Marauder_A Science Fiction Alien Mail-Order Bride Romance

by Lisa Lace

  Can I eat this? I stare at it. It's a pretty pathetic meal. But better than nothing.

  I have a few bites, chew, and swallow. It’s fine; sweet and bland, but with a tart aftertaste that I kind of like.

  Now that my arms are finally free and I can stand, I walk around the small cell. Behind a section of wall, a large white bowl with a hole in its center sits in the far corner, next to a clean metal faucet. I wave my hand over the bowl, and water sprays down the hole. This is clearly the toilet. I will have to squat to use it. Above it, I see a showerhead, and below the toilet, a grate in the floor for the water.

  Well, at least I won’t stink. How will I wash my clothes, though? Do they even need to be washed?

  I stare at the strange toilet and the dried food leather. They are just gruesome reminders that I may never see Earth again.

  Then I throw myself back onto the mattress, unsure of my fate.

  I doze in and out of sleep. I keep expecting myself to jerk awake and find Josh lying next to me in the cold apartment. But every time I open my eyes, I remain in this cell.

  My stomach lets out a low rumble. I get off the bed and try to drink some water from the faucet, but it only helps a little. I have no choice but to wait it out until one of them returns.

  Luckily, after an hour or so, the gold one comes back with more of that food. He opens the cell door and sets it on the floor.

  “Thanks,” I whisper.

  He nods curtly, and the cell closes with the clicking of its lock.

  I wonder what these guys are all about. They seem different. I assume they must work for the agency as some sort of delivery company.

  The porcelain plate on the floor has the same exact meal from last night, but this time, I eagerly walk over to it. For a second, I hesitate. The texture is odd and unnatural, but my stomach gurgles in anticipation, and my mouth already waters. I do need the energy in case I have the opportunity to escape. It's a slim chance, but I refuse to give up completely.

  I take a bite, just nibbling off the end. I am pleasantly surprised. This food leather has an unfamiliar sweetness to it; it reminds me of the skin of an orange and juice of a pear fused together. At first, it is tough, but then it turns gummy as I chew it.

  I take another bite and feel more satisfied. I set the remaining pieces on the plate and leave it there on the floor.

  The hours pass, and everything seems to blur together. I am not sure when it is night or day. There is no way for me to tell, except when the gold one comes to bring me some food, but every time I hear his footsteps approaching, I want him to come in and stay for longer.

  To join me on the bed. But he hasn’t returned for longer than it takes to give me food since then.

  I spend a few hours pacing around the cell. I start to work out, just for something to do. I used to hate exercising, but at least I can tire myself out.

  I braid my hair and unbraid it. I sing songs. I recite bits of plays. I feel like I’m going mad. I’ve never been this bored in my life.

  The next time I fall asleep, I dream of him. The first thing I see are those ochre eyes shining ablaze in complete blackness. His long fingers trace up and down my body, but all I can see are those radiant eyes watching, hunting me. I can’t look away; they have too strong a hold on me. His hands drift over my breasts, then to between my legs. My skin feels electric with his touch. I don’t protest or move. His fingers slide inside of me suddenly.

  I gasp and shudder in pleasure.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he murmurs right into my ear, in that rich, melodic accent, just as he did the other night.

  “Keep going,” I gasp. “Don’t stop.”

  His hand moves deeper, teasing my body. I tremble and gasp. I want him to move faster. Oh, god, I am close to coming, but he is drawing it out of me and making me suffer. His fingers stir inside of me, and my body tightens like a string pulled taut.

  Something shakes me roughly, and my eyes flash open. I am completely drenched in sweat. My pussy trembles. The dream has affected my body, and my legs feel weak.

  My cheeks burn a bright red when I finally notice that the golden-skinned man is standing over me.

  I shake my head, extremely disoriented. I stumble, trying to keep my balance when my feet hit the ground. I am still battling the fierce arousal.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Yup.”

  He watches me for a second. My cheeks must be flushed. He can’t know though, unless—the thought embarrasses me deeply—unless I was making noise.

  “Follow me.” He steps out of the cell. “And don’t say a word.” There is a strained tone in his voice.

  Am I being moved? Did we finally make it to Omicron? I keep my pace up as we make our way down the hall. All the lights on the ship go dark. He reaches a hand down and roughly grabs my arm. I don’t pull back. I feel completely incapacitated by the heavy blackness. There is no light for me to see, and I am clueless as to what the right path is.

  I suddenly want him to throw me against the wall, kiss me like that again, or like he was in my dreams.

  “Just a minute,” he whispers, that low brass voice sending tingles through me. He offers a hand, and I take it. He holds me with one arm.

  We start to descend a long staircase. His heavy boots clang against the metal stairs. What’s with the urgency? He makes a sharp right, I hear his hand fumbling for something, and then he opens a door.

  My hands reach out blindly, and I feel small cool walls surrounding three sides of me. They run up and down the man’s chest.

  “Where have you taken me?” I demand.

  “Don’t make any noise,” he whispers. “I’m protecting you. You are in the safest place on the ship.”

  And then he shuts the door.

  I slide down onto the cold metal floor and wrap my arms around my knees. Adrenaline shoots through me. I know something bad is happening, but all I can think about are those ochre eyes. I stare out into the darkness of the small, cramped space, waiting for them to appear before me.

  Orien

  Sweat drips down my neck. My eyes flicker to the right and then to the left. The only light coming into the hall is from the sun of a lone system in Quadrant F987: a part of Centaurus System the Baromenian security force rarely patrols.

  I hold my breath as Mor moves the ship forward. He can’t afford any rapid movements, nothing that will give us away.

  I clench my jaw. This is all about timing. If we move too slow, then we may not break through the barrier, but too fast will draw too much attention.

  The core hub is the safest place on the ship, and I hope the woman will be okay there. I worry that I scared her too much. It’s the single place on the ship that could block Baromenian scanners from picking up any foreign life forms.

  Mor’s inching the ship forward.

  It shouldn’t be taking as long as it is. We’re almost through to the Centaurus system, but the barrier is designed to line the whole planetary group and alert Baroma of any intruders.

  But we found a hole in their fancy fence a few years ago.

  I finally arrive in the control room, quickly taking my seat.

  “So nice of you to join,” Mor grumbles.

  “She’s scared. I can tell.” I furrow my brow and press my hand against my nose. “I hate keeping her like this. But better she’s hidden away than killed.”

  Mor nods silently.

  Of course, it would take a lot of stress off my plate if the Baromenian government took her. We wouldn’t get paid, though I would start to think clearly once again.

  God, she’s driving me wild. Every night, I’m filled with wanting to return to her and touch her delicate skin, but that would be extraordinarily foolish. Last time was too much; it was too close.

  But her taste is delicious, and I crave it. She has become the center of all of my thoughts, my obsession. It has taken everything in my power not to go there, get on my knees, and beg her to let me touch her again. Just her scent alone i
s enough to make me feel wild and out of control.

  I need this expedition to end. It is becoming unbearable. She probably hates me. I don’t blame her. To her, I look like some strange alien freak.

  Mor looks down at the radar. “Approaching barrier in ten minutes.”

  I grit my teeth. Mor and I are the best smugglers in our galaxy, but this is no easy feat. We sit silently as the clock slowly counts down. There isn’t much more we can do but hope.

  There could be an army of Baromenian ships waiting to blast us to dust. All but thirty seconds are left now.

  “What activity is the radar showing?” he asks.

  Mor’s eyes stay glued to driving. He can’t afford to slip up. Entering the hole in the barrier takes extreme precision. It can’t be seen with the naked eye. We rely on our instincts and a faint image representation of it on the map.

  “Clear.”

  I hold my breath as he pulls on the throttle. It lurches forward with intense speed. The ship roars as it dives. He spins it on an angle, and it flies through the hole in the barrier. He pulls back the throttle, and the Blue Star slows to a stop. We have made it through.

  “Radar check,” he says.

  “Still clear.”

  “Engaging thruster. Full speed. Adjust course back to the destination.”

  “On it.”

  The lights click back on.

  “This is when the fun begins.”

  He pushes hard on the steering wheel as we dive deeper into the Centaurus System. Baromenian fleets will be patrolling all the systems; he stays on manual drive until he is certain we are in the clear; then he switches to autopilot and lets out a long low sigh of relief.

  Mor and I look at one another and smile.

  “You smell that?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “A big, fat payday!” I stand up and shake my hands in the air.

  “That’s right.”

  “Get her back in the cell,” I say. “I’ll drive.” I sit back down and lean against the control panel. I stare at the map.

  Mor nods, stands, and disappears down the hall. I wait a few seconds, listening to the steady noise of the ship’s engine. Then my hands furiously press the keys and pull up the cameras. I watch Mor lead Emily back into the cell. Her void-black hair falls over her delicate face.

  Something catches my eye on the radar. Fuck me.

  Three large red dots are flying at absurd speeds directly toward us.

  Baromenian patrols. Good thing I’m the one driving now. Mor’s good—but I’m better. I swerve the Blue Star.

  Boom! The weight of the ship heaves to the right. Alerts and warnings begin to sound and appear over the screen. We’ve taken a serious hit.

  “Dammit! Mor!” He needs to be up here with me.

  I scan the monitor; it shows the list of damages. Our fuel supply has been hit. We’re fucked. I jump up and clutch the sticks to redirect our set course. There's no time to think or plan anymore, just react. The enemy fleet draws near. Either they kill us, or the Blue Star explodes.

  “Mor!”

  I unleash a whirlwind of bullets directly at them. They pivot and turn, but it's not enough to set them back. “What the hell, Mor. What could you be doing?”

  I take half a second to glance at the camera footage of the cell. They're gone. My eyes snap back toward our enemies. I turn a hard left, avoiding the incoming laser attack.

  There are two possibilities explaining Mor’s absence—he and that girl have run off in the escape pod (I find this unlikely since Mor still holds his role as my protector almost sacred) or he's taken her back to the core hub. Honestly, at this point, it could be either one.

  The right side of the Blue Star dents and warps as a storm of laser bullets rain down onto it. The whole left flank on the front has been hit. I chew on my bottom lip. King Ursen better fix the damn Blue Star.

  “Alright. We’re done playing around here.”

  I loop around, soaring into the open expanse of space. One against three is not good odds, and from what I can pick up on the radar, we’re going up against their elite forces.

  I grind my teeth. I need to do a little bit of improvising, but that’s my strength.

  I shove the ship forward, and then I see it on the radar—a belt of abandoned space debris. It’s close enough and will have to do. I have lost several pursuers by hiding behind the large masses of junk. It's risky. One wrong turn or one bad calculation can obliterate you.

  The computer sirens begin to scream out again. The fuel gauge is rapidly dropping and now falls into emergency mode.

  “Well, this is just great.”

  The ship twists and plummets as it sails between the old spacecraft, advertisements, waystations, and satellites. The smallest of the Baromenian fleets explodes into fire and smoke against one of the rusted-out fuel stations, silent in the void of space. They aren’t used to driving in tight places like this. There are no satellites around Baroma.

  I smile. It’s a small triumph. The other two follow closely as I descend into the belt. Massive hunks of junk fly past my view. Across the large window panel, the fuel gauge blinks in red. I’m not one to lose, but I can’t let pride get in the way of anything.

  No, it’s more than that. I can’t let anything happen to her. I don’t have any other choice than to land this thing. It’s going to be rough.

  Mor rushes into the room. “I’m back,” he pants.

  “Where’s the girl?” If something happens to her, the whole trip was for nothing.

  “The core hub.”

  “Good. Things are about to get bumpy.”

  Mor takes his seat next to me and gives me a reassuring nod.

  I close my eyes and let out a deep breath. “We have hardly any fuel left. Just enough to get into that planet’s atmosphere.”

  “What planet?” Mor’s eyebrows scrunch up. I point to the map, where the blinking white dot amidst the junk belt can be seen.

  “Just pray it's got an extra ship lying around.”

  “We’re going to die.” Mor shakes his head, looking up at the top of the ship.

  “Aw, that’s no fun. Have I ever killed you, Mor?”

  I jerk the throttle forward. An ear-shattering eruption blasts from the engine as we barrel through space and the debris. I doubt the Baromenian fleet will follow us through this. After all, some would say this is suicide.

  I clench my teeth and grip the clutches so tightly, my hands cramp. I have to land this. Our speed increases, and the ship shakes wildly in protest as the metal frame fights to stay together.

  “Come on!” I shout, jerking the steering wheel up. “Come on!”

  We reach the planet’s atmosphere, and all I see is the white ground growing nearer as we hurtle toward it with no brakes.

  Emily

  My eyes slowly open, and the first thing I notice is smoke. The black clouds are too dense to see through. It covers everything in heavy, thick tendrils, rising up into the air over me, suffocating and burning my lungs. Where am I?

  Suddenly, a blast of fire ruptures from the smoke. I cringe, holding my arm up to cover my face. I can feel the heat from the explosion blanket the air, but I don’t hear anything. I can’t hear! An intense ringing hovers in my ears. The realization sends panic into my chest. My fingers paw at my ears frantically.

  What’s going on? None of my thoughts are connecting. I was on the ship, and then he came—the blue one. But what happened after that?

  A sharp, searing pain blows through my body, starting from my neck all the way to my back. I cough violently, and my eyes water. My head throbs. I move my toes, and then my fingertips. Nothing appears to be broken.

  I have to find someone and get help! I try and stand, but I’m too dizzy. The world seems to rush and spin around me, and the pain is too great to bear.

  I collapse backward onto the ground, coughing and gagging. The billows of smoke swoop over me. I take a second to regain my bearings. I try standing again, but much slower thi
s time. Managing to take two steps forward before I fall back down. It’s no use. I continue touching and prodding at my ear. I pull my fingers back to see wet blood coat them.

  Two tall figures appear in the smoke and come running toward me. I blink several times, and my eyes settle. No, it’s just one running. I press my hand against my forehead trying to settle my balance. Golden eyes glowing clearly in the smoke meet mine.

  A pair of large hands scoop me up and cradle me against a warm, hard chest. I am too tired and far too weak to disagree. I look up to see the alien looking down at me with great concern. He flicks his head up and shouts something.

  The ringing in my ears grows louder. He runs forward until we’re clear of the billow of smoke. I am set gently on the ground. His ochre eyes shine as he stares at me. His white hair blows wildly around his face. Not one scratch has surfaced on his skin.

  He speaks to me.

  “I can’t hear!” I shout. I feel the dryness of my throat, hoarse and weak from all the smoke. He furrows his fine brows, then cups both my ears in his hands tightly and squeezes.

  The pain I feel then is disarming. It feels like my head’s going to explode. Intense pressure builds and builds. My eyes water, and I scream. Then, as quickly as the pain came, it softens almost immediately into relief.

  “Can you hear me?” he asks. Beads of sweat drip down his forehead. He pushes back his hair away from his face. His beauty remains undiminished, even in a situation like this.

  I nod slowly. His deep worry for me throws me slightly off balance.

  “What did you do to me?” I cough several more times. The rawness of my throat makes speaking difficult.

  Instead of answering, he reaches behind his back and pulls something from his pocket. “Drink this. It will help you.” In his hand is a white flask. He opens and presses it against my lips.

  The cold liquid is bitter and has the same languid texture as cough syrup, but the effects are immediate. It is as though the pain from my body is being sucked away. His steady eyes hold mine. I drink it all, and then he throws the flask to the wayside. The syrupy coating of the medicine eases my throat.