Alien General's Bride: SciFi Alien Romance (Brion Brides)

by Vi Voxley

  It went pretty much the same way as before. Only the walking, talking image of a guy who had surely eaten all of his porridge and broccoli when he was a boy had more of those shiny Brion squares on his neck. Staring – at the squares, of course, not the way his long brown hair fell over his chest shamelessly flattered by the tight uniform he wore – Isolde found herself intrigued by the horrible things. Sure, they looked pretty: bright, white crystals starting just below the ears and travelling down. Blood diamonds, in truth, bought with the lives of the enemies he’d vanquished.

  The implantation was said to be more torture than reward. They were electronic, for the lack of a better word, connected directly into the warriors’ nervous systems, reacting to their mood. Besides being really bright and clear to see, in battle they sent out pulses of light and sound to attract enemies who reacted to that. They were signs of ranks, testament to strength (and brutality) and a challenge to their enemies all rolled into one. It was the Brion way: they invited the attention of their enemies, showing they had no fear of them.

  What a horrible way to live, Isolde thought, to invite death so loudly.

  She was ripped out of her musings by yet another Brion gritting his teeth. Agent Perkins was looking smug. Isolde wondered if he was enjoying this as much as she thought. In physical combat, he would be stomped to pieces by these guys, but in this he could make them do what he wanted.

  For her part, Isolde remained quiet. She had no intention of further creating a scene and besides, she really didn’t want to risk angering a Brion, and as much as the stories could be believed, Brions needed very little to take offense.

  The new Brion was looking at her now. Isolde straightened up and stared back. With wild animals, you must not show fear. They wouldn’t take her as a threat anyway, so she was safe in that regard. Less safe from the intense stare the Brion was giving her. Finally, he turned away and addressed agent Perkins again. “I must speak to my commanding officer,” he said.

  Oh, come on.

  There was a caricature she remembered. “There is always a bigger fish”, it was called. She was reminded of that, which was to remain her last coherent thought for the day, because the Brion tapped a device on his shoulder and spoke the following words, “Commander Grothan, we have a situation that requires your presence.”

  It sounded like he was signing his own death warrant, as much as Isolde could tell. More from the words than his tone, really. Her head snapped to agent Perkins so fast she thought she broke something and saw his mouth drop open too. Having much more experience, eloquence, and training, he beat her by half a second to, “Fuck...”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Isolde

  While Isolde was still trying to piece together what was left of her sanity, agent Perkins continued with the tactical analysis.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck...” he murmured. “I am sorry, Miss Fenner. I seem to have killed us both.”

  They had both switched to English. First of all, because it made swearing easier, and second of all, because they could hope the Brions didn’t understand a fairly unimportant language like that, only spoken on one planet.

  “You didn’t know?” Isolde hissed at the agent. “Tell me right now you didn’t know that the Brion ship you were trying to get me on was the bloody Triumphant?”

  “It is not here,” the agent whispered back frantically. “It could not dock at such a small station, the sheer mass of it would pull Luna Secunda out of orbit. The ship docked here is called the Forger. But if the great Go’Ran is not merciful and there are not two Commander Grothans,“ – the Brions snapped to wary attention at the mention of the name – “then it’s the Triumphant’s cruiser and if that ship is here, then yes, he must not be far either. I didn’t know, I never imagined...”

  “Then you’re saying there is a good possibility you just summoned the bloodiest of Brion generals and the main reason why the species was denied membership into the GU for so long to fucking give me a ride,” Isolde sputtered.

  “It would seem so,” agent Perkins said, and although Isolde could very well see the sweat beading on his brows, she had to once again admire the man’s courage. There were many warriors in the galaxy, men and women of great strength, who didn’t consider it a shame to run from that name alone.

  “We are so fucked,” Isolde sighed. Agent Perkins did not disagree.

  And then the lights went out.

  Slowly, the globes illuminating Luna Secunda’s pristine interior began to dim until it resembled a cloudy evening. It wasn’t dark, but Isolde still found it difficult to look at the Brions whose valor squares suddenly shined very brightly. She could see agent Perkins’ eyes twinkle as well and wondered if he was making peace with the great Go’Ran, the god-entity of the Palians. Isolde had never found any god much to her liking, preferring Buddhist teachings of karma instead, but not taking even those too seriously. So it was peculiar that she found herself praying in that moment, praying to have one more day to her life, even if it wasn’t all that special or great. It was still hers.

  Her eyelids shut on instinct, and she heard agent Perkins flinch beside her. She knew before she saw. After all, she had studied all the species she had access to and the ones that belonged to the GU with the most attention.

  She forced her eyes to deal with the brightness of the valor squares. If this was to be her last moment, she would at least face it.

  The part of her that wanted to give the big bad a last piece of her mind before being killed thought, Only Brions would be this dramatic. Accessing the station’s systems to turn off the lights to shine brighter...

  The smarter parts of her mind quickly buried the thought before a telepath showed up, however unlikely. Every member of the staff and all the guests quickly discovered they had left the oven on or something and made themselves scarce. The reason was clear enough.

  There were fish, and bigger fish, and then there was the man walking towards them in a way that made it seem like air itself moved to let him pass.

  Isolde forgot her fear of dying in an instant. Suddenly, it seemed oddly trivial. Instead, her knees wanted to buckle very badly and her eyes wanted to stare, even if it meant going blind. And she knew instantly for a fact the higher-ups had been right when they censored the images of Brion men, because this was uncanny. She doubted, though, if any still image could capture the sheer presence of one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy.

  Her mind clashed with opposing forces trying to give her a headache.

  This was General Diego Grothan – the Terran version of his name, at least – and he was the commander of the Triumphant. Also a Terran codename – while the Brion language wasn’t difficult to learn and pronounce, they had an annoying habit of renaming everything as it changed – chosen for the way it operated. There had been a previous name, but after so many reports of “…returns triumphant”, it had become easier to rename the ship that had become synonymous with victory.

  He was also the most gorgeous man Isolde had ever seen. Gorgeous in a way that made the other Brions standing at admiring attention by his side seem like nobodies. His form was perfection itself without being comically overdone, his posture warrior-like and his eyes… they were the clearest ocean blue, and Isolde was fast on her way to the bottom of them. The glow around him added to the mystery, reflecting off the glass surfaces of the station and the razor sharp edges of the Brions’ battle spears.

  He was feared for a reason. He and his fellow generals had pushed the Brions from their own system to travel to further stars and made them a force in the galaxy. There were diplomats in their race too, but mostly they found it easier to deal with corpses. After some had tried to resist the Triumphant and were left to ruins, others learned the lesson. Isolde had heard Commander Grothan’s flagship had once conquered a planet by sending out their identification code prior to arrival. The gates, so to speak, were flung open by the time the ship actually arrived.

  Diego Grothan was the reason the GU still made the
Brions jump through political hoops. The Brions were led by their Elders and represented by their ambassadors, but their military was their image and most of the problem. The generals considered themselves a version of judge-jury-and-executioner, Grothan more so than others. The Brions depended on the vast resources of their allies, but Grothan seemed to jeopardize those shaky truces every other week. Where he went, bad things followed. More likely, nothing followed. Some generals let their victims give testimony of their bloodshed, Grothan thought silence enough to speak its own tale.

  So while a part of her was too afraid to even look away, another part wanted to know more about the commander. Like how his hands would feel around her waist, and if he was as strong as they said, whether he could pick her up and slam her against the wall of...

  A voice like thunder spoke over the rushing in her ears. “Are you the one that summoned me here?”

  Agent Perkins made several attempts to form words. The first two were “gaak” and “hghfrm”, which to Isolde’s knowledge as a linguist, didn’t translate to anything in any of the languages she knew. He finally managed a quiet, “Yes.”

  Isolde tried to ignore the warmth between her legs, because the commander’s low, thundery voice was doing things to her. Very good things, but she needed her wits about her. She wanted to live, and no alien warlord was going to catch her off guard, even if he had the eyes of a god under those dark, careless strands of hair and... Isolde bit her lip. There. Better.

  “And you, little Palian, want me to take a human aboard my ship and take them to Rhea?” the commander was asking with deadly calm. People whose names were dipped in blood rarely needed to raise their voices, after all.

  Agent Perkins struggled for words again. “I was going to make that request, yes, Commander. Before I knew it was you I was asking this from. I did not mean offense. It is just that the mission to Rhea is important...”

  “I am aware,” the commander cut him through. “However, I am not a transport ship, and I do not appreciate being summoned like a common greton.” Isolde didn’t know the last word, but she figured it couldn’t have been anything good. “I took the time to come here and tell you no in person and ask if you would like to repay this trouble with your blood or your head. I will accept either.”

  Isolde found her mouth speaking before her brain caught up. Bad idea, very bad.

  “Please, Commander Grothan, don’t kill him. This is my fault, I missed my ship and he was just trying to help...”

  Oh snap. Oh snappity snap. Now she was under the very direct attention of the man who had just casually referred to someone dying as easily as if he’d asked if they’d like to pay by cash or credit.

  Fierce, impossibly blue eyes bore into her. She stood there, shivering without reason, or at least without a good reason. She felt like his gaze was stripping her. Not just the clothes from her body, but stripping her bare with all parts of her cast aside until he came to her soul.

  The silence lingered for so long even the other Brions started shifting uncomfortably. Isolde prepared to die. This was just very much like her, to die over a mishap; she really had this one coming, didn’t she...

  “Very well,” the commander said at last.

  Isolde stared. Agent Perkins stared. The Brions, for all it mattered, stared as well. Even the people around them who had been peeking from behind consoles and decorative plants when the Brion general showed up, were staring in mute shock.

  Agent Perkins cleared his throat, an admirable feat from a dead man walking. “If I may, very well what, Commander Grothan?”

  The Brions took a miniature step back as their general sent agent Perkins a glare that made him recoil. It didn’t seem like Grothan was used to being questioned, or repeating himself.

  “Very well, she can come. And you can keep your life for now. I will forgive your slight this time.”

  He then turned on his heel and, with nothing else to say or discuss, walked away without another word. The other Brions stayed, looking like the sky had fallen on their heads but somehow they were still alive.

  Agent Perkins, also still alive, shook himself out of his daze.

  “Well, er… Miss Fenner. You will be accompanied to Rhea by the Triumphant. I believe it goes without saying that you do not need fear someone attacking your ship.”

  Isolde took her turn to glare. “And what about someone on the ship? You can’t send me with them!”

  Haha. Well done, Isolde. Missing a flight – classic you. Hitching a ride with galactic brutes – even more so. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  “I... really doubt the Commander wishes to discuss this further,” agent Perkins said.

  “But I...” Isolde began. Of all the questions desperately searching for answers, one seemed most urgent. “Why?”

  Agent Perkins tried to smile for her sake. “I don’t know, Miss Fenner. Perhaps he realized this would be a good way to show the GU that the Brions can work with others.”

  “That wasn’t it,” Isolde protested. “Why would he be staring at me like... that then? I think he wants something from me.”

  “Yes,” agent Perkins agreed. He sighed and went on, “I am sorry, Miss Fenner. I do not know what changed his mind about you or about me. Although I am grateful, believe me. I do not believe he would hurt you. I will notify my ambassador of this arrangement and trust me, if you do not show up on Rhea, there will be trouble at the council.”

  “So very comforting for me,” Isolde said.

  “I suppose not,” the agent said, turning to leave. “Farewell, Miss Fenner. Trust that everything will be alright. I wish you luck on Rhea. The galaxy expects much from the planet. I hope you and your team can help us incorporate it into the Union as quickly as possible…”

  With that, he left. The Brions had collected themselves and motioned for her to follow. Like in a daze, Isolde went with them. She felt as if people were unfair when they overused the expression “You wouldn’t believe the kind of day I’m having”. She really thought that was a perfect moment to say something along those lines, but there was no one to complain to. So she sent another imaginary letter to her professor:

  Dear Professor,

  I hope you are well and busy. I myself have hitched a ride with the Brion military and am about to either be a part of an intergalactically important research team – once again, thanks for mentioning this – or an intergalactically important corpse.

  Your ever-unlucky student,

  Isolde.

  She had just signed her ponderings when the Brions took her to a hangar so large she struggled to see where it ended. Almost all of it was filled with a huge and sharp-looking cruiser. That had to be the Forger. And if that was the Forger, what would the ship that housed this one look like?

  You are so in trouble, Isolde thought.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Isolde

  Actually the Triumphant looked pretty much like the Forger, only much, much bigger.

  That did the ship no justice. They had to go past Mars to find the huge vessel patiently waiting for its master in the space between the red planet and Jupiter. There, it slowly turned and by the time they came up close Isolde could barely see a fraction of the ship’s real size even when she was looking straight at it.

  It was so surreal she nearly forgot she was in space. With aliens. Alien warlords, to be precise, who now had to take her to an apparently very important planet. Isolde, who hadn’t even been on all the continents on Terra, suddenly felt very out of her depth.

  At least so far, the Brions had left her alone. She knew the commander must have been on the Forger with them, but she had seen none of him and only one of the Brions had remained at her side to, in all likelihood, keep her from wandering around. He didn’t say much, answering and directing her with as many words as one might use to guide a dog.

  Isolde stood by the huge screen that made up one whole wall of the room she was in and watched her home world disappearing from an angle she had never even
dreamed of seeing it from before the mission to Rhea was announced. The screen was merely a projection, of course, not a real window, which would have been impractical. She also had to admire whatever it was that maintained the artificial gravity and kept the pressure inside the ship at a constant while the Forger sped past impossible distances like a race car.

  Her expertise being culture and languages, she put it all the in category of tech magic.

  She tried to keep her mind occupied with real, important issues. Like if the Brions would try to take revenge on her for making them play taxi to her. Would agent Perkins be alright? Or would he find a Brion under his bed later with a whispered “Commander Grothan sends his regards” as the last thing he’d ever hear? Probably not, of course, since if there was one thing you could trust a Brion to do, it was to settle his own disputes. The general would never actually send someone else to pay back for a slight towards him. But would he find the agent himself one day? Also, what was up with Rhea? Agent Perkins had made her think her mission there hadn’t been even close to a routine operation. If it was that important, why had they chosen her? Isolde was good at what she did, but surely there were others better suited? Her theory that Rhea was a small task Terra was making a big deal of was going up in smoke. This was a messed up situation she was in, for sure.