by Juno Wells
Alien Pirate's Booty
Juno Wells and Luna Cassini
Published by Juno Wells, 2016.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
ALIEN PIRATE'S BOOTY
First edition. December 8, 2016.
Copyright © 2016 Juno Wells and Luna Cassini.
Written by Juno Wells and Luna Cassini.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Alien Pirate's Booty
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
Epilogue
About this book:
I never met an alien I couldn't kill.
Sure, that's pretty much a job requirement for a space marine, even female ones like me, Dakota 'Killer' Bell.
But when I met the deadly space pirate Brenaxx on an alien moon, I couldn't even inconvenience him.
Hey, I tried. But he had swords the size of helicopter blades and a smirk on his alien barbarian face ten miles wide. It goes well with his huge muscles and his wild hair that I'm pretty sure is actual gold.
Okay, I may be a little taken with him.
And he has taken me.
As in, stolen.
As in, kidnapped.
As in, I'm his pirate booty.
He hasn't plundered me completely. But his damn hotness and his casual confidence are wearing down my defenses fast. He turns me on like no one else ever has.
And I can't help but wonder how that alien tongue would feel... you know. There.
I should resist.
I should be trying to escape from this lethal desert planet where we crashed.
Because he wants to conquer Earth.
But I'm pretty sure he'll conquer me first.
And I kind of want him to.
Alien Pirate's Booty is a science fiction romance novella with no cliffhangers.
Standalone. Steamy scenes. HEA.
1
- Dakota -
“This will be the best kill ever!” I yell inside my space helmet as I jump into the air as hard as I can. Well, not actually into the air, of course. There's no air on this moon. What I mean is 'away from the ground'. Which I guess is kind of implied when you jump?
No one can hear me, because I didn't press the 'transmit' button. I only wanted to give myself some mental support about what I'm doing right now. It's kind of childish, I guess. I don't actually think this will be the best one of anything. Or even good. Or that I'll even survive.
I slash my long sword underneath me as I somersault through the not-air, and the exotic material it's made from flashes once as it reflects the light from the blue sun in the sky. It doesn't hit anything, and the alien pirate I'm fighting just stands there without moving at all.
My jump takes for-fucking-ever before I land again on the other side of him. Yeah, it's not too elegant. Like a somersault in slow motion. I didn't consider just how weak the gravity is here.
Still, I crouch to be prepared for whatever he's been able to plan while I was waiting to come down from the not-air.
Me? I've got nothing planned. I'm a space marine.
Right now I'm pretty happy there's no air here, because it means I can't hear him laughing. And he's most definitely laughing at me. I can see his mouth moving and he's leaning back and touching his stomach as if overcome with mirth. I guess he'll soon be slapping his knees.
I draw back my sword again and for the seventy-sixth time today curse the rules of battle that forbid space marines from using guns on airless moons. I would have loved to just Indiana Jones this guy and shoot him right in the chest while he's busy showing off his sword-twirling skills. Or laughing his ass off, like this one is doing. It would be poetic justice like nothing else I can think of.
But no. No guns allowed for Private Dakota Bell or anyone else. I have a big taser in my belt. But just looking at the size of my adversary, I know it's a total waste of time to even try.
I think fast. He's laughing still. Now is probably a good time to catch my bearings and check what the hell is really going on here. They kind of took us by surprise.
I look around. Dry and dusty moon spinning around a gray planet spinning around a blue star. Space marines from Earth on peaceful patrol, suddenly assaulted by the things that we'd only heard about from terrified aliens: Pirates.
The pirates that call themselves Xar are easily the only thing every alien race fears the most. Terrible, cruel beings that terrorize the planets they find, plunder them and take the females away for breeding. For fun, apparently.
No Earthling had even seen them before now. They were like a dark rumor that every alien race we encountered talked about in hushed tones and with shifting eyes, like they were afraid that one of the pirates was standing right behind them.
And now I know why. There are only six alien pirates here. But they're easily fighting off several squads of space marines each. While laughing and enjoying themselves. And probably cracking jokes. Sure looks like they're saying something.
The space marines are not laughing. I turn up the volume of the comms in my helmet and I can hear the panic rising in everyone.
“Shit, can someone call in artillery against these things?”
“Medic! Medic!”
“Yeah, so when the fuck is the evac coming?”
“Any orders? Should we just fall back? Sarge? Sarge?!”
“Everyone stand back, I got thi-”
I turn down the volume again. I don't need that. That last communication is just cut off abruptly and we all know what happened. These pirate guys have the longest swords I've ever seen, like the rotor blades on the helicopters on Earth. Black and sharp, with weird curves and jolly, colorful patterns that somehow seem intensely frightening. And of course the one I'm kind of fighting has two of them, because why not.
The pirates are human-like. But they're also clearly aliens. This one in front of me is a little under seven feet tall, I'd guess. He has a pattern, too. Swirling ribbons of metal and colors cover his golden skin, and if those are tattoos, then I'd love to know the name of the artist who made them. The skulls and anchors that space marines like kind of seem pitiful compared to that.
I slash at him as fast as I can, and he lazily takes a short step to the left so that he's a thousandth of an inch away from the tip of my sword when it zooms past his six pack abdomen. No, make that eight pack.
Because of course he's not wearing any armor. On this airless moon, in battle with a hundred and fifty space marines armed to the teeth, the six pirates are just casually walking around with bare torsos and heads. No helmets, no air supply that I can see, no pressure suit, no armor. But they're not robots, and they don't look like cyborgs. They're alive, with humanoid bodies that bulge with muscles just about everywhere. And their movements are so confident they seem invincible. As if we space marines are in the wrong just by defending ourselves. As if we should be ashamed of inconveniencing the pirates when all they want is to just kill us all.
Oh yeah, and they're all m
ale. This one in front of me has hair that's just an anarchy of gold and bronze, and his eyes sparkle like ... well, like sparklers. His face isn't fashion model perfect, just rugged and tough and smirking. Characterful, I guess. And so frightening I just want to curl up in a ball right here on the dust.
Yes, I'm afraid of an alien. I, Dakota 'Killer' Bell, the toughest alienfucking spacer in all of Special Division. He frightens the living daylights out of me.
He hasn't even attacked yet. It's like a cat-and-mouse game where he's letting me entertain him with my desperate moves until he'll just casually chop me in half with one of those helicopter blades.
I glance to the left. Ah. Or both of the blades at the same time, like scissors.
One of the other pirates just did that to another of my buddies, and his blood shoots twenty yards up towards the black sky like a fountain. Another bad thing about the lack of air or gravity.
This one is egging me on now, taunting me and opening himself to attack, stretching his arms out to the sides in a shrugging motion as if he's inviting me to cut him. I'm not falling for it. Instead I dive for his feet and slash at his black boots with my own pathetic sword.
Yeah, this lack of gravity ... What I had intended to be a fast dive turns into a slow flight that ends with me hitting the dust at his feet and gouging a nice trench in the dust with my blade where he used to be. Total miss.
I writhe like a worm to turn around on the loose dust and look up at the alien pirate that's now towering over me, much too close for comfort.
He's wiping tears of laughter off his face. And yeah. Now he's slapping his knees.
He's not wearing pants. He's wearing a kilt of some kind. And I'm looking right up it. What I see is probably the most impressive thing about him, I realize, and I can't help a tingle of heat shooting to my girly parts. A small part of me wants to throw myself at the ground in front of him and surrender. Surrender everything.
Heck, it might actually feel good.
Fuck this.
I drop the sword and pull the little knife that's more of a good luck charm than a weapon and that I'm strictly speaking not allowed to carry on me into battle. But marines are superstitious, and no one would dream of taking 'Killer' Bell's dagger away from her.
The blade is short, but sharp. It has never been used. I feint, pretending to try to get to my feet, but then I hack at the alien's black boot with the dagger as hard as I can.
A jolt goes through me as I hit ... something. Something as hard as rock. And then something softer underneath.
I try to hack once more, but then I feel something gripping the back of my space suit and lift me by the nape of my neck like a mother cat might lift a kitten. Except this is not a gentle movement.
The pirate sets me down in front of him and looks at me from up close. Well, at least I wiped the smile off his face. I suppose that's something. Sure is more than anyone else from my squad has done today.
My knees are shaking for the first time in my life. Shit, I thought that was just a figure of speech. Live and learn, I guess.
Yeah. Live. That's not really up to me right now. I glance to the left and right. There are much fewer space marines here now. Living ones, I mean. The dead ones are heaping up.
And soon I will join them.
The pirate is holding me by the arm now, so hard I have to drop the knife. Even the armor embedded in my battle suit is collapsing under his grip and it's starting to pinch. I yank to try to get loose, but it's like he doesn't even notice.
I force myself to face him. His eyes are still sparkling, but now they're shooting red sparks and not white. Somehow I feel like that's not a great sign. At least he can't see my face or the fear in my eyes – my helmet's visor automatically mirrorizes when I'm in battle mode.
He has placed one of his swords behind his back, and the handle sticks up behind his head. Probably in some kind of sheath back there.
I have the presence of mind to take stock. Sword – nope. Knife – nope. Grenades – nope, those weren't issued before this patrol because no one expected anything to happen. Taser – yep, but I can't reach it.
But I probably can reach his sword. I go for it and throw myself up and at him. I'm guessing that's the last thing he expects, because his grip on my arm weakens for a split second.
That's enough.
Almost.
I feel the thick handle of his sword in my battle glove, and the high tech material in there helps me grip it. I pull his sword out of its scabbard and ... no. It's too long. Helicopter blade. I can't pull it all the way out.
The sword slips out of my hand. And now his other sword is at my side. I can feel the edge right under my ribcage as he pushes me away from him and clearly gets ready to cut me in half right at heart height.
It's the weirdest thing: I don't panic. Instead I'm filled with defiance and anger. Fuck this pirate asshole and the flying saucer he rode in on! I guess being a space marine has set its mark on me.
I unmirror the visor of my helmet so he can see me sneering at him. And maybe it'll divert his attention from the fact that I'm grabbing my taser with my one free hand. The way he holds he, I think I can reach it.
I look him right in the eye from pretty close. I wonder how many have done that and lived.
“Alien scum,” I spit at him, knowing he can't hear me. But he can see my face now and hopefully the message goes through somehow.
I can't quite reach my taser.
We're frozen for three heartbeats. He just holds me and has his sword ready to bisect me, but he doesn't move.
Then he frowns. Looking straight into my eyes, a look of bewildered puzzlement spreads on his otherworldly face and his grip on my arm is suddenly gone. I stagger a step back as he cocks his head to one side, still frowning and clearly mystified about something. About me.
Well, he can wonder about that as long as he wants. I feel the hard edges of the taser in my hand, yank it from its holster and just fire it at his chest without aiming. There's a lightning flash of blue sparks as the two electrodes hit his alien skin. Skin that apparently can withstand the hard vacuum in space. Yeah, I didn't expect the taser to do much. 20,000 volts delivered across where his heart should be would have probably gotten close to killing any human, but this guy doesn't even seem like he notices.
I look around quickly once more. This whole thing hasn't taken more than a few seconds, but already there are only a handful of my fellow space marines left. They're huddled together on the dusty surface, unspeakably dirty and pathetic-looking, and it looks to me like they're preparing to surrender. For all the good it'll do them. I get the feeling these pirates don't really play by our rules for how to conduct wars.
I'm not surrendering. Ever.
I focus on 'my' pirate again. He's still trying to figure something out. Then he draws his sword back and I know that he'll finally kill me. The dust under his foot is dark with what I hope is blood, and I feel a little thrill at the thought that at least I hurt him a little.
I open my comms to transmit. This I want heard.
“Semper fi!” I yell, like marines have done for centuries. Always faithful. They're not great last words. But I have like a half second left to live, so they'll have to do.
I brace myself for the slice.
But he doesn't swing at me. In one swooping motion he sticks his sword into its sheath behind his back and then he comes right at me. I take a scared step backwards, stumble over my own feet and fall very slowly backwards, waving my arms in a parody of a falling person that could come straight from a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
I don't fall for long. His shoulder hits me at waist level, I feel his arm around my back, the world spins around me and now I'm looking at his kilt-clad butt from very close. Upside-down, of course. Yep, to seriously add insult to injury, he's carrying me caveman-style as he strolls casually along the stony dust. He doesn't seem to be too affected by the low gravity here. I clench my hands into fists and bang at his back as hard as I can. “Hey, let
me go! Stop!”
If I'd still had my knife, I could have carved him up pretty good. But my gloves are not made for fistfighting, so to him it has to feel like I'm gently tapping him with some kind of soft fabric.
I stop the punching. I don't want him to think that I'm caressing him.
I start to squirm and writhe instead, trying to loosen his grip on me, but that makes me feel ridiculous, too. And he's sensationally strong.
Finally real panic starts to rise. It sure seems like this guy is capturing me. That's one thing that has never happened to any space marine before – being taken alive by an alien enemy. We'd rather kill ourselves than meet that fate, because it will probably end with the captive being slowly cut open alive on some alien vivisection table until she's not alive anymore.
I try to raise my head to see what's going on around us. Not much. The space marines that tried to surrender are lifeless in a heap, and the five other alien pirates seem to be searching the dead for valuables or whatever they think they'll find on the corpse of a space marine. Well, maybe small electronic devices containing thousands of porn scenes is their form of currency.
I'm the only survivor. And I wish I wasn't.
A shadow comes down from the sky, and suddenly the alien pirate and I are standing in bright light and the ground isn't dust anymore, but a shiny metal. We're inside his spaceship.
I raise my head and barely have time to see the gray moon landscape disappear as a door closes behind me. I can hear sounds now, too, meaning that there's air around me. Or some kind of gas, anyway.
The pirate bends over and carefully places me on the floor so I'm sitting down with my back against a wall.
He squats to look me in the face from very close. Damn, that's the manliest face I've ever seen.
His mouth is moving. “Duerh meehn na,” it sounds like. And of course his voice is deep and calm and resonant. And do I detect an affectionate tone? No, this is an alien. Let's not ascribe human emotions to him. We're always warned against that.
I can guess what he's saying. I'm his prisoner.
And he's a pirate.
