Alien Prince: (Bride of Qetesh) An Alien SciFi Romance (30 page)

“
What?
”
I urged.

“
Um.
”
He cleared his throat, a distinctly human gesture for one who, I gathered, was not, in fact, human.
“
Novalyn. The thing is
…”
But the haze was beginning to lift, and I was starting to see things for what they were. He had been tasked with extracting humans from Earth, for God knows what reason. And he had chosen me. Not because he was interested in dating me, or getting to know me, or even fucking me. But for some vaguely sinister purpose that left me afloat in the middle of space, millions of miles from home.

“
You just
…
target people? To
abduct
them?
”

“
Ah,
‘
rehome
’
them, we like to say,
”
he said, having the good grace to look abashed.

“
Like a fucking
cat
you can
’
t take with you to your new apartment?
”
I demanded, my voice rising.

“
Please, try to remain calm,
”
he said, his voice soothing and sonorous.
“
Everything should be explained to you.
”

“
I want
you
to explain it
now
.
”

He hesitated a moment, but sighed, and slowly nodded his head.
“
Yes, you were targeted. You matched certain search criteria
— ”

“
What were the criteria?
”

He ran his tongue over his lips and looked down at the table between us.
“
Fertile human female, age eighteen to twenty-five, few or no friends, little or no family, sexually responsive, with a body mass index between twenty-six and thirty-five, and no known diseases.
”

I blanched, staring at him slack-jawed and stunned. He parted his lips as though he were going to say more, but he was interrupted by an insistent little beeping on his tablet, and he peered down at it, ostensibly reading a message. He looked up at me, grew pale, and curled his fingers around my upper arm, dragging me out of my seat, not violently but certainly with more force than he
’
d used up to that point. I tried to jerk away, but he was deceptively strong and had quite a grip.
“
I
’
m sorry,
”
he said.
“
Further explanation will have to wait. I have to get you upstairs.
”

He marched me in silence toward an elevator, and I tried to get a good look around, to orient myself on the giant craft, but there was no use: it looked the same on all sides, the domed ceiling admitting a spectacular view of totally useless stars against the velvet black of oblivion.

“
Upstairs
”
was, it seemed, a sort of alien esthetician
’
s office, full of people scuttling about in white lab coats, applying makeup and cutting hair. I furrowed my brow as Tymer led me over to a woman
—
earless, like Tymer, and bald to boot
—
with wide eyes, violet and ringed in thick, black lashes. They began to communicate in a language I didn
’
t understand, comprised primarily of languid vowel sounds that were intoxicating to the ear. I thought I heard Tymer say my name, but it sounded more like
“
Nowalen Rye,
”
and I couldn
’
t be sure.

The female approached me and began to lift my shirt up over my head. Naturally, I resisted.
“
You have to at least buy me dinner first,
”
I joked nervously, but realized that my words were utterly lost on her: she didn
’
t know a single word of English.
“
Hey, now,
”
I said when she didn
’
t abate, when her fingers untied the neat bow that held up my drawstring pants.
“
Stop that.
”
I jerked away, out of reach, and I saw Tymer start to stick up for me, but she waved him off even as she summoned another lab-coat-wearer, who stuck me in the neck with a needle. I yelped, lifting a hand to rub at the affected area, and felt all of my cares slip away. I relaxed almost instantly, became pliable and easy, and she was able to strip me of my clothes without so much as a word of protestation from me.

She, along with two others, led me into a private room and lifted me up onto a metal table. They had me on my back first, kneading my breasts and thighs in their cold hands, taking measurements, examining my hair and sticking their fingers into my mouth to look at my teeth. Then they bent my legs at the knees and pried my thighs apart, spreading open my nether lips so that they could look closely at the flower of my sex. Their fingers found my clitoris, and my entrance, and they pushed two fingers, perfunctory, exploratory, inside of me.

And I didn
’
t mind it. I was humming something quietly to myself, something melodic and pleasant, and I liked the attention, and the feeling of their hands on my body.
“
What are you guys doing?
”
I asked, almost absently.

“
Prepare,
”
one of them said.
“
Make beautiful.
”

Beautiful. I had never felt particularly beautiful. Oh, don
’
t get me wrong, I wasn
’
t a dog or anything like that, but usually I just felt so very deeply
average
. My eyes were pretty enough, I supposed, a limpid sort of blue, but Tymer
’
s eyes had pretty much blown mine out of the water. My hair was a mess that I could never manage to get under my control, and my nose was, I thought, rather a bit too small, too turned up. Of course, my tits were fairly epic, if I did say so myself.

Those fingers continued to work themselves in and out of me, and I wondered if they were trying to make me come. I didn
’
t think I would come, not detached like I was from my body, not looking down from above at their bizarre ministrations. But no, after a few minutes, the fingers withdrew, leaving me glistening wet and vaguely wanting. The fingers were replaced in short order by a wand, about two inches in diameter, that they slid inside of me. They moved it around, and I was dimly aware of an image on a monitor: a sonogram, then. Maybe to make sure all of my bits were in total working order.

They clamped two delicate little jewels, all gold and red, to my nipples, making them hard and aching, before they removed the wand and stood me up. They dressed me in a gossamer gown of light, airy white-and-gold fabric that was as delicate as a butterfly wing, and even more transparent. They pulled a gold belt around my waist and fastened the gown on one shoulder with a golden brooch shaped like an exotic bird. The dress covered only one breast, leaving the other exposed. But not for long: an odd drape of golden chainmail was fastened around my neck and under my arm, covering the exposed breast with a bit of beautifully rendered gold armor.

Then they set about curling my hair in a series of neat, tight little ringlets that they piled atop my head and secured with a clip that matched the golden brooch. Next, makeup: natural blush and lip rouge, and a dusting of fine gold powder over my eyelids. They held up a mirror for me to examine myself, and I smiled: I felt like an Amazonian queen, and I wanted Tymer to see me.

But where was he?
“
Where is Tymer?
”
I asked, and the estheticians glanced between themselves, pencil-thin brows in high, quizzical arches over their overlarge eyes as though they were trying to make sense of the gibberish language I was spewing. They had about three seconds of interest to give me before they gave a shake of their head and a wave of their hand, then moved on.

They herded me into a circular room with doors all around it, along with about a dozen other girls. We were variations on a theme with our Greek toga dresses and our one-breasted armor, our gold dust eyeshadow and highly stylized coifs. They all had the same dreamy sort of expressions on their faces that I was sure I had, compliant, complacent, and ready to be sent wherever it was we were going.

Where
were
we going?
“
Tymer?
”
I asked.
“
Where are we going?
”
But Tymer wasn
’
t there. I scanned the faces of my compatriots, humans all, of varying shapes, sizes, ethnicities. All young, all bleary-eyed and yawning. And when the doors around us
whooshed
open, we all stepped dutifully forward.

I peered through the door, which seemed to be an entryway into a little pod, equipped with a chair in cushy white leather, and a control console with words and symbols I could neither recognize nor parse. Aside from that, it was glass, and around it: stars.

The tall, bald woman in the white lab coat approached me and nudged me gently forward, but I dug in my heels.
“
What will happen to us?
”
I asked, but the woman just pushed harder. She rattled off some totally indiscernible speech in that same language Tymer had used with her earlier, and I tried to latch onto anything that was even remotely recognizable.
“
Are you also a member of the Echelon?
”
I asked.
“
What do you
do
? And when will I be able to go home?
”

When I said the word
Echelon
, something in her expression changed. Her features darkened, and she was no longer using the soothing tone of voice when she turned around to shout something at her colleague. I couldn
’
t understand the words, of course, but I did make out a familiar name: Tymer Mafaren. They were talking about him, and none too kindly at that.

With a strength that betrayed her slight form, she hauled me bodily into the pod and dropped me into the seat. By the time I turned around to protest, the door had already closed behind me. The Calm-Happy-Easy drug was most definitely wearing off, and I looked to either side of me and saw that my pod was linked to the pods of the other girls.

Without the slightest warning, the pods were blasted off in a ring, away from the
Atria
. I looked up and watched the great ship grow smaller and smaller overhead as the loop of pods was shot away, like a bullet from a gun. But toward what?

In the vast emptiness of space, there was no turbulence, so I stood up to peer over my useless console to see if I could ascertain what we were aimed at. There was a planet, blue and white. Earth? Were we being sent home?

In that instant, the pods broke apart, shooting off in different directions. All except mine. I seemed to still be connected to someone else. I peered to my right, trying to see if the other girl noticed, but she was sitting in her seat with her eyes squeezed shut, clearly hyperventilating. I waved my arms frantically trying to get her attention, praying that she knew whether or not we were supposed to stay connected like we were, or if it would mean something had gone terribly wrong and we
’
d explode midair. Can you blame me for being terrified?

When we neared the planet
’
s atmosphere, an image popped up on the console screen, a little LED-light animation of putting on a safety harness. I sat down and did as I was told, fastening a buckle around my waist and tucking my arms through the shoulder straps so I could fasten a second buckle around my sternum. Now things were getting bumpy.

And I couldn
’
t breathe.

And there was fire blowing past the window.

And I knew, I knew, this was how I would die. This was how. And I willed myself to wake up from this nightmare.

I heard a great release of air as the parachutes on our pods opened up, but something went wrong. Maybe since we were still connected, one parachute got in the way of the other, because what I assumed should have been a gentle descent to the surface of the planet was a jarring fall into a rapidly approaching groundswell. And there was nothing I could do. I saw the treetop canopy of a great forest and squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact, praying to anything that could hear me to keep me safe.

I felt a jolt that knocked me violently against my restraints; I felt a catch that tossed me into the back of the chair again, whiplash-sharp and fast. Then, everything went still.

I saw the firebeam shoot across the sky and drop to earth a few hundred meters from my dwelling, a fallen star, perhaps, with a heart that pulsed and must be thrown back up into the sky. I was not of a mind to be accommodating to anything of this planet, but a star… she could have my attention and, should she require it, my aid.