laughter at the chocolate rim around the alien’s mouth. She wiped the mess away with her thumb.
Q remained secretly enthralled by the warmth of her brown eyes as she focused on cleaning him up, her taut breasts straining mercilessly against the cotton confines of her uniform.
“I think you got it,” he quipped, which threw Sia.
She masked her disappointment and grabbed his empty plate, stalking back through the swinging doors of the kitchen.
The moment was forgotten hours later when Sia clocked off work and she and Q spent the late afternoon catching a flick (a viewing of Last Action Hero with Arnold Schwarzenegger where Q spent all 130 minutes making fun of the Austrian’s accent) then walking around town together and eating corn dogs. They reached Q’s place close to 7 p.m., just as sunset approached. They were in the confines of the purple force field dismounting Q’s bike, laughing about one thing or another when the alien suddenly grew rigid.
“Dude, what’s wrong?” Sia laughed.
Q looked dead ahead of him. Sia followed his gaze and finally noticed a dark spot on the horizon that remained unflinching against the desert sun.
“It’s him,” said Q.
Quell’s jaw hardened when he spotted the Stratan standing a long way off. It was as if Crev had known where they’d be all along. He saw red when Crev sneered at him before disappearing.
Sia’s heart sunk into her stomach. “He found me.”
“I’ll go.”
Sia put a restraining hand on Q’s broad arm. “No, we’ll both go.”
Q didn’t want to agree, but he saw the determined look in her eyes and relented.
They left the dusty roads far behind and travelled over dunes that rose and fell like golden clouds, showering sand over Quell and Sia’s shoulders. Crev and Turk were waiting for them; Sia noticed they were wearing the same clothes she’d seem them in a few days ago—maybe they were the only clothes they owned?
“I see you’ve brought your pet, Ku’ait,” Crev smiled insolently.
Quell didn’t like the way the Stratan’s eyes flashed over Sia’s voluptuous form as he helped her off of the bike. He would’ve liked nothing better than to beat the smirk right off of his smug face. But he was honor-bound as a Ku’ait to see it through. Crev tried to catch Sia’s eye, as though he really cared about her opinion of him. But Sia refused to look at him, simply clinging tightly to Q’s hand.
Both parties still stood a good 300 feet apart. “Why aren’t we moving closer?”
“This is how the Ku’ait and the Stratans negotiate. It is a sign of disrespect and aggression to move closer,” Q answered. “My name is Quell Forx of the Ku’ait. What are your names, Stratans?” he boomed, startling Sia.
“I am Crev Mort of the Iltara Clan. This is Rah Turk.”
Sia found it faintly ironic that Q and Crev were talking to one another in such a formal and civilized manner, considering Quell had tossed Crev through a sixth floor window mere days before.
“Rah Turk, you are a Stratan Science Officer?” Q queried. Turk nodded.
“That makes sense, since he tried to probe the shit out of me…” Sia grumbled.
“Turk is a genetics specialist; we’ve been assigned to this area,” Crev supplied.
“What exactly is your mission, Mort? I doubt it’s to treat humans like cattle to use and exploit.”
“It’s not for you to decide which of my people’s customs are wrong or right, Ku’ait,” Crev snapped.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Stratan. As a Ku’ait, it is my duty to ensure that no harm comes to any species. If you persist, then you will have to answer to me.” Sia was impressed by the maturity with which Q spoke.
“You’re mistaken, Quell Forx, son of the great Protector, Plin Forx. I have no quarrel with you, nor with your people. We just want the girl.” Crev smiled sweetly.
“She will remain with us under Ku’ait protection until she chooses otherwise,” Q vowed.
The wind picked up,
Q remained secretly enthralled by the warmth of her brown eyes as she focused on cleaning him up, her taut breasts straining mercilessly against the cotton confines of her uniform.
“I think you got it,” he quipped, which threw Sia.
She masked her disappointment and grabbed his empty plate, stalking back through the swinging doors of the kitchen.
The moment was forgotten hours later when Sia clocked off work and she and Q spent the late afternoon catching a flick (a viewing of Last Action Hero with Arnold Schwarzenegger where Q spent all 130 minutes making fun of the Austrian’s accent) then walking around town together and eating corn dogs. They reached Q’s place close to 7 p.m., just as sunset approached. They were in the confines of the purple force field dismounting Q’s bike, laughing about one thing or another when the alien suddenly grew rigid.
“Dude, what’s wrong?” Sia laughed.
Q looked dead ahead of him. Sia followed his gaze and finally noticed a dark spot on the horizon that remained unflinching against the desert sun.
“It’s him,” said Q.
Quell’s jaw hardened when he spotted the Stratan standing a long way off. It was as if Crev had known where they’d be all along. He saw red when Crev sneered at him before disappearing.
Sia’s heart sunk into her stomach. “He found me.”
“I’ll go.”
Sia put a restraining hand on Q’s broad arm. “No, we’ll both go.”
Q didn’t want to agree, but he saw the determined look in her eyes and relented.
They left the dusty roads far behind and travelled over dunes that rose and fell like golden clouds, showering sand over Quell and Sia’s shoulders. Crev and Turk were waiting for them; Sia noticed they were wearing the same clothes she’d seem them in a few days ago—maybe they were the only clothes they owned?
“I see you’ve brought your pet, Ku’ait,” Crev smiled insolently.
Quell didn’t like the way the Stratan’s eyes flashed over Sia’s voluptuous form as he helped her off of the bike. He would’ve liked nothing better than to beat the smirk right off of his smug face. But he was honor-bound as a Ku’ait to see it through. Crev tried to catch Sia’s eye, as though he really cared about her opinion of him. But Sia refused to look at him, simply clinging tightly to Q’s hand.
Both parties still stood a good 300 feet apart. “Why aren’t we moving closer?”
“This is how the Ku’ait and the Stratans negotiate. It is a sign of disrespect and aggression to move closer,” Q answered. “My name is Quell Forx of the Ku’ait. What are your names, Stratans?” he boomed, startling Sia.
“I am Crev Mort of the Iltara Clan. This is Rah Turk.”
Sia found it faintly ironic that Q and Crev were talking to one another in such a formal and civilized manner, considering Quell had tossed Crev through a sixth floor window mere days before.
“Rah Turk, you are a Stratan Science Officer?” Q queried. Turk nodded.
“That makes sense, since he tried to probe the shit out of me…” Sia grumbled.
“Turk is a genetics specialist; we’ve been assigned to this area,” Crev supplied.
“What exactly is your mission, Mort? I doubt it’s to treat humans like cattle to use and exploit.”
“It’s not for you to decide which of my people’s customs are wrong or right, Ku’ait,” Crev snapped.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Stratan. As a Ku’ait, it is my duty to ensure that no harm comes to any species. If you persist, then you will have to answer to me.” Sia was impressed by the maturity with which Q spoke.
“You’re mistaken, Quell Forx, son of the great Protector, Plin Forx. I have no quarrel with you, nor with your people. We just want the girl.” Crev smiled sweetly.
“She will remain with us under Ku’ait protection until she chooses otherwise,” Q vowed.
The wind picked up,
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