Inalienable: Book 7 of the Starstruck saga

by S E Anderson

  “I told you it’s not us,” Blayde insisted. “There are at least three Pachooleeans loose in there, and they’re ravenously hungry.”

  “Oh, and I’m just supposed to believe the” —she checked her notes—“two thousand, seven hundred and thirty-fourth-time offender?”

  “If you don’t believe her”—I hopped to my feet, oddly proud of the stupid move—“believe the first-time offender instead. Except I haven’t committed any crimes.”

  “You broke into the Agency literally a week ago,” she said. “And you killed—”

  “Apart from that.” I shrugged. “But seriously, why would I lie?”

  “Hello? I have your parents’ accidental gas leak on speed dial.”

  Shit. I forced myself to stand tall, to not shake under her words. “Okay, maybe for that. But I’m not. Where’s Barker? He’ll tell you everything!”

  “Barker?” Foollegg blinked, slowly.

  “The kid you sent to spy on us,” I said. “Wait, who am I calling kid? He’s older than me.”

  “Oh–Junior!” Foollegg slapped her leg, giddy.

  “Your son?”

  “Not mine. Snooke’s,” she replied, moderately gleefully. “The man insisted his son was the only person for the job. Instead, he damages his wrap and rushes back to us sobbing about sand monsters.”

  “That explains why he had a stick up his ass,” said Blayde. “Cramming a neck like that into a human skin wrap? The compression field must have been enormous! No wonder your Agency can’t afford to give you proper translators, Foollegg.”

  Foollegg’s lips dropped back into a straight line. “Where’s your brother?”

  “Protecting the hundred patients inside from the ravenous Pachooleeans,” she spat. “Thanks for asking. Where’s yours?”

  “Leading the Alliance to a victory on the other side of the galaxy.” She crossed her arms across her chest, her face turning blue. Maybe she was blushing; maybe she was having a stroke.

  “Oh, are you at war again?” asked Blayde. “Seems like you have much bigger stars to seize than little old me.”

  “It’s amazing you’ve eluded our capture for so long when you’re so … clueless. Astounding, even.”

  “I try my best. So, what are you going to do? Arrest us? Fake our deaths in this riot? Let the newscasters spread the tale of our insane taking-over of the mental institution we were incarcerated on false pretenses and faked-up evidence, while dragging us back by the hair to your lords and masters on Pyrina, so you can stand on a podium and receive your medal and early retirement, eternal fame, and riches? Makes for a great story.”

  “And the threat you pose to the Alliance would be eradicated.”

  “Wait, what about me?” I asked. “Don’t I have rights? This is my home planet. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  “You lost your rights the instant you threw your lot in with these two.”

  “It’s not I like a signed a form or anything,” I muttered.

  The tent flaps flew open, and a human ball of flame burst through. Her skin glowing like literal polished gold, standing in bright red stilettos, she dwarfed Foollegg in sheer star power alone. Her thin arms were deceptively strong as she dragged in a heavy protest sign large enough for me to sleep on that had writing in an alphabet I couldn’t read. A long face with a round chin, a small nose, narrow lips, set off by electric blue eyes that clashed with the short, curly, dark orange hair styled with a military cut.

  “Woah,” I couldn’t help but say. She was followed shortly behind by two Agency soldiers, who she swatted away with the sign.

  “What are you doing here?” Foollegg spat.

  “La so ray teela mee latee,” said the stranger, huffing as she heaved the sign down, hard, on one of the guards. The other one raised his baton, but she lifted her sign again, and he froze, obviously terrified.

  “Will you please not resort to violence?” said Foollegg defeatedly. “This is a rescue mission.”

  “Ozusgri. Yu’n folo geh nupo calo cho gollumc ulo glougoja cho umja lockosg choi jocolbo.”

  “What the hell is going on?” I hissed to Blayde. “And why am I only getting half the convo?”

  “Oh, she doesn’t have a translator either,” she replied. “Shit, I forgot how useless communication was without one.”

  “But I understand Foollegg when she’s speaking to her.”

  “Yeah, because she has a translator.” She must have noticed I wasn’t following at all because she sighed and launched into a long-winded explanation as the two aliens continued to argue on their own.

  “So, translators take brainwaves in so they can modulate the response to match,” she explained. “You’re not actually hearing words; your brain is just interpreting the content as words. One person with a translator can speak to anyone surrounding them and understand while being understood. Which is why you can follow Foollegg’s side of this mess. Meanwhile, the angry orange lady doesn’t have one, so you won’t understand a lick of what she says.”

  “I was hoping for an explanation about their argument,” I said. “It seems intense.”

  “Oh!” the stranger said, eyes going wide as she saw me. She raced to my side. “Did they hurt you? Don’t worry, I’m going to get you out of here!”

  “And she speaks English,” said Blayde. “That makes things easier.”

  The stranger turned to Foollegg, glowering. “I demand you release this Earthling! You have no right to detain her! This isn’t your planet, and they aren’t your people!”

  “Who are you calling Earthling?” I sputtered. “Wait, hold on, what did you just say?”

  “Don’t say a word, sweet thing.” The woman turned back and ruffled my hair. “Skydancer Willowcrest, defender of Terran rights, is here to save the day.”

  Foollegg’s eyes managed to roll despite being all pupil and nothing else. “She’s not in danger, Willowcrest. She’s a criminal. Haven’t you been watching the news? I know how much you enjoy consuming Terran media.”

  “Yet another Earthling you’ve got your sights on,” Willowcrest snarled. “The Agency doesn’t know when to stop, does it?”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying!” I sputtered. “Foollegg, save the world or leave it alone. Don’t stick around pretending you care while using bureaucracy as an excuse to cover up what a terrible job you’ve been doing actually keeping off-worlders under wraps.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Foollegg rubbed one of her pale white hands over her clear scalp. “What do you think I’m trying to do here? Your friends are off-worlders. They are a threat to your world. Let me do my job!”

  “They rescued the planet,” I spat. “I was there! And will you listen to us? Right now, three ravenous shapeshifters are hunting the patients of this institute. You want me to let you do your job? Go and do it!”

  “And lose you in the process? No, thank you.”

  “She’s not yours to begin with!” said Willowcrest, dropping to a knee by my side, reaching for my hair. I let her pet it, awkwardly, still trying to figure out where she stood. She smelled of lilacs. Not half bad.

  “Will you get out of our way, Willowcrest?” Foollegg croaked. “Your people are making a mess of this operation!”

  “No, that’s what you’re doing,” she replied. “IHOP demands you treat the locals of this planet with the dignity and respect that they deserve. If your operation goes against this, then we will fight it with our last breaths.”

  “Wait, why is IHOP involved with this?” I asked. “Don’t tell me that the International House of Pancakes is some kind of alien front. I’m tired of having my mind blown.”

  “No, we’re for the Protection of Earthlings and Terran Autonomy.” Willowcrest beamed. “We’re aware the acronym is less catchy in English than in Pyrinian, but the intention is there.”

  “It’s also already taken. And doesn’t spell IHOP.”

  “Right, I’m getting tired of this,” said Blayde, snapping her zip ties in one swift move
and standing up. “I’d say it was nice to meet you, Willowcrest, but I will not remember you when the day is over, so I’d rather not die. Sally?”

  “Hold it right there,” Foollegg said, raising her phone high. “Remember what I said, Sally. One more step, and your” —she took one look at Willowcrest and blanched more than she already was—“and your credit score is going to tank.”

  “And you’re threatening her!” Willowcrest gasped. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! You have no right to threaten the locals. They were here first!”

  “I would remind you you’re not a local to this planet either,” said Foollegg, raising a brow.

  “But I have chosen to live in peace and harmony with all the inhabitants of this world,” Willowcrest said airily. “And as a result, they have welcomed me with open arms.”

  “They have welcomed the Terran version of you. How many of these earthlings would accept you if they knew where you were from? This is why we are here. We protect off-worlders like you. We defend your way of life. We make it so that you don’t have to fear your neighbors.”

  “And as a result, they have a reason to fear theirs,” she spat. “Retaliation. Cover-ups. Where does it end?”

  “Will you both shut up already?” Blayde shouted. The two guards seemed relieved to hear her say anything. Both were still slightly dazed from their encounter with the protest sign, and it didn’t seem they were big fans of Willowcrest.

  “Look,” Blayde continued, “we don’t have much time. It’s going to be a PR nightmare if these patients die at the hands of off-worlders. I, for one, am not going to stand for the loss of innocent life. Come on, Sally, we have work to do while they’re faffing around.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” I replied. “Willowcrest, It’s great meeting you. I’m completely for your cause. Though you might want to remove Earthling from the name. It’s slightly offensive.”

  “We mean it as a term of endearment, dear,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not feeling all that endeared,” I replied.

  “We didn’t ask you.”

  “Sally,” Foollegg insisted, “you walk out that door—if you even make it that far—and there will be consequences.”

  “I trust Willowcrest will disagree.” I reached for Blayde’s hand. “And why the hell would I use the door?”

  I pulled Blayde into a jump before she could do it herself, flinging us away from the tent. I rose to my feet the second I touched solid ground, letting my eyes adjust to the sudden gloomy atmosphere of Smith’s office. Blayde moaned.

  “Here? Why here?” she asked, grabbing my wrists and ripping them apart, freeing me from the pesky zip ties.

  “A little thank you would be nice,” I said. “This was the last place I jumped to. I seemed to remember the way back. I didn’t want to jump straight to Zander, freak the patients out anymore.”

  “Have I ever asked for thanks?”

  “Nearly every time. Come on, we need to find Zander the old-fashioned way,” I said, making for the door. “We can slip back through the vents and—”

  “Then where do we go?” She pushed her way out into the hallway, skipping down the length. “I heard Maka Naka Seven is amazing this time of year. Though I’m not sure what time that is exactly.”

  “Blayde, come on.”

  “I mean it! So long, desert planets! So long, war-ridden scum! So long, Alliance! We would be free. Shh!” she ordered.

  The last bit had nothing to do with our conversation. I obeyed instantly.

  She jutted her chin around the corner of the door. The rec room door was wide open, Agency soldiers with human faces helping the captive patients and staff … fill out paperwork? So far, no one had left, though each had a clipboard in hand and was scribbling their credentials on it, some with nurses by their sides to help them out.

  Blayde took a few steps away from the door. “He’s not in there.”

  “Do you think they have him captured somewhere?”

  She shook her head. “He’s probably hiding out. We need to find him.”

  “Blayde, is this you just saying everything that goes through your head?”

  “No way. Now, we must think where he’s hiding.”

  “You are, aren’t you? My best guess is he went back to the infirmary. It was the last non-rec room place we’d all been together.”

  She nodded, sighing heavily. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  She marched down the hallway toward the infirmary, not even waiting for me. This was getting exasperating. She reached down her throat, grabbing the laser pointer she had stashed there, pulling it out and wiping it off on a corner of her tank top. She sliced open the lock.

  Zander rushed at us with two sharpened chair legs in hand. Blayde put her hands up defensively.

  “Banana cream pie is the best kind of pie,” she announced.

  “I disagree.” Zander held the chair leg out.

  “So do I.”

  He turned to me, glaring. I racked my brain for something, anything I could say. “Uh, neither of us is the Miranda?”

  His shoulders slumped with relief. “You found my jacket!”

  “We got your clothes, too,” I said, removing the bizarre clothing sash. His hand brushed mine for a second, the reassuring warmth spreading through me.

  “Okay, touching reunion. Such chemistry! We’ve gotta get out,” Blayde announced, stepping between us.

  “What about the Pachooleeans?” I asked.

  “And risk getting caught by the Agency? Let’s not distract them from actually doing their job for once.”

  “They wouldn’t figure out that we’re innocent even if one of the higher dimensional unicorns stopped partying for a split second so they could descend rapturously from the sky and hand them a stone tablet telling them the truth. They’d probably have the tablet processed, decide that the apparition was a hallucination from the high oxygen levels of Earth, and the scorch marks in the ceiling were from an exploding fax machine,” said Zander.

  I rolled my eyes. “And I’m not letting my parents die.”

  “The Alliance doesn’t use fax machines,” Blayde muttered. “And gods hate putting things in writing.”

  “Come on, can we just keep these creeps off the streets of my planet? Please?” I begged.

  Blayde sighed, staring at Zander. “Fine, but then we go, okay?”

  “Fine.” I agreed. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Well, all we need to do is put the shapeshifters on display. Foollegg will have to act then.”

  “But we need to track them down first,” I said.

  “Or bait them.”

  “Or wait for them to tear down on their snacks,” Zander pointed out. “The patients aren’t being moved quickly enough. The shapeshifters are probably waiting for them, so they can snatch a few up on their way out.”

  “We check the hallways,” said Blayde, snapping her fingers.

  “The vents,” I added.

  “Perfect place to lie in wait,” said Zander. “Girls, we’re ducting out.”

  “Seriously?” I asked, plucking a hair from his head. “You’re going with ducting out? I was kinda hoping this hair was fake because that was the worst pun I’ve ever heard from you. Ever.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Taking to the vents?”

  I shook my head. “Still no.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Please allow me this opportunity to vent about vent puns

  Those who think that puns are the lowest form of humor certainly haven’t had to deal with a non-terrestrial making terrible ones while the two of you fling yourselves into danger. I’m not saying they’re good or that this single situation redeems them, oh no. You just haven’t felt the true extent of how terrible they can really be.

  “I’ve got it! At least we’ll have an opportunity to vent!”

  It was a good thing he was behind me, so he couldn’t see me roll my eyes all the way to the back of my head. He’d gone through half a do
zen vent jokes in just as many minutes, and the longer we’d crawl through them without finding evidence of the shapeshifter, the more he would inevitably torment us with.

  “How about … this vent will be the end of me?” he asked, and Blayde snickered from the rear of the pack.

  “That … wasn’t even a pun,” I said.

  “It was in whatever language I’m hearing,” she said. “And believe it or not, it was actually a good one.”

  I groaned. It was hard enough to ramp army-style through the cold vents but doing so while followed by terrible humor wasn’t making it any easier.

  “I could comment on the view,” said Zander, and I heard the distant sound of skin against flesh—Blayde slapping him the way I could not.

  “Oh, come on, what’s with you?”

  “It’s that or the vent jokes,” he said.

  “Or you could combine the two?” Blayde chortled.

  “You can’t be serious! Blayde, I thought you were with me on this?”

  “I wasn’t going to pass up that golden opportunity,” she said.

  “And shouldn’t we, I don’t know, shut up? The Pachooleeans could be listening to us!”

  “Please. If they haven’t given themselves ears, they can’t hear a thing. And I doubt they’ve gone to the trouble.”

  “Good, because we sound like a busload of teenagers on a field trip,” I said.

  “Except we’re not in a field,” said Blayde.

  “I don’t know if that was intentionally lazy humor or not, but please. It’s usually not up to me to beg everyone to focus.”

  That shut them up, thankfully. If this were a school field trip, then I was the frazzled class mom who signed up without knowing what she was in for.

  For defenders of the universe, they sure needed a lot of wrangling.

  “Okay, I can see it,” I said, stopping in my tracks when the vent branched off and revealed a puke-colored clog. It was massive, though—three times as large as the first blob I had encountered. Smith, Winfrey, and Drew all combined together, waiting silently for the danger to pass.

  “Okay, what now?” I hissed.