by Aubrey Cara
My harness she will wear.
My lap she will sit upon.
Besides, I enjoy her warmth pressed against me.
Niin, Norik, and Vhars offer their congratulations, and I nod in acceptance. “Thank you. But that is not what I wish to discuss. I have been made to believe the Monrok are no longer under Zapex rule.”
I let the implications of the Zapex creations going rogue sink in while I try to feed Bombee a piece of gupa. She refuses to open her mouth. Since just this morning she devoured the gupa Jhyr cooked for us, I know it is not the meat she protests.
I lean in and whisper in her ear, “A cafkah is in your future, my bhnt.”
The little warrior that she is growls at me, and I nearly smile despite the seriousness of the discussion.
“It has also been brought to my attention the Zapex mean to take control of all under the Jun’pn rule.”
“Brought to your attention by whom?” Vhars asks, eyeing Bombee suspiciously.
I want to inform him it doesn’t matter who told me, but I give them the truth. “The Monrok Lyhnx related this to Bombee as a warning to us all.”
“And you believe him?”
“I will not be so foolish as to strike first and ask questions later, but we should be on guard.”
“He is a Monrok, and she is a filthy human.”
At his words, Bombee bristles on my lap. “Who are you calling filthy, you little—”
Annoyed, I wave my hand for silence and quickly interject. “Had the Zapex ruler not been trying to repopulate his planet and gather allies after their war with the Ko’sars one thousand solars ago, have no doubt, we would be slaves ourselves.” We had basic technology only. We were warriors and farmers simply surviving and only just learning the depth of power of tash stones held. “They would have stripped our mines of tash stones and left us to die on our planet. They had the means and were far more advance than us. It was Earth’s misfortune, not their fault the Zapex wanted slaves not allies when they discovered their planet.”
“So there,” Bombee adds, popping a piece of gupa in her mouth.
Vhars shoots her an angry glare but protests no further.
“Jhyr, the shields around Lehor will go up and stay up. Norik.” I turn to my foreman who snaps to attention. “Tash stones are not to be deported from this moment forward. Any workers not indentured are free to return to their home planets. They have one shift to depart, but that’s it. You may mention a potential conflict, but do not elaborate. Once the shields are up, only select Alogorians will be allowed to enter or exit Lehor.
“I am sending Jhyr and Niin to Pacbar to meet with members of the Galactic Unity Council,” I tell them. I wish I were going in their place, but if anything were to happen… I push aside the thought. My place is here, fighting beside my people. “After I take Bombee to my domicile, I will travel to speak with the heads of Gyhania and Anagaria.
“Can I go with Jhyr and Niin?” Vhars asks. “Just to observe.”
My gut instinct is to say no. “You are the son of the Yon Tor. No matter if you merely observe or not, you will be seen as a representative of Lehor. Everything you do, everything you say will be measured.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Because we need our allies. This is a situation that must be handled with care. If you go to Pacbar with Niin and Jhyr, it’s imperative no one knows of your meetings. As far as the Zapex know, we were attacked by their Monrok and feel slighted over our dealing with them. We know nothing of a Monrok rebellion.”
“Yon Tor, I will not disappoint you,” he says with grave sincerity.
I am saddened by how much I doubt him. Bombee squeezes my hand, as if to give me strength, and I shake my head. “Your behavior has been erratic and inflammatory. You will stay here and act as underman to Norik, who has lost his.”
“Underman,” he sputters. Outrage spreads over his face, and I hope I have made the right decision.
If I never give him the opportunity to fail, I also deny him the opportunity to succeed, but I would be a fool to allow him to stand in front of the Galactic Council at this time. “I am sorry, Vhars. It is no longer just me you must be concerned with disappointing. Everything you do must be for Lehor. You must prove that before I allow you to act as a governing figurehead.”
Our numbers are not many, and those who can fight even slimmer. We have the protection of the Galactic Unity, but that may not be enough against the Zapex.
“You may not like the Monrok,” I say. “But if what Bombee says is true, it would be to our benefit to do all we can to align ourselves with them.”
Barely keeping his disappointment in check, he nods but stands, his stool scraping loudly on the polished stone floor. Fist over his heart, he bows in my direction. “If I may be excused, Yon Tor, I believe there is more work to be done in the mines.” His voice is cool, with suppressed ire.
“You are dismissed,” I say, and fight back a sigh as I watch him leave, back straight and shoulders tight with his reined-in frustration. I am not satisfied he grasps the severity of the situation, and worry about the ever-widening gulf between us.
I eat some morsels of ne’dav and meeka, not tasting a bite of it as I answer questions to prepare for any eventuality. Norik rises to excuse himself. I nod. “If there are any issues,” I say, leaving out my obvious concern being Vhar’s performance as an underman, “do not hesitate to inform me.”
“Yes, Yon Tor.” Norik gives a perfunctory bow before leaving.
I notice Niin watching Bombee with a calculating expression, and something in my gut tightens with apprehension.
“If the Monrok have really freed themselves from the Zapex,” he says. “We may have the opportunity to ally ourselves with them.”
“Yes, that is my hope.”
“They may ask for something in return,” he says, giving a pointed nod in Bombee’s direction. “Their organic origin is Earth, and human instinct is to find life partners...”
The meeka I just ate turns to stone in my stomach, my grip on her waist tightening at the thought of giving her to the Monrok. “There must be provisions for an offer such as that. We have never had a human carry yhar. We do not know how long gestation will be.”
Bombee stills, obviously realizing we are speaking of her.
“But if they ask for her in their terms?” he leads.
A prickling of dread threatens to choke me. I have just lectured my son on the importance of putting one’s own wants aside when acting as Yon Tor.
“If everything they ask for is within reason—” I hesitate, torn in half at the thought of handing Bombee over to someone else. Anyone else. Just the thought burns through my gut like a knife.
I can sense her eyes on me, but I cannot look at her. I am Yon Tor. It is my duty to do what is right for my people. “If their terms are fair, then it would be in the best interest of Lehor to include her in the negotiations. With the provision, she has already delivered me a healthy ling.”
Bombee jerks in my arms, as if she’s been hit.
“Of course,” Niin replies.
She sets down the gupa she was eating, turning her face away from me.
I wish to comfort her but do not know how.
My duty is to Lehor. It always has been. It always will be. Bombee is only here to carry my young. It is not as if I ever planned to keep her. Alogorians do not mate for life. I did not lie to her. I have not betrayed her. This desire to possess her is an aberration and must be pushed aside.
No matter if her soft features stir something peculiar inside me that demands I keep her forever. No matter how her scent and touch seem to have imprinted in my very blood.
If the Monroks want her in exchange for their protection, then so be it.
“There is always a chance the Monroks will not even ask for you,” I find myself saying lightly at her ear while Niin and Jhyr speak of their upcoming trip. I am not sure if it is her or myself I am trying to reassure.
She turns her
dark-as-night gaze up to mine. I expect to see tears; instead I see fire. “You better hope not, Beast Boy,” she says with deadly calm. “Because the bun in this oven”— she points to her abdomen—“stays with me.”
I frown down at her. She couldn’t possibly mean she’d take my young, but the unyielding expression on her face shows that is exactly what she means.
“That is not an option.”
“I don’t think you understand.” Her voice shakes with vehemence. “The second you put a baby inside me, it became mine. If you want the milk, you better buy the cow because no one in this universe is taking away my baby.”
I am stunned. She really plans to take my young. But I still do not understand. “What is a khow?”
BAMBI
When I was nine, my mother told me never to let a man get me pregnant. She said, “It’s all fun and games until he puts a bun in your oven. The second you’re knocked up, he’ll hit the skids, kid. Don’t ever forget that.”
I remember rolling my eyes as I continued to eat my ice cream cone. At the time of this statement, we were at Disneyland for the weekend, because she had just received a padded child support check from my dad. The guy she felt abandoned her. Yeah.
She repeated this litany over the years, all the while running off—ironically abandoning me—to flirt with anything with a pulse and money to spend. Still, I’ve always been careful to avoid pregnancy, but that had more to do with being young and having fun.
I never thought she was right.
Monetary support was about the only kind of parental guidance I ever knew, so I didn’t fully grasp what she had been complaining about.
Now, I get it.
She tried to tell me, but I didn’t listen. Hell, Beast Boy told me his intentions, but all thoughts of eggs and such went out the window at the sight of his rippling wet muscles and tight glutes. My ass had still been tingling as he shot me hot glances that melted my insides.
I was distracted.
And vulnerable.
Super vulnerable.
Getting abducted by aliens is a lot to take in. And I was swept up in the moment.
His seduction game was on point. I can’t blame myself. I tried to fight it…kind of. I swear I least told him it wasn’t a good idea…maybe…
Ugh, okay. Whatever. I practically threw myself at him. I might as well have put a bow on my cha cha and hand delivered her on a platter, with a sign that read Please plow with your giant alien cock.
And holy mother of alien cocks.
I squirm, getting heated, and berate myself.
He. Is. An. Asshole.
His pirate eggs haven’t even been incubating a full day yet, and he’s ready to trade me to the Monrok. Meanwhile, MVP here, wearing a harness and leash so I don’t get stolen.
Mixed signals much?
I glare up at him. His eyes slide to mine, and I sniff, turning away.
He pats my hip. “Come. It is time to go.”
I do not move.
I cannot hear him.
He does not exist.
“Bombee,” he says in warning.
My lips pinch in a mutinous line.
Sighing, he sets me on my feet. I promptly plop down on my butt, arms crossed over my chest, and fight springing back up.
Oh Mother Mary, the stone floor is freezing cold, and all my bottom bits are exposed. My mind is screaming to get up, but I refuse to move a muscle.
Niin and Jhyr, who were on their way out, stop to gawk. I can feel their eyes on me, but I pay them no attention.
Oathar snarls something under his breath. In one fluid movement, I’m up, my upper body pinned under his arm, while his hand comes down in stinging swats on my frozen ass. Shit, that stings.
Each clap of his hand echoes loudly, adding to my shame. I kick and scream, but he’s already setting me on my feet.
I glance over to see Niin’s bald brows arched up at the display. Glaring, I shoot him the bird. His face registers confusion before he glares back. Angry hand gestures are universal. He may not know exactly what it means, but he realizes it’s not nice.
“That is enough.” Oathar bats my hand down. I kick him in the shin, and wince, my toe throbbing. He shakes his head at me and tosses me over his shoulder.
“Noo,” I squeal, reaching back to cover my naked bits. “Put me down, you great big lizard turd.”
Niin and Jhyr make a hasty exit. My face flames. They must have gotten an eyeful. This Tarzan skirt is worth shit for coverage.
Oathar is already striding down the passage, past workers who turn to gawk.
Keeping my hands over my special place, I wiggle, squirm, and beg to be put down. “Please, Oathar. I’ll walk. I was having a moment. I’m sorry.”
By the time we’re on the lift. my embarrassment has morphed back into anger. “Oh, what a big man you are. Tossing the helpless human around. No, wait, what did you call me? That’s right. The carrier of life!”
Workers turn to stare as we exit the lift, but I don’t care.
“Is this how you treated Vhar’s mother? No wonder he turned out to be such a despicable shit.”
He plops me down in the hovercraft before I even realize where we are.
“You’re an asshole,” I tell him, this time to his face. “And I’m not sorry I kicked you.” I only wish that I had boots on. My toe still throbs.
“You are spiteful in your anger.” His face is a stony mask as he takes the end of my leash and loops it through the side handle and then around my wrists, binding them together.
Incredulous, I hold up my bound hands. “Is this really necessary?”
“No,” is all he says as he climbs into the front seat.
“Ohh,” I growl, outraged. I huff and flail, yanking at my bindings. Frustration has taken over.
The beautiful desert scenery we fly over is lost on me as I scream at the top of my lungs. I scream and scream, until I’m hoarse and Oathar has a visible tic in his jaw. The fact I have annoyed him to that point gives me immense satisfaction. Until I glance down at my bound wrists.
I’ve been impregnated by an overbearing, alien tyrant who plans to take my babies and trade me off-planet to beings he thinks of as mutants.
He is officially the worst boyfriend, ever.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Earth Girl Guide to Surviving an Alien Abduction
Tip #94
Make the best out of a bad situation.
If you’re not being beaten or forced into labor, enjoy the sights.
BAMBI
Oathar’s home is nowhere near the mines. We’ve been speeding over the desert terrain so long, I’ve dozed, woken up, wiped drool off my chin, and dozed again. The vehicle slows, and I sit up, peering around. Other than craggy rock outcroppings here and there, and the occasional purple tree, it’s a landscape of pinkish sand for as far as the eye can see. Soft dunes of sand. Hard packed flat planes of sand. And more sand.
The vehicle jerks to a jarring halt. My head whips forward, face-planting me in the back of Oathar’s seat. Lifting my bound hands, I rub my forehead.
“What’s going on? Where are we?”
The glass dome over us slides back, and warm desert air rushes in to greet us. I also detect the scent of something burning.
Cursing, Oathar hops out of the vehicle. The front half of our hovercraft is covered in sand, and there’s a trail of smoke coming front the front side panel. The alien motor of our floating Prius sputters and cracks as Oathar lifts up the panel, and he flings it aside as if burned. Hands on his hips, muscles and the big ridges over his head gleaming in the suns, he frowns and curses some more.
“What is it?” Worried, I lean out as far as I’m able, still bound to the side handle.
“The tash stone got loose and burned through the wires. It must have been jarred out of place during the storm last night. We should have checked over the hildies better before we left for the mines this morning.”
“What does that mean?”
“
It means, we walk.” He grabs a spear off the side of the hovercraft and straps it to his back. He’s in the process of strapping on a second one when he glances at me.
I hold up my still-bound hands. “A little help here?”
He unties me, lecturing all the while. “You will stay close to me. You will do as I command. We are under a shift away from my village, but that does not mean we are safe.”
Impatient to be free and out of this vehicle, I listen with half an ear. He’s having trouble with the knot he created when leashing me to the freakin oh shit bar.
The ground shakes, and we both freeze. Oathar scans the horizon.
“Do you guys have earthqua—or ‘Lehor’ quakes, here?”
“Hst.” He waves off my question, disturbingly distracted.
The ground shakes again, and he turns to me, his face set in grim lines. “Whatever happens, do not leave the hildy. Someone will come for you, if I cannot.”
“Whoa, wait—” is all I get out before the glass bubble snaps closed over me. “Hey!” I bang on the glass with my fists, but Oathar darts off, yanking his scythe-thingy from his belt as he runs.
Someone will come for you, if I cannot. Is he kidding me?
Bringing my wrists to my mouth, I start working on the knot, spitting at the taste of leather. The ground shakes again, but I ignore it. I about have the knot free when, up ahead, the scariest freaking thing I’ve ever seen in my life rises from the sand. It has to be nearly two stories tall.
Holy Mother Mary, I’m in a freaking Jurassic Park movie.
My mind blanks, and I nearly pee myself. This thing is a cross between the basilisk from Harry Potter, and a giant scorpion. Front claws snap as its mouth opens. It lets out a terrifying screech, exposing rows and rows of pointed teeth...and—oh, sweet goodness—a stinger on its tongue.
The wicked looking tail whips around. It knocks Oathar down in one powerful swipe. He rolls, springing to his feet.
The baska-beast screeches again, its head jerking in cobra strikes. The ground shakes every time it misses. Spear in one hand, scythe in the other, Oathar’s in full out badass warrior mode, dodging and rolling. The monster’s freaky stinger tongue snakes out and nearly hits him. Last minute, he dives to the side.
