Blood Siren

by Michael Formichelli

  “Let’s go.” Shkur gave her knee a final squeeze before the limo’s doors swung up and the damp, briny air swept in.

  Cygni emerged from the vehicle just as the small crowd of Nyangari warriors shifted. The Nyangari ambassador to the Confederation, Rugor Shef, emerged from his limo and took bold strides towards the shuttle. The sunlight glinted off the medals on his chest as he jingled with every step. He had only one ear atop his head, the other was a scarred stump. Shkur told her that the ambassador lost the ear when he was a soldier in the Imperial Alpha’s star forces during a long and glorious battle on some planet she’d never heard of. She didn’t remember all of the details, but Shkur had said that war had won the ambassador a valorous reputation which in turn lead to a promotion to his present post decades later. He commanded great respect among the Nyangari warriors, a fact that became evident when they quickly fell into lines on either side of the ambassador.

  She found herself standing alone on the tarmac. The ambassador paused at the lip of the ship’s ramp and turned his sharp, green eyes towards her. His purple tongue slid out to the side of his mouth for a moment, and then he gestured with a weathered, leathery hand for her to join him.

  “Ambassador.” She knelt down to get her head lower than his as protocol demanded, and looked at his feet. She felt his thick, calloused fingers touch her chin and bring her gaze up to meet his. His many nose petals vibrated, snatching her scent from the air.

  “Cygni Lau-Aragón, Guror Ithros has told me many tales about you.” He spoke in clearly annunciated Solan, his voice was a match for the sagging flesh about his jaws.

  “Good things, I hope.” As soon as she spoke Cygni remembered what Shkur said about what purchased her ride on the Queen Gaia, and blushed.

  “Interesting things, but mostly good. Will you accompany an old warrior on board this shuttle?”

  Her eyes darted to Shkur. She knew that Nyangari were touchy about their mates, and though she considered herself an independent woman, she didn’t want to make trouble between the ambassador and her boyfriend. To her relief, he gave her a slight nod.

  “I’d be honored,” she said.

  The ambassador’s tongue flopped out of the side of his mouth and he grabbed her hand firmly. She rose to her feet and let him lead her up the ramp into the shuttle. She was under the distinct impression that the speed with which his tongue had fallen out of his mouth might indicate that the ambassador was enjoying her company a bit too much. It was not a good feeling to have. She was already on edge from the looks she received in the limousine and was starting to feel the limits of how much cultural chauvinism she could tolerate. She couldn’t let herself go, however, it wouldn’t be nice to jeopardize Shkur’s career in addition to being perceived as ungrateful for the unusual favor the ambassador was giving her. So she grit her teeth and tried not to think about it.

  She had to almost bend completely at the waist to get into the shuttle. Designed for a species nearly half her height, the vessel’s narrow corridors and low ceiling forced her to move forward in a half-crouch. She banged her head several times on pipes and bulkheads as the ambassador lead her around the curving corridor to the passenger compartment. Within, a circle of seats with four-point-restraint harnesses were built into the cylindrical chamber’s walls. A ring of light around the circumference of the floor gave the metal chamber an eerie glow. To her eyes the seats appeared made for children, which made her heart pick up its pace. She could already tell that she wouldn’t fit well.

  “Is there something wrong?” Ambassador Shef asked. He released her hand and set himself into one of the seats. The light made him look sinister, like a monster from a children’s fairy tale.

  “I’m just a bit concerned about the seats,” she said. Behind her the warriors of the ambassador’s personal guard filed in. Shkur paused by her side, no doubt perceiving the problem that she was having with the scale of the room.

  “Guror Ithros, please help Miss Aragón into her seat,” the ambassador said. The look in his eye let her know he had some kind of perverse pleasure in watching her try to fit into it.

  She sighed inwardly. It was strange how fixated certain Nyangari could be with—females of other species.

  Shkur looked about to say something, but she brushed his hand with hers and headed for one of the two seats not already taken by a warrior.

  “The straps won’t fit right,” he whispered in Solan when she squeezed her hips between the niche walls and forced her weight backwards.

  “I know, but hopefully we won’t really need them.”

  It was like trying to sit in a child’s cubby-hole. The pressure on her hips rapidly moved from uncomfortable to outright painful by the time she felt the seat cushion against her butt. Her shoulders were too wide for the space, so she was forced to lean forward with her elbows by her knees. “This is really going to suck.”

  “Maybe we can charter a human shuttle,” he said.

  “It’s too late for that, and I’m supposed to be in your entourage anyway. I’ll make do,” she responded.

  Shkur’s nose petals fluttered, but he relented and helped her loop the straps under her arms. He had to use considerable force to get them buckled across her chest, and afterward Cygni found she could no longer take deep breaths. Shkur gave the restraints a tug, which brought a yelp of pain from her lips, then moved over to secure himself in the seat beside hers.

  “All settled?” the ambassador asked. He was definitely enjoying her discomfort—pervert.

  “Yes. Thank you, Ambassador.”

  “Good, then we can get underway.” The ambassador’s eyes glazed over for a moment.

  Cygni could hear the ramp retract and the outer door hiss shut. The shuttle’s engines started with a loud whine. The seats slid forward with a bump, and rotated so that they were facing the sharply arched ceiling of the chamber. She had the distinct impression of being on the inside of a metal egg. Now out of the niche, she was able to stretch out slightly, but still had the edges of the seat digging into her back. The engines surged before settling into a dull pulsing sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Without windows, the pressure on her body was all she had to tell her they were moving. Her position made the feeling sharply unpleasant. Fortunately, it didn’t last long. Minutes slid by and the pressure eased off, leaving her bobbing against her restraints in free fall.

  “Are you all right?” Shkur whispered to her.

  She nodded, not wanting to chance the pain in her back showing through her voice. She was going to have some nasty bruises from the seat’s edges.

  The Nyangari around her muttered to each other in quiet tones. She caught bits of their conversation, it mostly centered around what food Baron Revenant might be providing for them, and whether or not it would be tasty. She had to bite her tongue since she knew that their definition of tasty was the opposite of hers.

  She was surprised when she found her body resisting the restraint’s embrace so soon after they achieved orbit. The thunderous bang of the shuttle coming into contact with another ship sent a tremor through her.

  “Did we hit something?” she asked.

  “Miss Aragón, we have arrived at the Queen Gaia,” the ambassador answered.

  “So soon?”

  “Baron Revenant got clearance for low Kosfanteri orbit,” he said.

  She had never heard of such a thing before, but it wasn’t so shocking when she thought about it. Why make barons wait? Baron Revenant had the pull with the government to get his ships in closer than any other non-military craft, and had a reputation for indulgent behavior.

  They unstrapped and headed back the way they had come, floating instead of walking. Zero gravity was a state the Nyangari around her were perfectly comfortable in. Even the ambassador bounded off the walls and maneuvered with slight touches against the surface of the shuttle with ease. She had a much harder time, banging into the walls repeatedly before making it to the shuttle’s hatch. She was what spacefarers not so ge
ntly referred to as a “weller,” and it showed.

  The decor changed when she passed through from the shuttle into the lift waiting area on board the luxury liner. The windowless, metal walls behind her were forgotten the moment she caught sight of varnished wood panels and arched picture windows so large they seemed to let space in instead of serving as a barrier to it. Cygni floated over a strip of burgundy carpet—completely superfluous since their shuttle was docked in the non-rotational section of the ship—that led from the hatch to the circular portal of the lift door. The view above it was simply spectacular. The blue arc of Kosfanter on her left and the giant, orange-red arc of Matre on her right framed the hourglass strip of stars between them. She normally traveled by public transport, and though there were windows on such ships, they never had such a breathtaking view as this.

  There was a commotion ahead of her. When she tried to look she found her body simultaneously twisting in one direction and turning in another. The gratuitous width of the corridor prevented her from slowing or righting her motion, and in moments she was spinning fast and out of control. She caught sight of the wall ahead of her and some concerned looks from the Nyangari warriors before her world became a complete blur. She grit her teeth, fighting the growing urge to vomit along with the distinctly unpleasant feeling of her blood being forced into the extremities of her body. She knew at some point she was going to hit a wall, and hard, but her more immediate concern was to prevent herself from fouling the air with her digestive fluids.

  Something tugged at her belt, and she felt her body stop it’s mid-air tumble, though her eyes still tried to jump around in her skull. A strong arm with tight, gnarled muscles like an old tree branch pulled her in against an equally muscular, if small, chest. She recognized the scent instantly, and smiled.

  “I have you,” Shkur said, bracing both of them with his free hand and well-placed feet against the bulkhead where the corridor widened at the foot of the lift.

  She smiled, her eyes finally tracking properly. “You certainly do.” She moved to plant a kiss on his neck-pouch, but he flinched away and released her.

  “Very impressive, I did not know you were such a skilled tumbler,” the ambassador said, arriving behind them. The other warriors around them came to rest by grabbing small handles placed on the bulkhead.

  “Thank you, Ambassador.” She blushed, wondering how it was the old warrior gave her this reaction.

  The ambassador’s tongue came out of his mouth, and he turned gleaming eyes towards the iris of the lift door. It spun open, and a sharp, yellow-white light poured out of its interior. A single figure stirred inside and moved into the lift’s doorway.

  Of course, she thought. She shook her head at the pink-clad figure floating before them. Immaculately dressed in a form-fitting suit with white ruffled cuffs and a pin-striped vest with a lacy collar, Pawqlan stared at Cygni with wide, silver eyes. Her skin looked like melted strawberry and vanilla ice cream as it tried to imitate the colors of the clothing clinging to her slender, female-phase form. Her wide, beak-like mouth worked silently below the shelf of her ear-to-ear cheekbone.

  Cygni breathed in deeply. Pawqlan’s eyes, like her own, were cybernetic cameras and would be recording every moment of this encounter. The moment her fellow reporter transmitted the footage to the Spur Herald Tower some eighty-kilometers below them, Ax’xoa Iai would know she was on the Queen Gaia. Cygni knew this moment was inevitable, but was hoping that it would occur after they were under way, before Mister Iai could pull some strings and have her dragged off the ship.

  “Cygni,” Pawqlan said, finally getting her vocal cords functional.

  “Pawqlan, you’re looking very pink today.” She said in Solan, meeting Pawqlan’s gaze. She was determined not to let her nerves show.

  “And you look to have squeezed yourself well into that dress. You’re obviously not working. Does Mister Iai know you’re taking personal time for the next hundred-and-twenty days, or have you changed careers? Planning to be one of the services aboard?”

  Before Cygni could even formulate a response two growls rumbled through the air. Shkur’s ears went flat against his skull as his neck pouch vibrated. Much to her surprise, so did the ambassador’s. Picking up on their alpha’s irritation, the rest of the warriors joined in the gravelly chorus. The sound was impressive, activating dormant feelings in her primal brain such that, even knowing she was not the target of this pack of alien warriors, she felt the urge to retreat back down the corridor and seal herself up in the shuttle.

  Pawqlan’s eyes darted back and forth between them, and her body lost some of its poise as the realization sunk in. “You’re a guest of the Nyangari Protectorate?”

  She nodded, frowning. She didn’t need protection from Pawqlan, and her company’s reaction, though sweet in one way, was cramping her style. Knowing it was useless to try to bring it up with Shkur later only made her more irate—his culture, and perhaps his biology, wouldn’t allow him to understand her emotions.

  Pawqlan turned her attention to the ambassador. “I am sincerely sorry, Ambassador Shef. I did not realize Miss Lau-Aragón was with you.”

  “Strange, since Miss Aragón arrived with us,” the ambassador responded in Solan.

  Pawqlan’s beak-like mouth flapped three times, silently. “Yes, I suppose it is strange. I apologize.”

  Ears rose from scalps and Cygni watched the warriors around her relax. She wished she could do the same, but that was impossible given the pressure that running into Pawqlan just created for her career.

  “Miss Aragón?” Ambassador Shef looked at her.

  “I accept the apology.”

  “Then there is no need to do harm,” the ambassador said. Cygni knew his words were no idle threat.

  Pawqlan blinked, and Cygni noted her struggle to focus her attention exclusively on the ambassador. “I am glad. Do you mind giving a few words about the upcoming engagement party? What is the Protectorate’s official position on Baron Keltan’s marriage?”

  “The Protectorate is honored to have been invited,” Ambassador Shef stated.

  “Is the Protectorate aware that the baron is marrying his biological cousin?”

  Cygni groaned, drawing a sharp glance from Pawqlan. It was an amateur question and an obvious attempt to provoke a reaction. Pawqlan was either setting up for something harder, or didn’t know the Nyangari very well.

  “The Protectorate believes it best not to meddle in Solan affairs.”

  “But surely, it must have an opinion,” Pawqlan said.

  “And I am sure you do, too. What is your opinion on the marriage?” The ambassador’s neck pouch vibrated in a frequency so low that if Cygni hadn’t had cybernetic cochlear implants she would not have heard it. In response, two of his warriors moved to flank Pawqlan in uncomfortably close proximity.

  “I am just here to report, Ambassador.” Pawqlan’s eyes shifted, noting her new company.

  “Good, and since I am here to attend a party we are clear on our places.”

  Cygni suppressed most of her smile, but she couldn’t stop the corner of her mouth from twitching upward. Pawqlan looked flustered, the colors of her skin grayed by two hues.

  “I suppose we are. Is it true that the Protectorate is planning to enter the war?”

  What the hell? She gave Pawqlan a sharp glare. The question was entirely out of line for both the occasion and Pawqlan’s column. She was supposed to stick to gossip—fluff.

  “What makes you think I will comment on military operations at this time?” The ambassador’s pouch vibrated.

  “I had to ask,” Pawqlan said.

  “Did you? Curious. Please excuse me. My guest and I are tired of floating in this corridor. We would like to retire to our suite.” The ambassador pushed off the poly-glass window and drifted past Pawqlan into the lift. Cygni and the others followed suit, passing within centimeters of the taller female.

  “Why is the Protectorate harboring a human guest at a Barony party, Amb
assador?”

  Ambassador Shef’s ears twitched backward. “This lift is crowded, you will have to take the next one.”

  The warriors closest to Pawqlan moved into the lift, being sure to nudge her with their shoulder and send her drifting backward away from the doorway. The door irised shut once they crossed into the drum-like chamber. The ambassador must have pre-keyed the lift computer, because the floor moved up to meet their feet almost immediately.

  “You worked with that Galaenean?” The ambassador asked.

  “Not directly, no.”

  “Fortunate for you. I gather you are not supposed to be on this ship.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “No, ambassador, I am supposed to have remained in Ikuzlu.”

  She felt Shkur move closer to her, but she knew he would not touch her in front of the ambassador. The move alone was meant to convey reassurance.

  “Well, I will have my office inform your publication that your presence was specifically requested on short notice by me, personally. Let them make of that what they will!”

  Though she didn’t quite understand why the statement was humorous, all of the Nyangari around her let their tongues hang out of their mouths and panted. It was the equivalent of a Solan cracking up with laughter. She felt oddly outside of it, and a little bit like she might be the butt of the joke until she glanced at Shkur and his closed mouth—then she was sure of it.

  Two days after Ambassador Shef showed her to her room in the Nyangari diplomatic suites, Cygni found herself wearing the same gold dress she had when she came aboard. She cursed herself for not buying a second, but it was too late now to do anything about it. For a brief moment she hoped Pawqlan wouldn’t notice, but had to admit to herself that was about as likely as the Matre materializing before her with a new dress in hand. She’d been lucky the past two days and managed to avoid her colleague while snooping around by the Barony suites, so she figured a little hell was due to come rolling her way soon.