Secret Twins for the Alien Noble

Chapter 1

Sophia

“You remember this one, Mama?” I ask, patting her hand. The skin is papery thin and cool to the touch. I swallow down the lump in my throat, pushing ahead.

“Say goodnight, darling, to the stars up above. Say good night, darling, but don’t forget who you love,” I begin to sing. My voice is rusty, but the song is familiar. It may not be a showstopper, but I see my mom’s lips twitch into a smile anyway.

I continue singing, reminded of the days when my mother sang the song to me. Now I’m the caregiver, and those carefree, contented times are long gone. They’ve been gone longer than my father, who was struck by the debris from a misfired high-velocity missile one day after the war arrived here in Sintaca. He was just trying to get home from work.

Well, at least he wasn’t here to see her like this. The thought isn’t as heartening as I wanted it to be. It just feels like another open wound that reminds me of everything I’ve lost.

Because even though my mother is right here, I’ve already lost the woman who raised me. I’m left with a shell of the woman she was, and it breaks my heart open every day. I have to watch her suffer because I can’t get her the medicine she needs. Not even just an adequate dose of the medicine that would help ease her pain.

This damned war has taken everything, even her right to die with a little goddamn dignity.

I focus on the song and the old, happier times associated with it, hoping to cheer at least one of us up. By the time Isa comes into the bedroom, quietly opening and shutting drawers to put my mother’s clean clothes away, Mama’s eyes are closed.

“Good night, Mama. I love you,” I whisper, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on her thin arm. Then I pull the blanket over her.

“Can you turn on the sonic resonator?” I murmur quietly to Isa, who leans over to flip the switch on the wall. A gentle gust of wind kicks up as the air molecules in the room begin to move in response. “Mm, turn it down a notch.”

I pause, holding my own arm out to evaluate the gust. “Perfect. If she starts coughing real bad, just turn it up a little higher. It’s been working pretty well lately. I have to get to work.”

Isa follows me out into the living room as we both leave my mother to rest. “We’ll be fine, Sophia. You’d think I didn’t have some practice at this.”

Isa, my best friend since grade school, lost her parents a few years back. She moved in with me about a year ago to help take care of my mother, but I think it really works out for all of us. Being a single woman on war-torn Armstrong isn’t exactly for the faint of heart, so why not at least be three single women together?

Still, I know my nagging isn’t exactly fair to her. Isa’s been my rock through everything, and implying that she can’t take care of my mother is not only dishonest but also unappreciative.

“No, I know you know. I just worry. There’s not much I can do for her, so I guess I like to micromanage the things I can.”

Isa laughs. “The illusion of control, eh? I can appreciate that. Well, go control some rowdy drunks at Drago’s.”

I roll my eyes. “Drunk soldiers can not be controlled. They can only be beaten back with a stick or sprayed with a hose. It doesn’t really stop them. It just creates enough space that you hope they get distracted by something else in the meantime.”

I grab a nutrition bar for some quick and easy calories and finish chewing it as I close the front door behind me. The sky over Sintaca is just starting to turn to dusk, but the air is still muggy. It’s been muggy more often than not lately. I swear, all the military equipment has changed the air here somehow.

When I was a kid, it would always be crisp this time of year. Not quite cold, but not unbearably hot, either. The kind of weather that was perfect for wearing a cozy sweatshirt.

As I walk, I scan the neighborhoods, making sure that everything is still where I remember it since yesterday. Everything still seems to be standing, but my eyes inadvertently wander to the bridge.

It’s still closed, guarded by three Coalition soldiers like always. They say it’s because the structural integrity makes it unsafe, but the bridge looks better to me than most things around it.

I shift my eyes away when one of the Odex soldiers nearly makes eye contact. “Not today, pal,” I mutter. “I’m going to put up with enough of you at Drago’s.” I hurry to walk past before any of them can get any bright ideas about talking to me.

“Soph! You’re just in time for the warm-up shot,” Tia yells when I walk in the door. She’s huddled around the bar with Amber, who I used to play horsnechtball with in high school, and Malina, who’s a couple of years younger than Tia and I.

She gestures wildly, indicating that I should hurry over. I do, and when I get closer, I stop in surprise. “You still have that thing?”

Tia looks at where I’m pointing, then smiles. “Of course, I do.” She holds out her arm to show the other two girls the cheap bracelet on her arm. “We sold these as a fundraiser for our class field trip. It’s a good luck charm, I think.”

Amber snorts. “How’s that working out for you?”

Tia rolls her eyes. “I could meet a handsome soldier tonight, you don’t know! Don’t be so jaded. Well, you can be, but you need to hide it better. You’ll be stuck here forever if you get all bitter and let your face wrinkle.”

Amber runs a hand gently over her face as if trying to smooth her skin out. “If he gets me off Armstrong, he doesn’t have to be that handsome. You know soldiers have free housing for mates?”

I want to ask them how that worked for Krista Sumner, who in my mind is still fifteen years old and dotting the i in her name with a heart. She got strung out on opiweed after she gave everything to a soldier that she thought was going to take her with him when he left.

He didn’t.

I keep the thought to myself, slamming back my shot with the other girls when Tia counts to three. It burns down my throat, a sensation that I’m mostly indifferent to. I know some of the girls like to have a drink to relax before the customers arrive for the night, but I prefer to keep my wits about me.

Soon, the bar is packed with Coalition soldiers unwinding after yet another day spent hard at work ruining our lives. A part of me knows they’re just doing their job, but I still resent it and them. Not that I’d rather have Alliance soldiers here, for that matter.

I hate the whole damned war. The view does not improve, no matter which side of it I look at.

“Can you get me three green Baktu ales?” Malina shouts over the music. Her cheeks are strained from trying to plaster a smile on her face for as long as she has.

“Who is it?” I ask, pulling the bottles out of the refrigeration system and handing them to her one at a time.

“The tall Kreetu,” she whispers loudly. I follow her gaze, studying him, then shake my head.

“He looks a few transistors short of a circuit board,” I scoff, noticing his dim expression. It’s possible he’s just had too much to drink, but that’s not really any better, is it? As the youngest of us, I worry Malina will be taken advantage of.

“That’s fine.” She shrugs a slim shoulder. “I just need him to take me as his mate long enough to get somewhere else. He doesn’t have to be a trophy. Besides, I think I can make something of him. He’s cute in a harmless kind of way, you know?”

“He’s a soldier. None of them are harmless,” I remind her.

“Yeah, but at least if he’s dumb, I know I can keep the upper hand,” she points out. I open my mouth to argue, then realize she isn’t necessarily wrong.

Well, Ataxia bless you, Malina. You might be the smartest of us all, you little minx.

She heads off to work her target, while I stay behind the security of the bar and continue to mix drinks. I have no interest in finding a soldier-daddy. I’m here to do my job and earn a few tips so I can buy some groceries and take care of my mother. That’s it.

It’s not like I’m ever going to be able to leave Armstrong, anyway. My mother could never survive a trip, even to somewhere close by. And I’m not going anywhere without her or Isa.

But even if I had somewhere to go, it wouldn’t be on the arm of one of these lunkheads. I’m all for letting the girls dream if it gives them hope, but I know how this story ends.

Generally, it’s with the girl knocked up and crying that he swore he loved her. Meanwhile, her big, heroic soldier is suddenly nowhere to be found.

No, thank you. I have enough people to take care of.