My Boyfriend Is An Alien: A Science Fiction Romance

Chapter 1

Axul

Black coat flaring, the desperate man plunges into a geyser of steam hissing out of a sewer grate. He disappears from sight inside the cloud, white tinged with pink from the blinking neon lights overhead. I follow, feet blasting the concrete with long, powerful strides, rushing into the steam, out of it, and onto the sidewalk beyond.

My quarry casts an ill timed, worried glance over his shoulder and subsequently plows into a skateboarder coming from the opposite direction. He isn’t slowed much by the impact, quickly regaining his footing, blowing through the skater like a squall. The skateboarder spins in the air and then slams down hard, groaning in misery as I rush past him. The board continues to roll along, wheels clicking rhythmically.

I gained a little ground on the man in the coat, who isn’t a man at all. That’s why he was able to knock the skateboarder senseless without even trying. He’s not from Earth, but an alien. I would add ‘like me’ but the fact of the matter is the only thing I have in common with this creature is that we both happen to be of extraterrestrial origin.

His sapient species is unfortunately one of the fastest in the Galaxy. Normally I wouldn’t even attempt to run one down, but I’ve been tracking this asshole for days through Jersey, Brooklyn, and now Manhattan. My cover as a government agent hasn’t been all that useful, since no one’s bothered to ask for identification.

Right now I’m disguised as just another human—okay, a much larger and stronger than average human, but my image inducer holo disguise works better if I adopt a similar frame to my real one. My skin might be disguised, but in order to keep power consumption to a minimum I’m wearing Earth dress typical of my cover; long coat, three piece suit and tie. I did have nice shoes, and a hat, but I left those about four blocks back when the Grolgath I’m pursuing threw a cage of lobsters at me.

Actually, I feel some drag. I reach bag and dislodge another of the marine crustaceans off of my coat. My nose still aches from when one of the bastards pinched it. I resolve that my next meal will be lobster and continue the pursuit.

The crowded New York streets greatly aid me now. My quarry must dodge, weave, or run over the numerous pedestrians and street vendors, which hinders his speed advantage. I get the benefit of following in his wake, the path already cleared for me.

“FBI, move!” I shout, flashing my phony but very authentic seeming badge. Captain Pyke says humans of this era respond to authority figures, so that’s our usual disguise. Those people who had not been knocked prone already part before me, flashing confused or interested faces my way depending on their own nature.

Humans. Ugh. I’ve heard my kin, the Vakutan, refer to humans as germs which have gotten overlarge and gained a semblance of sentience. They’re certainly disgusting enough in this era. Disease is a major issue, and trash on the streets is just par for the course.

I should stop with such thoughts. Pyke said that humans are our allies, even if they don’t know it yet in this era. We’re here to protect them, and prevent the Grolgath from changing our shared future. 

One of the pedestrians, who apparently heard my self identification as a law officer, ignorantly tries to help. He jumps in front of the Grolgath waving his arms like he’s directing traffic. The Grolgath knows I’m on his heels, and can’t afford to slow in the slightest.

So he takes three long legged strides and then leaps, planting his foot squarely on the man’s shoulder. The would be interloper gets face planted under the Grolgath’s deceptively heavy weight and my quarry barely misses a step.

He rushes out into a street, speeding cars honking, tires screeching, angry shouts directed his way. I try to follow but the broad, moving wall of a city bus blocks my path. 

“Fuck!” I bellow, slapping my hand on the side of its chassis as it were livestock I could encourage with the application of pain. “Come on, come on, move!”

As soon as the bus clears my path, I’m back on the beat. I just catch a glimpse of a black coat disappearing into an alleyway.

I rush around the corner, skidding along a pile of newspapers. My hand goes down to keep my balance, and then I’m up and running again. The Grolgath is already halfway up a black wrought iron fire escape by the time I stand beneath him.

Growling, I squat down, building up tension in my powerful leg muscles. Then I launch upward, leaping twenty feet straight into the air to grab the safety rail right next to the Grolgath’s disguised nose.

It still takes me a moment to clamber over the rail and return to the pursuit. In that moment my quarry makes it all the way onto the roof and disappears from sight.

The metal stairwell vibrates under my heavy tread, a dislodged screw causing part of it to bang loudly against the brownstone with every step. Exploding up onto the roof, I realize we’re alone for the first time since I started the pursuit.

“Give it up, Flame Kisser,” I snarled. “Dead or alive, you’re coming with me.”

He spins around, arm crooked as he reaches inside of his coat. I just see the silver barrel of a Coalition cellular disrupter pistol before I throw myself onto the roof. The Grolgath fires a few wild, un aimed shots before fleeing again.

He fired three times, and I know that model only holds enough charge for ten. That’s the trade off when you select a high powered weapon, with subsequently high power demands. Give me a Vakutan pulse rifle any day of the week; not as deadly shot per shot, but you’ve got room to make mistakes. One hundred shots worth of room.

The Grolgath plunges over the side of a roof, probably jumping all the way to street level. I’m about to follow him blindly, but as I put my foot on the edge of the buttress a sickly yellow beam flashes inches from my face, followed by a second. Four, five.

I jump as soon as I hear his feet pounding the pavement. No way he can aim accurately and run at the same time, not with that weapon. The brick wall becomes a blur beside me as I plummet twenty stories toward a trash strewn alley way below.

My feet hit with a hard impact. I bend my knees, letting my legs absorb some of the momentum before pitching into a forward somersault. Damn, eat your heart out, Pi’Rell. You’re not the only Sapients who can pull of acrobatics when  necessary.

I’m still congratulating myself on the nice tumbling move when the Grolgath pops out from behind a downspout and fires his weapon again. I narrowly avoid it by ducking behind a parked car. The disruptor beam doesn’t affect in organic  material, so my shield remains intact under the weapon’s assault. But that spot on the door has never been so clean, I’m certain.

Six. Four shots left, if that. I start to rise and another one sizzles through the air, sending me scrambling back into cover. Seven. 

I look in the car’s side view mirror, and see the Grolgath behind his downspout, looking around nervously. Damn it, someone is going to notice if he keeps firing off energy blasts at random. What’s that going to do to the proper flow of history? Humans aren’t supposed to discover extraterrestrial life for another century.

I have to get that weapon away from him. But how? Casting my gaze about, cursing silently that I dropped my pistol seven blocks back, my eyes settle on a metal disk set flush into the street. Manhole covers, they call them. I move in a crouched squat over to the metal disk and shove my finger into the convenient oval slot. 

Grunting, I manage to pry it up enough so that I can get both hands properly set. I glance at the rear view mirror again, using it to set up my trajectory.

I leap to my feet and hold the cover in front of me like a shield. The beam sizzles through the air, striking my impromptu barrier. Before he can fire another shot, I spin in a tight circle and release the heavy metal disk.

It flies through the air and smacks into the Grolgath’s forearm. I grin at the sound of crunching bone and his scream of agony. The disruptor falls to the pavement, and he tries to take flight again but I’m on top of him before he gets a few steps.

We grapple on the ground for a bit, but his broken arm hampers him greatly. Still, by the time I get him in magnetic wrist restraints, my clothing and skin are torn all over from his raking claws.

“Get up,” I said, lifting him by the broken arm. He nearly passes out from the pain, and is thus a docile rag doll as I drag him back into the alley. I almost forget to scoop up his alien blaster pistol, lest it be found by a human and screw up our time line even worse.

Once inside the alley, I glanced about and then extracted my compad. I have to be careful no one sees me using it. Humans of this era have cell phone tech, but it requires a bulky battery and antennae pack which just isn’t convenient. Car phones are considered a luxury item.

“Pyke, this is Axul. Pyke, do you read? I have the Grolgath in custody.”

“We read you, Axul,” Captain Pyke’s voice emanates from my comm with enough detail that I can tell he’s annoyed. “I’m sending Myrdok and Vuldar to pick you up. We also detected several weapons discharges. Are you all right?”

“A few scrapes and cuts, which are already healing,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“Well, you won’t be fine once I get done shoving my foot up your ridged ass,” Pyke growls. “What were you thinking?”

“It was the Grolgath using alien tech in plain sight, not me,” I said.

“Irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” I asked, with a tinge of resentment. “How is that irrelevant?”

“Our duty is to protect the proper flow of history, no matter what,” Pyke said. “As soon as he started using that weapon, you should have ended your pursuit.”

“But Captain—“

“No excuses, Axul. You said that if I let you work undercover you’d show some restraint.”

“And I did. He’s still alive. See?” I kicked the Grolgath’s wounded arm and  he wailed like an infant.

“We’ll discuss this when you arrive. Pyke out.”

I wait in the alley with more than a little anxiety. Pyke’s a good commander, but he’s also a ball buster. Maybe those things go hand in hand. Fortunately, it’s not long before a plain, nondescript white van pulls up outside the alley. The two humans in the driver’s and passenger’s seat are of course my disguised brethren.

I hauled the Grolgath up to his feet and dragged him out to the waiting van. The door slid open with a rolling whirr, and I tossed him inside.

“You will all burn in the cleansing fire of Ataxia,” the Grolgath hisses.

“You all right back there, Axul?” Myrdok asks.

“I’m fine. Here.” I handed the disruptor pistol up front. “As usual, the bad guys are better equipped than we are.”

“You are the ‘bad guys,’ Vakutan,” the Grolgath hisses. “The love and mercy of Ataxia will spread through the Galaxy like a flame, immolating the unbelievers along with war, disease, and poverty.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I’ve heard it all before. How in the hell are you guys paying for everything?”

The Grolgath gets an arrogant sneer on his face. I pat him down until I find his image inducer, then turn it off. His features resume what you expect from a Grolgath; fine green scales on their skin, slits in the side of their face to accommodate a very wide maw, and a general smug sense of superiority. This one is a male. Females, the dominant sex in their society, have head fins and sometimes back fins and tails as well, though those are considered birth defects and often removed by surgery.

“I doubt they have a sports almanac so they can wager on the human’s obsessively pursued team athletics events,” Myrdok says from the front seat.

“Well, he’s not very chatty, but he’s conceited as hell.” I stared down at the Grolgath as the van trundled along. “What’s the big deal? Why do you look like you’ve already won?”

“Because we have,” he said. “You lost the moment you chose to stand against the glory and mercy of Ataxia.”

“Yeah, yeah, in a general sense, sure. Whatever. But what about in a specific sense? Come on, buddy, you’re as good as dead anyway, why make the interrogation process a painful one?”

I plant my heel on his broken arm and squeeze. He glares up at me with yellow eyes filled with hate as he clenches his teeth on a scream.

“Damn you,” he hissed. “I do not fear pain.”

I lifted my foot and stomped down hard again on his arm. The Grolgath nearly passed out again, but I slapped him back to consciousness. 

“Tell me what I want to know,” I said.

“The man who created the world web must die…” he said in a voice growing fainter by the moment. Then he does pass out, and nothing I can do will stir him.

What did the Grolgath mean by that? Hopefully Pyke can figure it out. 

I’m just the muscle.