Primal Planet Guardian_SciFi Alien Romance Read online

  I always do my best to avoid fights that endanger civilians, but I know that other warriors often don’t, and I understand their reluctance to get too close. For the most part, X24 is a cesspool of villainous scum, but that doesn’t mean everyone here deserves to be caught in a fight. Every planet and every species has its fair share of innocents, save for perhaps the Xzerg, the race that had all but wiped out my own people.

  As I continue walking, the streets grow more narrow, the buildings more ramshackle. Even if I didn’t have the location pinpointed on the navigational tool around my forearm, fused into the armor I wear, I would have guessed this was the part of the city that houses the majority of the villainous scum. The bigwigs running the show likely live elsewhere, in ridiculously lavish homes, but this is where the business is done.

  The marketplace is bustling at this time of day, though not quite as much as the landing zone. Vendors of every sort try to sell me their wares as I pass, ignoring them all. I move toward the more sparsely filled sections of the area, and keep walking until the streets are practically bare, before my personal navigator lights up, confirming that I’ve arrived. I expected a more central location, as I know my client is likely to be on the twitchy side, and it generally makes people feel safer to have a small audience for any sort of business. The preference for a comparatively abandoned part of the city has me on higher alert than I would have been otherwise. This sort of exchange is nothing special, but even after one hundred similar situations, it never pays to let one’s guard down.

  I pay close attention to my surroundings as I enter the small shack that my prospective client, Zagg, has chosen for this meeting. He is already waiting, sitting in a chair positioned so that he can easily see the door and both open windows. Despite his precautions, he still jumps a bit when I step inside.

  Zagg is a Duriuun, a rotund alien with green skin covered in an array of small spikes and several patches of dark fur. His appearance is anything but alarming, but despite their fairly innocuous looks, the spikes can be employed in a fight to some degree of usefulness.

  The Duriuun race is nearly as different as one could get from the appearance of my own species. Velorians have spines, slightly different than spikes. My own are white tipped, and run in two lines from my shoulders to my tail. They are made from cartilage as opposed to bone, and while still sharp enough to do damage to any unknowledgeable attacker, they are flexible enough to bend without breaking if I lose my footing or find myself pinned against something unyielding. Although Duriuuns look unthreatening to someone with my build, I have learned not to place too much stock in someone’s looks or species.

  “You’re early,” Zagg says, leaving the chair and walking to stand in the center of the room.

  “So are you,” I reply. I close the door behind me and take a few steps forward, stopping with enough space between the two of us to avoid making the smaller alien overly anxious. “What’s the job?”

  Zagg makes a snorting sound that I recognize as a short laugh. “I always forget that your kind has such a distaste for small talk,” he says. Shaking his head, he produces a small storage device and tosses it to me. “The details are on there. Short version is that I need you to get rid of a rival dealer.”

  “For what reason?” I ask, turning the device over in my hands, feeling the flimsy length of it between my fingers.

  “He’s selling for too cheap,” Zagg says, face twisting a bit in irritation. He was obviously expecting an easy transaction. Normally, that is how it works. I would accept the relevant information, and take anywhere from ten percent to fifty up front, before returning with proof of some sort and receiving the remainder of my payment.

  My eyes narrow at his words. It is plain that Zagg is referring to selling a drug of some sort, and my keen sense of smell tells me that Zagg himself gains some enjoyment from the drug as well. Disposing of the dealer will no doubt make this part of X24 a safer place, but only temporarily. It seems that Zagg left out crucial information in the initial message, which only stated that he needed a problematic individual removed from his community. I was suspicious from the start, as Duriuuns are known across galaxies for their general disinterest in the truth when it gets in the way of their ambitions. But as a rule, I don’t make judgment calls based solely on the species of a potential client. Every race has its stereotypes, and Velorians aren’t exempt from such assumptions about our character.

  “It sounds as though you simply wish to kill the dealer for personal gain. As soon as he’s dead, you’ll rack the prices up and do more damage than before,” I say.

  Zagg looks affronted. Most are not familiar enough with Duriuun facial expressions to place such a look, but I have done business with his kind on numerous occasions.

  “That,” he says, “is a completely unfair assumption.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I say simply. “What you need are cronies to keep you from dirtying your own hands. I’m not a crony—I am a warrior. I may be a mercenary, but I live by a code of honor.”

  Zagg rolls his eyes, a fairly universal sign of annoyance or disbelief. “You Velorians and your endless codes and lists and rules. It must get tiring, living with such a stick up your tail.”

  I allow the Duriuun to snatch the device from my open hand, and turn to leave. Zagg’s voice stops me cold before I can make it over the threshold. “If you mention my plans to anyone, I’ll make certain your business on this planet is through.”

  There are many things that I dislike on mere principle, but being threatened rankles me more than most, and especially being threatened by someone so spineless as Zagg.

  I turn toward him and take several quick steps forward, fast enough that the Duriuun, whose steps are slow and shuffling, has scarcely any chance to move beyond reach. I close my fingers around a fistful of the long tufts of hair that stick out from Zagg’s chest and neck. I am perfectly capable of making my own threat in return, but I do not need words to do so.

  I let the tightly coiled cold within me expand from my center outward, slowly channeling it into the fingers of my clenched fist. There are few sensations more paralyzing than the touch of an Ice Velorian that one has managed to upset. The fur begins to super-cool, ice crystals forming and moving outward, making a web-like pattern on the green parts of the Duriuun’s body.

  Zagg is shaking, and I am sure it is from more than the cold spreading through him. “Wait! Wait! You misunderstood.”

  I allow myself a short laugh, before dropping Zagg to the ground, where he collapses with a thump, rubbing at his chest to melt the ice away.

  “I hope so,” I say.

  I leave through the same door I entered from, not once looking back to see if Zagg has more stupid ideas in his arsenal.

  X24 is indeed a cesspool. This detour only confirms it. I have wasted valuable fuel getting here, and will need a job of some sort before I leave again if I am to make it any significant distance away. Of course, I knew this when I came here. I have seen much of this galaxy, and much of several neighboring ones as well, which makes me fairly well traveled for a Velorian. I did not come here solely for the job, but to answer the strange tug within me that pulled me in this direction. Lately, when I look over the maps on my ship, my eyes always settle on this section, on this planet.

  Zagg was a disappointment, as is X24, but as I sweep my hood back on and stride away toward the square, I still feel certain I will find some purpose here.

  3

  Stacy

  I have left Earth before—everyone has these days—but only to visit the moon and a few of the localized space stations.

  But still, the feeling of a ship landing never fails to make me nervous. The whole ship seems to rattle as it makes its way through the planet’s stratosphere. The pilot, an older man I’d heard the others call Paulson, said when we boarded that our arrival would be a bit a rougher than an Earth landing, but I didn’t quite expect this. Really, I know I should probably find a seat or head back to my small cabin while I
wait for the ship to touch down. Instead, I’m making my way toward the front of the craft, where I can hear the other members of the crew speaking to the pilot as he brings the ship down.

  The unsteady movements nearly make me lose my footing at one point, but I steady myself and walk on, pausing only when their voices become more distinct and I realize they are talking about me.

  Their voices overlap at first, and it’s hard to make out who’s who. Darwin is there, undoubtedly. I don’t think I’ve seen him head to his room once since we left Earth the previous day. I hear my name said by a voice that is still only vaguely familiar, followed by:

  “It’s gonna be a chore keeping that girl safe.”

  If I had to guess, I’d say it was one of the scientists from the EDC. I’ve only spoken to them briefly so far, but both of the men seem to have taken it as a personal insult that an intern, and a woman at that, is tagging along on the voyage. Clearly they wanted to be heroes, just them.

  I walk a bit farther, the ship having finally stabilized as Paulson touches it down. I stop to one side of the doorway so that I can see them as well as hear them. It doesn’t count as eavesdropping, I’ve always thought, if I happen to be the subject of the conversation.

  “No idea why it couldn’t just be us. The dream team.” There’s a chuckle. These men are mostly already friends. I’m stepping on toes by tagging along, I know, but this is a job. The most important one I can really think of. Why can’t they get over it?

  "Should she just stay on board, you think?” the second scientist asks. He’s on the short side, with a rather unkempt beard. I’m about eighty percent certain his name is Matt Richards, which mean the other scientist is Cole Singer. We’re a long way from the EDC and none of us have name tags.

  “Does she have a weapon?” Vincent ‘Call-me-Vince’ Harris asks. He is the only one who bothered with an introduction while I was moving my things aboard the ship. He is one of two soldiers accompanying the mission, though he doesn’t look terribly intimidating, with a rather slight build and laughing brown eyes.

  Of course I do, I think, rather smugly, as I touch my fingers to the blaster at my hip. Reynholm gave it to me before the ship left Earth. The reminder that it is there fills me with a rush of excitement. With the monotony of the journey, it’s beeneasy to forget what we are here for.

  Even if we don’t find the cure, there is still a chance we might find a lead of some sort that will be useful in future research. So long as we don’t return completely empty handed, I’ll consider it a success. Regardless of how it turns out, it’s still sure to be the adventure of my life.

  “What do we need a nurse for anyway?” Cole asks, just as I stride into view. He is taller than his scientist counterpart Richards, and lacking the beard. He is younger than the other men on the crew by several years.

  “Reynholm insisted,” Darwin wheedles, obviously trying to sway them in his preferred direction. He sounds imploring, appealing to the others to allow me to come along, but his voice makes it clear that it is not something he wants, and rather an order he is following.

  The voices quiet when they see me standing in the doorway. I don’t even attempt to pretend that I didn’t hear them. “There are a hundred reasons to have a nurse,” I say. “Do any of you have medical training, trauma experience?”

  There is nothing but silence. Vince is the only one to speak up with a shrug. “We’re not medics, miss,” he says, nodding to the second soldier, whose name I’m still unsure of, by his side. “They just teach us the very basics—put pressure on the wound and wait for the professionals. I know some first aid.”

  I give him a small quirk of a smile in thanks for furthering my point to the others. Some men don’t listen to anything unless it comes from another man. “Then I might just come in handy,” I say, tapping my blaster for emphasis. “And I can look after myself.”

  The men still look displeased, though no one more so than the scientists.

  “Worry about yourselves,” I add. “That seems to be what you excel at.” I’m hoping to see at least a face or two drop with guilt, but at best they seem indifferent. Vince snorts, finding the reprimand, or perhaps the lack of the reaction from the men, to be entertaining.

  “You don’t have to like me,” I continue, taking advantage of the silence. “Let’s just get this over with, go home, and be heroes.”

  The scientists move toward the door, having apparently resolved to ignore me. I think they simply mean to distance themselves from me, until they start walking down the ramp.

  “Hey!” I say. “Maybe we should sit down and make a plan first?”

  “You do that,” Richards calls. This is followed by a short laugh from Cole. “Good luck,” he throws in, their footsteps echoing as they exit the ship.

  Darwin moves with them, nodding that I should follow. He obviously thinks that if I’m left out, I’ll spin it as his fault to Reynholm.

  I sigh, loudly, looking to the soldiers for some scrap of sense.

  “The whole premise for this mission is based on a message that we have more than enough reason to be suspicious of. This is monumentally stupid.”

  Vince shrugs, and starts after the group, the other soldier falling into step beside him.

  “Crap,” I whisper.

  The pilot props his heels up on the control panel as I step onto the ramp.

  The marketplace is fascinating. I have never seen such a place on Earth; the closest thing I can think of is the crowded farmer’s market my grandmother has taken me to. Here, the wares are out in the open, sitting on makeshift tables, or on blankets on the ground. A few are lucky enough to have their own tents, but they are few and far between. The constant stream of people is unending, and I’m actually not even sure if the word ‘people’ applies. There are aliens of every size, shape, and shade, and though we’ve only been trekking through the city for an hour, I’ve already spotted several species that I do not know the names for. I do my best not to stare and try not to smile too widely, after Vince warns me that some species consider it creepy or threatening to grin at strangers.

  “Just being friendly,” I say, but I switch to a more neutral expression. I stick close to him for the most part. At the very least, he doesn’t seem to harbor some instinctive hatred for me. The second soldier, who he introduces as Jansen Slate, simply seems indifferent.

  Darwin and the two other scientists, Cole and Richards, pause in front of us, staring at something with abject disgust. I peer around Cole for a better look and nearly laugh at their reaction. Admittedly, the alien they have stopped to gape at has an appearance that some might call grotesque, with skin that reminds me of a slug. I have seen much worse things as a nurse and have learned not to get hung up on appearances lest you make the patient uncomfortable.

  The glistening alien obviously notices the stares, and stares back as he begins to ooze a thick fluid from the oversized pores on his skin. The men in front of me shrink back, horrified, while I chuckle loudly at the creature’s deliberate display. Richards turns all the way around to shoot me a dirty glare before the group walks on.

  The meeting point is fairly public. I was initially worried that the messenger had chosen somewhere isolated, but to my surprise we are still close to the marketplace, just one street over and in an alleyway with dumpsters mostly blocking the either end. Before we step away from the more open street and into the alley, I take note of the neon flashing lights in alien languages that my translator chip focuses on. It didn’t have much of a chance to translate more than small snatches of speech as we walked through the crowded marketplace, but now it switches the words I see to GENTLEMAN’S CLUB, and I’m in awe of how seamless the visual translations appear in front of my eyes.

  Despite the initial interest, as I move into the alley, I can’t help but think that X24, particularly this part, is a bit of a sleazy place. I’ve never realized before how safe the Federation offices sprinkled on every corner at home make me feel in comparison. There are plenty o
f unsettling places on Earth, but it is much easier to discern real danger from paranoia when you are familiar with a place. Here, I can’t even read the facial expressions of passersby to discern if they are hostile.

  We wait for only a moment, quiet, save for Cole, who keeps trying to engage Slate in conversation despite the man’s lack of interest.

  Three tall, slender aliens appear. At first, I only take note of their strange similarities to insects, the segmented bodies and shiny skin. Skin doesn’t seem to be the right word. It’s harder than that, closer to armor, the part of the bug that makes a crunching sound when you crush it with your shoe. They are a bit taller than most humans, but far too thin. Darwin has elected himself our speaker without consulting the rest of us. It seems like the sort of thing that might have been voted on earlier, had we all sat down to talk together.

  “Hello,” Darwin begins, plainly nervous. His voice shakes a bit, but with luck the aliens aren’t familiar enough with humans to register it as an abnormality. “We are the representatives sent from the EDC of Earth. We need you to give us the Velor plant.”

  There is only silence in answer. The aliens begin moving forward with slow, menacing steps. Darwin, to his credit, keeps plowing forward. “The plant you promised to deliver,” he elaborates. “We received information from you that it is capable of curing a very devastating disease.”

  The aliens keep advancing and, in response, our group shrinks closer and closer together. We are shortly wedged in on one side by the closest dumpster and the alley wall, and by the approaching aliens on the other. We outnumber them by half, but that means little. Each one of them looks like a warrior, and we only have two real fighters of our own. I know how to aim a blaster, but that won’t mean much if it comes to a close quarters fight.