Alien Guardian's Baby (Scifi Alien Romance) (Zoran Warriors) (8 page)

“
G
ood morning
.”

I rub the sleep from my eyes to find Tsula already in her kitchen, making us breakfast. Yona is sitting in her seat, working on another drawing. Drax is still asleep underneath of me, his cock pressing against my inner thigh. I’m thankful for the blanket covering us!

“Are you making… pancakes?” I ask, not believing what my nose is telling me.

“What are
pahn-cahkes
?” Tsula asks. “I’m making
asugudela
.”

I put my clothes back on – as best I can underneath the blanket – and join Yona at the dinner table. This time she’s drawing all four of us on what seems like a giant wave.

“What are you making?”

She smiles at me, dimples forming in her cheeks, and my insides melt. “This is us when we go to Elohi.”

I look up at Tsula, who’s flipping what I would still argue are pancakes. “I promised her I’d take her home,” she says. “Someday.”

“Are we going this year, mommy?”

“No, sweetie,” Tsula says, running her hand across her daughter’s face. Yona’s yellow fin springs back into shape. “Not this year.”

“Oh…”

“What’s that smell?”

I wheel around in my chair and nearly drop to the floor when I see Drax is standing up, his arms above his head as he stretches himself out – stark naked. His morning erection is standing tall and proud, and I jump from my seat and lift the blanket up in a flash.

“Drax,” I whisper angrily. “There’s a little kid here!”

My blue warrior apologizes with a sheepish smile on his face, while Tsula bursts out laughing.

“What’s funny?” Yona asks, but we don’t explain it to her. Maybe in twenty years, she’ll look back on this day in a new light, but for now, ignorance is bliss.

“Oh, come on,” Tsula says, her wide smile showing off her many razor-sharp teeth. “I take you into my home, I feed you, you could at least afford me a peek at those blue goodies.”

“No way,” I say, my cheeks as red as a rose. “Can we change the subject?”

Drax sits down next to me, the blanket wrapped around his waist, his taut chest bared. Tsula can barely tear her eyes away from his impressive form, and a pit of jealousy forms in my stomach. The Terulian is a much better warrior than me. Wouldn’t she make a better match for Drax?

The azure-colored Zoran only has eyes for me, however.

“What were you two talking about?”

“Pancakes,” I lie.

“
Asugudela,”
Tsula corrects me.

“That’s what I said.”

She fills our plates with a round, hearty cake. I eagerly take a bite, and my suspicions are confirmed. If it looks like a pancake, and tastes like pancake, than that’s what I’m going to call it!

“Mmm, these are good,” Drax says as he quickly devours his portion. “More.”

Tsula laughs. “That was it. My kitchen is not made for Zoran meals, Drax.”

I feel jealous again. Are they flirting or am I reading too much into this? Can I make a meal that’s to his liking? Will he hate me once he realizes I’m a lousy cook?

What’s wrong with me?

I’m never like this. All my life I have never concerned myself with what other people think. I’ve always been independent. And now look at me! I’m acting like a high school drama queen, desperate for Drax’s affection.

Could it be my pregnancy hormones?

Oh god. I’m so not ready to be a mom. I have plenty of trouble taking care of myself!

“Isa?”

“What?” I say, snapping out of my thoughts.

“I asked if you like the food,” Tsula says.

I’ve been so lost in thought I forgot to eat – now that’s something that doesn’t happen very often. “It’s great, sorry,” I say. “I was just thinking.”

A loud knock on the door interrupts our little breakfast, and my heart leaps into my throat.

“The Flaming Fang?” I ask.

Tsula shakes her head, cursing under her breath. “Worse. My neighbor. She’s early.”

Yona slides off her seat and grabs the cutest tiny backpack, slings it around her shoulders, and walks towards the door.

“Get down,” Tsula hisses. Drax and I drop to our knees, hiding underneath the small kitchen table. I fit underneath just fine, but Drax’s large blue body? We’re going to need a bigger table if we want to hide him.

“Hiiii,” a shrill voice says the moment the door slides open. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” Tsula answers, her voice cold. “I have to go, big case toda—”

“Oh, we have time for one cup, don’t we?”

“No, not really, like I said, I—”

“I made new friends,” Yona chimes in.

“Really? Who?”

“A Zoran and a
hugh-mang
,” the little girl answers.

“A Zoran? Here on the Station?” the neighbor says, sounding suspicious.

“Some kind of new show on the holo-deck,” Tsula says, ushering Yona out the door. “Thanks for taking her to school. Bye!”

Us two, a TV-show? I wonder who would be the sidekick in that scenario… Isa & Drax, fighting crime, and the forces of evil… we’ve certainly been through enough to rival any holo-deck show!

The metal door snaps shut, and Tsula rests her back against it.

“I thought she’d never leave,” she says as she runs her hand across the bright yellow fin on top of her head. “My neighbor is nice, but she does not know when to stop talking. Ever.” The female Terulian slides into her Vortex Security jacket and grabs her electrical fighting-pole. “Of course, I wouldn’t know what to do without her. She helps take of Yona. Without her, I’d be lost. But, she’s also a blabbermouth, and if she saw you two here…” Tsula shudders at the thought.

“I’m going to go pull some strings, see if I can get you two into the council’s meeting. Stay here, alright?”

I nod. “Of course.”

“I’ll be back later.”

“Good luck.”

The moment the door closes behind Tsula, Drax turns to me.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Level 42, Quadrant 4, #183?” I say, reciting the address we found in the encrypted message.

“Exactly. This is our chance to find out who this N is, and what he or she wants from you.”

“Do you really think it’s a good idea, though? Tsula asked us to wait…”

“We have to take the chance,” Drax says. “It might all be connected. And isn’t this what you came to Vortex Station for? You travelled halfway across the universe for this. This might be the only chance we have to find out the truth. If the Prymetas start a war… there might not be a station left.”

“You’re right,” I say, taking a deep breath. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

“
T
his is it
.”

We wrapped ourselves in thick sheets to hide our skin, and walked slowly, doing our best to avoid drawing any attention. I follow Isa from a distance, and even though the Flaming Fang are no doubt on high alert, we don’t encounter any Prymetas on our way.

I do notice several Xythians, no doubt members of the Silver Tree, standing guard at intersections. With their slender bodies, their white hair and their pointy ears, they’re hard to miss. Their armor is jet black, made out of many straps and layers, and they all carry silver, curved swords on their back.

I respect a warrior who fights in close quarters. Luckily, they don’t seem to be on the lookout for us.

Level 42. 4
^th
Quadrant. #183.

Finding the location was remarkably easy. Tsula lives on the 38
^th
level, so it was only a few levels up. Figuring out where to go didn’t take too long – the addresses are clearly marked. Elohian efficiency.

The hallway we’re walking through is deserted, the lights flickering. There’s a strange, coppery smell in the air. It’s a perfect place for an ambush. I keep one hand resting on my axe, just in case.

“181…182…183. Here it is,” Isa says, stopping in front of a door.

The metal door is corroded, the light above the door busted.

We could be walking straight into a trap, but there’s only one way to find out. If I had my crew with me we could do a proper sweep, but right now it’s the luck of the draw.

Isa taps the door’s datapad, and it slides open with a creak. It’s too dark inside to see. I bring my finger to my lips and motion for Isa to stand back. With my axe drawn I enter, my ears piqued, my eyes adjusting to the dark room. I smell… no one.

“It’s clear.”

Isa walks in, shining a flashlight into the darkness.

“There’s nothing here,” she says, sounding deflated. “Did we come all this way for nothing?”

I point to a single datapad plugged into the wall. It’s sitting in the corner, its screen cracked. In any other circumstance I would have overlooked it, but I think it’s a sign.

“There.”

Isa picks it up. “It’s just a feed of the holo-TV’s schedule,” she says. “Ads.”

“Could be a decoy. Try to input a code.”

“A code? I wouldn’t know what.”

“It’ll have something to do with you, personally. Something only you would know. A birthday.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I’m a Zoran general, Isa. It’s my job to think like this.”

“Point taken. Let’s see… no, nothing happens.”

“Do you remember anything from your parents, by any chance? Some number they used?”

“I don’t… wait!” Her eyes light up. “Maybe…” With a look of total concentration she types in a few numbers – and nothing happens.

Isa’s shoulders slump. “I just remembered this strange lullaby my mother used to sing, with all kinds of numbers. I thought for sure that would be it.”

“Well done,” a strange voice behind us says.

I whirl around, tightening the grip on my axe.

Three hooded figures are standing in the doorway – one tall, lanky female, flanked by two male guards. They’re armed with spears – a poor choice of weapon for such close quarters.

“Put that thing away,” the woman says. “We have no need for it here.”

“Who are you?” I growl, adrenaline coursing through my veins. “Identify yourself.”

The woman steps forward, into the beam of Isa’s flashlight, and my breath falters.

“The
Ama
,” I say. “I thought you were a myth.”

The woman’s eyes are a frosty blue, her body covered in fish-like scales. Fins are attached to her arms and legs, her fingers webbed, and the back of her head extends into a triangle. A seaweed-like dress is draped over her thin shoulders.

“I am not, Zoran,” she says coolly.

“What’s going on?” my mate asks.

“She’s
Ama
,” I say, nodding at the fish-like woman in front of us. “Water-folk. One of the many different kind of Elohians.”

“Correct,” the woman says. “You may call me Nyva. Come, we have much to discuss.”

Isa takes a step forward, but I place my hand on her shoulder.

“We’re not going anywhere,” I growl. “Start talking.”

“This is not the place, Zoran,” Nyva sneers. “It’s not safe here.”

“And it is where you’re taking us?”

“Yes,” she says, baring her many teeth. “We’re wasting time here. Isa, it’ll all become clear. Follow me.”

My mate turns to me, her blue eyes pleading with me. I don’t want to follow these fish-aliens, but I understand she wants her answers. Once again, I’m trusting her judgment.

I hope it doesn’t get us killed.

T
he elevator ride is long
. We’re cramped together in the small, metal box: me, Drax, Nyva, and the two silent guards.

I use the moment to look at their scales. They’re beautiful – rings of interwoven, dark blue scales, like chainmail armor of old on Earth. I wonder how it feels, but I think touching them would be rather rude.

Who are they? Were they the ones who sent me the message? Do they know what happened to my parents?

The doors open with a ping, and my mouth nearly hits the floor.

Gone is the scrappy, dirty, rusty look of Vortex Station. The door opens up into a pristine pool, the water ankle-deep, the walls made out of rock.

“Wh-where are we?” I stammer. This doesn’t even feel like a space station anymore, but a cave.

“This is our level,” Nyva answers. Her voice is melodic, like she sings every answer. She wades into the water, and tentatively, I follow, Drax walking close behind me. She turns and hands me a small, black device.

“Put this in your mouth. It’ll help you breathe underwater.”

I put the small device in my mouth, and not a moment later the two guards grab my arms and dive underwater, pulling me along with them. I turn my head to see Drax following closely behind. We swim deeper and deeper into the darkness, my heart going a million miles a minute.

After snaking through the underwater tunnel, we surface on the other side. There’s seaweed growing in the water, the walls covered with moss – this place has its own self-sustaining eco-system! I’d wonder at the engineering ingenuity needed to create this, if my heart wasn’t overflowing with questions already.

Nyva sits down upon a throne made out of bone, the guards taking up their positions at her sides. She motions for us to take a seat across from her. I want to ask her what in the blazes is happening, but I wouldn’t even know where to start.

“I’m very happy you came, Isabella,” she starts. “We weren’t sure you were even alive to receive our message.”

“So it was you who sent it?”

She nods. “You did well to come here. You might change the course of history itself.”

I’m getting tired of these empty words and vague hints, I want
answers
. “What happened to my parents? And what is
this
?” I ask, hiking up my sleeve to show the triangle-shaped mark on my left wrist.

Nyva’s eyes grow wide. “The mark of
De’Tsa
! You truly are the one!”

“The one?”

The Ama chatter amongst themselves, making dolphin-like cries. Drax rests his arms on mine. He has strapped his axe back into his belt, but his hand still hovers above it, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

“Very well, I will come straight to the point then, Isabella. Do you know the history of Vortex Station, and the Elohian people?”

“Partly,” I say. “Refresh my memory.”

“This station was built two millennia ago by our Emperor, the great Rayatol De’Tsa, Chief of All, Uniter of Tribes. He brought the different Elohian people together, Xythians, Prymetas, Terulians and Ama, and led us to prosperity.

“He built this station so that we could harness the power of the vortex itself. It should have brought us greatness, but instead, it brought us ruin. When he disappeared into the black hole, our empire crumbled. The Tribes turned on each other, and we’ve been divided ever since. However, not many people know that Rayatol didn’t die when he entered the black hole. No. He was transported across time and space.”

She points her long, scaly finger at me.

“To Earth.”

“What are you implying?” Drax growls. “That is impossible.”

“Not even the Zoran have unraveled all the universe’s mysteries,” Nyva says. “Who are you to say what is impossible?”

I’m trying to wrap my head around her words, but they’re still not making any sense to me.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, my dear human, that you are not as human as you think you are.”

What?

“Rayatol and his crew were stranded on an Earth that didn’t possess the technology to venture into the stars yet. Humans, however, do possess the extraordinary quality to mate with all different kinds of aliens,” she says, her eyes flashing at Drax for a second.

“So he produced offspring. And you, Isabella, are that offspring. Emperor Rayatol is your great-great-great-grandfather. And that mark on your arm proves it. Come here, and I’ll prove it to you.”

Slowly I step towards the fish-like woman, doubt filling me to my core. I can’t believe what she’s saying… but it would explain a lot.

“Show me your mark.”

I roll up my sleeve. The triangle is pulsing and burning hotly.

“Has anyone ever touched it?”

“Yes,” I answer. “It hurts.”

Nyva nods. “Seen any visions?”

Visions?

“N-no,” I answer.

“Very well,” Nyva says coolly. “Prepare yourself then.”

Nothing could have prepared me for what happens next. She places one of her bony fingers on the mark, and instantly my mind is flooded with images, sounds, tastes, smells. I’m transported across time and space itself, while I live an entire life in the blink of an eye. Slowly I manage to piece the confusing, overlapping images together – I’m seeing Nyva’s entire life play out before my very eyes!

Interspersed are images of what must be Rayatol De’Tsa. Brief glimpses, mere flashes, but he’s there. The Emperor.

I fall backwards, my head bursting with pain, and Drax catches me before I stumble to the floor.

“What did you do?” he growls.

“Nothing,” Nyva says. “I showed her the truth.”

“W-w-what was that?” I stammer as Drax helps to my feet. “I saw.. you.. and me… and a ship… and the vortex…”

Nyva’s cold eyes are smiling. “We did what our kind calls a mind-meld, and we two are the first in a thousand years to do so. Your mark gives you the power to see any Elohian’s lifespan. All they have to do is touch it. Though I have to warn you; you’re opening your own mind up to them as well.”

I’m having trouble wrapping my aching brain around this.
I have powers now?!

“You probably saw glimpses of my life… meanwhile, I saw the entire De’Tsa’s family legacy, as I’m sure, did you. This proves it. You’re De’Tsa’s heir.”

I feel like I’m having an aneurysm. I’m an alien? Or at least, partly?
How, what, why?!

“What does that… mean? And what happened to my parents?”

Nyva sits upright, at the tip of her throne. “It means you have the power to unite all the species – the tribes – once more. Some people don’t want that, and have been waging a secret war for centuries, as they try to eradicate Rayatol’s legacy from existence. Your parents fled Earth for your safety.”

Me? An Empress? What?

“Does that mean my parents are still alive?”

The Ama woman shakes her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

Just as quickly as my hopes went up, they come crashing down. My parents are gone. I’d always known at the back of my mind, but I held on to a sliver of hope, just… because I needed it. The thought of meeting them one day kept me going.

And now that sliver is gone.

Drax wraps his arm around my shoulder. “We’re not interested in your power games,” he says. “You just drew her here to help fight your wars for you?”

“You don’t understand,” Nyva says, her voice rising. “She can bring peace! She’s the rightful Empress! She must claim her place!”

“She doesn’t have to do a damn thing!”

Drax rises from his seat. The two Ama guards step forward, but Drax towers over them. He glares at the two, and they take a step back.

“We’re leaving,” my blue mate says, pulling me to my feet. “Come.”

“You can’t,” Nyva cries.

“Or what? You’ll kill your Empress? Let’s go.”

Drax lifts me up into his arms and carries me away, back through the underwater tunnel, down to the elevator, down the Station’s levels, all the way to Tsula’s home.

All the while, I don’t utter a single world.

My parents. They’re really gone.