Naima: A SciFi Alien Mail Order Bride Romance (TerraMates Book 7) (10 page)

Laz seemed unshaken by the unkempt appearance of the room. He dusted off a wooden chair and put his bag on it. I was wary of moving from my spot by the doorway. For the first time since my crash on the planet, I was grateful all my luggage had gotten lost.

"This is...rustic."

I didn't want to come off as whiny, but surely we could have afforded something better than this? My disappointment must have been visible on my face.

"This place is a piece of shit," said Laz bluntly. "We need to lay low and avoid detection from Synic and his troops."

"I guess you're right. We certainly don't want to be discovered," I agreed.

Laz took out a blue steel can he had purchased from a small corner shop. Popping off the lid, he pushed down on a nozzle and sprayed down every surface of the room. The crystal-white mist instantly cleared the stench from the air. Bubbles formed on the walls and floors, turning them a shade lighter. The room still looked old and grungy, but it was more livable than before.

Laz tossed me an extra can. I caught it and went to work on the second bed, located on the left of the nightstand. This room was the last twin suite in the building. I pinched the edges of the faded salmon covers and pulled them up to spray underneath.

"The rest of the brides...they're okay, aren't they?"

"As long as they're with my men, they are in good hands."

"I didn't mean anything by it," I assured him. Fluffing the sanitized pillow, I shuffled over to the next bed. I aimed the can at the filthy covers.

"I met a girl, Cheyenne, on the shuttle. I was wondering what happened to her."

When I looked carefully at the covers, I dropped my can and took a giant step back.

"Laz? Is this normal?"

I shook my head in disgust and denial. One hand flew to my mouth as the other began vigorously poking Laz's waist. My lips were still moving as I called out for Laz's attention, but sounds weren't making it out from my body.

"Can't you see I've got my hands full here? What now?"

Laz was shocked at the sight of the moving mattress, which seemed to be alive. The middle of the bed had a large hole in it. Within the crater was a swarming pit of tangled worms, maggots, and insects. The bundle of bugs looked like they were pulsing in the center of the bed. They were beating as one entity.

My voice finally came back to me. "What the fuck is that?!" I flung myself to the other side of the room and pressed myself flat against the wall. The room echoed with every single cuss word I knew. They were streaming nonstop out of my mouth.

As usual, Laz moved like lighting under pressure. He clenched his teeth and reached for the mattress, gently easing it onto the floor. The only way he could get that thing out of here was to drag it across the room. Otherwise, the slimy bottom of the mattress might break through and spill its contents.

I sprinted to the front door and held it open. Laz maneuvered the mattress past me and out of the doorway. I closed one eye but left the other cracked open as he flipped the mattress over the edge of the sixth-floor railing. It plunged soundlessly to the ground underneath us.

"I'm pretty sure that's one of the most disgusting things I've ever seen in my life."

"If that's true, you've led a good life. That was only a mild infestation," said Laz. A small smile crept across his lips as he closed the door behind him. "There should be some running water in the bathroom if you want to take a shower. The water starts off brown, but it will clear up if you let it run for a minute."

"I'll take what I can get. No peeking."

Laz handed me a plastic bottle filled with soap.

"Thanks."

With my expectations at an all-time low after the mattress disaster, the bathroom wasn't as bad as I had imagined. As it turned out, there was no hot water, but the force of the shower head made up for it. I was just happy I could finally wash my bra and panties. After toweling myself dry and slipping back into my tattered dress, I returned to the bedroom.

"What are we doing next?"

I fell silent when I heard the deep, leveled breathing. Laz had laid out the spare covers on the floor at the foot of the bed and was sprawled on top of it, snoring. He had his back turned to me and was facing the door. It looked like he had fallen asleep as soon as I entered the shower. I could imagine why. He had slept less than seven hours in the last three days.

I tiptoed to the bed and pulled down the covers. An extra-silky sanitizing sheet protected my lumpy pillow and blanket. I peeked over at Laz's sleeping figure. His strong back wrinkled as he shifted his arm in his sleep.

Moving as lightly as I could, I removed the second sheet from under the covers, danced around Laz, and draped the sheet over his sleeping frame. After turning off the light, I crawled into bed quietly.

I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Laz and I were in a dusty old freight elevator with expanding gates made from aged reinforced steel. It was big enough to house two grand pianos with room to spare. The large elevator jumped once and started moving down. I reached for the safety handle dangling above me and held onto it tightly.

"Stay close to me and don't say a word. The Xylo here will keep to themselves as long as we stay out of their way. And whatever you do, don't make eye contact with anyone."

Laz tugged on the hood of his cloak and motioned for me to adjust mine as well.

"Yes commander," I said, humoring him. I released the handle and started tucking loose strands of hair inside my hood. "What is this place, anyway?"

"I'd advise you to hold on to something."

I took his advice to heart the moment the elevator started moving
sideways
. The free-moving room careened to my left. I wasn't expecting the shift, and I flew into Laz, who grabbed me by one arm and helped me stay on my feet. I noticed there was nothing but jet-black shadows beyond the latticed gaps in the gate. The smell of sulfur mixed with gasoline permeated the musty underground atmosphere.

The elevator came to an abrupt halt less than a minute later. Laz reached for a bronze crank gleaming in the darkness and turned it counter-clockwise. The old gate slowly retracted.

"This is Bhima-Saraza," Laz said in a low voice. We stepped out of the elevator into a corridor lit with torches. "This underground marketplace is run by Xylo rebels. They're outcasts who regularly fight back against the tyrannical regime. Even though they are the enemies of our enemies, these folks are not our friends. We have to stay vigilant. Remember, at the end of the day, they are still Xylo."

"A marketplace? Sounds terrific. I'm going to need some clean clothes to wear," I piped up. The day was looking better already. My smile faded when I realized I didn't have any money. "Would you mind spotting me for now? I lost everything in the crash, and I'm not going to see any TerraMates money for a long time."

"Of course. I'll cover you." Laz cut through my babbling. He held a hand to his lips as we approached an entrance covered with a curtain. "But we can't stay here for long. I need to get parts for my communicator. Random raids by Xylo cops frequently occur in Bhima-Saraza. Make it quick."

Laz held open the curtain to let me through. I ducked under his arm and slipped through the gap. As soon as I got to the other side, I grabbed the edges of my hood in amazement.

It was not the typical open-air market I was used to back on Earth. The marketplace seemed to stretch on endlessly but I could see thick, windowless clay walls in the distance. Robust two-story clay storefronts stood along the sides of a maze of booths. It was like we had discovered a hidden underground city.

"Come on. This way," said Laz abruptly.

I always found it difficult to keep up with his long strides. As we cut our way through the aisles surrounding the stalls, my eyes looked around. I wanted to take in the fantastic scenery around me. There were Xylo men and women of all ages hustling around. Dark canopy roofs cast shadows over all the stalls despite the lack of direct sunlight.

In the booth on my right, a young Xylo man with an eye patch and blue, sinewy veins protruding out from the back of his head argued with a shopkeeper. He gesticulated with a brass trumpet and switchblade to emphasize his point. The shopkeeper, an elderly Xylo woman with a face full of tattoos, held her ground.

As we walked further along the aisle, I snuck a peek to my left. Several injured and maimed Xylo with stone-faced expressions lined up next to a booth. Behind the stall, a pair of spectacled aliens in frayed lab coats attended a patient. The ailing Xylo sat on a reclined chair. He growled and winced as the black-market doctors treated a glowing boil on his forehead with gleaming scalpels and other surgical tools. I didn't want to see an illegal operation. I turned away from the ghastly view.

Laz purchased three sets of silver and black jumpsuits and a pair of ugly black boots for me before we went on our way. He found a practically bottomless knapsack for me just like his satchel, but this one was brown suede. I gleefully packed my clothes into my new bag and swung it over my shoulder.

We reached the end of the aisle and made a turn at the end. Two Xylo children on hovering discs floated into our paths. I smiled as I went by two boys fencing with each other using painted branches. Their light and carefree laughter joined the noisy chatter of the marketplace.

The purity of their joy was refreshing. It was the first cheery sight I had seen since arriving on the planet.

I followed Laz into a rundown storefront. Not sure what to expect, I crinkled my nose and prepared myself for anything. I had to duck down under the broken signs blocking half of the doorway.

"All right, here we are. Try not to stare at anything."

"I won't." Even as the words left my mouth, I knew I was making a promise I couldn't keep. As soon as I entered the shop a vague sense of claustrophobia began to creep over me. The workshop-slash-junkyard seemed smaller than it looked from the outside because it was so cramped. The interior reminded me of an underground coal mine. I could hardly see the walls because messy mountains of machinery parts covered them. Loose pieces of equipment were stacked from floor to ceiling.

There were people in the workshop as well. Xylo staff hunched over their workstations. Some whacked away at their projects with hammers. Others leaned back from the dangerous sparks showering them from welding torches. A few peered through large magnifying lenses as they worked on miniature chips that were smaller than the tip of my pinkie. Though they appeared to be elderly, none of them looked like people you wanted hunting you.

"Do I smell a
human
?" a thunderous voice boomed from above. Startled, I jumped back and tilted my head, seeing a circular hatch in the ceiling. A long pole ran through the middle of the door, connecting the two floors.

"I'm sure I smell your blood. Who goes there?"

The workers lifted their heads and started snapping at us.

"It's me, Ryzz. Cut the crap and get your wrinkled old ass down here. I don't have another second to waste."

A rainbow blur came sliding down the pole. I blinked at the two-foot-tall Xylo, who came limping toward us with a cane. The eccentric alien looked far older than anyone in the room. I didn't know the typical Xylo life span, but if I had to guess, he looked like he had lived through a century or two. The alien wore thick goggles over his beady eyes and decorated himself with a flashy rainbow cloak adorned with bottle-cap medallions and metal trinkets.

"General Lazarus," Ryzz barked. There was a sharp tone in the deep voice that didn't seem to match his small stature. He peered up at Laz, curling his lip. "I see you still refuse to get a haircut. What brings you here, boy?"

"I need a spare Morse board for my communicator." Laz took out the device from his pocket. He handed it over to Ryzz, who leaned in for a closer look. "You got a one laying around?"

"Aye."

"How much do you want for it?"

"I suppose I can part with one for seven hundred fifty credits."

"Seven hundred fifty?" Laz repeated, snorting. He crossed his arms and spread his legs apart. "For that price, I hope it's dipped in gold. Why don't you hold a gun to my head while you're at it? I didn't realize you were a thief, old man."

"Where else are you going to find such a rare part? It seems you're on the clock, too." An oily smile spread across his thin white lips. "It's nothing personal. It's just business. I have to make a living too, you know."

When Ryzz's eyes settled on me, his smile broadened. "And who do we have here? You must be the human. You know, if you're looking for a discount, we could forget credits altogether. There are alternate forms of payment. Give me a few minutes with her in the back."

"Laz!" I cried out, slapping a hand over my mouth.

Before Ryzz could complete his thought, Laz had whipped out a gun. He jammed the end of the long barrel into the Xylo's lips and turned off the safety. Ryzz's expression stayed fixed on his face, but he raised his hands in surrender. The whole workshop was paying attention to our corner of the room. We watched as Laz leaned over to whisper in Ryzz's ear. His voice was quiet, but I knew everyone could hear each word he said.

"Stand the fuck down. If you so much as look at her again, I'll blow your brains out, no questions asked. I'll pay in credits."

Laz withdrew his weapon but left it out, positioned against his hip. Ryzz signaled to one of his workers and yelled out a complicated item code. The worker returned minutes later with a black microchip wrapped in transparent film and thrust it into Laz's hands.

"Let's make this quick, and then we never need to think about each other ever again."

As Ryzz was about to answer, a deafening crash outside the workshop entrance ripped through the chatter. I took a look out the window. A team of Xylo cops in black uniforms and badges stormed through a smoking hole they created in the wall. I wondered why doors existed on this planet. Shoppers and storekeepers dispersed in all directions, running away from the cops who were wielding batons and firing random gunshots into the air. Classy.