And now, it was reeling Laureline in, reaching out with a powerful hand to grab her like a doll and bellowing happily as it displayed her to its compatriots also fishing on the edge of the canyon, who made admiring little yelps.
Valerian drew his gun and took aim, then abruptly realized that if he killed the creature, it would likely let go of the pole… and Laureline. He swore softly and took a breath.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered. Valerian holstered his gun, took a running leap, and threw himself into the void to catch a butterfly.
His hands closed tight around one.
Please don’t be real. Please don’t be real.
It wasn’t. It, too, was a lure, which meant that he wasn’t about to plunge to his death after leaping to grab a damned butterfly.
The decoy wrapped its “tail” firmly around his waist and Valerian was yanked upwards so fast he could barely breathe. He was reeled in and brought within a few feet of a hideous, froglike face whose downturned mouth opened in an ear-shattering shriek of presumed joy. Red, glowing eyes with barely discernable slitted pupils blinked rapidly as the eight-foot-tall Boulan-Bathor hauled in what surely had to be the finest catch of the day.
He plunked Valerian down on the ledge and reached out with a net. But Valerian gave him a lopsided grin and lifted his gun.
“Sorry,” he shouted, “I’m inedible!”
He abandoned the very messy headless corpse of his giant would-be captor, and ran in the direction of where he’d seen Laureline disappear. Unfortunately, it looked as though Valerian’s partner had been the last catch of the day. Her fisherman had placed a large circular basket that appeared to be fashioned of twisted metal bands on his back and was moving toward the large gate that marked Boulan-Bathor territory. Valerian caught a fleeting glimpse of Laureline in the basket. As expected, she was ranting at her alien captor while at the same time attempting to find a weakness in the curving cage that held her prisoner.
Valerian ran as fast as he could, his legs pumping, but the fisherman had a head start and those froggy legs could move pretty damn fast. The huge steel door was opened to admit the fisherman, and Valerian skidded to a halt when he saw a dozen guards bristling with spears and pikes.
Valerian veered sharply to the right, hiding behind a jutting piece of black rock and watched, sickened, as the fisherman—and Laureline—were admitted inside and the gate closed with a terrible finality.
His beloved was trapped inside the Boulan-Bathor palace. And there was nothing he could do.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Okto-Bar should not have grieved the death of the unusual alien as much as he did, but there it was. Something inside him was oddly sad, even though the emotion went against all rational thought. How could one mourn the death of a being one didn’t even know—especially from a race that had shown itself to be aggressive?
Help us, it had begged.
And, strangely, Okto-Bar wanted to help. He would begin with finding out as much as he could about the delicate and beautiful alien, whose people, as Agent Laureline had pointed out, had managed to attack a roomful of beings without harming a single one of them.
Peculiar enemies. He sighed and asked Neza, “Did you run a DNA search?”
“Yes,” replied the sergeant, “but it didn’t match any of the millions of species in our database.”
“How is that possible?” Okto-Bar couldn’t believe it.
“There are a couple of possibilities,” Neza explained. “Either he belonged to a completely unknown species or…” The soldier didn’t finish.
“Or?” prompted Okto-Bar.
“Or his species was deliberately deleted from the database.”
They stared at one another. It wasn’t Neza’s place to volunteer theories to his superior officer without being requested to do so, and Okto-Bar wasn’t ready to give voice to any of the increasingly strange ones knocking about in his head. He returned to his chair, slumping into it, trying and largely failing to wrestle the known facts into something that didn’t sound ludicrous. He stared at the myriad colored, flashing screens but didn’t really see them.
Who were these peculiar aliens who had kidnapped Commander Filitt? Why was there no record of them?
Sergeant Neza spoke up, interrupting his brooding. “General, the major has resurfaced! On the edge of the red zone.”
Okto-Bar was on his feet at once. “Excellent. Which district is he in?”
Color crept into the sergeant’s cheeks as he replied, “Ah… that would be Paradise Alley, sir.”
Paradise Alley? “What the hell is he doing there?” Okto-Bar demanded.
The sergeant’s blush deepened. “I have no idea, sir.”
“Well,” the general said in a gruffer voice than normal to cover his surprise, “put a call out to all units in the sector.”
* * *
Every night was a busy night in Paradise Alley for law enforcement. Tonight, it seemed, would be no different. A police officer glanced down at his forearm at a screen fastened around his wrist.
A picture of a young man with dark hair appeared on the screen. The officer nodded; someone was speaking in his ear. “Copy that,” he said quietly and started to look around—only to feel a gun pressed to his temple by the self-same young man whose picture adorned his wrist.
“May I help you?” the officer said tightly.
“Yes, you sure can,” Valerian said. “Move. Now! Slide your gun into my holster.”
The officer did as he was told. “Thanks,” said Valerian. “Now, hold still.”
Valerian fired a streak of blue light into the officer’s neck. The officer was frozen where he stood, turned into an apparent statue. He wouldn’t be going anywhere, not unless someone came along to reverse the immobilizer within the next three hours. It would wear off on its own after that.
Valerian pressed a button on his gun. A small shield hummed over it, bending the light rays so the gun became invisible for all intents and purposes. He tucked it in the back of his pants and steeled himself for the ordeal that was about to unfold.
Squaring his shoulders, he stepped out into the main street, into the throng of a staggering variety of races displaying their charms beneath garish, brightly colored lights in a place where it was always night.
“Hey, handsome. Want to walk on the wild side?” The speaker’s voice was deep and husky, but feminine, and the fur on her face was very light and looked soft. But the teeth she bared were sharp, and Valerian stammered a polite, “Uh, no thank you.”
Backing away from her, he collided with a pair of twins with long legs, long blond hair, and long white dresses. “Hello there,” they said in perfect unison. “Two-for-one deal. Tonight only.”
A scantily clad girl in a swing soared over Valerian, smiling sweetly and providing him a chance to break away from the unnaturally gorgeous twins. She looked perfectly human until the light caught the gossamer wings attached to her shoulders on the second pass. She waved cheerfully and inquired, “Want a ride?”
A buxom woman clad in pointed shoes, white stockings, garters, a full but very short skirt, and a tightly cinched bodice waved a handkerchief and smiled at him. Her round face was heavily powdered and her hair— which might or might not have been a wig—seemed to stretch two feet upwards. She called out in archaic French, “Par ici, mon chéri!”
Valerian covered his eyes with his hand. “No, thanks!”
Another pretty creature moved to block his path. She had a firm, taut body covered with beautiful, iridescent blue and green feathers. Her fingers ended in sharp claws, but she was delicate and playful as she cupped his chin in her hands and spread her tail feathers like a peacock. “Come fly with me!” she whispered.
“Sorry,” apologized Valerian, “I’m allergic to feathers.”
He backed away from her, looking around for an escape. His eyes fell on a sign: “All U Like. Humans Only.”
“Get out of here, pervert!” came a male voice. “You’ve made the righ
t choice, soldier! Jolly will see to it that you spend time with only the finest company Paradise Alley has to offer.”
Valerian turned to behold a man, presumably Jolly, who was undeniably human, but also undeniably ridiculous-looking. He had military-issue boots and gray camouflage pants. His jacket, too, looked like it was of a historical military design. And his hat looked like it could have once adorned someone from the era called the Old West. But the coat was an astonishing rainbow of colors from its blue sleeves to teal stripes to red epaulettes, and it covered a black and yellow shirt. Dark glasses, a gun belt loaded with bullets, and a close-trimmed goatee completed the bizarre ensemble.
The pimp grinned, revealing even white teeth as he slipped his arm around Valerian’s shoulder in a fraternal manner, casually but deliberately propelling the agent into his establishment.
“I’m telling ya, this club is the best you’ll find in the whole damn space station!” He clapped Valerian on the shoulder. “Stay right there. I’ll be with you in a second.”
But now that he had found the establishment he’d been looking for, Valerian was anxious to get what he was after. “I’m looking for something a bit special—”
Jolly held up his arms in an expansive gesture. “No matter what you want, I got it! Trust me. Come on in!”
Valerian hesitated. “I’m, uh… not entirely sure about that.”
I cannot believe I’m here. Laureline will kill me if she ever finds out. She certainly won’t accept a marriage proposal.
But it was for her that Valerian had sought out this place. If she ever did find out, he hoped she’d allow him the chance to explain that before she knocked him on his ass.
“So!” Jolly exclaimed. “What are you looking for? Tell me.”
“A glamopod,” Valerian replied.
“Ah! You, sir, are about to be a very lucky man! Not only do I have one, I’ve got the best one in the whole universe.”
Valerian let Jolly lead him inside, watched beadily by the two bouncers on either side of the door.
He really, really hoped he was doing the right thing— and that Laureline was staying alive long enough for him to rescue her.
* * *
Laureline hoped that Valerian was all right.
The last she had seen of him, she’d been pulled upward and at a high speed and he had performed a literal leap of faith, trying to grab onto a decoy and follow her up. But they had gotten separated, and she had been plopped into a basket and brought into what looked like a magnificent palace—albeit one inhabited by frogs.
The palace was built by Boulan-Bathors for Boulan-Bathors, and consequently everything was oversized from a human female’s perspective. The fisherman, immune to her pleas, rants, and threats, brought Laureline to an enormous room off the side of the enormous stone hallway. The basket that contained her was opened and then upended, depositing her unceremoniously on a thick, soft carpet. Laureline got to her feet, but by then the door was closing and she was left in the room.
It was comfortable enough, she supposed. The high ceilings were painted with geometrical designs that were only faintly glimpsed in the dim light, and the walls were covered with hangings. In the center of the room, fragrant smoke wisped out of a huge amphora.
She had company. Several female Boulan-Bathors also occupied the large room, busy cutting fabric and stitching it together. Laureline looked around at them nervously, but the Boulan-Bathor seamstresses chatted amongst themselves and appeared to be fairly relaxed. The curtains at the end of the room parted, and another female, this one carrying a large basket, trundled inside. Laureline thought she must be the supervisor or someone important, because her appearance sent off a flurry of nods and bows and increased activity.
She had the same build as the males—large and rotund, with a long spindly neck and small head—and like them, she wore a loincloth. But she also had two sets of metal cups modestly covering four large breasts, and a hat of bright red plumes that jutted upward from her head in creative disarray. She wore jewelry as well, in the form of huge circlets around her scrawny throat and rings on two fingers. She came over to Laureline and twisted her lips in what appeared to be a smile, which didn’t necessarily improve her looks.
Laureline straightened to her full height of five foot nine, craning her neck to look up at the towering female. Valerian, curse him, had taken her gun, but she still had her ID, and she held up her credentials now.
“Hey, I’m Agent Laureline and I’m working for the government,” she said briskly. “If you want to avoid a diplomatic incident, I suggest you release me immediately.”
The female Boulan-Bathor gazed at her, blinked her bulging eyes, nodded, and proceeded to empty the bin she had been carrying at Laureline’s feet.
The spatio-temporal agent looked at the heap of fabric and realized the female had just put a pile of human-sized clothing on the floor.
“No, thanks,” she said, “I don’t plan on getting a makeover. I have to go. Do you understand?”
The female gave her another ghastly smile and nodded again, the feathers atop her head fluttering with the movement. She stooped, grabbed one of the dresses with a thick-fingered hand, and presented it to Laureline.
Laureline pressed her lips together. “I’m not going to wear your stupid dress! Call your chief, or translator, so we can at least communicate.”
The female smiled a third time, and Laureline tried not to grimace at that mouthful of ugly, odd-sized teeth. The female selected another dress and presented it, cocking her head in a position of inquiry. Perhaps Laureline would like this one?
Laureline had had enough. She took a deep breath, stood on her tiptoes, and she screamed as loud as she possibly could in the Boulan-Bathor’s amphibian face.
The female recoiled, startled, her arms flailing. Now maybe you’ll go get someone I can talk to, Laureline thought. But the female only blinked and seemed to be considering something. Then she stooped so that she was face to face with Laureline, opened that enormous mouth, and emitted an inhuman bellow that made the agent’s shriek sound like a kitten’s mew.
Her ears ringing, soaked in Boulan-Bathor spittle from head to foot, Laureline blinked.
“Okay, I… I’ll put your dress on.”
* * *
The inside of the club was a lot nicer than Valerian had expected. Then again, he’d really had no idea what to expect.
There were large, overstuffed pieces of furniture covered in warm, dark shades of velvet. Paintings hung on the wall depicting—well, certain activities Valerian really didn’t want to see right now. Several doors lined the long central room. Some of them were open, some of them were closed.
There was a small counter just inside the main door and Jolly stepped beside it, smiling his wide, cheerful, artificial smile. “This is where you leave your hardware, cowboy,” he told Valerian.
“I’d rather hold onto it. I’m on duty,” Valerian explained.
Jolly’s smile became fixed and markedly less cheerful. “Rules are rules, soldier! We make love here, not war.”
Valerian debated in his mind, then made a show of placing the gun he’d acquired from the police officer on the counter with great reluctance.
“There, that’s better! One less thing to worry about removing, if you catch my meaning.”
“Um,” said Valerian.
Jolly took him by the elbow and Valerian had to deliberately resist yanking his arm away. The pimp steered him through one of the doorways and into a small, cozy, old-fashioned theater with only a handful of seats. Thick black velvet curtains were drawn over the stage, which was lit up by small running lights. An antiquated piano was situated on another platform, off to the side. Jolly escorted Valerian to a seat and pressed him down into it.
“Listen,” Valerian began, instantly hopping back to his feet, “let’s make a deal—”
“Now, now, we’ll talk money later, soldier. For now, let’s talk pleasure.” He pushed Valerian back down and waggled his eyebr
ows. “What kind of music do you like? Techno? Macro? Bio? Nano?”
“Uh,” Valerian said, “I’m more retro.”
Jolly looked delighted. “You’re so right, my friend! Oldies but goodies! Now relax… and enjoy the show!”
He went to the piano and seated himself in front of it, cracked knuckles, and began to play. Valerian was surprised and impressed. Usually, pimps didn’t have any useful skills or talents other than knowing how to bully people, but Jolly appeared to be an exception.
The lights dimmed, and the curtain parted to reveal the silhouette of a stunningly shapely female. She stood, legs crossed at the ankles, one hand on a cane, the other on the brim of a small round-topped hat perched on her head. From perfect stillness, she began to dance, her feet flying in rapid taps, the cane tossed from one hand to the other, a gorgeous form in beautiful, flowing motion.
And then the spotlight came up, and Valerian gasped.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The dancer had smooth, dark skin and wore a black sparkling vest over a see-through body stocking. Her legs were long and sleekly muscled, and her face had wide, mesmerizing brown eyes that looked as though they knew the darkest secrets of his soul.
The cane vanished, dissolving into her hand, and that hand reached up to remove the small hat. Her black hair melted into a pale yellow, cascading down her shoulders and the black vest morphed into a form-fitting white sequined dress as she strode downstage toward Valerian, licking her lips.
He couldn’t tear his eyes off her and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She strutted across the stage as if she owned it, tossing back that lustrous, pale yellow hair as the sequins on her gown glittered and gleamed.
A pole rose from the floor, and the dancer leaped onto it, her strong arms and long legs propelling her through an acrobatic and almost aerial routine. The sultry blonde was gone, and suddenly she was clad in black leather from head to toe—with pointed feline ears and a lashing tail. Then in the blink of an eye she had pigtails and was wearing a schoolgirl uniform on a decidedly adult female form.
Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets Page 15
