Forever: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance (Rogue Alien Warriors Book 5), page 1
FOREVER
A SCI-FI ALIEN ROMANCE
HATTIE JACKS
Copyright © 2022 by Hattie Jacks
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover: Kasmit
Editing: Epona Author Solutions
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Bianca
Ryak
Bianca
Epilogue
Bianca
Also by Hattie Jacks
Just who is this Hattie Jacks anyway?
BIANCA
Two winged warriors shoot past me, up the large airy central shaft, whooping and hollering with youthful exuberance and the delight in simply being alive. I flatten myself against the crumbling concrete wall bordering the similarly decrepit ramp that those of us without wings have to use.
Humans like me that is. One of only five humans on this dystopian planet. The sentient AI that brought us to this place, imbuing us with the ability to understand the language of the native species, and then we were rescued by the Gryn. A race of flying males who scratched their living in the remains. The planet where we have been abandoned.
I couldn’t be happier.
I spend my days wandering the enormous building that these alien males call their lair. Most of the time I’m unnoticed, and that’s just how I like it. I can pause, sit, listen, and think without any fear. I know more about the place than most of the males who live here. The Gryn are all male. The same AI that stole me from Earth, stole their females from them.
Yes, that’s right. It’s a huge building, filled with a hundred alien males and five human females. It doesn’t make any difference to them. They still behave like a bunch of over-exuberant college kids most of the time. We’re treated with reverence, when they remember we’re here, although it’s over exaggerated and mostly born of terror, because the majority of them have never met a female that’s not their mother, they bow and stumble over their words before retreating as quickly as they can.
I don’t mind that either. I’ve had my fill of men who think that they are charming. Or powerful. Or dangerous. These aliens are powerful and dangerous, and human men I knew pale in insignificance beside even the weakest Gryn warrior, yet they have a respect for life beyond comparison.
I’m nearing the sleeping quarters for the more senior warriors. As far as I’m aware these are only being occupied by one single male at the moment. I’ve made it my job to know exactly what happens in the lair, my new home.
But today there are two voices coming from the rooms inside the heavy sliding door. Only one I recognize. The low timbre and quiet delivery marks it out as being Ryak, the lair’s head of security. Their ruthless enforcer.
I should know. I’ve made a study of him.
The other voice I don’t know. He’s been gathering a team of bulky warriors together. Starting with four, once they liberated more Gryn warriors from the camps as the battle against the sentient AI known as Proto gathered pace, he’s added another two. They are beginning to look quite fearsome.
They train most days in a disused area of the lair. Ryak trains alongside them, his muscles bulging as they fight hand to hand, or I should say, claw to claw. His strong, handsome face set like stone as he beats each and every one of his recruits, over and over.
“Those are my orders, Strykr. I expect them to be followed.”
“Yes, Commander.”
It all sounds very serious and very military. I hear boots on the ground, heading towards the central shaft. I don’t want to be found eavesdropping, that would be very uncool, and I’m all about the cool. I fluff up my blonde hair and quickly take a number of steps back down the ramp, hyperventilating for a couple of seconds to make it seem as if I’ve been walking for a while. Not standing and listening.
I almost walk straight into the pair of enormous muscular warriors, all feathers and naked torsos. Ryak ignores me, taking a step forward towards the edge of the ramp. The other warrior pays me just as little interest, only he takes a step back to allow me to pass. Neither of them speak. Instead they launch themselves into the air and up the shaft, their wings beating effortlessly at the still air until they dive through a hole in the side of the shaft and are gone.
The shaft falls silent, and I’m left on my own.
Which is fine. It’s how I’ve always been. Not being noticed shouldn’t hurt much either. Anonymity is something I used to crave. To not be noticed would have been a good thing back on Earth.
That’s what I have to tell myself as make my way through the hidden passages that I’ve been mapping in the months that we’ve been stuck on Ustokos. I’ve sort of lost track of time here. The days merge too easily into night, and there are no real seasons, other than dreary and drearier. The entire planet being decimated in the war against the machines that raged here for decades, before most of the Gryn were even born.
Instead I count my time in babies. My other human friends have coupled up, or ‘mated’ as the Gryn call it. It seems that the Gryn are extremely fertile as babies pop out on a regular basis. Although the Gryn do have a ridiculously short gestation period, which means that babies are coming along at an impressive pace.
But I remain alone. It’s how I like it. It’s the best thing for me.
Having descended several levels, I come out at the supply depot. It’s an enormous hanger-like space that is variously filled with, you guessed it, supplies, or alien males in massed ranks ready to patrol the skies of Ustokos.
Or at least that’s what they used to do. The Gryn were mercenaries for hire. Paid muscle to deal with the threat the sentient AI, Proto, posed to the other organic life left on the ruined planet. A race of furry feline like creatures called Mochi, who regularly come to the lair to deliver the bovine beasts the Gryn eat like cattle. There are others, but I’ve never seen them.
I’ve not set foot outside the lair since the day we were brought here by the senior Gryn, including Ryak. I’ve no reason to, and I certainly have no desire to find my way back to Earth, or encounter Proto, given that it was going to enter me into a breeding program whether I wanted to or not.
I squeeze myself into the small alcove at the side of the supply depot where I can go unnoticed and observe. My father’s last words ring in my ears.
“You’re a good girl, aren’t you princess? You’ll do your old dad proud.” He said as he pushed the dirty bundle wrapped in an oily rag at me.
The gun.
The murder weapon.
I shudder at the thought, a chill of rage and fear seeping into every bone. At what he wanted me to do…
“That package is to go to the Mochi in the borderlands.” Strykr stands at the edge of the supply depot. “Be careful with it. It contains the merchandise they requested.” He hands one of the waiting mercs a small package. “This one is for the Mochi-ka. The tribe on the western edge.” He places a similar package in the hands of a different merc.
“What are you vrexing waiting for? Vrex off!” He turns on his heel.
This is the other thing that defines the Gryn. The criminality, or at least what would pass for criminality on Earth. The drugs, the weapons and everything else they offer in exchange for their lifestyle.
After all, I should know. My step-father was Bill Richards, the greatest London gangster since the Sixties. He ruled the place with a fist of iron. His claw-like hands were in every single criminal venture from Hackney to the West End and taking in everything in between, including the City.
Especially the City. Those pin-striped chinless fuckers thought they knew what they were dealing with.
They didn’t. And they had no idea what was going to hit them.
I am Bianca Richards, youngest step-daughter of the UK’s most vicious crime lord, and I am an alien abductee.
RYAK
I fire the laser pistol down our m
akeshift range. The bolt makes a satisfying sizzling sound as it hits the target over and over.
I love these weapons. Simple, easy to use and out of our reach for a very long time. I check around the training area, and I’m pleased to see all my unit hard at work. It doesn’t matter that we have the next level in weapons tech, all my warriors need to be the very best. Especially if they are to match me.
Since Proto was vanquished, Ustokos is changing, and the lair needs to change with it. This is my number one priority and the reason I have taken over this disused space under the lair. The reason why I’ve picked the best warriors I could find to form my unit. The elite. The finest.
“Strykr.” I see my second in command enter the training space. “Did the packages get away on time?”
He nods. I can see he’s itching to get in the sparring ring with another warrior. I’ve not met another Gryn with such a darkness inside him. It makes him very focused, and that’s exactly what I need. I’ll do anything it takes to ensure the survival of the lair and my species, even if that means manipulating my team.
My thoughtbond, the psychic power that all the senior Gryn have, is especially strong. I’ve been able to control the young warriors, the mercs, for a long time. Out of respect for my Prime, Jyr, I don’t try similar tricks on the seniors, but I do push my thoughts to them, even though none of them like it.
Being liked is not high on my list of priorities. Having a functioning elite unit is.
“Go to it.” I incline my head at Strykr, and he doesn’t need any more encouragement. With a single beat of his wings, he’s in the ring.
What follows is short and vicious. It doesn’t even leave him out of breath.
“Jay,” I address the warrior sprawled in the center of the ring. “You need more practice. I want you to spar with Strykr daily.”
The young warrior groans, one wing flapping against the floor. Jay is my best sniper, but he’s no use to me if he can’t hold his own in hand to hand combat.
“Fight training!” I call out with a clap of my hands and immediately, my unit lines up. “Everyone is expected to keep up. Anyone who falls behind will be doing additional training tomorrow. Before breakfast.” I add to a groan from Mylo. I spring into the air and in seconds, I’m out of our personal exit and flying high over the ruined city of Kos.
Looking over my shoulder, the warriors follow in tight formation. The lair is hit by a stray and unusual beam of sunlight breaking through Ustokos’s clouds. It lights up the building, set in a cliff face, the waterfall churning out from underneath, the same water that supplies all our needs and our healing pools. Once built for pleasure by our ancestors, it’s the perfect fortress for us now.
I climb higher until I hit some unstable air over the ruins and begin to put my warriors through their paces. By the time I’ve finished, I’m amazed some of them are still in the air.
“Make sure they all bathe and eat. No partying tonight, I’ve got a number of patrols for them that are strategically important.” I tell Strykr. He looks in marginally better shape than the rest of them.
On the other hand, I could do it all again. Twice.
It is the legacy that Proto left me and the other seniors. After many cycles of torture, experimentation and pain, we were left with a capacity to heal that borders on the impossible, stamina that goes beyond any normal Gryn warrior and the ability to hear each other’s thoughts.
Something Proto didn’t anticipate, and it was the only way we were able to escape its clutches. I was left with an additional legacy that I spend many hours trying to repress. My secret that dogs my every move, reminding me of how dangerous I can be.
The lair is everything to me, and I can’t put it in jeopardy. Which means my secret stays locked in my psyche until the end of days. It also means that I have a persona to project in order to keep all Gryn at bay.
Exhausted warriors troop past me, heading to their barracks, and I return to my quarters. Quarters I once shared with the other seniors, save for Jyr. The Prime has always had his personal nest. The place is quiet without my fellow seniors, just as I like it, and I can stretch out on my ledge with a comfortable sigh.
All of the seniors except me have taken mates. The lair rings with the sound of younglings. All of them with the alien females that Proto brought to our planet. Strange creatures, pink, soft and wingless, they have captured my comrades’ hearts and allowed us all to believe in our goddess Nisis again. To believe that it is possible to find your fated mate, after all our females were taken from us.
While my heart is full that we have some sort of future as a hybrid race, there’s too much to do in rebuilding what Proto left behind.
Even if I wanted to take a mate, mating is the furthest thing from my thoughts. Instead my head is filled with everything that needs to be done. All the politics, all the bartering, all the posturing. It’s all I do. It’s what I’m best at.
I swing my legs back over the side of my ledge. Like the rest of the seniors, I don’t need much sleep, and that is something I can live with. My sleep is damned in any event.
I’ve a long flight tonight to reach the meeting place and, following a quick trip to the armory, I’m in the air and heading towards our eastern border. Above the sticky clouds, the closest of Ustokos three moons is bright. As a youngling, my father told me tales of Gryn who lived up there, in bases similar to the camp where we were held, except they were free.
As free as I am now. If only I could be happy about that.
The blasted city underneath me gives way to wasteland that presumably was once a forest, given the shadows of stumps that remain. I reach the meeting place in good time, circling silently until I’m sure I know all the threats.
And opportunities.
“Gryn.” The Kijg, his scaly skin morphing purple and black in the moonlight breaking through the clouds. His forked tongue flickers out of his mouth, tasting the air and attempting to taste my mood. “You are late.”
“I am early. What do you want? I’ve better things to do than fly halfway across Ustokos on a whim of a Kijg.” I shake out my wings, making myself look like I’m posturing. The Kijg like to think they are cleverer than all the other species on Ustokos. Especially the Gryn. This particular Kijg, Grid, thinks he’s really something.
“We understand that you are offering additional services.” He cocks his head on one side, his slitted, pale eyes glittering. Behind him I hear movement, the movement of someone trying to be quiet.
“The Gryn, like all other species are re-evaluating our position in the light of Proto’s downfall.” I hold up my hand, making sure my claws are fully extended. “No, you don’t need to thank us for that service and there’s no extra charge.” The Kijg’s tongue flickers with annoyance. “We are open to negotiation for many things, what did you have in mind.”
“Packages are being sent to the Mochi. Packages that contain certain substances…” The Kijg hisses. “We were given to understand that the Gryn had stopped narcotic manufacture some time ago.”
It’s my turn to play dumb. “You did?”
“It is our domain, Gryn. We don’t take kindly to other species muscling in, whether they are Gryn or not.” He shifts on his feet, and I tense. “If we can’t sell our merchandise, then we’ll have to extract payment in a different way.” He sizes me up. “Senior Gryn like you are very interesting, aren’t you?”
