by Lisa Lace
“I think I heard something about it after my meeting, but I wasn’t paying much attention.” Tate shrugged and turned back to the screen. “I suppose someone on my team will fill me in on the latest gossip.”
“It’s pretty crazy stuff. I saw a few pictures of the ship on TV, and it is huge. It must be a military craft. Apparently, they were traveling back to Yaria when one of its systems failed, and it had to make an emergency landing here on Earth. Luckily, no one was hurt. I think they landed on an empty corn field, just like all the old ships that made crop circles.”
“Sure. Lucky,” Tate echoed absentmindedly, apparently not hearing a word I said.
“Do you remember Luna Maris? It’s a breathtaking moon that is in Yaria’s orbit. I think the spacecraft that just landed on Maplewood Ranch is a Keeper ship. I’ve read that Keepers are highly skilled soldiers.”
“Ah-ha!” Tate interjected caustically. “That explains your sudden obsession with these little green men.”
“I don’t think they’re green, and they have a name. Keepers.” My face twisted with disgust at his childish attitude. “What’s your problem? I was just about to say that it could be interesting if we had the chance to meet one of them. I think I’ve been talking about visiting Luna Maris almost every day. Now that some of their natives are here, it could be an opportunity to see the galaxy.”
“The thought of meeting Yarian army men excites you, doesn’t it?” Tate folded his arms over his chest and clenched his jaw.
“There are Keeper women, too, you know, in case you’re looking for a fuck buddy.” I jabbed my fork into the melon and sighed. “Do you know what? It’s early, and we shouldn’t be starting the day with a fight. Let’s move on if we can.”
“That’s fine with me,” said Tate bitterly, turning back to his tray. “But while we’re on the subject, remember something. Aliens aren’t always as exotic as they look in the movies. The savages are often barbaric and uncivilized, especially when it comes to the military types.”
“Uh-huh.”
Tate switched the television back to cable, stopping at a news channel. The screen featured a list of the twelve governor candidates, ranked by their poll numbers. Tate’s name was fourth on the list, raking in twenty-one percent of the respondents.
“Goddamn it.” Tate slammed his fist on the counter, making the plates and bowls jump up in his tray. “I was polling in third last week. How did I lose that many votes in seven days? And to that clown, Jones?”
“I’m sorry, babe,” I murmured, squeezing his arm. “It’s probably just a bad week. I’m sure things will pick up soon. You have to get out there, meet more people, and convince them you’re a winner. Remember that sweet old lady outside Textra?”
“What does it matter?” Tate pulled away from me, sulking. “It didn’t look like that old bat had many fights left in her. Knowing my luck, she’ll pass away before election day.”
It made me feel like a terrible girlfriend, but Tate wasn’t getting my vote, either. To put it objectively, Tate had no business running for any office. He had no previous political experience whatsoever, barely knew anything about the charities he donated to solely for tax purposes, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. It wasn’t as if he could rely on an experienced team like other politicians, either. The people running his campaign were a bunch of jackasses, too. With a bunch of airhead interns and middle-age party boys steering the boat, it was no surprise his campaign was at a standstill. The only reason Tate had twenty-one percent of the vote was due to his celebrity status.
A few months before Tate announced he was running for governor, he received a movie offer which sent him spiraling into a deep depression that lasted for months. It was the role of Benson Langley, a failing stockbroker and father of a twelve-year-old girl. Tate knew it was a sign that the industry was beginning to think his best days were behind him. The role was starkly different from the hunky heartthrob characters he had grown accustomed to portraying.
At the end of the day, the elaborate campaign was a tedious, long-winded, and expensive boost to Tate’s ego. I had tried several times to talk him out of it and get him to suspend his efforts, but when I realized he would never listen to me, I gave him my grudging support. I didn’t agree with anything, but if it was what he truly wanted, I wasn’t going to stop him.
“Did you return the call from ANC Entertainment yet?” I asked him gently, doing my best to tread lightly around the touchy subject.
“Of course not.” Tate scowled. “The character has ten lines. Why would I waste my time?”
“Pablo Estevez is directing it, isn’t he?” I tested my luck, trying again. “Every one of his films in the last four years has won multiple awards, and they’ve been received very well by critics.”
“I can look up movie statistics just as well as you can. The only statistic that matters is ten lines.” Tate looked at me stubbornly. “Will you give it a rest already? It’s not as if you know anything about the business.”
Tate’s phone started to ring.
“Here you go.” I caught the vibrating phone before it toppled off the edge of the counter.
“I’ll take that.” Tate grabbed his phone out of my hands. He spun around in his stool, turning his back to me as he answered his phone.
“Hello? Listen, not right now. I’ll call you later.” Tate ended the call, but he was still hunched over his phone.
“Is everything okay?” I asked him worriedly, putting my tray away. “Who was that?”
“Huh? Nobody,” Tate mumbled, tapping away at his phone screen.
“It didn’t sound like nobody to me. Who was it, Tate?” He didn’t answer. “Tate?”
“It’s just this girl, Candice, the new intern.”
“Oh, okay. Why didn’t you say so? I’m going for a walk and then I’ll pick up a few things from the grocery store. Shoot me a message if you need anything.”
He didn’t acknowledge me again as I grabbed my purse and slipped out the door.
Chapter Four
CAS
“How bad is it?”
I shielded the sun from my eyes, walking up to the open side hatch next to the ship’s engine pod. Clouds of pitch-black smoke streamed out the hole and tainted the countryside air. Jethro and a small group of Keepers surrounded the hatch, investigating the damage together. They conversed in hushed tones among themselves as Nala, one of the ship’s engineers, tinkered with the overheated control system. The commotion had attracted a slack-jawed crowd of human farmers and townspeople who gawked at the spectacle from thirty feet away.
“We’ve seen better days,” Nala announced, her voice muffled from behind a gas mask. She set down her tools and got to her feet, spraying down the smoke with a portable extinguisher. “This system is fried. I’ve managed to salvage the front-end modules, but the climate control compressors are beyond repair.”
“For bakka’s sake,” Jethro cursed, rubbing the nub between his thick brows. He paced back and forth, looking around at us wildly. “How do you plan on fixing this?”
“I have done everything I can with what we have on the ship.” Nala removed her mask, holding it against her waist as she shook out her tangled brown hair. “We’re going to need new compressors. Fortunately, they’re an import from Earth. We will need a couple of days to install the new equipment, redo the wiring, and test everything.”
“That’s a couple of days too long.” The vein on Jethro’s temple swelled to match his exasperation. “Are you confident that there’s nothing you can do? Perhaps your team can perform a temporary repair that will hold until we return to Yaria.”
“As I said, my Prince, there is nothing I can do.” Nala refused to adjust her assessment. “Fabricating a compressor without the proper tools is extremely dangerous. Forgive me, but for a lack of a better word, it would be foolish. It was a miracle any of us made it out alive. There’s no need to test fate again.”
Jethro curled his lip, but before he could say anything
, Duke Haley, the owner of the ranch approached us. The potbellied man displayed the palms of his hands, making his way toward us in slow, cautious strides. An attractive woman around twenty years younger than him accompanied him. Her round breasts peeked out from her low-cut shirt, bouncing with every strut.
“Mr. Haley.” I stepped forward, meeting him halfway.
He lowered his straw hat over his gut as his thick copper mustache twitched. “I don’t mean to intrude, but some of the folks couldn’t help but overhear you. Is something the matter?”
“I’m afraid so. We’re looking for a new compressor.”
“Model TC7-88,” Nala chimed in helpfully from behind me.
“I’m not sure where you could get one of those,” Mr. Haley mused, pressing the brim of his hat to his chin thoughtfully.
The woman behind him spoke up. “Why don’t you try the electronics market downtown?” She hooked two fingers around the belt loops of her tight overalls, looking at me suggestively. “It’s one of the biggest markets in the state.”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m not sure if they’ll have what you’re looking for, but that’s the best place to start,” said Mr. Haley brightly. He pushed the woman forward. “Where are my manners? This is my daughter, Priscilla.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Priscilla.” I nodded at her politely. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Definitely not,” she purred, twisting the end of her silky red braid. “I’m sure I would have remembered meeting you.”
“That’s enough out of you, dear,” said Mr. Haley hastily. He shooed her away, nudging her back to the crowd. As she strolled back to the civilians, swaying her ass, I snuck her a quick wink from behind her father’s back. “I’ll have one of the ranch hands write up the directions for you.”
“We would greatly appreciate that, sir.” As I spoke, I could feel his daughter’s provocative stare aimed in my direction. “We thank you sincerely for the hospitality. We will repay our debt whenever you call for it.”
“Not at all, not at all.” Mr. Haley smiled. He flipped his hat back onto his sunburned dome. “We’re happy to do whatever we can to help. Thank God no one was hurt. The others are back on the farm for lunch, but they should be back any minute. As a matter of fact, there they are now.”
The rest of the Keepers emerged from the log barn to our left, making the civilians swiftly scatter. Imagining what things looked like from a human’s point of view, I supposed the greasy horde of warriors teeming out from behind a fence could look fairly threatening. I glanced back at the scorched grass and skid marks around the ship. Jumbled wires and debris littered the field under two collapsed utility poles.
“Our communications specialist has already informed the Yarian authorities about the damage. You should expect a credit transfer from the Yarian government to help with your expenses.”
“That will be fine.” Mr. Haley tipped his hat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to. You fellas have fun on Earth.”
The Keepers trickled in, assembling around the ship as they waited for orders. “Brothers and sisters!” When Jethro started speaking, the chatter died down. He held his arms behind his back, letting his gaze linger a moment on each person. “It has come to my attention that the ship has suffered debilitating damage, leaving us stuck on this atrocious planet for at least a few more days. We were due to be back on Yaria three hours ago. Every minute counts.”
“I knew it!”
All eyes fell on Splynter, who stood at the far edge of the lineup. He doubled over in laughter and attempted to slap his knee, but missed on account of his severe intoxication. I thought I could hear Jethro’s teeth grinding through the dead silence.
“I knew it, I did.” Splynter peered into his empty flask and shook out the last drops onto his flaky, yellow tongue. He keeled over, grabbing onto the side of a fence before he could lose his balance.
Jethro narrowed his eyes, speaking through clenched teeth.
“Never speak out of turn again.”
“It is you, sire,” Splynter continued obliviously, pointing at Jethro with his flask. “In all my years, I have never seen anyone bear an omen of misfortune quite like you.”
I had prepared myself and reacted instantly. Before Jethro could lunge at him, I grasped the prince’s arms from the rear, locking them behind his back. Splynter burst out in more drunken laughter, falling on his ass.
“Cool it.” I took the prince aside, only releasing him when I was sure the rest of the Keepers were out of earshot. “Don’t lose it out there, brother.”
Jethro seemed more agitated than usual. I decided the prince’s behavior must be due to nerves from taking part in his first mission.
“Everything was going according to plan.” Jethro exhaled roughly through his mouth. “This was it, Cas. I promised my father success, and I’ve failed. How is he ever going to trust me again?”
“We’re not finished yet.” I kept a hand on his shoulder hoping physical contact would calm him down. “Speed won’t measure our success now, but how you get us out of this setback. I suggest we call for reinforcements to collect the Doomstone for safe keeping.”
“No.” Jethro wrenched his shoulder away from me. “The Doomstone stays with me. This was going to be my chance to prove myself to my father once and for all. I will be the one to present the Doomstone to him.”
It sounded like a terrible idea to me, but it wasn’t my place to say otherwise. King Izbul didn’t have much time left. He wasn’t getting any younger, and he had recently fallen ill to several age-related diseases. With lucidity slipping farther away each day, the king had formally begun the arrangements for the next coronation. Naturally, Jethro, the first-born, expected the throne, but King Izbul had his eye on Princess Tazmin. Even though the Princess was younger than Jethro, she had trained with the Keepers for seven years and even spent time guarding the Doomstone for a few months. She was a beloved figure, praised for her regular volunteer trips to neighboring planets to assist our less advanced neighbors.
The still silence was laden with Jethro’s daunting thoughts. His dark eyes looked almost black under the sunlight. The corners of his eyes were turned down with desperation. In all the years I’d known Jethro, I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen him looking this lost.
I could see his thoughts. “Only chance. No looking back. See my worth.”
When I looked away, the fragments of Jethro’s thoughts in my head vanished. Picking up the thoughts of people I fraternized with always made me feel somewhat uneasy. I understood Jethro’s predicament. I did not necessarily sympathize with it, but I understood it.
“If that’s how you want to do things, so be it. Come on, then. Let’s head to the market before it gets dark.”
Chapter Five
MICHELLE
“Hi, there! Welcome to TerraMates. Would you like to take a number?”
I blinked at the bubbly receptionist behind the polished mahogany lectern. She reached out to the ticket dispenser, pulling her glossy pink lips back in a plastic smile. Having worked at the Textra lobby for over five months with a professional smile of my own, I felt her pain.
“Er, no. Thank you,” I stammered, rubbing my fingers along the clasp of my purse. “Would it be all right if I took a quick look around the place? I promise I won’t be long.”
“Why, certainly, Miss...?”
“Fletcher.”
“Ms. Fletcher.” Her unshakable smile looked like it was starting to hurt her rouged cheeks. She motioned to the lobby with a flourish of her hand. “Would you care for a tour? I could arrange for someone to show you around the place.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary.” I turned her down promptly. “I can get around on my own.”
“That’s okay, Ms. Fletcher. Explore all you like,” the receptionist chirped, handing me a brochure. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask any of the staff members for assistance. There should be plenty of them
roaming around on the floor.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that.”
I held the edges of the pamphlet with both hands. No one was looking at me, but I felt self-conscious already. Taking a deep breath, I relaxed my shoulders and forced my legs toward the bright hallway.
As I scanned the interior of the modest granite building, I was immediately impressed. Judging by the rumors, I had imagined the place to be crawling with scantily clad women of the night and pimps trolling the sordid joint. It appeared that none of these rumors were correct. I was beginning to think that the people who started these rumors had never set foot in the place. Maybe they were spread by one of the new competitors to TerraMates, like Celestial Mates.
Everything about the modern and spacious interior was pristine. The rooms all shared a fresh lime and white motif. I couldn’t find a speck of dust on the white marble floors or a piece of furniture out of place.
The main office was on the right of the visitor’s hall, segregated by a clean sheet of glass. The main office buzzed with activity. Twenty staff members sat behind desks, helping their satisfied clients. Women entertained themselves in the luxurious waiting area, complete with a dessert table, magazine stands, and communal tablets. I could smell freshly roasted coffee beans and baked goods floating down the hallway.
I slipped into the visitor’s hall, blending in with a handful of women browsing the exhibits. More brochures, questionnaires, and a slew of interplanetary maps and guides filled the booths. Another set of staff members stood behind the dressed tables, tending to the visitors attentively.
I walked past the forty-inch touch screens on the walls but hesitated at the last monitor. The screen brightened when it sensed my presence, displaying a selection of video testimonials from happy TerraMates couples. Slipping on the attached headphones, I tapped on a random scene.
The video began by showing a freckle-faced beauty in a dandelion meadow. Airy guitar music, staged extras, and tasteful multi-angled shots of the sunset added to the unnecessary drama of the scene. She gazed straight ahead, wind blowing her short black hair and full bangs out of her face. A banner appeared on the bottom of the screen, reading: Theresa Wilcox, 38.
