by Olivia Myers
Some of them were human, of course. A few of the waitservers and patrons were as human as she was. Most of them, though, she had to admit, would never have been allowed in her world's airspace a mere decade ago. They'd been universally thought of as freaks on this world—hundreds of different alien races, some humanoid, but most not, and all of them, in their own way, blatantly other.
Larissa sometimes thought she was the only one in the world who was glad the activists had rallied, the gates had fallen, and the aliens had flooded the planet in droves. She'd never shared with anyone that that was the reason she'd opened the nightclub. She'd thought owning a galactic-quality nightclub would guarantee a stimulating circle around her and keep her from the malaise of boredom.
It hadn't, of course. For the first few years, she'd entered into some unwise liaisons with a few of the more civilized humans who patronized the establishment, only to regret it. The fucking was fairly nice, but nothing else was.
Just as had happened her whole life, an impenetrable barrier remained between herself and the nightclub crowds. She was still Lady Larissa Kuttivadapa, one of the elite Kuttivadapas. Nobody—human or alien—quite knew what to make of her spending her time at the seedy, glittering club instead of where most of society expected her to be—in the judicial and political circles that were her family's heritage.
These days, she stayed away from both circles. That damnable boredom again. Was there no place that was hers?
She left Floyd shaking his head and walked out of the club without doing what she'd intended—finding a man. It was a warm night, so she kicked in her airskayt and flew straight home.
She lived in the penthouse of The Wick, the tallest building in the hemisphere with a peaceful view of the mountains. Her family resided many doyeens away, in the super-conservative, posh area of the city, and her friends, few as they were, were scattered about. But she didn't want to talk to them tonight.
She wanted company. Male company.
It was why she'd gone to the Wytrium. What a useless waste of time that had been. An hour watching the security cameras, an hour spying on her patrons, scoping them out for somebody. Somebody who...she didn't even know what kind of person she wanted. Someone she could connect with in a way that transcended...what?
She sat on her bed and stared at the wall, not seeing the luxury around her. She rarely noticed that sort of thing. Her standard of living was envied by all; she paid no attention to it. It meant security to her, nothing else.
She was thinking of the nightclub and her own idiocy. What was wrong with her, that in this city of millions—including aliens far more exotic than anything she'd imagined existed—she could not find a single man who did not bore her? The patrons of her nightclub made her feel as lukewarm as...as Floyd did.
She smiled, thinking about the old server. He couldn't help being a stubborn bigot; many of the older generations still were, despite the reforms. The really scary people, though, were the Anti-Mixers. They'd organized into a covert brigade that would go to insane and violent lengths to ignore the laws and keep the alien races separate from the humans.
She didn't really understand such people. Larissa had always liked being around people who were different from her.
Even the Gyuostiphs, an aggressive, male-only race with puckered leathery orange hides. Now, they weren't half-bad looking, if you liked knee horns. Which she didn't particularly.
And though they were undeniably repellent, the squat, five-legged Yongers with the parasitic-looking symbionts that lived on their abdomens tipped very generously, according to her waitservers.
Some weird is just too weird.
Come to think of it, Floyd's idea wasn't half bad, she thought. A dating service was old-fashioned, but what did she have to lose? It had been years since she'd looked at what The Gallery had to offer.
The Gallery was an institution. Everyone had an entry there—even if they didn't want it. She knew, because she'd tried to opt out years ago. Even with her family's influence, all she could do was silence her call notifications. At least her own entry was minimal. All it said was her name and her basic data. Nothing personal.
She chewed her lower lip, then undressed, peeling off the bodysuit and even the jewelry with relief, not wanting anything against her skin. Naked, she lay down in bed, clasped her hands together on her stomach, and called up The Gallery on the ceiling with a vocal. If she got bored going through bioplays, she thought, she'd simply go to sleep.
"What three races are you most interested in dating, in order, Lady Kuttivadapas?" prompted the system.
"What?" This was new. Races, huh? "Um. Human. First preference, definitely. Um..." Her mind raced. "How about the BredDG." She recalled that those rather intimidating creatures boasted multiple cyborg limbs, and their processors were capable of who-knows-what. Hard to imagine dating anyone like that, but....
"And the third?"
Oh, for stars' sake. She yawned. "Who cares? Surprise me."
Within ten minutes, she got bored.
Within fifteen, she was asleep.
***
She woke up in a sweat, not sure where she was for a few moments. In her dream, she'd been at the nightclub, but she was the only person moving, and everybody else was frozen and blank-faced.
Strange, disturbing dream.
A deep, husky voice seemed to echo in her ears. Part of the dream? A nice, shivery sound it was...
Very strange dream.
She blinked. The room had dimmed on its timer, telling her it was the middle of the night. But there was a glowing light directly overhead. As her eyes slowly focused on the source of the glow, they widened.
A man was staring down at her. He was like no man she had ever seen. All she could see was his face. It was long and narrow—and green; the same green of the sky in a smoky sunset. The texture of that pale green skin looked faintly rough, but it was hard to tell why she got that impression.
But his odd skin wasn't what held her fixed. That was his eyes. They were larger than they should be, a vivid blue-green where there should be white, and his pupils were vertical slits. Definitely not human.
Her throat tightened, and then her whole body seemed to melt and go rigid at the same time. A flush traveled from her head down to her feet. She could not look away from those eyes. For a few moments, she had absolutely no idea what was happening.
Then she heard a faint click and the face above her disappeared, to be replaced by another face. Another bioplay. This one was smiling and normal. A blond young man. Human. Flat eyebrows. He began to talk. His voice was nasal.
The last remnants of sleep left her.
"Back to the last entry," she said hoarsely. The system didn't register her sleep-thickened words properly. A series of alternate images scrolled past.
"No, no. A minute ago. Wait—no—two minutes. Two minutes back. No, dammit! Not those! Skip the fasties."
It took her far too long to find his entry again. But the moment the bioplay started, she lost all sense of impatience. She froze, staring. Listening to his voice more than his words. Watching him talk, his narrow lips opening to reveal sharp, pointed teeth.
She watched it through three times. By then, she had learned all she could. The man was called Vector Ferhan. He was an armed Cogent, a protector of the city, originally from Resstessa.
Lizard people, she remembered vaguely. Resstessians were supposed to be lizard people. They hailed from the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Very few of them lived on Jax-9. She'd never even met one. Never seen anything like a Resstessian at the nightclub. Never seen one on any public visplay.
This man didn't look like a lizard. He looked like...like...
She shivered. She didn't know what he looked like. She just knew the effect his strange turquoise eyes had on her. It was half-seductive, half-bewitching. And there was a problem.
He'd narrated his bioplay tersely, in a deep rumble and a tone of voice that registered in her brain as deliberate and somewhat grim
.
He'd said he wanted to meet a woman. A woman who was strong. Who was independent. Who had an open mind. Who might consider a committed relationship, under the right circumstances.
Check. Check. Check. As for commitment, she appreciated his caution. Check.
And then he'd added, almost as an afterthought, "And you are Resstessian. No negotiations. Only Resstessians."
Check—oh. Uncheck.
Which was her problem.
***
Larissa folded her arms across the chest of her gold-studded bodysuit. She stood alone under a lamp, the light reflecting off her black hair, which she'd had tied into two six-stranded braids, each one wrapped around each arm, winding around her back, and tied together in a formal knot between her shoulder blades. It had been a long time since she'd troubled to visit a salon for one man's benefit. But it was important to her that she look good tonight.
She looked around nervously. The night was lit up by the metallic formal suits of the guests flashing in and out of the bejeweled building on airskayts. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. It was later than her usual dinner hour, and she was a regular at The Aluminum, so she knew exactly which gourmet delicacies she could choose from. Where was he?
She was proud of herself. She'd actually done it. Contacted the man. The Resstessian. The lizard man. Vector. Contacted him from out of the blue, which wasn't easy. Nor had it been easy to convince him to meet her. She suspected there was a good chance he wouldn't even show up.
But she'd done it. Last night, on impulse, she'd sent a visplay, an awkward head-shot because she was naked, with her stammering, "Hello. Happy to meet you. I wondered if you might want to go for a meal. Here's, um, my bio."
He'd responded to her visplay with a vocplay. Even though she couldn't see him as he could see her, she could hear that same ripply, rivery voice that did things to her.
He said one word. "No."
Before she could rethink it, she'd sent a reply without reviewing it. "Look, I know you're only interested in Resstessians. Obviously I'm not one. But I mean, are you finding lots of Resstessian women on Jax-9? Honestly, I've never even met one, male or female, ever, anywhere. You guys must be a bunch of recluses. Why not try me? I know a little place called The Mudpile. It has great sandwiches."
She'd waited. And waited. Finally, she heard back. "Your bio has you as Larissa Kuttivadapas. Of the governing Kuttivadapas. You operate the Wytrium. We'll meet at The Aluminum. Tomorrow. Ten. I'll reserve."
She'd responded, "Okay," with a dazed-sounding voc. And that dazed feeling hadn't gone away. She'd barely slept a wink all night. It was a night of tossing and turning, moving her hands all over her naked body with feverish pressure, seeing those slitted eyes looking down at her. She hardly noticed when her hands went to burrow between her legs, and she found no relief when her hips jerked and the convulsions washed through her. Always those eyes...
"Larissa."
Larissa jumped, brought back to the present. The voice came from behind. She knew that voice. She turned. Gasped. It was rude, but she couldn't help it.
It was him. He was standing a few steps down, but he was still taller than her. Very lean. Long. Too long. She knew it was him. Knew it. And eyes—his eyes—
Were human.
Normal brown eyes. Normal skin. Everything human. Nothing lizard-like.
Frowning, she looked behind him, looking for the real Vector. When nobody else appeared, she looked back, then realized and blurted, "You're using a flajec skin to camouflage yourself!"
His eyes narrowed and surveyed her. Not lingering anywhere, but slowly taking in everything. The obviously expensive bodysuit. The hair. The jewelry. The hips. The breasts. The mouth. She felt each new spot his gaze hit as though he'd reached out and stroked it.
His eyes might not look blue and slitted right now, not with the flajec operating. But the intensity of that look was definitely alien. She wasn't sure if he wanted to fuck her...or eat her. Or both. Her stomach turned with a flip of fear.
"You know about flajecs?" he asked, and the intensity in his eyes faded just a bit.
It was as though he had released her. She inhaled. Nodded on the exhale. "I know they started importing them here a few years ago."
She could hardly run the Wytrium without knowing that many aliens used the flajec device for camouflage. When wearing flaj, the user could assume the guise of almost any species known in the system. After the Anti-Mixers had organized on Jax-9, the use of flajecs had boomed. With the threat of violent action bubbling in the darker parts of the city, being able to disguise yourself as human was becoming a survival necessity. But why would he wear the flajec here?
"Let's go in."
He took her hand in his. She looked down at their hands, then felt the jolt and quickly kicked on her airskayt, and they were flying. He led her to one of the higher suites, where the wind almost tore her hair out of its elaborate arrangement. The room wasn’t too crowded when they landed, and the muters were on, masking the ambient noise and making it seem as though they were truly alone. They were led to their table immediately.
Rather than sitting down, he paused behind her. There was a soft pressure on the back of her hair, and she went still.
"Messy," he said laconically. She felt a tugging. Then her hair came out of its expensive knot and spilled down in its two braids. He tapped them, swung them a few times, then let go and went around the table and sat down.
He began to voc his order. She heard him pay, too.
She stared at him as if he were...Well, he is an alien.
"Um." She cleared her throat, then vocced and funded her own order. Never looking away from him, she used her hand to fan herself. She didn't remember The Aluminum being so hot. They needed to fix their temperature system.
She finally found her voice. "So...you're a Cogent. Is that right?" Like I could forget that he makes his living risking his life for the safety of regular civics.
"Yes."
"Your name is Vector."
"And yours is Larissa."
The way his voice hissed her name with that odd sibilance hypnotized her for a moment. She struggled to gather her thoughts. "And...and...you...moved to Jax-9...when again?"
"A few years back. How many more questions are you going to ask, to which you already know the answer?"
His sarcasm infuriated her for a moment. Then she burst out laughing. "Sorry. I've never used The Gallery before to meet anyone. And I've never actually...I mean, I've met hundreds of aliens...thousands...I mean...some of my best friends are...." Oh, this was bad. She was no gauche girl who bumbled at an awkward situation. Since birth, she'd hobnobbed with the most elite and powerful people in the world. What was wrong with her?
But she knew. What's wrong is you're feeling like this man has somehow reached across and slithered his hand up your thigh and pressed his palm to your sex. She felt that tight, that wet and hot and achy.
She stared at his hands resting casually on the tabletop. Looked up into his eyes. The lighting was dim, but not so bad she wasn't hooked again by their intensity.
"Let's eat first," he said. "You look hungry."
You've got that right. "Ravenous."
"Yeah, me, too. Been a long day. Long week."
"At work, you mean?"
"No. It's my leave. I have another week home, and then I'm on mission again."
"Mission? You mean you work off-planet?"
He made a dismissive movement. "All over the galaxy. Six months at a time. Two weeks back for leave. Too much stuff to take care of while I'm here."
"Sounds exhausting. I guess I can't ask what it is you do, exactly, during those six months away?"
He flashed her a tight look that barely passed for a smile and didn't answer.
So I guess that means no.
The smile did seem bizarre, as though he wasn't used to moving his face that way. His face was human, his features arranged in handsome perfection. Very natural looking. The illusion was excel
lent. Even when he'd touched her with his hand, there had been nothing unusual about the feel of his skin.
But it was all wrong to her. Never for one moment could she forget who—or what—he really was.
It was annoying. She didn't want to think about his alienness. It shouldn't matter to her. But it did. She just knew she'd be able to forget the whole matter if only he looked like himself. Looked like he should.
As expected, the food was delicious. She could tell from the way he scarfed it down that he didn't eat here often. And why should he? His pay would hardly allow it. Many people never patronized The Aluminum in their entire lives.
They didn't talk much during the meal. Afterward, he didn't seem inclined to linger and she wasn't, either. They airskayted out and landed not far from where they'd met outside the restaurant.
They faced each other. The night air was warm and the flight down had sent her braids flying all around. She straightened them out and took a deep breath. This time, he stood level with her, and he was far too tall for a real human. The flajec hadn't altered his height, it seemed.
He spoke first. "I'm going to kiss you. Thought you should know."
She jerked back in instinctive recoil. His eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?"
She spoke without thinking. "You're flajed. You look like a human. You..."
"Go on." His voice was flat, almost deadly.
"I don't want you to touch me like that. Sorry. I don't know how to..."
She couldn't finish what she really wanted to say. ...How to say that my nipples are so tight they're aching, and I don't want your soft human fingers pinching them, I want your hand, your real hand, and your real mouth—whatever it's like. What is it like? Who are you, really, Vector Ferhan?
This time he was the one to flinch. "Right. No kiss. Got it."
And without another word, he was gone.
***
Once back at her penthouse, she began pacing as she tore off her clothes—still so damn hot—while her rational mind began to work again. His abrupt exit had shocked her, but when she mentally replayed their exchange, she winced as she realized exactly what he must have thought.
