Our New World: Science Fiction Romance Read online

  The last remnants of sleep left her.

  "Back to the last entry," she said hoarsely. The system didn't register her sleep-thickened words properly. A series of alternate images scrolled past.

  "No, no. A minute ago. Wait—no—two minutes. Two minutes back. No, dammit! Not those! Skip the fasties."

  It took her far too long to find his entry again. But the moment the bioplay started, she lost all sense of impatience. She froze, staring. Listening to his voice more than his words. Watching him talk, his narrow lips opening to reveal sharp, pointed teeth.

  She watched it through three times. By then, she had learned all she could. The man was called Vector Ferhan. He was an armed Cogent, a protector of the city, originally from Resstessa.

  Lizard people, she remembered vaguely. Resstessians were supposed to be lizard people. They hailed from the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Very few of them lived on Jax-9. She'd never even met one. Never seen anything like a Resstessian at the nightclub. Never seen one on any public visplay.

  This man didn't look like a lizard. He looked like...like...

  She shivered. She didn't know what he looked like. She just knew the effect his strange turquoise eyes had on her. It was half-seductive, half-bewitching. And there was a problem.

  He'd narrated his bioplay tersely, in a deep rumble and a tone of voice that registered in her brain as deliberate and somewhat grim.

  He'd said he wanted to meet a woman. A woman who was strong. Who was independent. Who had an open mind. Who might consider a committed relationship, under the right circumstances.

  Check. Check. Check. As for commitment, she appreciated his caution. Check.

  And then he'd added, almost as an afterthought, "And you are Resstessian. No negotiations. Only Resstessians."

  Check—oh. Uncheck.

  Which was her problem.

  ***

  Larissa folded her arms across the chest of her gold-studded bodysuit. She stood alone under a lamp, the light reflecting off her black hair, which she'd had tied into two six-stranded braids, each one wrapped around each arm, winding around her back, and tied together in a formal knot between her shoulder blades. It had been a long time since she'd troubled to visit a salon for one man's benefit. But it was important to her that she look good tonight.

  She looked around nervously. The night was lit up by the metallic formal suits of the guests flashing in and out of the bejeweled building on airskayts. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. It was later than her usual dinner hour, and she was a regular at The Aluminum, so she knew exactly which gourmet delicacies she could choose from. Where was he?

  She was proud of herself. She'd actually done it. Contacted the man. The Resstessian. The lizard man. Vector. Contacted him from out of the blue, which wasn't easy. Nor had it been easy to convince him to meet her. She suspected there was a good chance he wouldn't even show up.

  But she'd done it. Last night, on impulse, she'd sent a visplay, an awkward head-shot because she was naked, with her stammering, "Hello. Happy to meet you. I wondered if you might want to go for a meal. Here's, um, my bio."

  He'd responded to her visplay with a vocplay. Even though she couldn't see him as he could see her, she could hear that same ripply, rivery voice that did things to her.

  He said one word. "No."

  Before she could rethink it, she'd sent a reply without reviewing it. "Look, I know you're only interested in Resstessians. Obviously I'm not one. But I mean, are you finding lots of Resstessian women on Jax-9? Honestly, I've never even met one, male or female, ever, anywhere. You guys must be a bunch of recluses. Why not try me? I know a little place called The Mudpile. It has great sandwiches."

  She'd waited. And waited. Finally, she heard back. "Your bio has you as Larissa Kuttivadapas. Of the governing Kuttivadapas. You operate the Wytrium. We'll meet at The Aluminum. Tomorrow. Ten. I'll reserve."

  She'd responded, "Okay," with a dazed-sounding voc. And that dazed feeling hadn't gone away. She'd barely slept a wink all night. It was a night of tossing and turning, moving her hands all over her naked body with feverish pressure, seeing those slitted eyes looking down at her. She hardly noticed when her hands went to burrow between her legs, and she found no relief when her hips jerked and the convulsions washed through her. Always those eyes...

  "Larissa."

  Larissa jumped, brought back to the present. The voice came from behind. She knew that voice. She turned. Gasped. It was rude, but she couldn't help it.

  It was him. He was standing a few steps down, but he was still taller than her. Very lean. Long. Too long. She knew it was him. Knew it. And eyes—his eyes—

  Were human.

  Normal brown eyes. Normal skin. Everything human. Nothing lizard-like.

  Frowning, she looked behind him, looking for the real Vector. When nobody else appeared, she looked back, then realized and blurted, "You're using a flajec skin to camouflage yourself!"

  His eyes narrowed and surveyed her. Not lingering anywhere, but slowly taking in everything. The obviously expensive bodysuit. The hair. The jewelry. The hips. The breasts. The mouth. She felt each new spot his gaze hit as though he'd reached out and stroked it.

  His eyes might not look blue and slitted right now, not with the flajec operating. But the intensity of that look was definitely alien. She wasn't sure if he wanted to fuck her...or eat her. Or both. Her stomach turned with a flip of fear.

  "You know about flajecs?" he asked, and the intensity in his eyes faded just a bit.

  It was as though he had released her. She inhaled. Nodded on the exhale. "I know they started importing them here a few years ago."

  She could hardly run the Wytrium without knowing that many aliens used the flajec device for camouflage. When wearing flaj, the user could assume the guise of almost any species known in the system. After the Anti-Mixers had organized on Jax-9, the use of flajecs had boomed. With the threat of violent action bubbling in the darker parts of the city, being able to disguise yourself as human was becoming a survival necessity. But why would he wear the flajec here?

  "Let's go in."

  He took her hand in his. She looked down at their hands, then felt the jolt and quickly kicked on her airskayt, and they were flying. He led her to one of the higher suites, where the wind almost tore her hair out of its elaborate arrangement. The room wasn’t too crowded when they landed, and the muters were on, masking the ambient noise and making it seem as though they were truly alone. They were led to their table immediately.

  Rather than sitting down, he paused behind her. There was a soft pressure on the back of her hair, and she went still.

  "Messy," he said laconically. She felt a tugging. Then her hair came out of its expensive knot and spilled down in its two braids. He tapped them, swung them a few times, then let go and went around the table and sat down.

  He began to voc his order. She heard him pay, too.

  She stared at him as if he were...Well, he is an alien.

  "Um." She cleared her throat, then vocced and funded her own order. Never looking away from him, she used her hand to fan herself. She didn't remember The Aluminum being so hot. They needed to fix their temperature system.

  She finally found her voice. "So...you're a Cogent. Is that right?" Like I could forget that he makes his living risking his life for the safety of regular civics.

  "Yes."

  "Your name is Vector."

  "And yours is Larissa."

  The way his voice hissed her name with that odd sibilance hypnotized her for a moment. She struggled to gather her thoughts. "And...and...you...moved to Jax-9...when again?"

  "A few years back. How many more questions are you going to ask, to which you already know the answer?"

  His sarcasm infuriated her for a moment. Then she burst out laughing. "Sorry. I've never used The Gallery before to meet anyone. And I've never actually...I mean, I've met hundreds of aliens...thousands...I mean...some of my best friends are...." Oh, this was bad. She was no gau
che girl who bumbled at an awkward situation. Since birth, she'd hobnobbed with the most elite and powerful people in the world. What was wrong with her?

  But she knew. What's wrong is you're feeling like this man has somehow reached across and slithered his hand up your thigh and pressed his palm to your sex. She felt that tight, that wet and hot and achy.

  She stared at his hands resting casually on the tabletop. Looked up into his eyes. The lighting was dim, but not so bad she wasn't hooked again by their intensity.

  "Let's eat first," he said. "You look hungry."

  You've got that right. "Ravenous."

  "Yeah, me, too. Been a long day. Long week."

  "At work, you mean?"

  "No. It's my leave. I have another week home, and then I'm on mission again."

  "Mission? You mean you work off-planet?"

  He made a dismissive movement. "All over the galaxy. Six months at a time. Two weeks back for leave. Too much stuff to take care of while I'm here."

  "Sounds exhausting. I guess I can't ask what it is you do, exactly, during those six months away?"

  He flashed her a tight look that barely passed for a smile and didn't answer.

  So I guess that means no.

  The smile did seem bizarre, as though he wasn't used to moving his face that way. His face was human, his features arranged in handsome perfection. Very natural looking. The illusion was excellent. Even when he'd touched her with his hand, there had been nothing unusual about the feel of his skin.

  But it was all wrong to her. Never for one moment could she forget who—or what—he really was.

  It was annoying. She didn't want to think about his alienness. It shouldn't matter to her. But it did. She just knew she'd be able to forget the whole matter if only he looked like himself. Looked like he should.

  As expected, the food was delicious. She could tell from the way he scarfed it down that he didn't eat here often. And why should he? His pay would hardly allow it. Many people never patronized The Aluminum in their entire lives.

  They didn't talk much during the meal. Afterward, he didn't seem inclined to linger and she wasn't, either. They airskayted out and landed not far from where they'd met outside the restaurant.

  They faced each other. The night air was warm and the flight down had sent her braids flying all around. She straightened them out and took a deep breath. This time, he stood level with her, and he was far too tall for a real human. The flajec hadn't altered his height, it seemed.

  He spoke first. "I'm going to kiss you. Thought you should know."

  She jerked back in instinctive recoil. His eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?"

  She spoke without thinking. "You're flajed. You look like a human. You..."

  "Go on." His voice was flat, almost deadly.

  "I don't want you to touch me like that. Sorry. I don't know how to..."

  She couldn't finish what she really wanted to say. ...How to say that my nipples are so tight they're aching, and I don't want your soft human fingers pinching them, I want your hand, your real hand, and your real mouth—whatever it's like. What is it like? Who are you, really, Vector Ferhan?

  This time he was the one to flinch. "Right. No kiss. Got it."

  And without another word, he was gone.

  ***

  Once back at her penthouse, she began pacing as she tore off her clothes—still so damn hot—while her rational mind began to work again. His abrupt exit had shocked her, but when she mentally replayed their exchange, she winced as she realized exactly what he must have thought.

  Hastily, she sent him a vocplay.

  "Look, I didn't think about what I was saying. I didn't mean to imply I didn't want you to kiss me. I did. I do."

  No response. She tried again.

  "Vector, here's the thing. Your flaj confused me. I couldn't forget it was working all evening. Why did you use it, anyway? Nobody's going to kick you out of The Aluminum for being an alien. Well, not if you're with me, anyway. Dammit. I guess that's not what you want to hear. Surely you understand. It's your flaj that bothered me. Not you."

  Nothing. She waited a bit longer. Nothing.

  "Vector, stop being such a...a stubborn Resstessian. If you don't—"

  "Larissa."

  She turned quickly. No visplay, though, where she could see him. Just an audio voc, but at least it was a live one. The important thing was, he'd responded.

  "Live," she commanded the system, changing modes herself.

  "I didn't use the flajec because of the restaurant," he stated. "I used it for you."

  Her jaw dropped. "Me? But why? I've seen you. I watched your bioplay. It's vis, you know. I know that you're...you're green. And all that."

  "No. You do not know. You said it yourself. You've never met a Resstessian."

  "Oh." She didn't know what to say, except what was in her heart. He's here for one more week and then he's gone. She acted instinctively then. Both hands went to her breasts to squeeze their naked fullness. She wished desperately he were the one doing it. Her nipples felt hard and long against her palms and she pressed so firmly it almost hurt. "Well, I don't care," she said.

  The delay was long, but somehow this time she didn't get the sense he'd gone.

  His voc came in a soft rumble. "You want to meet again?"

  Her pulse went mad. Yes. Right this instant. I want you to airskayt here now and...and...I can't even say what I want you to do because I have no idea what you are, what you're like. But I want it inside me. Whatever you have. Her sex pulsed in twitches that made her frantic. She released her breasts, clutched her waist and squirmed.

  "Yes." She took a deep breath, looked up to try to clear her airway. "I don't know my schedule for tomorrow. I have a few things I need to do in the morning, but my afternoon is free. Should I voc you again?"

  "Again? That would be difficult."

  Her heart fell. "Why?"

  "Because," he drawled, "you didn't voc me this time."

  "I didn't?" She didn't understand. They were voccing right now. What did he mean, she hadn't vocced him?

  "No, Larissa. You vissed."

  ***

  By the next morning, Larissa had still not gotten over the excruciating embarrassment of last night. Every few minutes, she wondered anew what he must have thought when he'd received the visplays from her—the visplays she'd thought were simple audio vocplay messages but that had in truth captured all her visuals. Visuals of her pleading with him while pacing her penthouse, stark naked. And this time she hadn't set it to a headshot first.

  It seemed she'd been more frazzled than she realized.

  Frantically, she checked her settings and confirmed her worst fears; they were set to default to full body. She replayed the vis, then breathed a sigh of relief. For some reason, maybe her pacing or position, most of the stream was torso catches. A butt shot here or there. But at least he hadn't seen everything.

  But still. Not good. And the way she'd fondled herself. No wonder he'd been so quiet. What had he been thinking while her hands...? No. She had to stop this.

  Somehow, she focused on work. Eventually, sooner than was smart, she called it a day. And vocced him.

  This time she made sure.

  The amusement from last night was gone, however. He acted as though he'd forgotten the whole thing; his voice sounded low and tired. Almost distractedly, he agreed to her suggestion of a place to eat, and they set a time.

  Then she got to work.

  Her idea was crazy. But so was her idea to run a nightclub; so was asking a grumpy Resstessian out on a date in the first place. If she'd wanted to play things safe, she'd have picked the blond man with the nasal voice.

  She went to the nightclub to get what she needed, not enamored of the idea of hunting down a flajec all over town. It took just a few minutes to purchase one off of one of her patrons, though the alien woman did give her an odd look.

  She changed in the small suite she kept for herself for late nights. It took her longer t
han expected to find the instructions and apply the skin. But when it was on, she discovered the flajec was not uncomfortable—neither too tight nor too hot. It actually felt a bit loose. And breathing through it was just fine. She could see why these imports were so popular.

  She walked to the mirror, faced it—and blinked.

  The woman who stared back at her in the mirror was a stranger. Rather than a human with brown eyes, slightly dusky skin and long black hair, she saw a woman with cropped forest-green hair plastered slickly to her head and skin the color of a leafpearl.

  So this is what a Resstessian woman looks like.

  Larissa's hand went to her face, but she felt only warm human skin. The mirror belied that—it showed small, shimmering green scales everywhere her skin should be.

  "More like a fish than a lizard, really," she told her reflection. As she expected, her voice was her normal voice.

  Her face was not far different from her own, a bit more angular perhaps—except for her eyes. They were the same color she had seen on Vector's bioplay, rather round, a deep lake blue-green, with black vertical slits for pupils. The nose was slightly hooked. The mouth was a bit fuller—

  She turned away quickly. She did not want to see any more. The suit had worked, that was all she needed to know. If she saw too much now, before even seeing Vector's true self, she feared she would not go through with this. She'd never forgive herself if cowardice made her back out. Hurriedly, she got dressed and set off.

  The whole flajec thing had taken longer than she'd anticipated. She was late for her date with Vector. When she showed up at the Mudpile, nobody was waiting outside. She chewed her lower lip, then marched into the diner.

  It was a very different establishment from The Aluminum. Dingy lighting, grungy walls, a long, narrow floor-plan with booths on either side, and no maître d' to speak of made the place a mood piece. But Larissa knew all the wait staff and the cooks. They always greeted her with a shout and a wave.