My Alien Lover: An Interracial Paranormal Romance Story

by Lionel Law

  “I haven’t listened to them yet,” Brynnda replied, “but I understand. Iovans have teenage music as well. I’ll talk to a friend of mine, I think I know a way you might be able to listen to it if you wish.”

  “Wouldn’t you be taking away too much of the music?” Katrina asked. “I mean, if you distort the tones you destroy the music.”

  Brynnda thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, the offer is there if you want it.”

  Katrina processed another trade request, sending it along to the appropriate ministry of the Iovan government for distribution. “Seriously, what do the humans think we have over here?” she muttered to herself, deleting the next request immediately. “I mean, do they really think we have energy-matter converters? Like we can just make stuff out of thin air?”

  Brynnda chuckled and took a drink of her coffee. “Iovan history has plenty of these little stories. Every time two alien cultures come into contact with each other, there is a period of outlandish inquisitiveness, as each side tries to figure out just what the other side has, or can offer to the other. You should see some of the requests I have had to forward on to New Des Moines. Speaking of which, I have to apologize.”

  “What for?” Katrina asked, setting her terminal aside and rubbing her eyes. “I gotta take a break. If I spend five more minutes staring at these screens, I’m going to scream.”

  Brynnda laughed and nodded. “All right. But when you come back, you’re going to be listening to Bon Jovi.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t worry about it. They totally rock. Go, have lunch with Da’al or something, I’ll be here when you get back.”

  *****

  “So this is the trading outpost?” Da’al asked while he and Katrina walked through the streets of the small village. “It doesn’t look like a lot.”

  “It’s not so far,” she replied. It was true, the outpost could barely be called a hamlet. Each side had around a dozen buildings, with a central shared hall on the outskirts with attached material exchange area. Shuttles and hovercraft from both races dotted the outskirts. “But as you can see, it’s a good place where both sides are comfortable with trade, and it’s growing. A month ago this was nothing but a set of landing coordinates.”

  “I noticed almost all of the humans here are not Peers,” Da’al said quietly, looking across at the human workers. “I would think there should be at least someone of rank around here.”

  “I’m sure there is,” Katrina replied. “If I were to guess, they’d be in the trading hall. After all, it’s where the money is.”

  “I’d prefer to look around the rest of the outpost first,” Da’al said. “I always feel more comfortable dealing with your fellow humans instead of the Peers.”

  Katrina laughed. “Me too. Okay, let’s go see what the real people are doing.”

  What they saw was encouraging. Despite their differences, humans and Iovans were working together in the trading areas. The few shops had been opened, catered to both sides, and in the second largest building, a restaurant and bar that also doubled as a hotel for itinerant traders, Iovans and humans were sitting and eating together. There was even a table where it looked as if members from both races were playing poker together. “How human,” Katrina said, chuckling. “Every time we have a new frontier, someone brings along a deck of cards and starts a saloon.”

  “Iovans too,” Da’al replied. “I’m sure at least someone has brought out a yatchut set.”

  “You’ll have to teach me that some time,” Katrina replied. “That is, if you play.”

  “Almost every Iovan knows the rules, although I’m not very good,” Da’al said with a laugh. “When we get home, I’ll buy a set, they’re very cheap.”

  Leaving the bar, they finally walked towards the trading hall. Inside, Katrina was shocked when she saw who was there. “Rod… Rodriguez?”

  Peter Rodriguez was facing away from them when they entered, but she could identify him from his shoulders and his voice. He was cursing out a Dirt laborer, his voice cutting short when he heard Katrina say his name. He turned, his face twisting in anger and disgust when he recognized who it was. “You.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Katrina asked. She was surprised she wasn’t angry or enraged at seeing him. After all, he was the reason she had run away. But, in the time she had been with Da’al, her anger was blunted, or perhaps she had grown beyond the anger. Either way, she felt only surprise, and a hint of distaste. “Sorry, but what are you doing at the trading post?”

  Rodriguez snorted and walked over. “Governor Hunt has decided that, due to my stellar performance of my duties on the ship and then later as the night watchman of Iova City, it was time for a promotion. So, I’ve been assigned as the deputy minister of trade in charge of this trading post. As such, I get to enjoy the wonderful benefits of living in this quaint setting, seven days a week, twenty four hours a day.”

  “Why?”

  Rodriguez sneered and looked over his shoulder at the laborers. “Because you can’t trust a Dirt to do anything. Turn your back, and as soon as you do, they’re lying, cheating… and stealing from you.”

  “I see,” Katrina replied tightly. “In that case, I’ll leave you to your duties. After all, we wouldn’t want you to be denied another promotion if the opportunity arises.”

  *****

  Katrina sweat before every council meeting. She had spent enough time with them that they could communicate with her in English, and they had never treated her with anything but respect. Still, she had a lifetime of being ‘put in her place’ to overcome, and she still sweat before every meeting.

  Brynnda sat next to her in the council chamber, both of them in the small gallery while the council sat in a semi-circle. The Chairperson’s job rotated with every meeting. This time the duty fell to one of the few Iovans that she could pronounce their full name, Tanbur Henchuk. He was an older Iovan, even by their standards, approaching two hundred Earth years old. A former starliner pilot, he had retired to Iðavöllr because he wanted a quiet, countryside living like his boyhood. He had only returned to politics within the past few years due to, as he told Katrina one time, “extreme boredom. There is nothing more boring after enough years than just sitting and staring at a lake.”

  “You’ll be third on the agenda,” Brynnda whispered to her as the meeting started. “First there’s a report from the education ministry, then the public works department, then you. From what the council sent me, they have a lot of questions about the colonial military capability.”

  “I was worried about that,” Katrina said. “When the reports came back that one of the hovercrafts that came to the trading post was armed, I knew the questions wouldn’t be far behind.”

  “Thankfully nothing happened,” Brynnda whispered back. Katrina nodded in agreement. The hovercraft, supposedly a routine patrol craft, had set down at the trading post claiming damage to one of their turbines. What worried all of the Iovans who saw the craft were the missile launchers and guns, clearly obvious, mounted on the sides of the craft. Katrina had seen pictures of the craft, and it was a new design, not one of the ones the Glorious Enterprise carried with her to the planet.

  Katrina was worried as well. The turbine problem was either a tremendous stroke of luck, or an attempt at intimidation. Either way, it was working. Her office had already been flooded for days with requests from the Iovan colonial defense ministry about specifications, armaments, and any other information she could give them. Of course Ross Hunt and the Iova City government was being pretty silent about the whole matter, compounding issues. Brushing her frustration aside, Katrina focused on her data sheet, which was full of as much information as she could get from her own observations and working with the defense ministry, until she heard her name called up. “Ambassador Cole?”

  “Honored council, thank you for having me tonight. And again let me thank you all for using English in our communications.”

  “It is an honor to have
you here with us tonight,” Tanbur Henchuk replied. “Before we open up the council to questions, last time you promised us a report on the trading post, especially along the lines of economic growth and even population growth. If you’d tell us about that now, it would be a good start.”

  Katrina nodded, and pulled up her report on her data sheet. At the same time, the text of the report was displayed in Iovan on ever council member’s desk. “Since opening, the trading post has continued to grow at a rather astounding rate. I have spoken with the public welfare ministry, which recently decided to register the outpost as an official town, although the name is yet to be decided. According to them, the current population of the outpost is over five hundred, with four hundred and fifty Iovans, a permanent human population of fifty, and a daily transient population of upwards of one hundred humans and Iovans each. With the explosion in trade over the past few months, the specific requests have overwhelmed my office, but the outpost seems to handle things pretty well on their own. The Public Safety ministry has established a temporary office in the trading hall, working together with the Iovan City representative to ensure things get along well.”

  “How has that worked out?” Henchuk asked.

  “Other than complaints about how the human Peer, a Mr. Rodriguez, treats the other human laborers, so far things have been going well. The labor class humans get along well with their Iovan counterparts, and there have been very few instances of crime. Most problems can be attributed to drunkenness and fights that arise from it. Even those have gone down recently as the bar owner figured out humans don’t handle their alcohol the same way an Iovan does. Speaking as someone with firsthand personal experience of what an Iovan hangover feels like, I can understand.”

  “Have the local peace keepers had any reason to consider banning certain products from either the Iovans or the humans?” another member of the council asked.

  Katrina shook her head. “No Councilor. While there are clear signs posted in both the food shop and the bar in both Iovan and English as to what foods are not compatible with either species, the outpost has a very hands-off approach to things. Trust me, it only takes one good bout of dealing with stomach cramps because you ate a mushroom to convince most Iovans to read the signs. Humans too, with our own problems.”

  “If I may ask, what sort of individuals are going to this outpost? I’m personally surprised the outpost has grown so much in such a short amount of time.”

  She couldn’t identify which Councilor asked the question, but it was one she had also thought about and looked into. “Among the Iovan population, there are two specific types of Iovans who are being attracted to the outpost. The first are the mercantilists, who see the opportunity to trade with humans as a way to open new markets, either through the importation of human items such as music or artwork, or the exportation of Iovan technology and foodstuffs. Before you ask, yes all of them are cognizant of the current restrictions on what technology cannot be exported for defensive reasons. Another key population, one not always separate from the mercantilists, are the outcasts. Many of them are outcast for their lifestyle choices, however there are some who are admittedly outcast for other reasons. They see the outpost as a final chance before outright self-imposed exile to lead a life that is in line with their own personal beliefs. For those who are monogamists, they are very happy in the outpost, as they see in humans a species that has a generally similar outlook to personal relationships.”

  She knew bringing up the sexual activity of Iovans was a sensitive subject, but she handled it as tactfully as possible. It was her only major complaint about Iovan culture, although she guessed she could be grateful of the fact, since it meant that she met Da’al. Still, any form of discrimination frustrated her. “I have the specific details in my written report, which my assistant forwarded to your respective offices this afternoon,” Katrina concluded, tapping her data sheet and setting that one aside. “However, I know that isn’t the big issue on everyone’s mind right now. So Councilors, how about we open the floor to questions from you on the hovercraft incident? I’ve already sent the defense ministry as much information as I have, and continue to work with them on a daily basis.”

  “While I trust our defense experts to know more about this than I do,” one of the Councilors said, “I received a disturbing report that the human hovercrafts can fire nuclear weapons?”

  “Unfortunately Councilor, that is correct. Even though I do not think the particular hovercraft in question is nuclear armed, humans have used nuclear weapons in atmospheric conditions going back over three hundred Earth years. When the Glorious Enterprise was built, it was armed with nuclear weaponry, in case of hostile contact. While the weapons were meant for the ship, they could easily be reconfigured for atmospheric usage. When I was a worker on Luna, I would sometimes work with lunar shuttles armed with nuclear weaponry. The normal yield was in the ten kiloton range, which was considered enough to destroy any enemy vessels or other threats. I suspect the normal warhead on the missiles used by the Glorious Enterprise are much larger, most likely in the megaton range.”

  Stunned silence greeted her comment, until Henchuk cleared his throat and spoke again. “How many nuclear weapons did the Enterprise leave with?”

  “The numbers are officially classified, but according to the news reports I saw before departure, the ship could have launched with as many as one hundred nuclear warheads.”

  The entire room broke out in trilling Iovan speech, until Henchuk rapped his gavel like device on his desk. He spoke out in Iovan, then turned his attention back to Katrina. “Apologies, Ambassador Cole.”

  “None needed, Councilor Henchuk. Trust me, when I reviewed my memories and the data I had, I had to check the number twice myself. Moving on from the nuclear option, this particular hovercraft is definitely armed with particle cannons, and it looks like rockets as well. While the armament isn’t that much different from a normal patrol hovercraft, in talking with some scientists at the defense ministry, it is suspected this hovercraft is also capable of normal flight modes as well, and is designed to be a short range attack aircraft.”

  “Could this type of craft pose a threat to our own defense forces?” Henchuk asked. “I was assured that our shuttles have the edge in speed.”

  “That is true Councilor, but the problem comes with the shuttle’s defensive capabilities. According to what we estimate, the very system that allows our current shuttles to travel at the speeds they can also makes them vulnerable to the types of weapons the hovercraft employs. While it is possible to shield the craft, we would have to give up our speed advantage.”

  Katrina continued before they could interrupt. “Councilors, the facts are very clear. Neither the humans nor the Iovans have the ability to effectively destroy the other without also taking crippling damage. I’m sure, considering the greater size of our defense forces, that any major attack by the Iovan forces would eventually destroy the humans at Iova City. However, before they could, I am also sure that Governor Hunt would launch any and all nuclear forces he had, devastating New Des Moines and any other areas the humans have identified. It is my sincere recommendation that we try our best to find a diplomatic solution to any problems with the humans. Now, while I am saying we should talk, at the same time I do not advocate sitting on our hands and hoping that the problem goes away. I’ve dealt with the leaders, these so-called Peers, my entire life. From the beginning of their lives, they are taught to be ruthless, and to take advantage of any weakness shown by an enemy, especially one they consider inferior. Sadly enough, as evidenced by the way the Peers have treated any Iovans they have been in contact with, I feel this is the case. If we show weakness, they will do their best to take advantage of it. However, if we show them restrained strength, they will at least pause. This should give us the time to find a better countermeasure to their current weaponry, and a more permanent solution.”

  The council considered this soberly, but before anyone could speak again, one of the
assistants came up and handed a data sheet to Councilor Henchuk. “Please excuse me Ambassador for the interruption and change of topic. We have a report that just came in from the trading outpost. Five Iovans have become seriously ill in the past twelve hours. Medical staff on site cannot do anything to treat them. They have requested medical support from New Des Moines. Ambassador, considering the site of the outbreak, I have a very serious question for you. Is it possible that this disease is a result of humans and Iovans interacting?”

  “I don’t see how Councilor. I’ve been living among Iovans for months, and nobody around me has gotten sick at all. In fact, I’d say most of you are in remarkably good health.”

  The comment got a few chuckles, and Henchuk smiled. “Yes well, that is true. One final question, a rather paranoid one if I may say so myself. But, does humanity have any compunction against biological warfare? Have humans used disease in fighting before?”

  Katrina sighed and nodded. “I regret to say, yes we have. But I doubt this is the case. A direct biological attack would have been against New Des Moines, not a trading outpost. It’s not the way Peers, or humans in general, think.”

  “All right Ambassador. I feel the same way, but I had to ask. Well, that’s all for now. We’ll ask you to stay abreast of the situation, and coordinate with the medical ministry for any issues among the humans. Thank you.”

  Chapter 10

  The emergency hospital ward was permeated with sickness and death. Iovans filled the beds, their golden skin turned an awful, sickening orange-yellow. Clumps of hair were falling out, and their eyes oozed yellowish pus from the corners. Most were too weak to even sit up, and Katrina had to resist the urge to vomit.

  “What are you doing to treat them?” she asked the doctor who was responsible for giving her the tour. With her face covered in a mask, she was grateful she couldn’t smell the ward, although her mind insisted there was some sort of foul reek that made it past the seal.