“What about the other person?” she said, interrupting Chelsea’s flow.
“What?” Chelsea said.
“I’ve been Matched,” she said. “Not just my data is in the database. I’ve been Matched to someone. Won’t they have been notified, too?”
“Probably,” Chelsea said.
“So there’s someone out there who has just been told they’ve found their perfect Match, and I’m going to go and say I don’t want to meet them?”
Chelsea’s shoulders drooped a bit. “You don’t owe them anything, Ange. Besides, you don’t think it actually works, do you? It’s just propaganda, right? Like all the newspapers say.”
“Maybe,” Angela said with a shrug. “But they’ve signed up, so they must believe in it. And you believed it last night.”
Chelsea’s face fell. “I like the idea of it,” she said, after a moment. “I don’t like the idea of you being shipped off to the other side of the universe all on your own.”
Chelsea came and sat beside her, putting a hand on her arm. “Where’s your head at right now?”
“I don’t know,” Angela admitted. “I’m scared and I don’t want to leave, but… what if it does work?”
Chelsea chewed on her lip. “Ange, if you want me to storm down there with every legal punch I can throw at them, I’ll do that. If you want to go down there and find out what the deal is, I’ll come with you. If you want to get on a spaceship and go across the universe to meet this Match, then I will cry and blow you kisses as I wave you off. But before you make a decision, I just want you to know that you are beautiful and wonderful, and have the absolute worst luck with guys. Somewhere out there is a guy who is going to be perfect for you.”
“Yeah,” Angela said, glancing at her phone again. The message about her Match had been resent, probably would continue to be until she acknowledged it. “And maybe now I know exactly where he is.”
The member of staff at the clinic wasn’t the same one who Chelsea had dealt with the night before, so no eyebrows were raised when Angela turned up. Chelsea came with her as promised, making notes onto her phone as the clinic staff went through everything. Angela barely heard what they were saying as they explained procedures and policies, until at last they got to the topic of the man she’d been matched with.
“His name is Randar Cresli,” the assistant said, printing something off. She collected the sheets of paper, then passed them to Angela. It was a personal profile. Not much information on it - Earth Normalised Age, Race, Planet of Origin. Most of it didn’t mean anything to Angela. But in the top right corner was a picture. Chelsea leaned closer to have a look.
“No tentacles,” she said. Then, after some consideration, “He’s good looking, in a Jason Statham kind of way.”
Angela had to agree. He looked mostly human, which was a good start. Two eyes, two ears, a nose and mouth all in the places Angela was accustomed to. He was either bald or had shaved his head, and he had what looked like tattoos or markings on his scalp. The picture was only small, and not the best quality, but she could see his eyes were a piercing yellow, his skin a brownish green tone. Nothing about him made her feel uncomfortable or repulsed. Just curiosity.
“A lot of his record is restricted,” the assistant said. “How much we get depends on who they are, where they’re from, what jobs they have, that sort of thing. It’s not because of you, you are entitled to know everything there is to know about your Match. It’s because our computer systems here aren’t secure and while there are still groups posing a threat to the Intergalactic Community, and the Humans who sign up for the program, it was agreed that there would be some restrictions in place.”
“What, this could be dangerous?” Chelsea said.
“Angela is at no risk from the Intergalactic Community. It’s the protest groups here that are the problem. But as long as you haven’t advertised that you’ve submitted for the matching process, you should be okay. You’ll be leaving straight from here to go to your Match, anyway, so there’s no risk.”
“Straight away?” Angela said, her voice going high.
“Yes,” the assistant gave her a beaming smile. “A bit of luck for you, Angela, your match is here on Earth.”
“Remember you don’t have to do this,” Chelsea said in a hushed voice as Angela waited in the foyer for the car coming to collect her. “You tell me you want out of here and I will get you out. I promise.”
“I know,” Angela said. “That cup of begging for forgiveness coffee tasted amazing, by the way.”
“Hazelnut syrup,” Chelsea said, the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “Your favourite. You’re going, aren’t you?”
Angela glanced at the picture of Randar Cresli. She knew next to nothing about him, but still, she felt she owed it to him to give this a try.
“What if you meet him and he’s awful?” Chelsea whispered.
“What if I meet him and he’s not?” Angela replied.
“He had better not be,” Chelsea said. “I can live with being responsible for your happily ever after, I can’t live with being responsible for you being miserable.”
Angela put her arms round Chelsea and gave her a hug.
“Ms Parker? Your transport is here,” the assistant called.
“I’m not even wearing a good outfit,” Angela said, looking down at the jeans and t-shirt she’d thrown on before coming out.
“You are beautiful and wonderful, remember,” Chelsea said.
“Maybe I should have worn the shoes.”
Chelsea actually laughed. “Save them for the second date. I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.”
“Me either,” Angela replied, rising from her chair.
Chapter 3
RANDAR SCANNED HIS EYES OVER THE crowds who’d gathered behind the barriers to watch as Prince Cael stepped out of his transport to meet with the latest batch of Human dignitaries and politicians. The Human security forces were stood at even intervals along the metal fencing that kept the population separate from the road he and Cael had travelled down. They wore helmets and held plastic shields, batons clipped to their belts at one hip, canisters of a substance called ‘pepper spray’ at the other. There was a certain precision, a uniformity in these ‘police officers’ that Randar begrudgingly admired.
The rest of the Humans, though…
Randar had come to realise that one of the Human race’s favourite pastimes was the making and waving of signs. These signs could announce agreement or disagreement with something, and it was considered skilful if they did so in a witty way, although the jokes referred to elements of Human culture, and so often went over Randar’s head. Humans made these signs by hand, then congregated wherever was considered to have maximum impact - for instance, outside the building where Prince Cael was meeting with the Human politicians - and attached their signs to sticks and waved them around. Even more bizarre, other Humans would take photographs of the signs and then write articles about which ones were the best. Tarkken, the head of Cael’s security team, reviewed these articles regularly to try to gauge the general feeling of the Human population towards Cael and his efforts to integrate Humanity into the wider Intergalactic Community.
Today, the sign wavers to Randar’s left seemed of a generally positive ilk. Their signs featured pictures of Cael’s face, the ‘love heart’ symbol that Humans used to indicate affection and appreciation, and words along the lines of ‘I’ll be your Match’. They were almost exclusively women. Tarkken said the Human word for these types was ‘fan girls’ - women who admired celebrities and other people in the public eye, often to an excessive level. Occasionally creepy, but almost always harmless.
The crowd to Randar’s right was a different matter. They were far more numerous than the fan girls, and their signs were much more angry. ‘Go home’ and ‘stop stealing our women’, or variations of, were the most common phrases. Most often painted in black or red, sometimes with pictures of flying saucers with bright red crosses painted over
them. These Humans jabbed their signs towards the skies and shouted abuse as Cael shook hands with the politicians. The police officers didn’t flinch as they stood watching the protestors, but Randar could feel a sense of readiness from them, poised to snap into action the moment things got out of hand.
Satisfied, Randar lumbered after Cael, who was being invited inside by the politicians. As Randar walked up beside him, the Humans all glanced up at him, a bit of surprise and just the barest hint of fear in their eyes. Cael just smiled.
“Gentlemen,” he said, speaking the Human language ‘English’ with just a hint of accent. “Allow me to introduce my colleague Randar Cresli. He’s here as my security detail. He has full clearance, so anything we need to discuss can be discussed in front of him.”
Clearance. Cael had to make these assurances to almost every Human of import that he spoke to. Humanity was such a baby race, they hadn’t even figured out how to communicate with each other yet. Not without layers of security and secrecy and clearance. How they were supposed to integrate with the Intergalactic Community when they couldn’t agree with each other on the important things, Randar didn’t know. But that was Cael’s job, not his, and Cael had absolute faith in the power of the DNA Match Program to bring people together.
They headed inside, Randar ducking to get through the door without banging his head. Humans were a species of great variety - different skin tones, eye colours, hair colours, shapes, sizes - but very few of them were close to Randar’s size. It made engagements on the planet awkward. He preferred when the politicians and dignitaries came to them on the Space Station, but Cael liked to meet people on their own territory - said it made them more comfortable. Randar looked at the Human men in the room, the way their eyes kept darting in his direction. None of them looked comfortable.
“I hope you don’t mind if we continue this conversation over translators?” Cael said as he took a seat, running a finger along the back of his ear to power up the translator device surgically implanted there. The Humans picked up their ear pieces - less elegant than the subdermal implant all Intergalactic citizens had, but good enough when a quick fix was needed - and switched them on. Cael smiled.
“Thank you,” he said in Allortasian, his mother tongue, “I’ve been working on my English, but it’s not quite good enough for a full conversation yet. I appreciate your consideration for my comfort.”
Randar had to resist rolling his eyes. Cael was a decent guy, and someone Randar counted as a friend, but he absolutely knew how to roll out the old royal court training and flatter people into submission.
“Speaking of, er, comfort,” one of the politicians said. “Would your bodyguard like a seat?”
Randar looked at the spindly legged chairs they were sitting in. Wooden. Very old, he thought.
“I’ll stand,” he said.
The meeting lasted two hours. Two hours of conversation back and forth between Cael and the posturing Humans. Cael wanted them to push the DNA Match Program with the population, to get people of influence to take the test and encourage others to. The sooner the Human population started being matched with other Intergalactic species, the sooner full integration could happen. The politicians wanted advanced technology first - shows of good faith. Cael argued that the DNA Match Program was a show of good faith - a ticket to happiness for anyone who found their match. But Humans didn’t particularly value happiness, at least, that was Randar’s impression.
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m making any progress at all,” Cael said as soon as they were back in the privacy of their ship. “These meetings seem to go in the same circles every time.”
He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it out of the carefully controlled style the Human stylists had given him that morning. As soon as the hair gel and spray had been broken apart, Cael’s hair returned to its natural tendency of moving around on its own. The Human advisors had suggested that the more Human Cael looked, the better. It was okay for Randar, bodyguard, to look alien. Cael had to be the almost Human face of the Intergalactic Community. Which meant trapping his hair in gobs of gel and sealing it up with spray.
“You have fan girls,” Randar said.
Cael grinned as he wiped his hands clean on the towel the transport crew had started leaving for him. “Yes, I saw that. I don’t think it’s likely any of them have taken the test, though. Latest opinion polls still show the the Humans are against taking it. Fear is still the top reason why not. They don’t trust the process. They don’t trust anything ‘other’.”
“No,” Randar said, remembering the ‘go home’ signs and the angry faces of the Humans waving them.
They took their seats and strapped in. The small shuttle craft they were using weren’t as comfortable as the larger models, but Human cities weren’t designed for spacecraft, they had to use the smaller shuttles to stand a chance of landing anywhere useful. The pilot AI whirred to life, firing up the thrusters and guiding the shuttle into the air.
“Incoming transmission from Tarkken H’Arran,” the AI said.
“Thank you,” Cael replied. “Put him through to the screen back here please.”
“Yes, Cael,” the AI replied in its slightly robotic way. The better shuttles had the more person-like AI, too.
“Go ahead, Tarkken,” Cael said, as the screen flickered to life in front of them.
As Cael’s head of security, it was Tarkken’s job to coordinate behind the scenes every time they came down to Earth, assessing threats and risk. It was normal for him to comm when they were on their way back to the station, asking for a report on the day’s meetings and the general tenor of the crowds. It wasn’t normal for him to have a huge smile on his face. The effect was quite disconcerting.
“Randar, my friend,” Tarkken said. “I have some good news for you. You’ve been Matched.”
A hollow feeling filled Randar’s mind, as if his brain had to power down just to process the words. Vaguely, he felt Cael’s hand on his shoulder, a congratulatory shake. Matched. Most people who found their DNA Match were matched straight away - the other person already being on the database. All the Intergalactic Systems were fully compliant with the program. There were outlier planets like Earth that were still in the process of being introduced, with new populations being added to the databases all the time, but Randar had convinced himself that a Match wasn’t his destiny.
A grin started spreading across his face as the joy rushed in to fill the hollow feeling up, but the realisation of what this meant followed, and the joy stopped abruptly.
“But I can’t be leaving to journey across the Universe now,” Randar said. “My duties…”
“Need not be affected in any way,” Tarkken said. “She’s from Earth.”
“I would have released you from your duties, you know,” Cael said as they walked towards Tarkken’s office.
“I know you would have,” Randar said. “But who would protect you as well as me?”
“I’m sure I could find someone,” Cael said. “But no doubt they would be a miserable bore. For more than one reason, I’m very glad your Match is Human.”
Human. A Human woman. One of those fan girls? Would she like to wave signs? Would she want Randar to engage in such activities? He didn’t really know anything about the Human race. Nothing positive anyway. It unnerved him to think that one of those angry, manipulative creatures could be his Match. He could feel the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes. How could he balance having a Human Match with his duties to Cael?
“Don’t look so terrified,” Cael said, grinning. He hadn’t stopped grinning since Tarkken’s message. “You are about to meet the woman who will make you the happiest you’ve ever been. And she’s Human, which is going to be fantastic for our relations with them. This could be just what we need to get the program moving properly at last.”
They’d arrived at Tarkken’s office. Tarkken greeted them with his usual curt nod, but he was still smiling, the expression unfamiliar on his normally ste
rn face. Randar felt like the only person who wasn’t smiling. He took deep breaths and tried to keep his emotions suppressed, to stop them leaking in to the scales across his scalp and cheeks. It was easier to keep them off his face than elsewhere. He was sure his scales were doing a rainbow dance across his chest, but he was still wearing his flak vest, so no one could see his confused emotions playing out.
Of course, that was all pointless around Tarkken, who had the ability to read emotions of people stood near him. Randar made sure to keep a distance.
“Angela Parker. I’ve done full security checks,” Tarkken said, nodding thanks to Randar for standing back. Too many emotions made Tarkken’s head hurt. “She’s fine, no issues. Randar, meet the future Mrs Cresli.”
He pulled up a picture of a woman. She had on a pair of the blue trousers that Humans favoured so much - jeans - and a blouse that hugged her shapely curves. A cascade of long blonde hair framed her face. Full lips, blue eyes. Heat pooled in Randar’s groin at the sight of her, and there was no stopping the faint glow of orange appearing in his cheeks. His species didn’t have hair, and he’d always wondered about it - what it would be like to run his fingers through it. Angela’s hair looked thick and soft, and so shiny.
“She looks far too classy for you, Randar,” Tarkken said, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.
“She is,” Randar said.
This woman had really Matched with him?
Randar took a closer look at the picture. Angela didn’t look like one of the angry, hateful Humans who gathered wherever Cael went. She had a smile on her face, as if laughing at something just off camera, blue eyes creased with amusement. He wondered what had made her smile like that.
“Is she on her way?” Cael asked.
“Yes,” Tarkken said.
“Then you must take the rest of the day off to spend time with her.”
Randar (Intergalactic Soulmates Book 1) Page 2
