Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

by Christie Golden

  “My mother.”

  “Oh… sorry.” He was batting a thousand today, wasn’t he? Gray hairs, forgetting her birthday—how the hell had that happened?—accidentally insulting her mom…

  Laureline pressed the flashing red light, and reality intruded upon their private paradise.

  The languidly waving palms and the ocean itself ceased their motion instantly. Clouds paused and the seagulls that had been wheeling froze in mid-flight. The blue sky that arched above splintered, like ice that had been struck, melting away swiftly to reveal the familiar black metallic interior of their spaceship, the Intruder XB982—or, as Valerian liked to quip, “Alex’s House.”

  Still in their swimsuits, the two agents padded barefoot along the Intruder’s hallways, Laureline striding briskly, ready to get to work, and Valerian tagging along after her like a still-hopeful puppy.

  “Come on, Laureline,” he wheedled as they passed rows of monitors, empty space suits, and various pieces of equipment. “I know you’re attracted to me. Why deny the obvious?”

  She shot him a look that was both scathing and mirthful. He never knew how she managed it. “It’s obvious?” The acidic sarcasm that dripped from the words could have eaten its way through the bulkhead.

  But Valerian was uncowed. “Sure,” he continued. He was joking, of course. Well, a little, at any rate. “Don’t feel too bad. It’s only natural. Little goody two shoes with an Ivy League education are always attracted to galaxy-hopping bad boys like me.”

  “My Ivy League education taught me to steer clear of bad boys like you,” Laureline retorted, having no visible problem sticking to what she had allegedly learned.

  But Valerian continued like a used shuttle salesman who knows he has about thirty seconds left to make his pitch. “You won’t find better than me on the market,” he promised. “Straight up. Take a good look.”

  He darted in front of her, but as she refused to slow, he had to walk backward while he tried to interest the potential customer. He spread his arms, indicating his regulation-fit physique. “Handsome, smart—’’

  “Modest!” exclaimed Laureline. He noticed that she was smiling despite herself. This was a game they played… well, almost constantly. Valerian always enjoyed it—even if it never ended with what he wanted—and he knew she did, too. Laureline was no pushover. If she disliked the game, she’d have put an end to it the first time he’d started flirting. With, say, a right hook that left no question as to her sentiments.

  So he continued. “Brave,” Valerian reminded her in a serious voice, striking a heroic pose—which, damn it, was impressive considering that he was walking, backwards, fast.

  “Suicidal,” Laureline corrected.

  “Determined.” She could not possibly argue that one, given what he was doing this precise moment.

  “Pigheaded.”

  Yeah, okay, he supposed he had to admit that one.

  “Faithful,” he said.

  The word was there, lobbed out by some impulse Valerian was now utterly flummoxed by. It hadn’t been what he had intended to say. It had come out, unbidden… real. For a moment, they both dropped the act and stared at each other, their eyes wide.

  Then Laureline lowered her eyes and pushed past him, muttering under her breath, “To yourself.”

  Valerian was annoyed, and angry. He wasn’t sure why. With her? With himself?

  “Why don’t you speak with your heart not your head for once?” he asked.

  She threw him a cold look over her shoulder. “Because I don’t feel like being just another name on your list of conquests.”

  “Who are you talking about? What list?”

  “Alex? Can we see the playlist?”

  Dozens of images flashed up on one of the many screens: pictures of attractive humanoid females, one after another. Slightly panicked, Valerian stared at the images, as if the women were about to attack him.

  One attractive woman who was standing right in front of him just might. Laureline advanced past him, her jaw set. Valerian felt his face grow hot. How the hell had she known about this?

  “Hey!” he protested. “Most of them are coworkers, that’s it!” It was true.

  Well, mostly.

  Laureline turned, arching a brow. “Really? Coworkers?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, in that case, where’s my picture?”

  Valerian had no answer for that, and so simply stared at her like a woodland creature in a beam of bright light.

  “Yeah,” she said, and it seemed to him that there was genuine emotion in her words, “that’s what I thought.”

  Valerian grasped her arm. “Laureline, those girls mean nothing to me. Okay, I admit it, I took a few… detours… when I was younger, but so what?”

  The sergeant pointed to one of the pictures. It was of a stunning young woman with dark skin and laughing eyes. “Your last ‘detour’ was one week ago.”

  Valerian was a superlative pilot. But even the best pilots didn’t always bring their vessels in without taking damage. He knew when a ship was about to crash and, likely, burn. He was experiencing that realization at this moment and, desperate to divert the course of his vessel of romance, he turned up the charm full throttle.

  “With you, it’s different. You know it. My heart is yours and nobody else’s!”

  Laureline was unmoved by his plea. “My heart will belong to the man who will have only my name on his playlist.”

  “That’s what I’m saying! I’m that man!”

  Laureline smiled, her face softening. The anger in her blue eyes was gone. But her words were no less devastating for being spoken gently.

  “Your illogic is adorable. You know, you’re quite the lady-killer,” she admitted, and for a glorious second he thought the prize won. Her next words proved him wrong. “But how come you lose interest in a girl as soon as you win her heart?”

  “Because I’m looking for the perfect woman.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Since I know who you really are, you’d better just keep on looking!’’

  “That’s not a crime!”

  “Your crime is to be scared of commitment!’’

  Valerian laughed. “Me? Scared of commitment? With seven medals of honor?’’

  Laureline stopped. “Medals of honor aren’t for sticking with something day in and day out. They’re for moments of outstanding courage. Recklessness, maybe. Running in and saving the day and then getting out before you pay the price for that courage. You do running well, Valerian— into and out of things. That just might be all you know how to do. How old were you when your mom passed away? Six?”

  A volley of unfamiliar emotions surged through Valerian. “Oh, please!” he said, his voice almost— almost—cold. “Spare me the pop psychology. This has nothing to do with my mom, okay?”

  The day that he had received the news was permanently seared into his memory. He’d been Valentin Twain then, and his mother, Sarah, was a part of a diplomatic entourage visiting the Boulan-Bathor world. The giant, lumbering species was becoming increasingly hostile toward the idea of expanding Alpha Space Station, and Sarah had been aboard a diplomatic vessel when it had been bombed. Valerian’s world had been upended. He’d gone to live with his grandmother, while his father—

  He swallowed and licked his lips. “I was five, if you must know. Five years and three months, to be exact.”

  There was no humor or playfulness in his response. Laureline’s face softened and she looked slightly guilty. She shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, sincerely. “I didn’t mean to dredge it all back up.”

  Valerian gave her an awkward smile, and tucked those uncomfortable, unfamiliar emotions of vulnerability and old sorrow away deep inside, where they belonged.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I forgive you. In return for a kiss.”

  Laureline smiled. He did, too. The flash of discomfort between them was gone, replaced by their congenially familiar
, if fruitless, chase. She reached out a hand and touched his cheek gently, with affection, and a small electric thrill went through Valerian.

  “We’re going to be late,” she reminded him, and turned to enter the Intruder’s bridge.

  As with every other area of the vessel, the bridge was a study in blue lighting and black metal. Oval in shape, it was large enough to house a slightly sunken, two-person cockpit, a large table that provided a map of everything from a single street to the entire known galaxy, and two small, individual transports known as Sky Jets. The pair had spent countless hours here, working as a team, and it felt more like home than their quarters.

  Valerian heaved a sigh and dutifully followed, feeling like a schoolboy who’s just heard the bell announcing the end of recess. As he eased himself into his chair, he spoke to Alex, the ship’s onboard computer.

  “Hey, Alex,” he said.

  “Hello, Major, Sergeant,” Alex replied, her voice warm and deep. “I trust you enjoyed your relaxation time?”

  “We did, thanks,” Laureline said.

  “Yes,” Valerian said, adding, “although it was a bit… frustrating.”

  “Was there something wrong with the environmental simulation?”

  “It was fine,” Valerian dodged, and changed the subject. “Have you entered the coordinates?”

  “I did take that liberty, so you could both enjoy the beach a while longer.”

  “Aw, thanks,” said Laureline.

  “You are welcome, Sergeant,” Alex replied politely. “We will be leaving exospace in thirty seconds.”

  The two agents buckled themselves into their harnesses. Valerian found his thoughts wandering from the beauty beside him, vivacious and most definitely human, to the luminous, languid, tragic beauty in his nightmare, who most definitely was not.

  It had felt so real. The sense of peace, then the fear and horror. It didn’t feel like an ordinary dream. Valerian made a decision. To Laureline, he offered, “You want to take us down?”

  “Yes, sir,” Laureline responded at once.

  Valerian nodded to himself. “Alex,” he asked the computer, “pull up my brain charts for the last ten minutes, please. I had a weird dream.” Yeah… that doesn’t begin to cover it.

  “My pleasure.”

  A flurry of diagrams appeared at once on the monitor, flashing past in rapid succession. Though they were incomprehensible to Valerian, Alex absorbed the information at lightning speed.

  “See anything abnormal?” Valerian asked, shifting slightly in his seat. He was more worried than he’d thought.

  “Your cerebral activity is a little more intense than usual,” Alex confirmed, adding almost blandly, “You received external waves.”

  What the hell was that?

  “Explain.”

  “These waves don’t come from your memory. Somebody is sending you the images.”

  Valerian went a little cold inside. “Do you know who? And where they came from?”

  “Negative,” Alex replied, her voice holding regret. She wasn’t a person, but she had a personality, and she disliked being unable to answer any question the agents threw at her. “They could come from the present or the past, and from anywhere in the universe.”

  “Leaving exospace,” Laureline called over to Valerian. The young major did not respond. He was too busy pondering Alex’s unsettling analysis. Why would someone want to direct images into his sleeping brain? Specifically, those images?

  “Three…” Alex counted down, “two… one. Exit!”

  The cockpit shuddered. The black expanse of space visible on the enormous view screen exploded into thousands of filaments, out of which emerged the image of the planet Kirian.

  It was smaller than Earth, and no clouds softened the red, rocky image it presented. It took a stretch of the imagination to think that such a place could support life, let alone give birth to it. But it had, and Valerian and Laureline would be interacting with it soon. The place was certainly uninviting, but on its desert surface was where their next assignment lay.

  Laureline swiveled in her chair and grasped the joystick.

  “Manual,” she instructed the computer.

  “Affirmative,” replied Alex. “You now have command, Sergeant. Rendezvous coordinates are shown on B4.”

  “Thanks.”

  The spaceship hurtled through Kirian’s atmosphere, approaching the desolate, bleak, and very hard surface with unsettling rapidity. They hit turbulence and the ship began to buck. The two agents bounced wildly about in their seats. Valerian was almost ninety-two percent certain his teeth were rattling, but Laureline didn’t seem to care. She looked forward with those intent blue eyes, totally focused, both hands gripping the joystick as if trying to arm-wrestle it into submission.

  “Easy,” Valerian cautioned. The bouncing made his voice waver.

  “We’re running late,” Laureline retorted, her own voice somehow managing to stay steely even though it, too, was wobbly from the ship’s erratic motion.

  Valerian muttered under his breath, “Better late than dead.” Of course, as soon as he said it, he realized that “late” could also mean “dead,” but he shoved the thought aside, preferring to focus on the speed with which Kirian was approaching and the hope that he’d survive the next few minutes.

  Exasperated, Laureline released the joystick and threw her hands up in the air. “You want to drive?”

  “Keep your hands on the wheel, please!” Valerian tried not to yelp the words.

  Laureline, stony-faced, appeared not to have heard.

  Sweat broke out on Valerian’s brow. With the utmost politeness, he said in a calm voice, “Laureline, will you please put your hands back on the wheel?”

  “Will you stop complaining about my driving?” she retorted.

  “Yes, I’m sorry. You’re a great driver. You’re the best driver in the entire universe!” Valerian wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince—himself or Laureline. Probably both.

  She beamed at him, but her eyes were sly. “Aww, thanks!” She’d won this round and they both knew it.

  But at least she’d grabbed the joystick again and had gained control of the ship.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Touchdown on Kirian in two minutes,” Laureline announced. There was a trace of pride in her voice as she added, “I saved us some time.”

  “Perhaps I should take over for a moment,” Alex said, “so you can both utilize that time to put on something more appropriate?”

  While Valerian had certainly not forgotten that Laureline was in her bikini, he’d forgotten that he was sitting in the cockpit of a cutting-edge ship in nothing but swimming trunks.

  “Good thinking,” Laureline said, to Valerian’s quiet disappointment. “Leaving manual.”

  “Manual disarmed,” Alex replied.

  Laureline rose and left to change. Valerian watched her retreating figure with all the appreciation it deserved, murmuring under his breath, “Wow! Man…”

  “Do you want me to regulate your hormones, Major?” Alex offered helpfully.

  For a brief instant, Valerian actually considered it. Then, “No thank you,” he replied, and rose to change as well.

  * * *

  They walked down the ramp to the surface of Kirian, a plain of soft, powdered sand interrupted by craggy, jutting stone. In the end, their attire was a bit more modest, but otherwise not that different. The major was in shorts, closed athletic shoes, and a yellow mesh undershirt overlaid with a gaudy flower-print shirt. The sergeant followed clad in a short, gray, flowing dress, waving at the six unsmiling soldiers who had been awaiting their arrival.

  They were, at least at this moment, unmistakably that— soldiers, despite their efforts to blend in with the populace. They wore loose, somewhat messy sand-colored clothing. Their heads were wrapped with cloth—except for one soldier, whose bald pate and long, thick beard set him apart and, frankly, probably was a better disguise than a head-wrapping. Voluminous ponchos served do
uble duty, concealing their excellent physical condition and also conveniently hiding various pieces of equipment and weaponry. Their disciplined military bearing was obviously being sorely tested by the heat of the planet, which had reddened the paler faces among them and dewed all of them in sweat.

  Kirian was every bit as unwelcoming on its surface as it had looked from space. Some of the huge boulders had been contorted and shaped by time and weathering, their tops looking like the wrinkled folds of brains propped up on narrow stalks. Others erupted at angles from the ground and looked more like sharp, flat arrows. Both types reared up over flat desert like ancient witnesses to a time of tremendous chaos. The sand was soft, but hot, and it was already starting to creep into clothing and skin.

  The commando unit further emphasized the incongruity of the situation by lingering near an old bus that looked almost as weathered and solemn as the boulders. It was painted in what had once been a bright yellow and was now a dull ochre, and it was decorated with insanely tacky rust-hued flames. Along its top were emblazoned the words “Kirian Tours.”

  Valerian responded to the absurdity of it all by gleefully snapping a picture of the soldiers. The glowers of some of them were priceless, and would make fantastic souvenirs.

  “Hey,” he asked, looking about and spreading his arms. “Where’s the band?”

  Major Gibson, the officer in charge of the operation, looked at him askance. “What band?”

  “To welcome us,” Valerian answered cheerfully. The soldiers looked at one another, utterly at a loss for words.

  Gibson, a tall, lean man with sharp features, eyed the pair critically, his mouth turning down in an expression of distaste. “You plan on going on a mission dressed like that?”

  “Hello Major Pot, I’m Major Kettle. Have you looked at yourselves in a mirror? We’re supposed to mingle with the tourists, aren’t we? What do you expect us to wear? A panda suit?”

  Gibson sighed. “I’ll make this short and sweet, as we’re running late.”

  Laureline threw Valerian an I told you so look as they climbed into the bus, settling in as best they could.

  “Major Valerian,” Gibson said briskly, “your contact is Sergeant Cooper. He is in position and will be waiting with your equipment in the back of the suspect’s store.” Without another word, he turned to take his seat.