Alien Bond

by Tracy Lauren

  Like it’s so easy. I suppose it was easy though, for a cheating slime bag like my ex-husband. Not happy? Cut your losses. Hell, pick out a new wife. But that’s not how I work. I’m a planner… Some might even say I overthink things a bit. It isn’t so easy to just “choose happiness.” I could make a hundred choices, hoping they’d all make me happy, but there’s no guarantee in life.

  “Pass me another pompaya,” I tell Reagan.

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, young lady?” she questions, smirking at me.

  “You cutting me off?” I tease back, but she slides the bowl over.

  “How much pompaya do we gotta shuck anyway?” Reagan complains.

  “It’s better than being knee deep in mud out in the fields,” I tell her. “Or maybe not…who’s out in the fields?”

  “All the men,” Reagan says flatly.

  “No wait, that definitely sounds better than shucking fruit. Do you think they’re offering a supervisory position out there?”

  “Muddy alien men, that’s your thing?” my friend asks skeptically.

  “They’re shirtless, right?” I question. Reagan’s only response is her signature cocked brow.

  “Hell, Reagan, after months of being cooped up in all that gloomy-ass rain and watching the happily mated few giggling and snuggling up together,” I sigh heavily. “I don’t know. I’d welcome a distraction.”

  “Yeah, well, distractions have a way of being distracting,” Reagan mumbles, wiping her hands on a towel.

  “Don’t judge, at least you’ve been laid since you got here,” I point out.

  “Believe me, it wasn’t worth it,” she reminds, tossing the rag over to me.

  “Are we calling it quits with the fruit then?” I ask.

  “Yeah, there’s got to be enough here to make a few gallons of jam at least. Plus, it’s almost time.”

  I look around at the courtyard, judging the hour by shade and shadows. “You’re right, we should get this all packed away,” I agree, but when I look up, I see Reagan’s attention is elsewhere and I follow her gaze.

  Beacon’s king, Rennek, storms through the gates. His massive wings marking him as royalty are tucked tightly to his back, though they still loom over his entourage. Walking briskly at his side is his mate, a human named Kate, looking every bit as regal and important as he does. They are joined by the Iredescan alien, Kye. He was some kind of politician before he came here. Rennek’s mother Madreed is with them also, an air of authority emanating from her. Taking up the rear of the group is Allison and the lizard-y alien, Da’vi. They look like heavily armed bodyguards or futuristic Secret Service members as the others all chatter seriously over the fate of the lost humans.

  When Rennek and his men rescued the first six girls, they had to leave a cargo hold filled with others behind, still suspended in their cryo bags. They’ve made it their mission to recover them. From the way it’s been described, there may have been hundreds of women just like me. And that was just on one ship. The work Rennek and Kate are doing, it’s important and it’s dangerous, earning our planet a lot of enemies in the process—the kind of folks who like to use human women as tender.

  Unfortunately, while they’re busy giving their attention elsewhere it seems the rest of us humans are struggling with coming to terms with our new lives in Beacon. That’s where I’ve been trying to step up. Kate takes care of safety. I take care of emotions. Hence the support group. Luckily, I’ve had some recent experience with support groups, which is where I got the idea from.

  Still, there are a few who aren’t finding happiness. And not in the sense of the word that holds meaning for me. Happiness for Reagan and myself is finding a new sense of purpose. Happiness for some of the others means staying the fuck away from anything and everything that is alien—which is pretty much impossible considering no one knows how to get us back to Earth. The growing chasm between some of the other new girls and the aliens in our community worries me and makes me wish Kate and the king had more time to dedicate here.

  But their work is vast and the humans aren’t the only ones who have vanished. Apparently these Vendari guys lost one sixth of their entire civilization—all of the Grey King’s people. When they traveled here from their dying home planet, one of the ships was somehow lost along the way. Something nefarious is suspected, and while they work to search for their own people too, without any leads in a thirty-year-old mystery, there’s just not much to do about it. Still, between all the lost souls, our community’s leaders are kept plenty busy.

  I look back at Reagan as Rennek and the others begin to climb the temple stairs. She’s watching them with something like envy in her eyes.

  “Why don’t you join them?” Though I’m quiet, she looks around to make sure no one heard me.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know, to find a way to help?” I suggest.

  “If they’re looking for sarcasm, I’ve got them covered. Other than that, I really don’t think I have much to offer to that group,” she says, wiping the table clean with sharp motions.

  “You’re one of Kate’s best friends. You have plenty to offer.”

  Reagan only scoffs.

  “I mean it, Ray. You’re smart. You could make a difference. You act like Kate knew shit about all this a few months ago. She just dove in and look at her now,” I press. Out of the corner of my eye I see V approaching, so I shut up about it. If Reagan wants to share how she’s feeling with others, I’ll let her be the one to take the lead.

  “Hey guys,” V says happily, plopping down across from me at the table. “It’s getting late, need help picking up?”

  “Yeah, could ya? Time kind of ran away with us,” I tell her, throwing all the rinds into a big bowl to take over to the compost heap.

  “You know the old expression—time flies when you’re shucking thousands of pounds of pompaya,” Reagan says, rolling her eyes. I know she feels like she isn’t doing anything useful here and, on some level, I can relate to that. Then there’s V. She has her own stuff going on.

  While V is human like us, after going on an adventure of her own she came back with some…upgrades. Now her skin is tattooed and tinted an unnatural color of bronze. She wears her once-long hair in a super-short pixie cut and spends hours each day meditating and training with our official village yoga instructor April—all in an effort to control some kind of dangerous alien weapon that was forced upon her while she was away.

  Though V is slight in frame, she picks up the heavy buckets of pompaya meat, handling them like they weigh nothing at all.

  “Gabby and Lo are in the pantry. You can just leave it all with them,” I tell her.

  “Sure thing—hey babe!” she calls, directing her attention to the wave of alien males coming in from the fields. My heart skips a beat as I scan for a flash of golden skin. V’s mate, Dax, comes jogging over to her with the energy of a happy puppy despite the many hours he just spent in the fields. The alien is covered from head to toe in mud and he wears a smile a mile wide when he sees his mate. I feel envious.

  “Let me get those for you,” he tells her.

  “Ew, no! You’re covered in mud! Stay away!” she squeals, and while he doesn’t take the buckets, he does walk her to the pantry—our food storage room on the far end of the courtyard. I bite back a grumble when I see them together. So many happy couples… Okay, like four. But it feels like a lot when you can’t remember the last time you had sex and the only relationship you’ve ever had crashed and burned in the worst way imaginable.

  Reagan gets it, the vague taste of bitterness left in our mouths even when we’re smiling for our friends. Well, she gets everything except for the sex stuff. When it comes to that I think she’s on the verge of declaring herself celibate. I, on the other hand, feel like a creepy horn dog, staring at all the hot alien bods, slick with mud. I fan myself, wondering how I turned into this strange sex-deprived woman I look at in the mirror each morning.

  I dump the
leavings from the fruit into the compost heap and rinse out the bowl. I can’t help but watch the alien men heading for the bathing hall below the temple. There are three Vendari guys and Tennir, who’s Rennek’s half-brother. But I keep my eyes peeled for two others who stand out amongst the attractive alien men. In my humble opinion, the most delicious of these muscled beasts are the pair of golden Sovolians—alien men who used to work for Gorrard before he “Awoke” to Holly.

  Their names are Gile and Mire, and I get the impression they don’t really work for Gorrard anymore. They don’t spend as much time as they used to out in the shipyard, and instead, I see them investing more and more in our community—in their own way, that is. They’re a stoic bunch. And while they help with all the manual labor, heavy lifting, and even show up to the community dinner each night, they always stay on the outskirts. I’ve really only ever seen them talking to Holly and Gorrard.

  At Christmas time here in Beacon, or the time we declared as Christmas, Mire was my secret Santa. Though I don’t think we ever spoke a word to each other. Gile, on the other hand, offered to teach me how to shoot one of the guns Mire got me. The larger Sovolian sure was heavy on weaponry for Christmas. Which was nice. It makes me feel safe to have some kind of protection since my abduction and imprisonment on the corrupt UPC vessel. Though I would like to become more versed in the weapons I’ve accumulated thanks to Mire. Perhaps I should take Gile up on that offer, I think to myself as I watch the golden alien men.

  As if he knows he’s on my mind, Gile looks up and makes eye contact with me. I smile and give him a shy wave. I don’t know him well, but it isn’t like our village is huge. We’re all neighbors here. Still, I’m surprised when Gile’s face is lit up by a bright smile and he hurries to say something to Mire. Those guys are like each other’s shadows, I hardly ever see them apart. I’m curious what they’re talking about, but already the girls are starting to mill about in front of my door. Alessandra is there talking to Reagan, and V is not far away, kissing Dax goodbye.

  “You coming?” Dani asks through the open stone archway of the corridor. She, Gwen, and April are almost at my door.

  “Yeah, go on in,” I say, rinsing my hands.

  “Gabby and Lo were right behind me,” V announces as she jogs up. I join her at the staircase, shaking the hunky alien men from my thoughts. Time to get my head straight.

  The other girls are already kicking off their boots and leaving them by the door in an effort to keep the mud from being tracked into my room. When I step inside, people are finding their usual places—either in chairs, on pillows, or cross-legged on the floor.

  “Ceata’s in the pot,” Reagan calls and she helps me get everyone’s cups out. By the time Lo and Gabby are seated everyone has a steaming mug in hand.

  Then, all eyes fall on me.

  I’m not the leader, I don’t know why they do it every week. Maybe it’s simply because we always meet in my room. Still, I speak the same words as I do at the beginning of every meeting, “So, who would like to get started today?”

  Just then, there’s a knock at the door.

  Everyone looks around the room in confusion, doing a silent headcount. We aren’t missing anyone. This is the usual crowd.

  Setting my cup aside, I walk over to the door and swing it open. Looming in the doorway is the golden, albeit muddy, Gile. He’s still got on that bright grin, but the way he rocks on his feet tells me he’s out of his element.

  “Gile? Can I help you? We’re kind of in the middle of—”

  “Yes, Holly said that you have a support group. Is there room for one more?”

  Oh.

  Chapter 3

  Gile

  Mel stands in the doorway, looking surprised to see me. I can hardly contain my excitement. I have grown tired of waiting for life to begin and I worry if I wait too long Mire will find a reason to leave this place. But I have no plans to leave. I happen to have many plans, but none of them involve leaving Beacon. This is our home now and we have good reasons to stay, the main one hesitates before me, looking back at her guests before opening the door a little wider, inviting me in.

  “Thank you,” I say brightly. Before I take a step in the door, though, I notice all the females have removed their boots. I bend over and tear my own off, tossing them aside. Clumps of dirt break away and I remember that I am still covered in mud as well.

  “Sorry, I saw you were starting and did not want to miss anything,” I apologize, brushing my hands over myself and knocking off as much mud as possible before I enter Mel’s room. Still, I can hear drying dirt crumbling off of me as I step inside.

  While the living quarters in Beacon are fairly sized, with all these females packed into one room it suddenly feels cramped. Even more so now that my stocky frame has been added to the mix.

  “We’ve never had any of the guys join us,” Mel mentions, but she’s quick to follow up. “You’re welcome, of course. Anyone who needs to talk is welcome.”

  “I am grateful for the chance,” I say, smiling at everyone, but I linger a while longer on Mel, locking our gazes. “I am eager to make friends here.”

  Mel’s shoulders relax and she gives me a warm smile. She is the type of woman who can make anyone feel at ease. It is one of the things I like most about her. We have that trait in common, I think. Though I try to use humor to make others feel comfortable and Mel uses her peaceful demeanor. “Have you ever done anything like this before?” she asks.

  “No, but Holly tells me this is a place to talk about…difficult issues?”

  “That’s exactly right,” she agrees, ushering me in. “Since you’re new, we’ll go over the group rules before we get started, if that’s okay?”

  “Yes, please. I believe that would be helpful,” I tell her.

  “It’s pretty simple, we all take turns talking. Sometimes others can offer support or encouragement. Sometimes we’re just here to listen. This is a judgment-free zone and most importantly it’s—”

  “Like Vegas,” Reagan chimes in.

  “Vegas?” I question.

  “You know? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” Reagan tells me. Some of the women snicker at her description.

  “What she’s trying to say is, everything we discuss in our group remains here in this room. Without privacy, no one would feel safe sharing,” Mel clarifies. “We also want to make sure those who do share feel validated. We don’t shut down emotions, tell anyone what to do, or tell anyone how to feel.”

  I nod solemnly, taking in all the rules.

  “And finally, it’s important to remember we are all equal members of this group. There are no leaders, just participants—”

  “Bullshit,” Reagan coughs, and the women all snicker again.

  “No leaders,” Mel reiterates sternly. “And I’m no therapist. I’m just as fucked up as the rest of you,” she says, taking her seat.

  I look around the room, trying to find an open spot where I would not be too imposing. The women all stare at me expectantly. But not Mel. No, her eyes are warm and welcoming. I squeeze past two of the women and take a seat on the bed, right beside her. We smile at each other and already I feel is if I have a friend in the fair-haired woman. But when I look back on the path I took I see the trail of dirt I left in my wake.

  “Sorry, I will clean that,” I tell her bashfully, rubbing the back of my neck. But Mel is ever welcoming and seems unconcerned with my mess. She has the grace of a true leader.

  “How about we have one of the other girls start and you can get a feel for what the group is about?” Mel offers.

  “Wonderful!” I say, clapping my hands together and looking around the room, trying to emanate the same sense of acceptance and hospitality that Mel does. But the females all sit quietly, staring down into their steaming cups of ceata, none venturing to speak. I begin to feel awkward, worrying they might not want me intruding on their time. While I am usually quite charming, I have the distinct impression that I am outside my element here.
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  “Fuck it, I’ll go,” Reagan says suddenly from her seat on the dresser. “I don’t care what he thinks. Everyone already knows my business anyway.”

  “Thank you, Reagan. How would you like to start?” Mel asks her.

  Reagan takes a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. “Okay…so this idea hit me recently and I just can’t seem to get it out of my head.”

  “Tell us about it.”

  “It’s more like a fear than an idea, I guess,” she says, pausing as if trying to gain the courage to say what is on her mind. “It just feels like, here I am a billion miles from Earth…and I’m still the same person I was back there.”

  “What’s scary about that?” Mel prompts.

  “I was a piece of shit on Earth and not even a billion miles could change that. It’s like, I’m starting to realize it wasn’t my environment or the people in my life that made me shitty. It was just me.”

  All the females gasp and assure Reagan that she is not as shitty as she thinks she is. “You are not shitty,” I hurry to say, emphatically agreeing with them. A few glances are cast in my direction and I feel glad to participate.

  Reagan scoffs at all the input, however. “All due respect, guys, most of you were college students. Or you had already graduated and had crazy-smart jobs. You’ve got your freaking Ph.D. Alessandra! You taught college!”

  “I’m also like eight years older than you, Reagan, believe me, there are no twenty-year-olds here or on Earth with doctorates. It takes time to plug along at those classes and it takes support too. If you don’t have people rooting for you, you’ll never make it. But you have people rooting for you here.”

  Reagan shrugs and avoids everyone’s eyes, finding places on the ceiling to stare at.

  “Still, you’re feeling like…you don’t measure up?” Mel questions, trying to see the world from Reagan’s eyes.