Risdaverse Tales: Four Risdaverse Novellas

by Dixon, Ruby

  It’s been three weeks, and yet I know in my heart even a lifetime won’t be enough with my pretty human. She’s captured me, body and soul.

  Milly gasps, her hands suddenly clutching at me as the ship breaks through the atmosphere and Risda III spills into sight, as pastoral and peaceful as I remember. “It’s so beautiful,” my mate says, awed. “This is yours, Varrik?”

  “And now yours, too, my love,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “Welcome home.”

  “Oh babe,” she whispers. “I love you so much. This is perfect. Thank you.”

  I press a kiss to the top of her head, filled with love for my precious human. Even though this move was entirely for her, in a way, I’ve come home, too. But I found my home weeks ago, when Milly first put her arms around me.

  She’s my home.

  Part IV

  WHEN SHE’S BOLD

  On Risda III, it’s custom for women to marry for convenience. It provides safety and security in a universe that offers none for humans.

  Me, I don’t really *need* a husband. I just want one. And I want one man in particular. There’s a new guy in town, a by-the-books military man named Rektar. Every day I show up to his office and flirt with him. I bring pies. I twirl my hair. I make it very, very obvious what I want.

  Rektar is patient, and gentle for all his hulking form. He’d be a great husband. He’s also completely clueless that I’m flirting with him.

  So it’s time for me to be a little bit bolder…

  20

  REKTAR

  It's always a good day when the pretty little human stops by the office.

  Risda's port of authority—called simply “Port” by the locals—is the only civilization on the pastoral planet on the edges of the galaxy. Other than hundreds of mostly self-sustaining farms, Risda boasts one mesakkah lordship, one spaceport, a tiny, backwater town, and lots of human refugees. Most people wouldn't find it charming, but I don't mind it. After years of service in the military and being shipped from war outpost to war outpost, Risda is serene. Quiet. Peaceful.

  And it's full of females.

  That last part makes things difficult for a male like me. I've always been the type to keep to myself, but it's worse around females. As a poor bastard son to a noble house, I was sent off to a military academy before my horns had even grown to their full length, and all my life I've been around males. The few run-ins I've had with females were awkward and brief.

  Prior to Risda, of course. Now, I can't seem to go a day without running into females in Port. They loiter in the cantina, they gather and talk in front of the general store, and they have meetings—a “book club” once a month in the town hall, and they show up to the market on trade days to exchange goods or to simply take a day off from farming.

  The male in this position before me—a surly szzt type—recently got himself killed by outlaws. The mesakkah military sent me and my partner, a male named Khex i'Yani, to head in and take over. We've been here a standard month now, and things are mostly quiet. I see a lot of under-the-table dealings, but it'll take a while to root those out.

  For now, it's just important for us to work hard and show the people here that we're in charge. Most of the locals haven't been all that friendly, though. While it irks Khex that we're so poorly received, I get it. These people are used to living on the fringes. They know mesakkah law can be cruel and unforgiving. How can I blame them for not appreciating when soldiers step in to take over? Doesn't mean I won't do my job. Just means we won't be making many friends.

  So yeah, most of the people here are unfriendly…except one.

  "Your female is back," Khex says in a dry voice, his boots kicked up on his desk as he scrolls through the day's news on his data pad. His seat is nearer to the window, so he's got a good view of Port's paved street. I look up just in time to see an air-sled pass by and nearly run over the female heading in our direction.

  The colonists here are particularly bad drivers, I've noticed. Maybe it's because there's not a lot of traffic and so they usually have their run of the skies? Whatever it is, they're dreadful, and I make a note in my data pad to see about safety training. I wonder if these drivers are even licensed? Probably not. From my official reports, most of the female population is comprised of freed slaves of human descent, and the male population are thieves and ex-convicts. It's a volatile mix, and one you wouldn't expect from the sunny skies and peaceful green fields of Risda.

  The female that was almost run down? It's the one that makes my heart sing in my chest, my face flush with nerves, the one that fills all my late-night yearnings…and the one that's made my waistline thicken by a good notch in my belt since arriving here. As I stare out the window like a fool, she shakes a small fist at the sled that zips past, then continues on her way down the walkway, heading for our office, as she always does.

  Surreptitiously, I smooth a hand over my hair, wondering if it's all still in place. Khex just snorts in amusement at my actions. I know I'm a keffing idiot around women, but it doesn't matter. She'd never be interested in me in a thousand years. Lucy is just like every other female here—abused by slavers and wary of aliens. She wants nothing more than to be left alone, so any hopes I would ever have are useless.

  Not that I've ever managed to say much of anything to Lucy.

  Not that that ever stops her from coming by.

  Something tells me she's lonely, and our poor company beats no company at all, so she shows up nearly every day. Sure enough, as soon as she gets close enough to the port authority office to peer inside the tinted windows, she waves a hand eagerly in the flailing gesture that humans make when they're excited to see one another. She steps in front of the automated doors, waiting patiently on the identity pad.

  "Colonist Loo-see Cole-tonn," the computer intones, slurring over the human sounds. "Status: Protected."

  The moment the doors open, Lucy rushes inside, a package in her arms. "Good morning, gentlemen," she calls cheerily. "How are you enjoying this fine weather? Isn't it lovely out?"

  I sit straighter at my desk, not getting up in case that might alarm her. Before arriving on Risda, we were forced to watch multiple training videos of how to deal with humans, especially ones that had been captives and traumatized. The instructions ring in my head. Move slow. Do not smile and bare teeth. Do not loom over them in a show of dominance. Enunciate when speaking.

  "Greetings," I say, very slowly, and nod my head.

  Lucy blinks at me, a flash of puzzlement on her expressive face. A moment later, the confusion is gone, replaced by another dazzling smile.

  "Morning, Lucy," Khex says, not looking up from his data pad. "How can we help you today?"

  "Oh, I don't need any help," Lucy sings out gaily. She bounds over to the low-backed chair in front of my desk and holds out the plas-film-covered bundle in her arms. As she does, the stink of a floral perfume assaults my nostrils. That's another one of the rules—humans disguise their scents and we are never, ever to comment on it, no matter how bad it smells. Maybe it smells good to Lucy, but it's harsh and acrid on my nostrils. She pulls off a layer of plas-film and then beams at me. "I was in town today. Well, I'm in town every day. You know me. I can't sit still at home." She chuckles. "And I thought that I'd bake you two some of my muffins! I tried out the recipe on the girls at the book club last month and they were a hit. The texture's not quite the same as the bread back on Earth, but that's because the flour here isn't made of wheat. Or maybe it is. I don't know much about your cooking here. Just that you guys like noodles." She giggles, shaking her head. "These aren't noodles. They're muffins, if that wasn't obvious. Or…would you guys rather have noodles? I can make you some if you need a good home-made dish, but I'm not all that familiar with mesakkah flavorings, so you'd have to coach me on it."

  She pauses, blinking those big, earnest eyes up at me.

  Is she…waiting for me to say something? I panic, my ears hot, and shuffle paperwork on my desk. I don't want to tell her that I wasn
't listening to a thing she said, that her chatter just blended into nothing but noise as I stared at her. It's shameful, this crush I have on an alien colonist, and something I need to learn to ignore or I'm going to end up terrifying her.

  It's just that…Lucy's perfect.

  Humans seem to come in a variety of shapes and sizes, but if I was in charge, I'd make them all look like Lucy. She's on the smaller side of humans, height wise, but the rest of her is shapely and full of curves. She has breasts, like so many of her kind do, but Lucy's are rather large and sway when she walks, just like her equally ample hips. Her hands are delicate, even if the number of her fingers are weird, and her hair is a shade of black-brown that's as warm as her personality. Her eyes are an equally bright shade of amber and she has round cheeks and the roundest, cutest nose I've ever seen on another alien.

  I think about that nose probably far more than I should. Lucy would be horrified if she knew the things I did to myself while thinking about her nose, and her breasts, and her smile.

  "Officer?" she asks politely, gazing at me.

  I clear my throat, feeling trapped at my desk. I want to get up and pace…but I also don't want to scare Lucy. I drum my fingers on my desk instead, needing to let out some nervous energy. "That's not my title. I am Custodian Rektar al'Aira'n. If you must call me something, you can call me Custodian."

  Her big smile returns, as if she's oblivious to my correcting her. "You know back on Earth, custodians are people that clean lavatories. Calling you ‘officer’ is a habit. I'm sorry if it offends you. I only meant to be…respectful." Her voice drops in a lower note and she toys with the collar of her dress. It's a functional shift dress like most of the ones provided to the humans, made out of cheap material and designed to answer the clothing needs of a population that had nothing to their names, not for attraction. Somewhere along the lines, though, Lucy has modified hers. The cleavage drops deeply, showing the cleft of her chest and a good deal of her very enticing breasts. It's nipped in at the waist, too, showing off rounded hips highlighted by the functional belt she wears. Her hair is pulled up into a knot atop her head, but small tendrils are escaping everywhere, as if her hair is just as impossible to contain as she is, and I wonder what she'd look like with it down.

  "Or should I just call you Rektar?" Lucy asks, leaning in. Her hand toys with the hem of her collar, and my sick mind wishes she'd pull it down, expose those big, fascinating breasts so I can get a good look at them. "Well?"

  I clear my throat again. What we were talking about? Oh yes. Titles. Something about titles, not her enticing breasts. "Custodian al'Aira'n is fine."

  Her lower lip thrusts out, as if she's disappointed.

  21

  LUCY

  God, Rektar is a terrible, awful flirt.

  I keep smiling, even though I want to reach over that desk and grab the man by the collar and shake him. What does a girl have to do to get an alien to ask her out? Jeez. Here I am, day after day, showing up at the port authority offices with zero business, just to bring by baked goods and to try to talk to Rektar. The man's utterly clueless, though. He hasn't noticed that I come in and talk directly to him instead of Officer Khex. He hasn't noticed that my necklines have been getting progressively lower each time I come in. He sure hasn't noticed the hints I've been throwing down.

  I'd swear the man didn't like me, except for the fact that Khex smirks every time I come in and pretends to be busy, and Rektar's ears flush. I'm no great expert on men, but I hope that means good things. I could be wrong about all of this, though.

  It's just…I know Rektar can be sweet. In an absolute universe full of assholes, Rektar is a gentleman. The first day he arrived in Port, everyone was nervous over the new port authorities, since the last ones had been abusing their power. My pockets are still stinging from the bribes I had to hand over just to keep my stupid sled. But when Rektar showed up, things became…different. He didn't know who I was, and held the door open for me. Another time, I entered the cantina and while I was getting my order, someone stole my table and tried to make me sit in his lap. Rektar threw the guy out, apologized to me, and watched my table until I finished my meal.

  Right then and there, I knew I wanted Rektar as my husband.

  Is that a low bar to set? It absolutely is. It's just that after years of being treated like either a pair of tits or garbage (or both), it's refreshing to meet someone that looks at me as if I'm worth something. And out here on Risda III, a husband means security. It means all the creeps that fly into port won't bother you. It means your farm is safe from poachers who'd just as soon bury you in the backyard as rape you.

  I could do a lot worse than Officer Rektar. Custodian Rektar. Whatever.

  The male's as clueless as he is sweet, though. I've been coming by here several times a week for the last three weeks, and every time I bring in baked goods. Rektar's enormous. He's not lean and cut like his co-worker Khex. Rektar's built more like a thick wrestler. If Khex is a quarterback, Rektar's the linebacker. He's sheer size and brutality, and his wide features and big nose (and even bigger hands) only add to that look. I'm fine with that, though. He can crush me under all that weight any day of the week.

  Any. Fucking. Day.

  I might also be a little horny after months and months of celibacy, I think to myself as I play with my neckline. I thought after being freed I'd never want to have sex again, but it turns out my libido has other ideas. It died for a long, long time until Rektar showed up, and then it blazed back to life. So I've been dropping all kinds of hints, and Rektar has not been getting it at all.

  At allllll.

  I tell myself he's just shy. He might be completely uninterested, but I'm hoping that it's shyness instead. I can work with shyness.

  Besides…it's not like I've got a lot else going on. So I beam at Rektar and pull the plas-film off of the container I've brought with me, letting the smell of the muffins waft through the air. "I baked you a little something sweet. I hope you like it."

  Rektar's ears are flushed, obvious thanks to his cropped military haircut. He fusses with his data pad for a moment before looking over at the food I've brought. "It is not necessary for you to feed us, Lucy. Our provisions are quite sufficient."

  "I know." I keep smiling even as I use metal tongs to pull one of the crumbly muffins out and set it on a tiny ceramic plate I brought with me. I've been researching mesakkah tastes and they seem to like strong flavors and scent is important, so I made these muffins with the most potent local fruit I could find. They taste like a tart slap in the face to me, but they're not for me. "Humans believe in gifting one another with baked goods as a sign of friendship. And since neither of you have wives, I thought that task would fall to us local women to make sure you guys feel welcome here in Port." I put a muffin on a second plate and bring it over to Khex, who's smirking at me.

  He absolutely knows what I'm up to.

  And why shouldn't he? I'm being obvious as fuck. After losing my homeworld and being taken as a slave, though, I don't care if I'm obvious or not. If there's a scintilla of happiness waiting for me out there, I'm going to leap for it.

  It's just that…poor Rektar is woefully oblivious. I return to my seat and toy with my neckline again, giving the object of my affections an encouraging smile as he holds the muffin plate in front of him.

  Rektar takes a bite as I watch, and his face creases in surprise. "This is quite good."

  "Why thank you." I wiggle with pleasure in my seat, loving the compliment. Baking is something I definitely enjoy, as evidenced by my figure, but I rarely had anyone to bake for prior to the two mesakkah officers' arrival. Our book club meets once a month, and I bake up a storm for that, but the rest of the time, my friendships are remote. Add in the fact that most of my farm is pretty self-sufficient and it makes for a long, boring day. Rektar polishes off the muffin in two big bites, and I reach for another with the tongs. "Please, have more."

  "You shouldn't go to all the trouble," he tells me wit
h a stern look, even as he reaches for another muffin.

  "Nonsense." I set it on his plate with a flourish and lean in, hoping he notices that my neckline dips low. "I'm happy to put all kinds of things in front of your mouth for you to taste."

  Behind us, Khex chokes on his muffin, wheezing.

  Was that too obvious? It might have been. I fight back a sigh of frustration as Rektar jumps to his feet and moves to Khex's side, whacking the other male on the back.

  "Fine," Khex coughs. "I'm fine. Don't let me interrupt."

  "You are not interrupting," Rektar says, straightening his uniform and moving back to his desk. His face is flushed and he won't look over at me as he ignores his new muffin and straightens paperwork on his desk. "And it is time I returned to my duties. Thank you again for coming by, colonist."

  I'm being dismissed and I didn't even get a real conversation with him. Frustrated, I chew on my lip as he does his best to look busy. I've got a Hail Mary I've been holding off on using, because it's deceitful, and I'm not good at lying. But I don't know what else to do to get Rektar's attention. I guess it's time to play the big guns, and if this doesn't work, I give up on my big, sweet, innocent alien and start looking at putting out ads. Ugh. I don't want to do that, but I also know my bubble of safety won't last forever. I've been mostly ignored by the more dangerous types who are killing women or forcing them to marry, because my farm is right outside of Port. I'm the one closest to town, and there's a lot of traffic right in front of my land. It's not private, and that lack of privacy has served me well so far. But I also know that the more women that get married or their farms get established as they have children, I'm in danger.

  Lie time, then.