
She let out ano
ther huff, more like a laugh. “It’s not actually an advertisement for services. It’s tagging.” When he cocked his head, she explained, “Graffiti? It means some drunken kids sat around here spray painting the walls. And nothing stopped them, no defensive or offensive measures. Because there’s nothing here.”
He swallowed hard. No dating agency. No brides. And no refund.
“Maybe this Jennifer chick would be interested.” She glanced away. “Sorry, this is obviously really disappointing to you.”
Not just to him. To his whole planet.
They returned to the front entrance. A scattering of broken bottles and more of the “tagging” marked the portal where the drunken Earther younglings had obviously attempted to gain access but been passively resisted. He held the datpad to the door seal and tapped a command.
The portal released with a sad sigh.
Ridley wrinkled her nose. “This place has been closed up for a while.”
The musty smell meant nothing to him, but probably she knew what she was talking about. They slipped inside. Responding to the generic query from his datpad, low-powered lights flickered on. But they only revealed more of the emptiness from outside, minus even the colorful, confusing scrawls of graffiti.
Dragging the toe of her boot through a thin veil of dust on the floor, Ridley paced off the perimeter of the room. “Long gone.”
A throat cleared with a bubbling gasp, and Ridley jumped as the blank wall beside her lit up with the image of a multiarmed orange creature looming above her.
“Is this thing on? The batteries are running low—oh!” It waved its tentacles, bubbles foaming from the central suckers. “Greetings, lonely lady of Earth,” it intoned.
“A talking jelly-starfish,” Ridley murmured. “Friend of yours?”
“That is an Ajellomene, and no, I don’t know every underwater being from every world,” Mael snapped in frustration.
