by Rena Marks
The Commander was back, now with the crew of Quacker females standing stiffly with him.
“Let me introduce you to Pariah Pritchard, the head of the Quaker Puritans. She is known as the Madonna of the others because of her staunch virtue.” His voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “Madonna means leader.”
Bajoc winced. Up close, one couldn’t even tell this one was a female. She had the famous one eyebrow strutting across her forehead that Tomlak whispered about. But he ignored that for now and focused on the rest of her. She was rather rotund in appearance. Rounded shoulders, rounded rear, rounded belly, and rounded breasts that sat on her chest like the balls of dough Marcie laid out for dinner rolls. Her hair was gathered back, pulled tightly from her face, to make a rounded ball on the top of her little round head. In fact, the only thing not round about Pariah Pritchard was the square handbag she sported hooked onto an elbow, used to carry the square book she frequently quoted from. This he knew from Tristan.
“Ma’am.” He bowed, the way the whores had taught them so long ago. He saw Marcie’s eyes narrow, but it couldn’t be helped. He had to impress these Quackers with his near-perfect manners. After all, he was the one who had studied the most during the whore teachings.
“Hmmph,” Pariah said primly. “These are the Puritans under my care. Sisters Molli. Joy. Beatrice. Virginia. And my dear, dear Wilma.”
“How do you do?” Marcie asked. The Quaker sisters all stared at her. Marcie looked uncomfortable, and then his mate pinked, and took a little half bow and curtsy.
The sisters responded as one. “Blessed be.”
“Are you real sisters?” he asked, curious.
Pariah looked appalled that he thought to speak to her. She lifted her chin, and looked down her nose at him. “We are not sisters of the flesh. We are sisters of the soul, heathen male.”
“Of course,” Marcie murmured.
Tristan said nothing, the fool.
“Pariah, my dear, perhaps we can discuss things outside while I show you the beautiful sunset this planet has?” The Supreme Commander took her arm, escorting her outside as if she were a queen. “Someday, I’d love to show you the sunrise,” he murmured, the sly old goat. “There is the most magical purple mist early mornings…”
Tristan stared, his mouth hanging open in shock at the Supreme Commander’s lovesick mooning. He turned to Bajoc, who shrugged.
“So, um, you’d all like to move to this planet?” Marcie asked the five left behind.
“Whatever the shepherdess wishes, the flock shall also want,” Joy said, clasping her hands together at the waist and looking down at her sensible brown boots.
“Oh,” Marcie said, looking puzzled as her eyes darted to him.
He shrugged. He was just as puzzled. “Does the flock want anything to drink?”
“We drink neither spirits nor fermented beverages. They are the devil’s urine.” The one named Wilma frowned, but it was hard to tell because she was the other one who had the unibrow.
“Yearn?”
“Urine, honey,” Marcie said. Then she leaned into whisper. “Just get them water.” She took Lily from his arms.
“Who’s the devil?” he asked, but she didn’t respond.
Wilma was staring at them disapprovingly. Her giant, furry eyebrow swept across her forehead in a shaggy roll. Hers was in black, and it made her pallor seem even more pasty. Her thin lips whitened as they pressed together in a disapproving line, matching the straight line of her brow.
“What is wrong?” he asked, fighting a shudder.
“He who protecteth the serpent lays his staff bare for all to see.”
Bajoc glanced down. His staff was still tucked safely in his pants. Now he was more baffled than ever.
Several of the Quackers followed his line of vision to his crotch and gasped. One moaned, her eyes glued to the outline of his cock, but she was sharply elbowed by her sisters.
Sister Wilma sucked in her breath, spun on the ball of her foot, and stomped outside. Tristan gave him a wide-eyed look, and immediately followed her.
“Oh, oh. She’s going to tattle to Pariah,” Joy said.
“Sister, please,” Molli said, under her breath. “They’ll hear you.”
The sisters all synchronized a symbol, touching their foreheads, chests, and each shoulder in a quick succession of four beats.
Then Marcie repeated it, as if it were a normal procedure. He attempted it, but fumbled when his hand got to his forehead. He’d completely forgotten where the second movement was supposed to go.
There was a girlish titter, and one of the Quackers covered her mouth with her hand. Her hair—the little that could be seen behind the gray bonnet—was a bright, buttery yellow. She was the moaner from earlier. He smiled gently at her, because she looked the most like his Marcie.
“May I help you?” she asked him. Her voice was deep, a bit throaty. Without waiting for an answer, she took his hand. Her fingers were warm, and she took a moment to caress his palm, and then moved his arm to simulate stroking his heart and tapping each shoulder.
The front door opened.
“What is going on?” Pariah said loudly, Wilma in tow. Behind her, Commander Kriekjan and Tristan followed like pets.
“I am teaching the sign of the holy father to the uninformed, Mother Pariah. This…being asked to learn the sign of the cross.”
He did? But Mother Pariah looked suspicious, and he did not want to get the kind, buttery Quacker in trouble, so he nodded eagerly. It seemed to calm her suspicions.
“Well, fine then. But do drop his hand now,” she barked. “Sister, you know you are about to head into your heat.”
Sister Virginia dropped his hand so quickly it banged down on his staff.
He made a strangled sound somewhere between a bark and a groan.
Tristan’s eyes widened, and Commander Kriekjan winced. “Ladies, let’s do move on to my ship, please, and let these kind families resume their activities.”
“Cheap, cheap!” Titi hollered loudly, and behind her Reese followed from the bedroom, making the conga train they’d learned in school, proud as can be. He had his hands on her waist, kicking out with one foot while she kicked out in front of him. A line of thick, black gel oozed straight across their foreheads like a giant caterpillar. Into it, long, furry pieces of hair in white and gray from Titi’s pet retsli feathered up and out.
“Sacrilege!” Pariah snapped, crossing herself and muttering a chant about valleys of death. Next to her, Wilma fanned Pariah with a small book she carried around, and chanted also, quick mutterings under her breath to echo Pariah’s.
“Cheap, cheap!” Titi bent at the waist, held her hand over her eyes as if seeing far in the distance, and waved across the room. “Cheap, cheap, cheeeeap,” she sang.
Chapter Two
Marcie:
The Quakers were quickly ushered out of the house by the Supreme Commander.
“Titi, what did you do?” Tristan asked his daughter, trying to sound stern, but the corners of his lips kept turning up.
Titi’s pudgy, rounded shoulders shrugged. She looked bewildered. Tristan picked her up, dabbing at the oozing blackness underneath the rolled hair.
“This is sticky,” he said. “Nearly dried.” He paled. “Bajoc, do you have the ship’s engine glue in your home?”
“Yes, but I keep it locked in the hall closet. I had some plumbing repairs to do…”
Tristan sighed. “It is no longer locked.”
Bajoc looked horrified.
“Glue?” Marcie asked. “It comes off, right?”
“Eventually,” Bajoc said, evasively.
“Perhaps as they grow older and their foreheads expand?” Tristan asked him hopefully.
Marcie sighed. Reese looked horrible with the alien cat-hair unibrow on his lovely purple forehead. The glue they’d used was black, at least, but the hair from Titi’s pet was in shades of gray and white. The roll of hair stood out like a sore thumb.
“Well, sorry about that,” Tristan said awkwardly. “I’ll get her home and let you know if Lara has any ideas about removing the hedge.”
Bajoc walked Tristan and Titi to the door, Reese following close behind. Their son was subdued now, as if he knew he’d done wrong.
His daddy should be as quick-witted. Why he let Quaker Virginia coo and hold his hand right in front of her was beyond her.
“Come, baby boy,” Marcie said, scooping up Reese. “Let’s let you play in the bath.” She turned and looked at Bajoc, feeling her mouth tighten like the dried up lips of Pariah. “Feel free to figure out your own dinner.”
He blinked, rather endearingly. But she was in no mood to be mollified. How dare he flirt with Quaker Buttercup? He’d blushed like a twelve year-old boy when she’d held his hand.
“Marcie? Is something wrong?”
Oh, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing.
“No,” she said, and the chill in her voice surprised even her.
He still looked baffled, the cad.
“Why did the Quakers bring up your staff?”
He shook his head. “I have no idea. I swear.”
From where she had stood earlier, she couldn’t tell if he was focused on Quaker Virginia or not. That was the one who had him in her sights. Obviously. But he did look innocent, and for heaven’s sakes, their guys were a bit naïve. Hell, they’d thought the kids were pets for the longest time.
She sighed, remembering she’d recently given birth. It could very well be her moods were off. She cried at the drop of a hat. And right now, Reese stared up at them, his solid roll of fur across his forehead making him look slightly Neanderthal.
She wanted to cry again.
Instead, she tried to smile through her mood. “Take care of Lily. I’ll give Reese a bath.”
She scooped up their son, and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She filled the tub, letting him look over the edge as the water rose. “You can take off your own clothes,” she said, holding her hand under the water to keep it tested.
Reese began stripping in record time, and she lifted him to sit in the few inches of water.
“We’re going to wash your hair this time,” she warned, taking the bath cup and dipping it.
She poured water over his little head. The only condition was he liked to fold his triangular ears down to cover them while she did so. Each time she dumped the cup of water, he’d gaze adoringly up at her, from underneath the furry bridge.
“All gone?” His tiny voice was hopeful.
“Not yet, baby.”
Not even close. The water was completely blocked by the bush hedge, running down the sides of his temples instead. His face, though she dumped cup after cup of water, was completely dry.
“Let me see.” She took the hedge between her thumb and forefinger and pulled. It was stiff, like a Brillo pad.
“Oww.”
“Sorry.” She stopped messing with his face and began soaping his sweet purple body instead. Then she let him play for a few minutes. “Hey, let’s get this little purple punkin all dried, okay? I’ll let you help me bake a cake if daddy can watch your sister.”
“Yes!” Reese smacked his chubby hand on his thigh, splattering water across his face. He blinked thoroughly, shocked at the splash.
“Yeah, forgot how that felt, didn’t you? Your hedge kind of protects you. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go all the way around.” She grinned, and Reese’s face cleared, grinning also.
Purple fingers came up to her cheek. “You’re so pwetty, momma,” he said.
Her heart melted. It fell down her chest in liquid form, back up again, and then expelled from her eyes.
“I love you,” she sobbed, scooping his wriggly purple body into a towel, and squeezing him tight.
“Ma!” He complained.
She wiped away her eyes, wondering if this was one of her hormonal moments.
She dressed him in fuzzy pajamas that Jannie had created, and they had all replicated in various sizes. It looked adorable with his curling locks of purple hair.
The rest of the evening passed rather quickly. After the cake baking, Reese yawned loudly while Bajoc put Lily to bed. Marcie pulled what she liked to call a Lara, and fell asleep on Reese’s bed. She woke up during the night to nurse Lily, and then stumbled back to her own bed once the cad with the sexy, dark silver horns was snoring.
The next morning dawned as hectic as usual, with Bajoc taking Reese off to school. Marcie had planned a visit with Lara. It was tough not to have cell phones to call each other, but they had another system set in place.
She moved aside her kitchen curtains and peered out. Sure enough, Lara’s kitchen window had a giant pink ribbon in the window. It was her sign that the visit was still on.
Lily gurgled in her crib, kicking out her legs.
“How you doing, sweet pea?” Marcie checked the baby’s diaper. Still dry from when Bajoc had changed her. “Ready to go visit your buddy Hagan?” She picked her up and inhaled sweet baby, then headed across the street.
“Yoohoo,” she called, peering in the window.
“Come in,” Lara called.
“Hi.” Marcie’s mouth fell open.
Lara was sporting a real, live baby sling that hosted baby Hagan as he slept against her body.
“Not to worry. I replicated one for every one of the new moms,” she said, whipping one out. Marcie squealed, setting Lily down on the sofa. She tied the sling around one shoulder, and then picked up Lily to plop her inside.
“Did you get these from the Supreme Commander?” The crazy man liked to bring baby gifts.
“Nope. I actually sewed one, tearing it apart and testing it with a fifteen pound rock. When I got the design right, I replicated it.”
A loud meowing caught her attention, and when she looked over at the source, Titi’s pet retsli slunk to hide behind the curtain, hissing at her. Her body was usually furry with tufts of hair…but today her midsection was smooth and pink-skinned.
“Sorry about that.” Lara looked uncomfortable. “The cat-thing is embarrassed to be naked. Titi shaved her, and she’ll hide until her fur grows back.”
The thing hissed again, peeking from behind the curtain. Only her furry face and feet were exposed.
Marcie stared at it.
“Uh, sorry about Reese’s unibrow,” Lara said.
Marcie sighed. “Well, he does hate getting water in his eyes and ears. It’ll take care of the eyes.”
“If it’s any consolation, Titi certainly feels bad.”
Marcie smiled. “She just can’t seem to keep out of trouble.”
“She’s precocious,” Lara agreed.
“Have you talked to Commander Kriekjan?”
“I haven’t had a chance. He’s been pretty tied up trying to smooth over things with the Quakers.”
“He brought them over to meet us,” Marcie said.
“He did? What are they like? Did you apologize for Titi’s dance?”
“Um, no. In fact, I didn’t think to apologize for Titi’s unibrow in front of them.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Guess who Titi was mimicking when she came up with the unibrow idea?”
Lara groaned. “Oh, no. I imagine one of the Quaker women has one?”
“Two. So he’s probably really smoothing things over now.”
“What are they like? The Quakers?”
Marcie sat on the sofa, checking on Lily still curled into the sling. “The leader and her second sister, I guess you could say, are definitely cut from the same cloth. The other four tend to be the outcasts. I think they may fit in here, with some adaptation, of course. However, one of them...” to her surprise, she choked as tears flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
“Marcie? What’s wrong?” Lara looked concerned.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “It’s just that…I think Bajoc’s having an affair.” To her own ears, her voice wailed.
“
Honey? I can’t believe that. Bajoc loves you. It’s obvious.”
Marcie felt her emotions wreaking havoc. “I smell like milk all the time! I have kids attached to each hip. And in walks this sexy young blond thing dressed all prim and proper, one without a unibrow—not that it would have mattered—and he giggled like a schoolboy.”
Lara grabbed a handkerchief and handed it to Marcie. Now that the initial flooding was over, she could feel herself beginning to calm. She dabbed her eyes.
“Honey, why would you think he’d be interested in someone who looks like a Quaker?”
“Look at how turned on they were by us! That schoolmarm persona really got them hopping. Now, women who have it in the extreme step in and their libidos are going wild.”
She could tell when it made sense to Lara.
“Oh, God. You’re right. Tristan hasn’t stopped talking about the Quaker women since they arrived. Why are they so fascinated with those tramps?”
“They want side lovers,” her voice broke on a sob. “I hope your Tristan doesn’t want Wilma!”
Lara turned pale. “Which one is that? Does she have a unibrow, too?”
Marcie nodded. “I think she’s the one Titi was mimicking.”
“What?! My daughter was trying to dress like her…future stepmother? That home-wrecking whore?”
Together they sobbed, their wails growing.
* * * * *
“Are they crying?” Tristan asked Bajoc, bewildered. The two had paused on Tristan’s front porch, afraid to go near the window from where they could hear the females sob.
Bajoc nodded. “Jannie said females who give birth are highly emotional from the pregnancy pher-a-hormones racing through their bloodstream. We are to be supportive and allow them to cry while reassuring them they are super heroes.”
“Super heroes with pherehormones?” Tristan scratched his head. “I did not realize the females were so complicated.”
“Jannie says it is a delicate situation, and we must walk on eggs.”
Tristan cursed. “Why does everything hit at once? We have a mandatory meeting with the Supreme Commander over this Quaker mission, and our mates are moody as hell.”
