Chapter 17

AVA

~Seriously, Ava, what is wrong with you? Getting involved in some mother-effing alien rebel plot. What makes you think you’re cut out for this?~

My self-deprecation runs nonstop through my brain as I deliver drinks to tables of rowdy aliens with sweaty palms. My heart beats so fast it feels like a hummingbird flapping away in my chest.

It turns out my initial gut instinct when Hannah said she had to tell me something was right after all. They are leaving the planet. Only for a short time, for Taryk to renew her slave permit to verify she meets all the requirements to work in the markets.

Apparently, tonight’s Multic transfer is extremely important, which is the only reason she risked divulging it to me in the first place. She agreed to the mission before knowing they were leaving, and there was no one else to take over on such short notice.

So, here I am taking what was supposed to be her role, while she goes and deals with her alien red tape, bureaucracy bullshit that sprung up to interfere with her alien spy duties.

~Just take the chip when you get the signal,~ I tell myself, trying to drown out the nerves that threaten to overtake me. ~That’s it, that’s all you need to do.~

I’ve been playing waitress in the town’s bar for almost an hour now, disguised in an outfit that covers me from head to toe. A sheer panel over my face allows me to see where I’m walking, while still blocking out my human features. I’m also wearing a fake tail that just pokes out from below the hem of my ensemble for good measure.

It’s hot, the fabric heavy and thick. Underneath, I’m wearing my shortest and thinnest dress, more of a night shirt than an actual item of clothing, but Hannah had warned me to dress lightly under the disguise.

Apparently, humans are a lot more sensitive to temperature than many other species.

I shiver at the trickle of sweat making its way down my spine as I return to the bar from serving the latest table.

Thankfully, this is way easier than my last waitressing job back on Earth, since the customers enter their order on an electronic tablet at each table. It requires very little real interaction on my part as I simply drop off the requested drinks.

Hannah’s Multic contact is the bartender at this delightful establishment. As I approach to grab the tray he has set out for the next order, he eyes me meaningfully and taps the surface of the bar three times with one of his four hands.

~Oh, fuck. That’s the signal.~

Whoever this drink goes to will have the chip I’m supposed to retrieve.

I lift the tray with a single drink perched in the middle, and it shakes in my hands. Taking a deep breath to calm myself down, I head to the main seating area in the bar.

In the corner sits a lone alien with their back to the wall. As I get closer, I can tell that the alien is male. He hunches over the small table, his bald, gray-skinned head flaring out at the top into a flat fin that reminds me of a hammerhead shark.

As I set the drink down on the surface of the table, he keeps still, not even looking up at me. He just shifts his fin-shaped hand to reveal a small silver square of metal on the edge of the table. I set down the drink in front of the chip, sliding it off the end of the table and into my hand before whirling around and heading back to the bar.

I concentrate on keeping my steps slow, even though I want to hurry now that the job is done. I feel a rush of adrenaline, my grin hidden under the hood of my disguise as I deposit the empty tray on the bar. The bartender gives me a nod of dismissal as I slip behind the bar and into the back room where I put on the disguise earlier.

I quickly change back into my own clothes, making sure to hide the chip in the pocket of my leather pants, before I rush out the back door.

~I did it!~

I let out a breathy laugh as I stride down the alley and into the main street of the market.

My first rebel mission is a success, and now I just have to keep the chip safe until the next and final step, which will be delivering it to another Multic member in two days.

I duck into the back of Hannah’s tent, then exit out of the main entrance of her market stall to meet up with my escorts.

After weeks of our daily visits without me being attacked a single time, my guards have started to give me quite a bit of space during our outings. I think the three of us have reached an unspoken agreement that as soon as I get to Hannah’s they are safe to venture off and do their own things until my visit is over.

I know exactly where to find them, at the food stall that serves the deep-fried squirrel stick they seem to enjoy so much.

I have yet to try it.

We walk silently back to the house, and I give them a friendly wave, acting totally normal and not like a rebel spy in the slightest.

As I open the back door, Olean is drying a dish at the sink with his back to me. “Where were you today?” he asks me without turning around, and I freeze four steps into the kitchen.

“At the market, same as always,” I reply, trying not to fidget as he sets the dish on the counter and turns to face me. My fingers twitch, wanting to check if the chip is still in the bottom of my pocket. I clench them into a fist instead.

“Hmm,” he replies, seeming to stare right into my soul. “I was at the market earlier this morning, and Hannah and Taryk were not in residence.”

“I do things besides visit Hannah,” I reply defensively.

“All right then,” he says simply, turning back to the dishes.

I stare at his back stupidly for far too long before my feet finally decide to move again.

As soon as I’m in my room, I pull the chip from my pocket, searching frantically for a place to conceal it. I finally find a good-sized gap in the joints of the bed frame that I can slide the chip in and out of easily. Then I collapse backward on the floor and stare at the ceiling with a relieved huff.

All it took was one suspicious question from someone who I don’t even view as a threat to shake my resolve.

~If I plan to be a rebel, I really need to up my game. How will I survive under torture? ~

The stress is giving me heart palpitations.

I roll over and pull myself to my feet. I really need a drink, and I know just where to find one.

GENERAL KOZA

I enter through the front door, dropping my weapon harness on the side table. I release the leather tie securing the knot of my hair, running my claws through it haphazardly. I have been pushing myself harder and harder in the sparring ring, needing the bone-deep exhaustion it brings to satisfy other, deeper urges.

Ones involving the tempting human I cannot seem to get out of my mind.

I have a pile of paperwork in my office that needs addressing, my avoidance of the house and the tempting scent of Ava causing me to shirk my administrative duties.

As I cross the threshold into my office, the sight before me makes me freeze in astonishment. Ava is sprawled on her stomach on the floor in front of my desk. She pages through an open book of maps of the Coalition planets.

A bottle of Comine brew, identical to the one she rejected on the ship of the High Commander, is in her other hand. I watch as she takes a large swig directly from the bottle. I chuckle as her face scrunches up in disgust at the taste. She slams the bottle to the floor with a thunk, rolling on her back and squinting at me standing in the doorway.

“Have you developed a taste for the Comine brew after all, little one?”

“Oh, fuck no!” she replies, her excess amount of volume a good indication of her level of intoxication. “It’s just as horrible as I remember.”

I take two large strides over to her and reach down to pluck the bottle off the floor, holding it up to inspect the contents.

“Well, if you do not enjoy it by now after the amount you have consumed, you are certainly not meant to enjoy it,” I tell her with a chuckle, placing the bottle back on the shelf and replacing the stopper.

“I ENJOY the way it makes me feel, even if it tastes like a dumpster full of salsa,” she says, slurring the last word heavily. I watch her with a smirk as she rolls back over and flips through the maps, stopping on a page randomly and tracing the depiction of a river with her fingertip.

I move closer, leaning back on the edge of my desk and crossing my arms over my chest as I watch her.

“That is the Protom River, on the planet of Addund,” I inform her quietly.

She does not look up from the book as she keeps tracing the branches of the river, taking her time before speaking.

“I can’t read your books,” she says, almost sadly. “But I found these maps. I like maps. They remind me of my dad. We used to look at them together and plan these fantasy road trips.”

I wonder briefly what it must be like to have a familial connection that results in such fond memories.

“He must have worried when you were taken,” I say, still watching her from above.

“Oh, no, he died. He and my mom. An accident on one of those road trips. Two years ago.” She frowns up at me. “I mean, I guess two years. Who knows how long I was asleep.”

After a little shrug of her shoulders, she looks back down at the book. “I think that’s why I haven’t totally freaked out like I probably should have with all of this. There’s no one waiting for me back on Earth anyway.”

I feel a tightness in my chest as I look down at her, wanting nothing more than to gather her in my arms and chase her sadness away.

However, it is not meant to be. My life is dangerous, and the further I keep Ava from it, the better off she is.

So, instead of pulling her soft body against mine, I bend down and retrieve my book, snapping it shut so suddenly it causes her to sit up with a start.

I retreat behind my desk, replacing the book where it belongs on the shelf before taking a seat.

Ava looks up at me from the floor, a furrow between her brows, no doubt confused by my sudden change of mood.

“I have much work to do,” I tell her, more sharply than I intend. I make an effort to soften my voice. “And you should go to bed, little one.”

Her expression blanks out as she struggles to her feet, wobbling slightly as she faces me head on.

“Rightio,” she says, giving me a salute before turning to leave my office.

As soon as I hear her feet on the stairs, I bury my face in my hands, smothering my groan against my palms.

Pushing her away is the hardest thing I have ever endured.