Totally Taken By The Alien: A Science Fiction Romance

Chapter 1

Zylan

If you’re not cheating, you’re not trying—Zylan’s Law #3.

I find that the burnt orange metal paneling in the mess hall is quite aesthetically pleasing, even if it is the same general hue as the hulking, ridged-faced alien’s eyes as he glares at me from across the table. It’s not the first time I’ve drawn a Vakutan’s ire during a card game—far from it. But it is the first time that said Vakutan in question also happened to be my commanding officer.

The reason I use the term commanding officer rather than superior officer is that I don’t feel inferior to Gurtal in anything. Well, that’s not true. He’s much more lumbering than I am, and when it comes to glowers? I know when I’m out of my league.

But in every other way possible—good looks, intelligence, piloting skills, and of course gambling—I’m so far ahead of him he might as well be a pre-industrialized savage. This isn’t to say that Gurtal is an inferior specimen, just that I’m that much better.

“Four hands in a row?” Fleck of saliva jet from his cavernous, toothy maw as he sputters. “I know you’re lucky, Zylan, but four hands in a row?”

The small-eared, smooth skinned woman seated next to him arches an eyebrow.

“It is peculiar, but not necessarily suspicious.”

“Thanks Jyt.”

Her eyes narrow as she looks over the cards in her hand at me.

“But considering who it is we’re dealing with, I’d say you’re right to feel anxious.”

I spread my arms out wide—careful not to reveal my cards, of course.

“Jyt’Lei, I must say that I am deeply wounded by your accusations.”

“I didn’t make any accusations. I just said Gurtal may be justified in his suspicions. Guilt conscience, Zylan?”

I chuckle and lean back in my seat.

“Conscience? What in the fuck is that? Some kind of Odex venereal disease?”

Gurtal snorts, his red nostrils flaring. He ducks his head beneath the table and peers intently.

“Hey, what’s up? You’re not checking out my package, are you?”

“What?” Gurtal quickly pops his head back above the table. “No. Of course not. I was just checking to see if you had extra cards stuck up under the table.”

“Pfft.” I grin and shake my head. As if I’d utilize such an unoriginal trick. “You have my permission to flip it over if you want.” 

“I’ll flip you over.” I’ve learned to ignore most of Gurtal’s grumbling. Which is a good thing, because ever since we started up this card playing group he’s been grumbling a lot.

“Gurtal, calm down and just deal. His luck has to run out sooner or later.”

“She’s right, my friend. I’m sure you can win back all of your credits if you just stick to it.”

“I’ll stick it to you.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake—I don’t mind being threatened, but can you at least try to be less formulaic and redundant when you make them? I’ve hung out with a lot of Vakutan who are really creative.”

I adopt a simian stature and add a gravely, bass heavy tone to my voice.

“Ugh, I’m gonna rip  your lungs out through your nostrils. Two hits, my fist hitting your face and you hitting the deck plating. I’ll snap that stack of poker chips you call a neck.”

Jyt smiles, but doesn’t quite laugh. I can tell Gurtal is amused, but he’s stubbornly trying to hang on to his black mood. Some men  you just can’t reach.

“Fine. Fine, I’ll deal, but if this cheating, conniving, copper haired runt wins one more hand…”

“Hey, I resent that. I’m not a runt at all. Very barrel chested for an Alzhon.”

He harumphs, slapping cards down on the table with vehemence. I gather up my hand and nonchalantly check the cards. Two Rippers, one Buzzard and two marauders, which are wild. Not bad, but could be better.

For example, I could have four Cruisers and a marauder, like Gurtal does. Even if Kleid weren’t behind him holding up a mirror, I’d be able to tell Gurtal had a killer hand by the way he can barely contain his smile.

Kleid’s an—well, no one really knows what he is. Physically, he’s about the size of a blitz ball with a bunch of spindly legs for locomotion and a set of larger, clawed appendages he uses to manipulate his environment. Compound eyes offer little indication of what he’s thinking, but we’ve learned to communicate pretty damn well in the six years we’ve been a team.

Carefully, struggling to keep his tone neutral, Gurtal lays out a modest bet. I immediately fold, keeping my winnings safe.

“What? You can’t fold.”

“I just did.”

“Have you developed psychic powers? How in the world did you have any idea what i—“

Crash.

I wince as the mirror shatters into a dozen pieces on the mess hall floor. Gurtal and Jyt both turn around and look at Kleid, and then at the broken glass. The little guy knows when a con is up. He starts dancing a jig, putting on a cute display that unfortunately has no effect on Gurtal.

“I knew it. You and your damn space cockroach have been swindling us all night.”

Gurtal’s hand closes on my shirt. He draws me up from my seat, and I go with the motion mainly because I don’t want my lucky shirt to get ripped.

“Hey, easy on the threads, man.”

“Who cares about your gaudy attire? This is about you cheating.”

“Really, Zylan.” Jyt crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head at me. “We all know you’re a scoundrel, but do you have to be such a bad influence on Kleid?”

“Look, guys, you should expect me to cheat. It’s Zylan’s law #88: Win if you can, lose if you must, but always, always cheat.”

Jyt scrunches up her face in confusion.

“I thought that was Zylan’s law #3?”

“No, that’s if you’re not cheating, you’re not—“

“Shut up. If I have to endure one more of your stupid laws I’ll throw you out the nearest airlock.”

“We’re at superluminal speed. That would hardly be advisable.”

“I’m getting to where I don’t care.”

Damn, he’s really pissed this time. What’s his problem? It’s not like I took everything he had. I haven’t had time yet.

The door to the mess hall slides open with a soft hiss, and a gorgeous human woman strides in. Gurtal’s eyes widen, and his hands loosen on my shirt. Just the mere presence of his wife turns the big Vakutan into a lapdog. Disgusting. This is why I have no use for love. It robs you of your edge.

“What’s going on here?” Xana puts her hands on her ample hips and frowns. Her figure sure has recovered since she had the baby. I mean, I’d never mess with Gurtal’s woman, but damn, what a looker.

“Nothing, my sweet.” Gurtal leaves me to my own devices and crosses the room to embrace his wife. They make kissing sounds that Jyt finds adorable but turn my stomach. “How can I assist you?”

“General Dowron is on comms.”

Instantly we all come alert. Dowron is Gurtal’s father, and our liason with Alliance brass. Technically the crew of the Penetrator—Gurtal picked the name but I wholeheartedly approve—is outside the normal chain of command, but Dowron can snap his fingers and revoke our status. That, and he’s Gurtal’s dad, so he’s sort of family.

We leave the mess hall and take the lift to the bridge. The Penetrator isn’t a huge cruiser class ship, but it’s much larger than a shuttle. Not much cargo space, but my smuggling days are supposedly over anyway.

The sleek, gleaming bridge greets us. I’ll tell you what, I’ve flown ships all over the galaxy and I’ve never had the pleasure of piloting one this nice. Everything works, and it still has that ‘new ship’ smell that never seems quite right when it comes out of a can. Only the real thing has that particular quality.

Gurtal assumes a stance I’m familiar with as ‘parade rest,’ all to impress his daddy. Me, I slump down into my pilot’s seat and prop my feet up on the console. Kleid hops up on my belly and I scratch him under his thorax, just the spot he likes.

“On screen.” Jyt obeys Gurtal’s command, punching keys on her console, and then an image of an older Vakutan appears on the view screen. The old man’s manner is gruff, by you can see a certain softness in his eyes when he looks at his only living son.

“Commander Gurtal.” The general stands on formality and seldom acknowledges his relationship with Gurtal out loud. “I trust that things are going well?”

“Indeed, General. We are en route to Syfer as ordered.”

“Actually, I have a new assignment for you, as well as some new coordinates.”

Gurtal doesn’t skip a beat.

“What’s the mission?”

General Dowron punches keys on his comm console, and his image is reduced to the upper right hand corner. The rest of the screen is taken up by a vid featuring a cute red haired human girl wearing a short skirt and a lab coat.

“Yowza. Please tell me our mission is to seduce her.”

A ghost of a smile crosses Dowron’s face.

“The woman on this vid is Dr. Minerva Modine.”

“Why does that name sound familiar?”

“She’s a media celebrity, Jyt’lei. Mostly, she does fluff pieces about healthy lifestyles for humans living abroad in the galaxy. I understand she’s something of a, to use a human phrase, ‘sex symbol.’  She’s missing, and it looks as if the Coalition may be involved.”

I hate to draw attention to myself by asking questions, but that doesn’t sound right.

“Hey, excuse me Mr. General sir, but what would the Ataxia Coalition want with an admittedly minor celebrity from the IHC?”

“We don’t know, Zylan. We do know that her last known location was the planet Imas. She was logged as a passenger on a commercial freighter, and then she disappeared.”

“Imas? That shit hole is one ugly destination for such a pretty girl.”

“Indeed. We all know that even though Imas is officially neutral they have Coalition sympathies, and there’s an outpost there even though the planet’s owners deny it. It seems likely that she ran afoul of their machinations somehow.”

“How do you want us to proceed?”

Dowron turns his penetrating gaze on his son.

“We have to tread carefully. Officially, the Alliance military isn’t allowed on Imas, so we’ll have to send in someone undercover. Someone with a great deal of familiarity with the planet, who has the necessary contacts among the more…unsavory elements.”

I know who he’s talking about. I’d know even if he weren’t looking right at me. 

“Don’t worry, General. There’s a man brave enough, dashing enough, and smart enough for this mission.”

“I know.” Dowron’s eyes twinkle with merriment. “He was busy, so I’m asking you.”

I can’t help but join in on the laughter, even if it’s at my expense.

“Good one, General. Let’s go rescue the lovely Doctor.”