Randar (Intergalactic Soulmates Book 1)

by Annabelle Rex

  Water is a precious commodity on the ship, Trix said as Angela got into the shower. Showers only last three minutes.

  Three minutes was not enough time to think about anything. Angela scrubbed her hair with the soap that came out of a dispenser on the shower wall, barely managing to rinse it out before time was up.

  She dried off and got back into yesterday’s clothes, settling into one of the armchairs.

  “I need to send a message to my friend, Chelsea,” she said. “Can you help me with that, Trix?”

  Of course, Angela Parker, I’m here to serve.

  “Just Angela is fine.”

  Okay, Angela.

  She wrote and rewrote the message to Chelsea several times, before deleting everything and just asking for a bag of clothes to be passed to the clinic to be forwarded to her, along with a promise to catch up soon. Chelsea would probably think she was busy getting intimate with her new soulmate, but it bought her some time to figure out what she was going to do.

  In the light of day, with a full stomach, Angela knew she’d been antagonistic to Randar. She’d been put on guard straight away by the way he just stared at her. She had hoped her Match wouldn’t see her as a circus freak like blokes normally did, but Randar had gawped like the rest of her exes. And then he seemed irritated as they walked to his apartment, not speaking, face pinched and body language tense. She tried to start a conversation about his work, but her mind kept going back to the fact that there were only two doors leading off the main living area - a bedroom and a bathroom. And so she went on the offensive, because the thought of spending the night in bed with a guy who clearly wasn’t pleased to have her there was just awful. She’d done it before, lying still, trying not to touch someone because she knew they didn’t really want to be touched. She wasn’t doing that again.

  She didn’t really regret how she’d behaved but she knew she hadn’t given Randar much of a chance. Perhaps if she’d spent more time talking to him, they’d have got used to each other a bit better. Maybe things could have been sorted civilly.

  “What time will Randar be back?” she asked.

  His schedule varies, Trix replied, but he’s usually back by 6pm. We use Grenwich Meridian Time on the Station.

  Which was convenient for Angela, no need for adjusting to a different timezone.

  “What am I supposed to do with myself all day?” she muttered.

  A panel in the ceiling overhead opened and an orb drifted down. It hovered level with her face, a lens on the front of it twisting and focusing.

  “Trix?” Angela said.

  You’re very pretty. Trix’s voice came from the orb this time.

  “Uh, thanks?”

  You’re welcome, Angela. As for entertainments, I am here to assist you. Would you like to watch some Earth television? I am tuned into a number of your feeds. Or I can accompany you on a tour of the station in this form, if you desire.

  Angela looked down to her rumpled clothes. “Maybe once my things get here. Are you tuned into any news feeds?”

  Yes, Trix replied, and began projecting on the opposite wall, the lights of the apartment fading down at the same time.

  The news anchor talked about hospital closures, unemployment rates and the proposed increase to the interest rate. Such normal, Human news. It made Angela feel a little homesick.

  “And now for some breaking news,” the female anchor said. “Riots have broken out during the state visit of Prince Cael of Allortasia…”

  Oh dear, Trix said, the image flickering a moment.

  Angela watched as the camera cut from the newsroom to footage of the crowds surging through barricades, throwing bricks and bottles in the direction of Prince Cael and a familiar hulking figure.

  “I thought he said his job wasn’t dangerous?”

  He said it can be.

  The footage cut to something recorded on a mobile phone - shaky and a little out of focus. It captured Randar using some kind of shield to deflect a projectile away from him and the prince. Randar drew a sword with a flourish and turned to the crowd. He looked menacing, but it was Prince Cael who caught Angela’s attention. He stood a little back from Randar, looking disappointed, but utterly calm. Confident in his bodyguard’s ability to keep him safe, not a strand of his blue hair out of place.

  A man stepped forwards from the crowd, wielding the thug’s prime weapon - a baseball bat. He was a big guy, stocky and strong looking, but compared to Randar he looked pathetic. He swung, but Randar deflected with ease, touching the flat of his blade to the guy’s arm. Baseball bat thug dropped like a stone. Randar gestured to the crowd, a ‘who’s next’ sort of motion. No one stepped forwards. Randar looked to Prince Cael, and the two of them continued walking, the Prince’s elegant jacket flaring out behind him.

  “Is this a regular day at the office for him?” Angela asked, beginning to wonder if some of Randar’s tension yesterday hadn’t exactly been to do with her.

  The threat level is increasing all the time, Trix said. Prince Cael is hopeful that successful Human Matches will start to occur. He thinks it will reduce hostilities.

  “No pressure,” Angela muttered.

  Atmospheric pressure on the Station is normal, Angela, Trix said.

  Trix had Angela set up on all the suite’s electronic systems and spent a good portion of the morning showing her what everything was. Although nothing quite looked like what Angela was used to on Earth, there was at least an Earth equivalent for everything, and soon Angela had the hang of the kitchen appliances, as well as the entertainment functions in the living area.

  She whiled away the afternoon reading up about the station and some of its key personnel on a handheld computer device not dissimilar to a tablet, though it projected images up out of its screen and it was possible to control it by hand gestures through these projections. Which lead to a lot of jumping back and forth on pages when she didn’t want to, and accidentally clicking on things. Trix found this very amusing.

  But whatever rabbit holes she found herself down after accidentally swiping through to some random personnel file, Angela kept coming back to Randar’s file. It was much like what she’d been given in the DNA clinic, but this time with all the details - his job title, employment history, personal achievements. He’d always been in the military in some form or other, initially working for a peace keeping Corp on planets that were being prepped for integration into the Intergalactic Community. After being awarded a medal for bravery and excellent leadership, he was offered the more prestigious position as bodyguard, first for some lesser dignitary, before being handpicked by Prince Cael for this engagement to Earth.

  “He seems very well respected,” she said to Trix, who was still hovering about the room in her orb. Angela had asked whether the AI identified as a gender, which delighted Trix, who said she thought of herself as female and thanked Angela for asking.

  Oh, yes, Randar is very highly thought of.

  A nice guy, Joraczic had said. Not a grumpy, irritable one. So had that just been in response to her? Or was it the work situation? Things did seem to be getting a bit out of hand for Prince Cael’s safety.

  Angela decided to give Randar the benefit of the doubt. She knew enough from previous partners that an irritable man could often be calmed by a decent meal, and she loved to cook, so it would be a fun way to pass a bit more time before he got home.

  “Trix,” she called, “think you can teach me how to cook space food?”

  Chapter 7

  RANDAR STOWED HIS SHIELD AND STUNBLADE away in his locker, rolling his shoulders and trying to ease off the tension in his back. Normally, being back on the Station was enough to relax him, but while he was glad Cael was home and safe, being here also meant he had to face Angela, and he still wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Good luck,” Cael said, giving Randar a small wave as he headed back to his own quarters.

  Randar took a deep breath and tried to swallow down the nerves. With the riot breaking out, he hadn�
�t had the chance to look for something to buy Angela, and despite Cael’s assurances that he ought to have an instinct for it, he still had no idea what he could have got for her anyway. So he walked back to his suite empty handed, palms sweating a little. He wiped them on his trousers before knocking on his own door, then scanning his wrist across the lock to open it.

  Immediately, a delicious smell filled his nostrils. He closed his eyes, breathing deep, his stomach growling.

  “Angela?” he called, heading over to the kitchen.

  She obviously hadn’t heard him. Trix hovered by her side, projecting a video of someone cooking onto the wall of the kitchen, and Angela watched with fierce concentration, alternately studying the chef’s actions and the various ingredients she had out beside the oven. She selected one of the ingredients and sprinkled a generous amount of herbs into the pan she had in front of her. She’d tied her hair back to keep it out of her face, and her cheeks were slightly pink from the heat of the oven, and Randar felt the stir of something deeper than lust or attraction as he watched her.

  Eventually, he cleared his throat, announcing his presence. Angela started in surprise, her hand flying to her chest. Trix merely swivelled round to face him, the projection finishing.

  Good evening, Randar, the AI said. We’ve been cooking Harrakisht Roast.

  One of his favourites, which Trix would know.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Angela said.

  “Not at all. Is there enough for two?” He didn’t want to assume.

  “Yes. I thought, maybe, we could have dinner. And talk.”

  Randar could think of nothing he wanted to do more. He glanced over at his house AI. “Off you go, Trix, I’ve got it covered from here.”

  The orb whipped up to the ceiling, disappearing through one of the tiles. Trix was still omnipresent in the suite, but this way she wasn’t quite so in their faces.

  Randar walked to Angela’s side and stirred the pot of Harrakisht sauce. It looked good - the right colour and consistency - and smelled amazing.

  “It tastes okay to me,” Angela said. “I don’t know what it’s supposed to taste like, but it’s nice. I hope.”

  Randar pulled out a small spoon, dipping it in to the sauce then tasting it. Flavours lit up his tastebuds, the perfect combination of herbs and spices.

  “Mm, are you sure you’re Human? You’re not actually a Kettish cook stranded on Earth? That’s incredible.”

  A flush of pink filled Angela’s cheeks. Randar remembered from some orientation training that blushing was what Humans did when embarrassed, or sometimes pleased, or sometimes both. He hoped there was a little pleasure behind the expression.

  “I like to cook,” she said after a moment.

  “Well, I like to eat. In this, at least, we are well Matched,” Randar said.

  He’d meant it to be teasing, but Angela’s expression fell and she looked down at the pot rather than meeting his eye. Randar felt his throat grow tight again, his words retreating back down to his stomach, but he squared his shoulders. This was his fault and he had to make it right.

  “I owe you an apology,” he said.

  Angela glanced back up at him, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she considered him. Randar wasn’t sure how it was possible to want to kiss someone he barely knew as much as he wanted to kiss Angela in that moment, but he refrained. When he kissed her he wanted to be sure she wanted him to.

  “I wasn’t kind or understanding to you yesterday. I forgot how strange all this must be for you. I was tired and irritable and I let that get the better of me, and I’m sorry for that.” He swallowed. “I was hoping you might permit me a second chance.”

  Angela considered him a moment. Randar’s palms sweated and he tried to dry them on his trousers without her noticing.

  “I saw the riot today,” she said. “Trix streamed an Earth newsfeed for me. I saw those people throwing bricks.”

  And probably him throwing his weight around, menacing her people. Randar braced himself for her next words.

  “It must be hard,” she said. “Dealing with dangerous idiots like that all the time.”

  “They’re not always like that,” Randar said, and he could see colours playing across his face out of the corner of his eye, announcing his relief to anyone who knew how to interpret them. Not Angela, he thought. At least he wasn’t so obviously desperate to her.

  “But things have been getting worse lately?” She said.

  “It seems that way,” he said.

  “Perhaps it’s not surprising that you were tired and irritable then,” she said.

  Randar fought the urge to grin and mostly won. Instead, he gave a small bow, then extended his hand in the Human fashion.

  “I’m Randar Cresli,” he said, “it’s an honour to meet you.”

  Angela only hesitated a moment before taking his hand. “Angela Parker,” she said. “And likewise.”

  Her hand was small, soft in his, her skin warm, and a shiver ran through him at the touch. He wanted to sweep her hand up to his lips and kiss her knuckles, before kissing a path down her arm to her neck, but he buried the thought and let it go. He had to earn the right to touch her that way, and after last night he had some ground to make up.

  “This looks ready to serve,” he said. “Would you like a drink with dinner?”

  “Please,” she said, giving the sauce one last stir, before pulling the roast out of the oven and beginning to slice it.

  Randar went to his fridge and pulled out a bottle of Glavadi wine. When travelling on a space station, space and weight were luxuries. Randar had been permitted to bring one case of wine, and this was the first bottle he had opened. The sharp, but fruity wine would be a perfect complement to the Harrakisht dressing.

  Angela brought over two dishes, each laden with the roast meat and vegetables. The sauce she decanted into a jug and passed to Randar as they sat down. He poured a generous helping over his dinner, then handed it back to her. While she served herself, he poured two glasses of the wine. Angela took the one he extended to her, and swirled it in her hand, smelling the aromas before taking a sip.

  “It’s a little sharp,” Randar said. “But it goes well with the sauce.”

  “No, I like it,” she said, taking another sip. “It tastes a lot like some Human wines.”

  A comfortable silence fell between them as they tucked into their meal. The meat was as perfectly cooked as the sauce and Randar ate enthusiastically. He permitted himself a moment of smugness that this woman was his Match - beautiful and a fantastic cook. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve being so lucky, but he thanked whatever Gods were listening.

  “This really is excellent,” Randar said, spooning himself out some seconds. “I’m very impressed.”

  Angela dipped her head, that blush creeping into her cheeks again. “Trix did most of the work - I just stirred when I was told.”

  Randar raised his wine glass in the fashion he’d seen Human politicians do at various meals he and Cael had attended. “To your excellent stirring skills, then.”

  Angela gave him a small smile as she clinked her glass against his. It felt like a victory.

  They retired to the living area after they finished eating. Randar topped Angela’s glass up and insisted on tidying away their plates. It was the least he could do in return for such a good meal. As he settled himself into one of the armchairs, he felt a sense of contentment wash over him. The tension that had been building between his shoulders had loosened and for the first time in a while he felt at ease.

  “So,” he said, leaning forwards a little in his chair. “If we were two Humans, what would the next step for me be to pursue a relationship with you?”

  The wine had loosened his tongue some, the words coming easier now. With the knots in his back gone, he no longer felt edgy and uncomfortable, which helped.

  “You want to pursue a relationship with me?” Angela said, her face doing the Human thing of twisting into several expre
ssions simultaneously. Randar couldn’t decipher them fast enough to understand what she was thinking. His own face was probably glowing a deep green of happiness.

  “You’re my Match, Angela,” he said, keeping his voice soft, because such assertions the night before seemed to upset her. “But I know you’re not accustomed to the way the Intergalactic Community do things. I would like to get to know you the way you find comfortable.”

  Angela considered him long enough to make Randar wonder if he’d overstepped some boundary. Then she said, “A Human guy might ask a girl out on a few dates while they get to know each other. They might go out for a meal, or to see a film, or for drinks at a bar.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if we’d be able to do any of those things up here.”

  “There’s the restaurant where Cael meets with his guests,” Randar said. “If I could get us a table, would you go to lunch with me tomorrow?”

  “On a date?” Angela asked.

  “Yes, on a date.”

  She blushed again, the expression growing more and more appealing.

  “Okay,” she said. “Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

  Chapter 8

  ANGELA WOKE LATE THE NEXT DAY, her head a little muzzy from the wine and the late night. After agreeing to a lunch date, they’d talked for hours, Angela quizzing Randar about his childhood, where he grew up, and what life was like on other planets. Randar asked her about Earth, what she did for work, who her friends were and whether she’d travelled. They’d only stopped talking when someone came to deliver Angela’s bag of clothes, which prompted them both to look at the time and realise they should get to bed.

  Randar insisted he would sleep on the floor in the living area, and that Angela should take his bed. She’d tried to protest, but it hadn’t got her anywhere. He even offered to change the sheets, but she told him it wasn’t necessary, and after changing into her comfortable pyjamas - Chelsea knew how to pack - she’d wrapped herself up in his duvet and his scent and fell asleep almost instantly.