Grumpy Alien Hero

Chapter 1

Ryker

         “Alright, boys, I want a fair fight,” my brother Renan says, holding a black silk scarf in the middle of the sparring ring. “Spears only. Stay in the lines. No kicking –”

         “No kicking?” Fineas retorts.

         “No biting,” he continues. Fineas and I share a look of mutual disgust.

         “Hardly sounds like a fight, baby brother.” I twirl the spear in my fingers, spinning it around my wrist and dropping the blunt end on the ground with a ping that sounds through the sparring ring.

         Renan’s eyes drop in a glow of sick pleasure that echoes in Fineas’ face from across the ring.

“Okay then. Shall we make this interesting?”

         “Always,” I agree, pleasure rising in my face. In the years since becoming Vandatu for the Vindrik syndicate, this is the peak of my day. The other Vakutans can envy my rise in the ranks all they like. These days, my command looks more like desk work, comm calls, and meetings that drag on for hours.

         “Ready when you are, cuz.” Fineas spins his spear around his back. “What did you have in mind, Renan?”

         Renan leaves the sparring chamber briefly, coming back with a small jar of plume ink.

         “Nice.” Rambling toward the jar, I wait for Fineas to dip his spear in the poison before drenching my own.

         “Now it’s a fight.” I smile, ready for the scarf to drop like never before. I love what I do for this family and this mafia. I love handling the business, and the idea that I might rise higher in the ranks than any non-blood member has before is my silver lining.

         That doesn't mean that I don't mix a little business with pleasure from time to time.

Fineas stands opposite the ring as we wait for Renan to signal us for the contest. I feel more alive by the second, squaring up to my post. My fingers fiddle with the button on my synth silk shirt.

“Anytime you’re ready,” Fineas teases as plume ink drips onto the stone floor.

“After what you did to my last shirt, I’ll take my time,” I tell him, slipping it from my shoulders. The air cools across my chest as I flex my red scales in the dim light of our sparring chamber.

 Spinning my spear around my back one more time, Fineas and I meet in the middle, spear crossing spear and waiting for the hand to drop. My biceps flex, ready to plunge or parry as the thrill of the unknown builds in my chest.

“Try not to kill the Don’s heir,” Renan warns me.

“I can’t make any promises he won’t kill me.” 

From across my wooden weapon, Fineas’ brows drop in concentration.

I try to maintain a hold on this moment, the flashing second that hangs between contest and cousin, life and death. The thoughts that normally weigh on me are thin during these times. It’s what I long for. The clarity of combat.

There’s nothing like it on Gur, and I doubt there’s anything in this life that comes close.

“3,” Renan says.

“2.”

I don’t even hear the last word from his mouth as Fineas’ spear whips past my left ear, nearly singing the scales right off my head.

 “Whoa, cuz!” I crow, slicing my spear across his middle. Fineas is too fast for me, blocking my advance and slicing me lightly across the chest. Plume ink spills into my scales, stinging my flesh with the fire burn of the poison. A slash, a cut, a nick, is not enough to kill me. Impale me with it, and that’s the end of Ryker Farag.

A sneer forms on my lips at the pain.

“Better watch it, cuz.” He smiles, throwing his spear from his right hand to his left.

“Okay, okay. I see someone came to play.” My words are just enough to distract him as I grab the stake from his hands and use it to flip him onto my back.

He never sees it coming, no matter how many times we spar. Over he goes in the blink of an eye. I’ve got him on his back now, with rage building in his chest that he’s been floored yet again.

“Damn,” he fumes.

“The left side. It gets you every time.”

We’ve fought like this for as long as I can remember. It’s the grindstone that sharpens the axe. Without it, I’d be stiff and slow like the other Vandatus. But Fineas and I pledged when the Don promoted us to stay sharp, no matter the cost.

No matter what happens, we know where we stand. We’re family, through and through. And while I can expect him to someday become Don of this syndicate, I’ll be right by his side until then.

At least that’s the plan.

Pulling Fin back to his feet, I hear Renan clapping from beyond. “Go again?”

“Not today, boys,” a voice calls from the open doors. Les Drake, the Don’s Vatconditor, or personal advisor, arrives for his daily chore. Two massive Vakutans stand beside the small, leering Kaleidian with a thin face. “Don Vindrik wants to see you.”

Fineas makes to stand. As the Don’s heir apparent, his time belongs to his uncle. It’s all business as usual until Les puts up a hand.

“He wants both of you.” The sneer in his voice isn’t new, but there’s an undertone to it that catches my ear. Something’s got him more irked than usual.

Fineas and I follow Les down the oversized hallways of the Hot Spokes Club towards the Don’s office. Les’s lurching goons skulk behind us.

Don Vindrik sits in his office chair with a heavy expression and a hand on his temples. His other hand swirls a thick dark liquid that he slugs into his throat when he sees his nephew and me.

“Boys.” He sounds weary. He waves a hand to let us know we may sit. “Come in.”

Les takes his place at the Don’s side, standing guard of whatever plan the Don has up his sleeve.

“It’s like this, you two. Vinki is dead.” Fineas and I shift in our chairs as worry comes into our faces. Vinki was the Don’s underboss. I can’t help but shoot an apologetic glance at Fin. He’ll be stepping into the role he was born to fill, but no one thought it would happen anytime soon.

I can’t stop myself from speaking. “How did he die?”

“He has been killed. Peacekeepers picked him up outside his penthouse this morning. Vinki’s guts cover half the lower levels.”

“It’s a problem,” Les interjects. “And the Don has come up with an unusual solution.”

“Look, kids, I can’t take any more chances. Vinki was my last brother, and if something happens to Fineas before I die, I don’t have any more direct relations fit to run this family. So I’m naming two.”

“Two?” Fin and I say together, exchanging the same dreaded glance.

“Two,” he confirms, pulling his fingers into his customary steepled fashion. “In case I need a back-up.”

A stone forms in my gut. I can’t look at the Vakutan to my right. He’s my cousin and my best friend, and if this plan of the Don’s goes through, I might have to kill him someday.

There can only be one Don.

“Ryker Farag and Fineas Roone shall henceforth serve as underboss to Don Vindrik of the Vindrik Syndicate,” Les says and begins the official swearing-in. There’s no time to change minds, ask questions, or even think of the impossible choice to decline it at all. “Do you, Ryker Farag, agree to carry out all the Don’s orders, to act as his hand, see as his eye, and hear as his ear on pain of death should you betray him or his family?”

All my life I dreamed of a moment like this, swearing allegiance for a position the likes a non-blood family member can only dream of. But I never saw it like this.

Dutifully I place myself at his feet, ready to kiss the ring.

“By my hand, my eye, and my ears, I will heed the word of my Don.” The cold feel of the metal on his hand slaps my lips as the kiss seals my destiny. Panic spreads into my veins as the promise echoes verbatim from the warrior to my right.

This is the last thing I expected walking into this room, but I do my best not to let it show. My word is my bond, and while I hope that circumstances will change, I can hardly argue that fate is on my side.

Sweat builds on my brow as Fineas’ lips graze the Don’s ring. The deal is done. Don Vindrik sits back in his chair, and I can tell from where I'm sitting how pleased he is with himself. He won’t see the aftermath of this decision.

That hell rests on Fin and me. I want more than anything to escape this room, but the Don isn’t finished with us yet.

“And another thing,” he says, clearing his throat. “Mum’s the word until I make the announcement. Are we clear on that?”

“Sir,” Fin says, his voice cold but clear. His tone relays what his words don’t, a code I know as well as he does.

“Sir.” I have no choice but to mimic Fin. Just like I’ll have no choice but to kill him when the time comes. Anything less would leave this family at war with itself.

I start to rise. I know I need to talk this insanity over with Renan. He and his new wife will have to make plans for the likelihood that I won't make it through the year. Suddenly, I'm glad that I don't have a woman to think about at a time like this.

My life just got problematic.  At least I can say there will be no one crying over me when things go tits up.

It’s better this way. It has to be.