Alien Bride, page 15
part #2 of The Alien Series
We push past the doors leading inside the bar and are greeted by the odor of dozens of sweaty men, smelling like they came here directly after fertilizing their farms. A quick scan of the room tells me there are more than just Iredescans here. And oh my! I’m amazed again—what a contrast the patrons of this bar are to Kye and everyone aboard his ship!
While the men here are as tall as Kye, they are twice as thick! Kye has these broad shoulders and a natural V shape to his muscular form, but for the most part Kye, Loret, Ohen and all the other Islerian men I have met have these long, lean, and graceful bodies. But the guys on Ipoch are like tree trunks! The clothing style is different here as well. The men wear trousers and hefty boots but are shirtless. I remember Kye telling me that Ipoch would be hot. I didn’t personally find it uncomfortable outside, but maybe warm weather affects their kind differently.
From the bar I hear booming laughter that draws my attention. An Iredescan man is there, bigger than all the rest. Hell, he’s practically a giant. He wears worn and dusty pants, like the other men surrounding him. A set of leather belts is wrapped around his waist, holding what Crocodile Dundee would call a knife and what appears to be some type of alien gun. His skin is the same snowy white as Kye’s, but with rich splashes of purple in all the places the sun hits frequently.
The starkest contrast, however, is his hair. It’s shaved short along the sides with only a few inches of length on top. People crowd around this man, probably looking for a free drink or a good story. Something about him tells me he’s got both. A few sets of eyes turn toward our group, and when the giant of a man notices he turns to face us. When he sees us, a genuine smile lights his face.
“Kye! My Islerian diplomat! Welcome back, my friend!” The man stands and my eyes follow him up, up, up. There is a massive tribal-like tattoo covering his chest, I admire the artwork for a second before looking back up at his face, only to see that he’s staring at me, looking highly amused. Oh god, did he think I was checking him out? I blush a little and inch towards Kye.
“Greetings, Serif, allow me to introduce Khalil and my wife, Alessandra.”
“Ah, your wife? I did not know you were in a union, Ambassador. I take it it hasn’t been made permanent yet?” His eyes flash mischievously at me, but I have the feeling he is only busting Kye’s balls. Kye doesn’t take the bait, or at least he acts casually in response.
“Unfortunately, they are both taken, Serif. Khalil was recently married to Anu. Permanently bonded, too,” Kye tells him.
“Ah, well I hate to say it, but you got the much better deal, Khalil. Anu is a wonderful woman. And you, Alessandra… you have my condolences.” With twinkling eyes, he grabs ahold of my hand and presses it to his muscled chest, his voice heavy with fake sincerity.
“You’ll have to introduce me to your wife, Serif. I would hate to miss an opportunity to offer her the same regards,” I counter sweetly, and the men at the bar eavesdropping on our conversation all laugh. Serif releases my hand and ruffles my hair, like you would do to a child. “I like you, woman,” he tells me, and I think I like him, too, in a big brother kind of way.
“What do I owe this pleasure to, Kye? It has been some time since I last saw you, and to be honest, I had expected a more immediate response to the concerns we discussed,” Serif tells Kye, in a more muted and serious tone. I look to my “husband” for his response and see he has adopted that cool and detached persona he keeps on retainer for seemingly all his diplomatic ventures. I also notice he is readying a response—probably something with teeth to it, but Khalil cuts him off.
“We have come to explore the issue further. Where can we talk?” Khalil interrupts.
“I can see how you and Anu got together,” he laughs, smiling at Khalil. “Come,” he holds his arms out to direct us to a private table near the back of the bar. “Saah! Drinks for my friends!” he calls to the bartender.
Soon the four of us are all surrounding a rough wooden table and we each have glasses filled with a cloudy liquid in front of us. I can smell the pungent liquor in them and it makes my eyes water in response. They like it strong on Ipoch. I take tentative sips and pay close attention to this strange scene playing out around me.
“Tell me, Ambassador, what is there to further discuss?” Serif asks, leaning back in his seat and keeping his eyes on the crowd. “You know the problem, Kye. All I need is for you to come up with a solution. With all your formal schooling and Ambassador training, or whatever it is you do, a solution should be easy enough.”
“You know as well as I that it’s a complicated issue, Serif. If all we needed was a solution I could have the military come in and wipe out the rings entirely. What we need is a solution that won’t drive your people to riot in the streets,” Kye says in a hushed tone.
“I knew it. I knew all your book learning and fancy Islerian schools were all just a bunch of crap. When it comes down to it—”
Khalil slams her hand down on the table, silencing not just Serif but the entire room. All eyes fall on her before the din of the bar revs back up to its original volume. “And where is your solution, Serif?”
Serif’s stance is relaxed and cocky, a mirror image of Kye’s (must be an Iredescan thing). But his smile is sincere. It seems his harsh words were belying his true feelings. Upon second inspection, he appears to understand perfectly well that a perfect solution to his problem is difficult to come by.
“Oh, I’ve got ideas, but they’re all just as bad as Kye’s.”
“Undoubtedly,” Kye murmurs.
“What are they?” Khalil demands.
“A tournament. Close the rings on all the lesser colonies and host a yearly tournament here on Ipoch… three days, a week perhaps… make an event out of it. The same problems will be present during that time, likely even magnified a bit, but at least I would only have to deal with it once a year and on one planet.”
“Do you really think that will stop the rings on the planets you are not on to police?” Kye questions skeptically.
Serif stares at Kye for a moment, already knowing his answer, I wager, but not ready to speak it. “No. No, it won’t, but I don’t know that anything will permanently end the rings. Maybe all I can do at this point is try to regulate them.”
Man… this is like opening a book to the center and trying to follow what’s going on. I’m struggling to piece everything together, but it seems way too serious to interrupt for the cliff notes version. Rings, tournaments, problems… that’s all I’ve got so far. I wish I were at least sitting next to Khalil so I could discreetly ask her to fill me in. How does she know what’s going on anyway? I’m struggling to understand all this when the door to the bar swings open and in steps a rowdy bunch of aliens—not Iredescan alien, but familiar nonetheless.
The Makaan scan the room as they saunter in, catching Serif’s eye first before landing their gazes on me. Obvious recognition washes over them. They smile predatorial smiles but make their way to the bar. I’m sure I turn white as a sheet as I watch them, because Kye sits up suddenly and follows my line of sight. He stiffens when he sees the Makaan. Khalil looks, but other than huffing out an unconcerned breath, she does not appear terribly impacted. I, on the contrary, can’t seem to keep my hands from shaking.
Chapter 21
Kye
Serif is oblivious to the secondary drama unfolding around us, while Khalil remains diligently engaged in the discussion surrounding the rings. I, however, am suddenly hyper-aware of Alessandra trembling in her seat beside me. The Makaan keep their distance, but the effect they have on her is significant. I reach out and take one of her hands, pulling it under the table so no one will see it shaking. She grips onto me, as if in danger of being ripped away at any moment.
“That will limit the petty crimes, Serif, but it will not protect colonists from the more serious ones,” I add to the conversation, careful not to mention slavery or abduction…
He grunts his agreement and considers the now empty glass in his hand. “That is what it comes down to: safety. More and more I think the only solution is to regulate the fight rings and allow them to continue.”
“Did someone say ‘fight rings’?” comes a garbled voice from behind me. Alessandra’s hands clench so hard onto my own that I think her nails might draw blood. I don’t need to turn in my seat to see who has joined our private table, but I still push my chair out at an angle to assess the situation. This also brings me closer to Alessandra.
Now that I am facing the bar, I can see a half dozen Makaan approaching us. These are local traders, perhaps they frequent Serif’s planets and are known to him, but they are unfamiliar to me. They certainly look their station—hardly resembling the soft Makaan diplomats who gave me my wife. These men are muscled, gruff, and dirty. Their tusks more predominant, and they spit and slur as they try to speak around them. They all wear firearms at their hips.
“We hear there is an Islerian dog in town trying to sniff out the fight rings. What do you say, Serif? Is that correct?” The foul-looking Makaan at the head of the group jeers.
“Gentlemen, head on over to the bar and have a drink on me. You are interrupting an important conversation here.”
The Makaan huff. “Conspiring with the enemy, Serif? Wouldn’t have thought that of you… considering the obvious and all.”
“And tell me, Ghoktel, what is ‘the obvious’ you speak of?”
“You’re one of the best fighters in the rings, Serif. I think you like it too much to ever let it go.”
“Is there something you and your men want, Ghoktel? The Ambassador and I are trying to discuss business here.”
“You are in luck then. I am a businessman.” Ghoktel laughs a guttural laugh and one of his men pulls up a chair for him to join us. It creaks as the Makaan rests his substantial weight on it. “Look at this clochank, Serif. It wounds me that you would waste your time on a man like this. Any business you have can be done through me.” I don’t justify his statement with a response. The last thing I want is to engage this man in an argument. What I do want is to get him as far away from my wife as possible.
“I don’t hear many favorable reviews from my citizens you’ve done business with Ghoktel. Besides, this doesn’t concern you.”
“Everything this far out concerns me in one way or another,” the Makaan counters.
“And if it’s not the fight rings you speak of, then perhaps it is something of a more salacious nature, eh?” Ghoktel’s vile eyes fall onto my Alessandra and remain there. He doesn’t look at her as someone might to admire her beauty. No, he looks at her as if she is a thing—an object to possess.
“Yet another subject you’ll find me well versed in, Serif. Yes…” A menacing laugh escapes him. “I know all about you, little girl,” he tells my wife. I grind my teeth and eye the weapons on Serif’s hips. I will never come to one of these backwater planets unarmed again, I vow silently as I calculate the odds against me versus the six Makaan.
“Is that right?” Alessandra responds. I’m surprised to hear her find her voice, though knowing my wife, perhaps I shouldn’t be.
“You are human, yes?” His laughter is slow and speaks volumes. “Mmm, yes you are. I have met a human or two in my time.”
“Have you met me before?” she asks.
“No, I would remember you, little girl. And I think you would remember me, too.”
“Where have you met other humans?” she questions, sounding neither causal nor anxious.
“Tell you what, take a ride with me and I’ll show you.” Ghoktel’s men snicker and sneer behind him as Ghoktel reaches out to take Khalil’s glass from the table.
There is a resounding thump as Khalil’s hand swings down.
“That is my drink,” she says plainly, her eyes emotionless and locked onto Ghoktel’s.
There is a split second where everyone at the table processes the scene before us. Khalil’s hand grips Serif’s knife—now embedded into the table, while Ghoktel’s hand… well, that is no longer connected to Ghoktel.
Ghoktel lets out a strangled howl and everyone shoots to their feet with weapons drawn. I push Alessandra behind me, and Serif and Khalil join our ranks, each of them brandishing their weapons. Thankfully, a dozen of Serif’s men who had been giving us a wide berth during the early half of our conversation have since descended upon our group, leaving the Makaan outnumbered.
Blood sprays from Ghoktel’s wound and one of his men haphazardly wraps it, while the others keep their weapons drawn.
“Unacceptable! Unacceptable!” Ghoktel spits white froth as he screams at Khalil. “I will have justice! This bitch is mine, Serif! You saw what she did! Over a fucking drink? I’ll buy you a whole bottle, bitch, and shove the damned thing down your throat!”
“Not on my planet, you won’t. I think it’s time you leave, Ghoktel. Try to make your way to a re-gen lab before it’s too late for that hand of yours,” Serif tells him. “Unless you think the left one is enough to satisfy you on all your lonely nights.”
“I’m not going anywhere until she pays for her crime! What kind of planet are you running here anyway, Serif? Are you telling me this place is lawless… because if it is…”
“There are laws here, Ghoktel, but don’t confuse them with your own vengeance. I won’t ask you again, get out of here. Take some time to cool down.”
“Not until I have seen that justice is served. That is, unless you want this problem to grow, Serif.”
Serif turns to speak quietly with our group while his men keep their weapons trained on the Makaan. “Are you a fighter, Khalil?” Serif asks in a hushed tone.
“Let it be so, I have no objections.” She accepts the arrangement Serif proposes.
“Whoa, wait, wait, wait. What the fuck is going on here?” Alessandra asks, nearly frantic. “What are you suggesting?”
“Make it a team of two then. If I come home without Khalil, Anu will kill me anyway,” I say.
“Let’s call it a trio and I will fight alongside you,” Serif offers.
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. “Don’t put yourself at risk for us, the people of these colonies depend on you.”
“Kye…” he says in mock reproach, “you insult me to insinuate these creatures are any real threat. Besides, I look forward to seeing the combat skills they teach in those fancy schools of yours.”
Khalil nods respectfully to each of us for our offers, though her expression tells me she isn’t worried either.
Alessandra’s eyes search us wildly, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You’re going to fight these guys?”
I turn to Serif, “We have another Ambassador here, some guests and another guard, can you send some of your people for them? Have them escorted, along with Alessandra, back to the ship—”
Alessandra grabs my face, irreverent of the pheromone producers along my jaw. She forces me to look into her eyes. “Stop for one fucking second. No. You are not going to fight,” she forbids, her voice shaking.
“Alessandra, Serif has to respond to Khalil’s actions, and I will not send my best friend’s wife into the fight ring alone,” I reason.
She doesn’t loosen her grip on me, but her eyes dart from face to face, likely trying to find some type of loophole in my statement.
“Ohen and Loret will take you back to the shuttle, if anything happens—” A look of horror twists her face. “Nothing will happen,” I amend.
“If this is really happening, then I’m not going anywhere,” she digs her heels in.
“I have to get the others to the shuttle, Alessandra. I don’t know if the Makaan will make an attempt at retaliation.”
“Then send them. I’m not leaving you. You guys, I mean. I’m not leaving you guys,” she corrects herself and drops her hands quickly away from my face, wrapping her arms around herself in a tight hug.
“Sounds like the lady has made up her mind. I’ll post two guards with you, Alessandra. There is no need to worry, I will protect your friends,” Serif assures her, and Khalil and I both huff out a laugh at his presumption.
“The arena!” Serif yells in his booming voice, and the whole bar cheers with excitement and bloodlust. Some younger men run out ahead and we can hear them yelling in the streets, spreading the news of the battle to come.
“Kye, please…” Alessandra begs me quietly. “Can’t we all just leave? Sneak away or something?” But she and I can both hear the growing horde of people just outside the bar. “Ugh! Didn’t you say you were a man of words and not violence?”
“Please, Alessandra. I will be fighting with Tobac Taas. That is not violence. That is art.”
Chapter 22
Alessandra
When we exit the bar, we are flanked by Serif’s men. I can’t be sure if they are protecting us from the Makaan or escorting Khalil to ensure that she fights. These guards aren’t exactly official looking, but they have guns and the Makaan seem to respect their authority.
