Into the Light: SciFi Alien Romance (Dark Planet Warriors Book 5)

by Anna Carven

  “Oh.” I still have no idea when he found the time to do some off-planet shopping.

  Tarak moves in front of me, reverently arranging the folds of this robe-like garment over my swollen belly. It’s similar to the typical Kordolian robes I’m used to, but a bit more fitted, with a sash that ties around the waist, a bit like a wrap dress.

  The fabric is a deep blue color, and it’s embroidered with thousands of tiny stars. The pattern is impossibly intricate, and it makes the garment shimmer.

  The waist sash is wide and stretchy, a contrasting deep purple. Tarak fastens it above my waist, caressing my stomach. “This is a kashkan, usually worn by Kordolian nobles.”

  “I love it,” I murmur. The kashkan falls to about mid-calf. It’s light and breezy and perfectly comfortable.

  “Now this is a kashkan befitting of my mate,” he says proudly, reminding me that he is a Kordolian General, after all. He’s haughty and arrogant most of the time, but he can be unpredictably sweet. He keeps me on my toes, in a good way.

  My link-band beeps insistently, dragging me out of this surreal moment. “I’m going to be late,” I gasp, a sense of panic rippling through me.

  “You know Zyara is happy to care for you during this pregnancy,” Tarak reminds me. There’s a disapproving edge to his voice.

  I shake my head. “We’ve already talked about this, Tarak. I’m grateful she’s been able to come down to give me check-ups, but she’s needed on Silence more than I need her here. Besides, I’ve been getting good antenatal care at the hospital, so don’t worry. Everything’s fine. I’m perfectly healthy, the baby’s perfectly healthy, and I don’t need someone watching over me twenty-four-seven.”

  Tarak frowns. “As soon as Zyara’s replacement arrives from the Fleet Station, I’m bringing her to Earth. Before she joined the military, she was a medic who dealt with… female concerns. She will know how to manage a Kordolian birth.”

  “I appreciate that, but might I remind you that it’s also a Human birth.” I rest a hand on my belly as the little monster kicks again, as if protesting against our disagreement. “If we’re genetically compatible enough that we can have offspring together, then I don’t see how things could be so different when it comes to giving birth.”

  Tarak gives me an appraising look. “You seem quite certain of that.”

  I point a mocking finger at myself. “Biologist, remember? Even if my major was plants, I have a general idea of how this stuff works. The specialist told me Little Monster has the same number of chromosomes as us. Forty six. That means the Human-Kordolian thing is totally legit, from a biological perspective.” Seeing his expression, I relent. “Although it would be good to have Zyara around so we can compare notes.”

  “Hm.” Tarak’s eyes narrow as he scrutinizes me, digesting my words. Finally, he speaks. “Little Monster?” His ears twitch.

  I shrug. “You’re the Big Bad, so for now, she’s Little Monster. We obviously haven’t had a chance to have the name talk yet.”

  “Obviously not.” He’s been getting dressed as I’ve been talking, slipping on a pair of black trousers beneath his dark robes and fastening the sash at his waist. His outfit is so typically Kordolian; it’s dark and austere and totally suited to him. He rarely wears anything but black, and with his grey-silver complexion and almost-white hair, the color suits him just fine.

  “You’re coming?” I ask, a little surprised. The last few times I’ve gone to the hospital, I’ve gone on my own, or been accompanied by Sera, Xal’s mate. Tarak has been in high Earth orbit on the warship Silence, sorting out various problems of the Kordolian kind. It’s been a busy past few months for him. First, there was an attack by a large Imperial Kordolian warship, accompanied by threats to completely annihilate Earth. Then, there was some trouble with incursions by Ifkin slavers, followed by an accident involving a very large Fleet Station and an asteroid storm.

  All that has happened on top of Tarak having to deal with his new number one pet hate: Human politics.

  For now, things seem to be peaceful, but Tarak remains ever wary, and he’s been beefing up security around our planet in a big way, expecting another attack.

  “Of course I’m coming,” Tarak rumbles, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I wish to know every detail about your health and the health of our child. Besides, I do not entirely trust these Human medics.”

  I give him a long hard stare. “Fine, but let me do the talking.”

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “They’re my people,” I insist. My link-band chimes again. “Come on, we have to go.”

  He scowls but follows me downstairs. We pass through the house in silence. Downstairs, the blinds are closed and it’s dark and quiet. The house is a standard diplomatic residence, approved for our use by the Federation, the governing body that represents all independent states on Earth. At present, it’s occupied by myself, Tarak, Xal and a bunch of Kordolian soldiers. Annoyingly, they have this habit of never turning the lights on, because they can all see in the dark.

  I turn a corner, not bothering to activate the lights as I hurry down the corridor. There’s no point, because we’ll be out the door in a second. Tarak puts his hands on my waist, halting me.

  “Careful,” he says softly. Something whirrs past at my feet. The familiar hum of a cleaning bot reaches my ears.

  One more step and I would have tripped on the damn thing.

  I glance back at him appreciatively as we exit out the front door and enter a parked car. The driverless vehicle starts up, recognizing my bio-print. Thankfully, there aren’t any journalists lurking around right now.

  “Welcome, Abigail Kendricks and unidentified nonhuman. Please state your destination.” The car’s disembodied voice fills the cabin as we slide into the back seat.

  “Ishihara Hospital,” I say as the car pulls away from the curb. We glide down mostly empty streets, passing the occasional car or pedestrian. The Diplomatic Zone consists of rows and rows of standard houses, set amongst impossibly clean and lifeless streets. It’s where diplomats from all over the Universe reside when they come to Earth.

  Of course, the Federation had to provide the Kordolians with a residence on Earth. What were they going to do; book them into a hotel while negotiations took place?

  I suppress a smile as an image of Tarak and his First Division taking over the presidential suite at Aquinas Towers pops into my head. That probably wouldn’t go down too well with them or the well-heeled Human guests. These Kordolians aren’t exactly looking for lavish breakfast buffets, spa baths and Champagne.

  But despite all my trepidation about the pitfalls of a Kordolian trying to adapt to Earth life, Tarak has shown incredible restraint since arriving on Nova Terra. He’s surprised me. He’s scared off a few reporters, but he hasn’t seriously hurt anyone yet.

  I think the Kordolians have surprised the general public, as well. That’s thanks to Xal, who has made an effort to appear pleasant, witty and charming, at least most of the time. In a short period of time, he’s turned into a media darling. The Prince is no pushover, but he’s a little more tactful than Tarak. I can understand now why Tarak wanted him to be the Kordolians’ representative on Earth.

  As we pull up to the hospital, Tarak is staring out the window, his expression inscrutable behind his dark glasses.

  “What is it?” I ask quietly as we get out of the car.

  “I dislike these driverless vehicles,” he grumbles. “There’s too much potential for error and sabotage.”

  “Relax, General,” I reassure him. “Bot cars have a near-perfect safety record. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “All machines can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Systems can be manipulated,” he says darkly. “Trust me, I know.” Tarak motions for me to walk in front of him as we cross the plaza, heading for the non-human specialties wing.

  “Oh, stop being such a military geek and pessimist. Just because it isn’t Kordolian tech doesn’t mean it’s not trust
worthy.” I glance around as we pass through a wide-open space with a fountain in the middle, noticing people staring at us.

  They can’t help it.

  The Diplomatic Zone of Nova Terra is full of aliens, but it’s not every day that you see a Kordolian walking around.

  Tarak stands out here as much as I did on Kythia. There’s no toning down his striking appearance.

  His hard stare diverts a few strange looks as we head down a long covered walkway. The passage is lined with clumps of green bamboo that sway gently in the balmy afternoon breeze. The walkway transitions to a sleek glass-enclosed area leading to a suite of consulting rooms.

  An assist-bot rolls towards us. It’s an upright black machine with an interactive ‘face’; a flat screen displaying some useless data. As we approach, it scan us with its digital ‘eye,’ a camera-like device with motion and face sensors.

  “Welcome, Patient Kendricks. You are late by five minutes and thirty three seconds.” Its disembodied voice echoes through the sterile space. “However, Doctor Asher has indicated that she will still see you. Follow this way, please.” The bot swivels around but halts as it scans Tarak. “Unidentified nonhuman, state your name and purpose.”

  Tarak looks at the bot disdainfully. “I am expected to respond to this… thing?”

  “He’s with me,” I tell the bot. “He’s accompanying me to my appointment.”

  “The individual’s bio-print is unregistered. Please present to Admissions for registration of genetic data.”

  Tarak’s jaw is clenched tight and one of his pointed ears twitches ever so slightly.

  “We’re already late,” I growl at the bot in annoyance. The problem with these mass-produced standard processing bots is that they’re simple in their programming, and that makes them extremely rigid. I don’t really know how to explain to it that this big Kordolian at my side is my mate, and the father of my child.

  I don’t think my answer would compute.

  Ignoring the bot, I grab Tarak’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.” I start off down the corridor, walking quickly. The bot zooms after us, blurting out instructions. “Please present to Admissions for registration.” It drones on repetitively, trying to navigate past Tarak.

  “This is an example of Human made artificial intelligence?” His voice is full of scorn. He walks in front of it, intentionally blocking it from passing. “Is this thing really necessary?”

  I sigh. “We Humans like our structure and routine. And somehow, that includes silly robots. Just ignore it. It isn’t going to do anything to us.”

  “Hm.” Tarak glares at the thing with a face like thunder, but to my relief, he resists the temptation to put it out of its misery.

  We cross over into a light-filled waiting room, where relaxing instrumental music plays in the background and patients sit on ergonomic sofas. The high windows offer a view of the ocean beyond the seawall. It’s a serene, relaxing space, but for some reason, it gives me the creeps.

  Everything to do with the Federation is like this; clean, efficient and soulless.

  The assist-bot parks itself beside us as we sit down, continuing to blurt out its repetitive message. A few heads turn in our direction.

  Despite the uniformity of it all, this isn’t an ordinary clinic. It’s the part of the hospital that deals with aliens, or nonhumans, as is the supposedly ‘politically correct’ way to refer to them on Earth.

  Because I’m the apparently the first Human to ever have a hybrid pregnancy, the obstetrics doctor wanted some specialized input. That’s why I’ve been referred here, where they have experts in all kinds of nonhuman medicine.

  Various aliens are seated in the waiting room. Alongside us is a blue guy with wide-set eyes and dappled skin. He keeps glancing nervously at Tarak, as if he’s worried the Kordolian might do something. Beside him are a couple with glistening yellow scales and ridged foreheads. They have what appear to be gills in their cheeks. They’re also stealing glances at Tarak.

  Is everyone in this room freaked out by the presence of my Kordolian?

  Tarak is sitting with his arms crossed, seemingly oblivious to all the attention. The assist-bot has parked itself beside us, settling into a rhythm of monotonous, repetitive requests. It’s almost as if it’s become tired, resigned to blurting out a request every five minutes or so.

  Abruptly, its message changes. “The doctor will see you now, Patient Kendricks. Please follow. Unidentified nonhuman, present to Admissions for registration of genetic data.”

  “Silence, machine. I am not sharing my genetic material.” Tarak gives me a sidelong glance. “Anyhow, Humans would not be able to process my data.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I say dryly. We head off towards the consulting rooms as the bot circles us, struggling to process Tarak’s presence.

  For the uninitiated, we must be an odd sight; me, an ordinary looking pregnant Human dressed in a lavish kashkan and Tarak, the severe Kordolian General who towers over me. But with him by my side, I feel content. I feel as if there’s nothing in the Universe that can hurt us.

  The bot brings us to a plain white door that slides open, revealing a brightly lit clinical room. It starts with its infuriating repetition again, but then gets cut off mid-sentence. “Oh, shut up, T1.” a voice snaps.

  My attention is drawn to a woman sitting at a shiny white desk. She puts down a device that looks a remote control and the bot rolls into the corner, going silent. She stands to greet us. “You must be Abbey, and, uh-”

  “General Akkadian,” Tarak finishes, before I can interrupt. She holds out her hand, but Tarak ignores it as he takes a seat, not bothering to remove his sunglasses. I glare at him, but he ignores me. He’s back to his usual gruff, prickly Kordolian self.

  Keeping her cool, she gestures towards me. “Please, have a seat. My name is Doctor Asher, but you can call me Lorelei. I specialize in nonhuman medicine, which is why you’ve been referred to me.”

  As I settle into the chair, Tarak places a possessive hand on my thigh, sending a clear signal to the doctor. Ever since we set foot in the outpatient department, he’s been acting super growly.

  Urgh. Males.

  Lorelei’s consulting room feels more like a sleek corporate office than a doctor’s room. Abstract artwork in tasteful, muted colors graces the walls, and her desk is decorated with small sculptural statues made from shiny chrome. There’s a holoscreen unit and a small comm device, but no medical equipment. The window behind her looks out onto a grove of verdant bamboo.

  Beside me, Tarak is silent.

  Lorelei brings up my file on her holoscreen. The data blurs past, some of it too quick for me to catch, but I see the word hybrid flash up in bold red lettering.

  “This is the first time we’ve met, but I’ve discussed your case with my colleagues. I must say, your condition is rather unique.”

  She speaks in Universal, rather than English. Everyone on Nova Terra speaks Universal. As one of the ‘new world’ settlements, Nova Terra has adopted Universal as its official language. Unlike many other regions on Earth, they’re used to aliens here.

  “I did not realize pregnancy was supposed to be a such a unique condition,” Tarak says softly, but there’s no mistaking the dangerous edge to his voice. “What exactly would your role in my mate’s care be, medic?”

  Sweet Tarak, getting straight and to the point. Even though he agreed to let me do all the talking, he can’t help himself. That’s the thing about Kordolian Generals. They have an obsessive need to be in control, all the time.

  At least, that’s been my experience.

  “I’m a nonhuman specialist, but I also have a background in obstetrics,” Lorelei replies smoothly. If she’s shaken, she sure as hell doesn’t show it. Her perfect features, with their perfect makeup, remain perfectly composed. “Because the baby is a hybrid, we will need to monitor Abbey closely throughout the remainder of her pregnancy. We have limited data on human-nonhuman reproduction, so I will be looking closely for anyt
hing that might harm the mother or the unborn fetus. We need to continue to screen for a range of complications such as fetal macrosomia, maternal anemia, placenta previa and autoimmune reactions. So far, initial tests have been fine, but as we get closer to the delivery date, we need to ensure nothing unexpected is going to happen.”

  “Yet you say you have limited data on such things.”

  “The data is limited, but we have scientific theory to draw on.”

  “And what scientific data could you possibly have collected on my race, medic?” There’s a dark undercurrent to Tarak’s voice. “Are you saying you are an expert on Kordolians, Human?”

  To her credit, the doctor remains unmoved. “I’ll admit that what we know about your species is limited, but I would see this as an opportunity to expand our knowledge. If our people are going to have a long-lasting alliance, wouldn’t this be a good place to start?”

  “You would presume to try and become an expert on my kind?” Tarak turns to me, his voice scornful. “You trust this medic, Abbey?”

  “What she’s saying sounds reasonable,” I say tersely. Tarak is being super-abrupt; I sense he doesn’t trust Lorelei one bit. “We could set up a link with Zyara. If she consults on the Kordolian side of things, I’m sure we’ll have all bases covered. And anyway,” I add, looking at both Tarak and Lorelei in turn. “It’s not as if I have some rare, incurable disease. I’m pregnant, that’s all. That can’t happen unless our genes are entirely compatible. So the biology is okay. I think we just need to sit back and let nature do its thing.”

  “That’s a sensible way of looking at it, Abbey.” For the first time, Lorelei smiles, her carefully painted red lips contrasting with pearl-white teeth. But the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. A niggling feeling of unease creeps into my mind. It’s probably just my imagination, but there’s something a bit too perfect about her. Lorelei keys something on her datapad and turns her holoscreen so it’s facing me. “Now I just need to record your consent before we go over your medical history. Here are the forms.” She gestures towards the screen. “They’re just standard medical forms. If you could verbalize your consent and submit a retinal scan, we’ll carry on.”