The Dark Path of Romance: Find the aliens. Steal their toys. Save the world. Mostly, steal their toys (Kim and Angel Book 2)

by J. Judkins

  The man didn’t break eye contact. “The stairs are down for repairs,” he said at last.

  Kim openly scoffed at the explanation. “How can stairs be down for repairs?”

  “No one is permitted to use the stairs.”

  “What’s the orange box?” Kim half raised her hand to indicate the device on his belt.

  “It’s an ordinary Taser.”

  “Ordinary, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. That makes sense.”

  “Yes.”

  The elevator doors opened, and Angel stepped inside. Kim followed a moment later. “There’s something unusual about this place,” she said.

  “That’s why we’re here,” Angel replied.

  “No, I mean, there’s really something unusual about this place.”

  Chapter Six

  Naomi sometimes envied the humans and their way of life.

  Her coworker Melanie was a prime example. She was intelligent, attractive, and got along with anyone and everyone. A standard background check revealed she’d been involved in unsuccessful relationships in the past, but that wasn’t the point. The point was, she was free to make those mistakes. She could find another job, or climb the corporate ladder, or choose to leave it all behind. Nothing prevented her from doing whatever she wished to do.

  It was a simple matter for humans, this ability to choose. A freedom they took for granted. For Naomi and her group, this wasn’t meant to be. She wasn’t allowed to quit. Those in charge wouldn’t permit it.

  Naomi’s job at Brookings Pharmaceutical served a purpose, in that it allowed access to a key position without drawing unwanted attention. That was it. Nothing more. Nothing less. The actual work she did while on the job? Completely and utterly irrelevant.

  Even more depressing was the knowledge that she could never escape it. After she and the others finished up, they would be transported to a new planet to do similar meaningless, useless things all over again.

  Research. Build. Implement. The pattern never ended. The others might enjoy travel and a change of scenery, but not her. Naomi had long since grown tired of it.

  One of her front doors opened, but it turned out to be a welcome distraction. Melanie strode inside, and Naomi’s heart brightened at the sight of her. A hint of perfume wafted into the room—a pleasant, floral scent which lingered in the air.

  “I want to thank you for helping me on the Madison project,” Melanie said.

  “I didn’t really help. You did most of the work.”

  Melanie’s finger idly traced a pattern on Naomi’s desk.

  “Was there something else?” Naomi prompted.

  The tall blonde woman took a deep breath. Her expression hardened into what Naomi recognized in humans as determination. “Yes. There is. Are you interested in dating?”

  Naomi readjusted her glasses and gave Melanie an inquisitive expression consisting of a raised eyebrow and pursed lips.

  “I couldn’t help noticing how you complained about time being limited the other night,” Melanie continued. “How you wished you could find someone special.”

  Naomi nodded. It was true. Her job at Brookings didn’t allow her time to go out and find potential love interests, and her “time off” was rarely her own. If she were permitted to openly complain, she’d be first in line to complain about it.

  “And seeing as neither of us are involved with anyone else at the moment . . .”

  Naomi hung her head. Again, all true. How could she ever expect to find someone interested in her while she sat behind a desk doing a tedious job nobody could possibly want? A potential love interest would have to have prior business with her, physically walk through her doors. And what were the odds of that happening? Zero to none.

  “I know an outdoor café.” Melanie’s hands fidgeted.

  Naomi couldn’t help but be depressed. Others found love. Why can’t I?

  “Would you be interested in having dinner with me?”

  Naomi wrung her hands in frustration. What’s the purpose of it all? Am I destined to live my life alone? Isn’t there anyone out there for me? Anyone at all?

  “Naomi? Dinner?”

  “What?”

  “Are you interested in dinner?”

  In a rush, it all became clear. Melanie had been painfully hinting at something, and she’d missed it.

  She smiled. Melanie smiled back.

  “No, not really,” Naomi said. “I don’t get hungry.”

  Instead of simple acceptance, Melanie seemed perturbed and somewhat irritated at the news. Naomi wondered at the cause.

  Then it clicked. She realized her mistake. Food wasn’t necessary to her kind. She and the others ate in front of other humans every so often to keep up appearances, but physical sustenance wasn’t necessary to survive. Mistakes like that could get her in trouble.

  “I mean, I don’t eat much,” Naomi amended, hoping Melanie wouldn’t notice her slip.

  “How about a movie, instead?” Melanie asked. “We can do whatever you want. Your choice.”

  Naomi relaxed. The diversionary tactic had worked perfectly. Humans can be so clueless sometimes.

  “I’d like to see a movie,” Naomi said, “but I have work.” She gestured to the two small piles of paperwork still needing her attention.

  Melanie’s hands clenched rhythmically at her sides, as if they sought something to do. “I’m talking about after work,” she clarified. “As in, the two of us, together?”

  Naomi hesitated. She didn’t enjoy paperwork, but she couldn’t voluntarily choose to disobey either. She and the others were bound by their assigned roles. Social conditioning wasn’t something any of them could easily set aside and ignore.

  “I’d like to, but I can’t. I need to finish my work. Mr. Friedman is still feeling ill.”

  “He’s here?” Melanie’s tone indicated surprise.

  Naomi glanced over her shoulder at the higher quality double doors behind her. “Yes. In his office. But considering his illness, I felt compelled to pick up the slack.”

  “Let me help you with that,” Melanie said in a rush. Her blue eyes seemed to burn with intensity. “We could have food delivered, and even make a date out of it.”

  “A date,” Naomi mused. “A date would be nice, wouldn’t it? I’d like that.”

  “Then—”

  “Please forgive me for asking a seemingly unrelated question, but do you think I’m attractive?”

  “What?”

  “I was thinking how unfortunate it is, being confined to this office all day. Paperwork, arranging meetings, answering the phone. All of it. It gets tiresome. I wish someone would show an interest in me.” Naomi laughed a bitter laugh. “But that isn’t likely to happen, is it?”

  “What about me?” Melanie asked.

  “You?” Naomi did a mental double take, followed by a physical one to make it authentic. “Wait . . . are you suggesting . . . you mean . . . ?”

  Melanie nodded, a faint smile upon her lips.

  Naomi leaned forward in her chair, eyes alight, hoping to conceal the naked eagerness in her voice. “Are you saying you know someone? Would you be willing to introduce me?”

  Melanie’s irritated look returned. “Would you even recognize it if someone made it painfully obvious they wanted to go out with you?”

  Naomi harrumphed. “You sound like the others. Of course I’d recognize it if it were obvious. How could I not? That’s what obvious means.”

  “What if it were someone you knew? Someone, say, mid-thirties?” Melanie’s eyes fluttered and she struck a pose. One hand waved to herself as if in comparison to this unknown beauty. “Single? Long blonde hair? Blue eyes? Reasonably attractive, and actually likes you for some odd reason that escapes her?”

  Naomi’s eyes narrowed. “That almost sounds as if you’re describing yourself,” she said, her voice dubious.

  Melanie’s hands clenched into fists at her sides.

  Sensing a potential downturn in th
e conversation, Naomi decided to bring it to a close with an amiable conclusion. She selected a paper from the closest stack, then made a show of scanning its contents before returning her attention to Melanie. “Is there anything else?”

  The intensity of Melanie’s glare made Naomi wonder if she were contemplating murdering someone. Given she was the only other person in the room, Naomi slid her chair a little bit further away.

  “Are you honestly this clueless?” Melanie demanded.

  Before Naomi could ask what she was talking about, there was a knock at one of her front doors. “Come in,” she said at once.

  Brandon appeared in the doorway, then hastily pressed his back to the wall as Melanie stormed past him.

  He pulled the door closed behind her. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  Naomi shrugged to show her confusion. “Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps she’s late for an appointment or something.”

  Brandon was her immediate boss, although the title Supervisor might have been more accurate. He directed their group and coordinated their actions, but ultimately, he answered to Central Authority, the same off-planet overlords as the rest of them. People would look to him if things went horribly wrong. He’d be the one taking charge, making the hard decisions, sacrificing subordinates to save his own worthless hide. He embodied everything Naomi expected in a leader.

  But leadership wasn’t necessarily an enviable position. The secretive nature of their incursion into human society denied him the perks of his station, which would otherwise be his due.

  “Friedman is resisting the conditioning,” he said, his voice low.

  Naomi grimaced. She knew Brandon wasn’t blaming her for the failure. He was making it known that she would be the one to correct the problem. Naomi glanced at the work to be done. Hours of paperwork still required her attention. A follow-up conditioning session with their human employer meant at least three hours of additional work, if she were lucky.

  Brandon handed over the modulator without another word.

  Naomi checked to ensure the device’s safety was enabled before placing it on her desk, wedging it between her monitor and an unused coffee cup to ensure it wouldn’t roll away. The modulator was a handheld precision instrument, absolutely irreplaceable, yet widely considered to be an early-model, substandard piece of junk compared to the specialized tools they could be using.

  Its primary function was for detailed, delicate tweaking. Specialized, shipboard equipment was used for individual, long-term adjustments. Far grander machines would be used for what followed, constructed on Earth by indigenous workers who couldn’t begin to guess as to the true purpose of what they were assembling.

  Joseph Friedman’s company was useful for its resources. Brookings Pharmaceutical was part of the network, one of several used to obtain specific raw materials without drawing unwanted local attention.

  Brandon jerked a thumb back at the door, a uniquely human gesture which amused Naomi to witness. “Is she going to be a problem?”

  “Melanie? No. Why would she be? The two of us were only talking.”

  Her boss folded his arms.

  “I think she’s interested in dating,” Naomi added, in an unnecessary confidential whisper.

  “You?”

  “I’m interested in dating, too.”

  The revelation seemed to amuse Brandon. “No, I think she wants you.”

  Naomi waited.

  Brandon also waited.

  “Wants me to do what?” Naomi prompted.

  Brandon’s mouth fell open in the expression Naomi recognized as surprise. “Are you honestly this clueless? She wants you, you idiot. Romantically. Melanie wants you romantically.”

  “Oh, please.” Naomi waved a hand. “If Melanie were at all interested in me, she would have said something.”

  Her boss let out an unnecessary sigh. Exasperation, this time. It made Naomi wonder at the cause, as there wasn’t an apparent reason for it. “We can discuss it later,” he said. “I want Friedman fully conditioned by the end of the day. As of this moment, he’s useless to us.”

  Naomi indicated the paperwork. “After I finish—”

  “No. I want it finished today.”

  Naomi bristled, but kept her temper in check. The little furless weasel was still her superior. “I’ll instruct one of the others—”

  “The others have their own tasks,” Brandon interrupted a third time. “I’m giving it to you. Friedman’s your responsibility.”

  Naomi smiled her best winning smile. “Is there anything else?” she asked sweetly.

  Brandon scowled—a scowl of irritation—and left the room.

  Naomi waited until after he was gone to lean back in her chair, hands clasped behind her head. The device on her desk silently mocked her. It represented everything she despised about her life. Perpetual servitude. Being forced to play a role arbitrarily assigned to her decades ago by an indifferent bureaucrat who hadn’t cared one whit for her personal desires.

  In an act of petty rebellion, Naomi set her eyeglasses aside and used her neural link to delve into the surveillance system. Any of their group could use the network, but she was the only one whose job allowed for her to be nosy.

  No one could fault her for keeping up-to-date with local events. Friedman wasn’t going anywhere.

  Chapter Seven

  “Excuse me,” Angel said. “Have you noticed anything unusual about Mr. Friedman since his return?”

  Kim kept her smile fixed in place while she resisted the urge to groan. Sometimes Angel could be as subtle as a brick to the head.

  This particular office space was a notable step up from Kim’s former place of employment. Instead of a slavish devotion to cubicle-land and overhead fluorescent lights designed to sap a worker’s creativity and will to live, the stations were broken up by wood cabinets and mini rest areas which Kim assumed were meant to encourage social interaction.

  The neat rows had made it easy to isolate and corner Angel’s current target, a businessman whose friendly smile never reached his eyes. He was in his late thirties, dressed in a black suit, and sported a professional-looking tie. His full beard was reminiscent of Commander Will Riker from Star Trek, The Next Generation. This gave the man a boost of credibility in Kim’s eyes. Everyone knew beardless-Riker episodes weren’t worth watching.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “are you a reporter?”

  “We’re investigators,” Angel said.

  Kim let out a hiss of warning.

  “Private investigators,” Angel amended.

  The man gave a curt nod. “Yes. Of course. I’ll tell you what we told the others. Joseph Friedman was suffering from stress and decided to take an unofficial vacation without prior notice. It wasn’t anything the rest of us couldn’t handle, though.”

  He brushed past Angel and walked away at a brisk pace.

  Angel kept up with him. “Has the company undergone any unusual changes since his unofficial vacation?” she asked.

  “We hired a few new people.”

  “What sort of people?”

  The man’s smile became a little more forced. “I’m sorry, who did you say you worked for?”

  “We’re employed by a nondescript and possibly nonexistent investigative branch of a company that shall remain nameless.”

  The Riker-clone stopped and gaped at her.

  Kim took advantage of the opportunity to jump into the conversation. “What my colleague is trying to say is that we’re not allowed to share that information with others. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Actually, I don’t,” he said stiffly, still professionally polite, but visibly becoming more annoyed with each passing moment.

  “Have any established employees been reassigned or fired in favor of new employees?” Angel asked.

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” he snapped, then pointed back the way they’d come. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “I under
stand. But before you do, would you please introduce us to one of these new employees?”

  The Riker-clone seemed to lose a second. “What do you mean, ‘before I do’? I just did.”

  Kim grasped Angel’s arm and attempted to lead her away. “He means, he already asked us to leave.”

  Angel refused to be budged. “He said he was going to, but he hasn’t yet.”

  “Thank you for your time.” Kim tugged a bit more insistently.

  “I have more questions.”

  “Let’s go, Angel.”

  Chapter Eight

  The images of the two women flickered and danced. Both were dressed in casual, inexpensive business attire, a choice suitable for office work. The first had shoulder-length auburn hair, and seemed of typical height for one of her gender. Other than her nervous demeanor, nothing about her seemed remarkable.

  The taller woman was striking in comparison. Her hair color and skin appeared only a shade or two darker than albino white. Very distinctive and exotic, in Naomi’s opinion.

  “Angel, stop for a moment,” the shorter woman said. “This isn’t working. Neither one of us are cut out to be investigators. They’ll never let us in to see Friedman.”

  Naomi perked up at the mention of her human employer. She concentrated, muting background noise and other distractions. The internal surveillance system was as far from intuitive as a mental-link system could get. Following a conversation from one location to another always took an extra bit of effort. The two were moving again, making a beeline for the windows overlooking the city streets in the northeastern corner.

  “Then why did you come with me?” the second woman, now identified as Angel, asked.

  “I came because I got swept up in the moment,” the other said.

  “I’m sorry, Kim. I didn’t realize I was making you uncomfortable.”

  “We need to play up to our skills,” Kim said. “Talking to people isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  “You have a suggestion?”