Terran (Breeder) (2 page)

“What about a jackass?”

Urazi tapped and peered at his PCD. “A domesticated member of the equine family. Male.” He looked up. “I am not sure, Commander—” His beta exhaled. “But I suspect pig and jackass are derogatory terms.”

“That was my impression.” Marlix threw back his head and laughed.

Urazi stared in amazement. “You are not offended?”

He shook his head. “She is harmless. And she is as colorful in her speech as she is in her appearance.” He had expected to be disgusted by his interaction with a Terran, and a female no less, but found he’d enjoyed himself. He could not remember the last time anyone had amused him so.

The curtain was flung aside, and Tara marched out. She threw the roll of brown fabric at Urazi along with a length of dark gray. “Twenty-five gilia,” she demanded.

Urazi counted out the coin and handed it to her.

“Thank you for your purchase. Come again. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass,” she said, sounding not at all sincere in her gratitude, invitation, or expression of concern.

OF ALL THE nerve! Tara Diehl’s pulse thundered with anger, remnants of fear, and something else she refused to identify as the two males left. As they exited the shop, her assistant, Ramon Ortiz, swept in. He did a double take. Tara could see Ramon practically drool with appreciation.

“There goes a hunk of man flesh,” her clerk gushed after her unpleasant customers had disappeared into the crowd. “If I didn’t already have plans tonight, I’d call dibs on the sexy one.”

“The one in dark gray?” she asked. He might be Ramon’s type, but there was nothing about the Alpha’s tall, muscled body or chiseled facial features she found sexy.

Ramon shook his head. “No. The one in brown. With chin-length hair. The beta. The alpha scared the crap out of me.”

“That’s because he was Alpha,” Tara explained, adding the special inflection on the first letter to indicate he was one of the five ruling Commanders of the planet and not just an ordinary alpha male of status.

“No shit?” Ramon whispered.

“No shit,” she said. The Commander had worn the standard Parseon uniform in dark Alpha gray. The shirt cut diagonally across his beefy chest to bare the right side and display his nipple insignia. But even without the identifiers, there could be no doubt. Without their uniforms, one might have some trouble differentiating between alphas and betas, but an Alpha stood a head above them all. She’d recognized him for what he was the moment she’d spied him glowering outside her fabric store.

Don’t come in here. Don’t come in here
. She’d attempted to ward him off with a telepathic mantra. Spotting him in the aisle had been akin to discovering the bogeyman under the bed existed for real. She’d heard about the Alphas of Parseon, of course, but in the two years she’d been on the planet, while she’d met plenty of alphas, she’d never come face-to-face with any of the ruling Commanders. She’d never met a fiercer warrior in all her life, in all her travels, and at the age of twenty-nine, she’d hadn’t been born yesterday.

The Alpha’s shoulders had stretched a kilometer across. Power and strength bulged in his arms and tree-trunk-like thighs. She’d had to crane her neck to meet his golden gaze. He’d commented on her coloring, but she’d never seen his shade of amber anywhere else. The eyes of a predator, she’d thought.

The males in this part of the universe held some backward beliefs about women, and she’d accepted her responsibility to educate them by word and deed. So she had to set an example to demonstrate what women were made of.

Rendered animal byproducts.

Gelatin.

Her legs still trembled from the effects of his presence. It had taken every milliliter of courage she possessed not to cower in his presence, to face him as an equal. The arrogance with which he’d looked down his haughty but perfect nose had helped her ignore how intimidated she’d felt. In retrospect, she realized she’d acted a tad rudely—would never have treated another customer in such a discourteous manner. But he’d set her teeth on edge when he’d chased off her customers and addressed her as if speaking to her was beneath him. He acted like he ruled the entire planet and not just one province!

“Which Alpha do you think he was?” Ramon asked.

“I know he wasn’t Commander Dak. Omra has shown me images of him.” Tara had become friends with Omra, Dak’s breeder, who was a frequent customer. The Market and its Terran Bazaar was located in Dak’s province, but due to its success, it drew people from the other provinces. But she’d never expected an
Alpha
to appear.

From the stockroom, she’d heard the rich, insulting rumble of his mirth. Parseons rarely smiled. Yet his handsome face had borne a smirk the entire time he’d been in her shop. And laughter? About as rare as a trey moon. Yet
she
had served as the object of his humor. The butt of some Alpha joke. Oh, a chance existed the Commander had been chuckling at something else, but she’d place the odds at 99 percent he’d been making fun of her.

Anger had shimmered, and she’d allowed him to leave without informing him the material could only be sewn with special alloy needles. Impenetrable to bullets, daggers, and projectiles, the composite cloth could not be pierced by ordinary sewing implements. The males would not be able to use the fabric they had bought.

In effect, she’d sold a ruling Alpha bum goods. And, still acting out of ire, she’d overcharged him.

But the arrogant, sexist ass had deserved it. From her briefings and personal research, Tara knew Protocol embodied laws, customs, and traditions—but not manners or chivalry. Those did not exist on the planet. She couldn’t believe the blatant way the Commander had checked her out. The man was an oaf. Her retaliation had been justified!

But what kind of example did you set?
For most Parseon citizens, the vendors were the first and only Terrans they would ever meet. Every shopkeeper served as an unofficial envoy of their planet. And until now, she’d considered herself honest.

“What did you get us for lunch?” She redirected her attention to dodge the arrows her conscience had begun to sling at her.

Ramon presented two elasticene carryout containers. “I don’t have a clue,” he said. “Some kind of alien food. But it smelled good.”

Tara twisted her mouth. “If it’s from the planet we’re on, it’s domestic. We’re the aliens.”

“Right,” he said. “I forget. I do like the food, although, to tell you the truth, sometimes I wish I had a hot dog or a ham sandwich.”

“I understand,” she said. Ramon was still getting used to Parseon. He had been with her for only three months, while she had arrived two years ago as one of the original vendors in the Terran Bazaar portion of the Market. She’d handled operations the first year by herself, but as the popularity of Terran wares had grown, so had her business, and she’d hired an assistant. The first one, a woman, had quit after six months, unable to handle the culture. It had taken several months more until she found Ramon.

Not everyone adjusted to the strange and severe customs the way she had. But unlike her, they had not been driven away from Terra, and most still had close family there. With only distant relatives, she’d been on her own since adolescence and had learned to rely on herself. As a result, she’d become strong, tough, and capable. Look at what she’d accomplished. Of the hundreds of vendors, she was one of only a handful of women who’d come to Parseon alone. The others had arrived with husbands or partners. If going solo sometimes overwhelmed her, well then, she sucked up her fear and carried on. Life was what it was.

Provided her business continued to thrive, she could envision remaining on Parseon indefinitely. Which constituted another reason why she should have treated the Alpha better. Here for the long haul, she needed to forge friendships, not create enemies. He had acted like a jerk, but she’d behaved no better. One did not treat customers that way. Or world leaders. She cringed in remembrance.

“Go ahead and have your lunch,” she urged. “I need to go out. I’ll eat when I get back.” She grabbed several packets of the necessary needles and three sets of alloy scissors and shoved them into a bag.

Ramon looked at her. “What are you doing? You’re not going outside?”

“I need to catch the…uh…Commander. He…uh…forgot some of his stuff.”

“You’d better call for an escort.”

“No time.” She shook her head. “I must catch him quick. If he’s still inside the Bazaar, I won’t need an escort anyway.” It insulted her capabilities and offended her notions of fairness and equality that the treaty required a woman to take a man with her if she left the Bazaar premises. The escort walked her to and from expatriate t housing. To and from the Market. To and from everywhere. Male vendors had no such babysitters. They came and went as they pleased.

Ramon set the food on the counter. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” She waved him off with a frown. “Eat your lunch. You need to stay in case we have any customers.” Although considering what she’d charged the Commander for the fabric, they’d had a record-setting sales day. “I won’t go outside.”
Unless I have to
.

Ramon’s forehead crinkled with doubt, but before he could voice further protest, Tara dashed from the shop. She zigzagged through the crowded Bazaar. When she walked among Parseons, she never failed to be awed by the size of the people. It seemed as if the entire planet was populated by basketball players. And the Alpha had towered above everyone else.

Tara entered the main corridor and checked left and right but did not see the Commander. She nibbled on a fingernail and considered her next move. Had Alpha left the Bazaar, or was he still inside shopping? If she searched the entire mall-sized tent and he had departed, she’d never catch him in time.

She could have couriered the items if she’d paid attention to his nipple insignia to determine which province he commanded. She knew he did not rule the fifth one where the Bazaar was located, but that left four others. If she guessed, she had a twenty-five percent chance of getting it right.

Without the needles, when he tried to have uniforms tailored, he would assume she had sold a defective product. As a rule, penalties for breaking laws were harsh—but to cheat an Alpha? Tara shuddered to contemplate the consequences. Not to mention news would spread, her reputation would plummet, and business would fail.

A high price to pay for acting out of spite.

She would just step outside the Bazaar into the main Market. She wouldn’t go far. If she spotted him, she would hand him the needles and scissors and dash back in. No escort needed.

Chapter Two

Marlix pasted a scowl on his face and rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger to ward off any who might approach him as he and Urazi strolled through the Market. An unnecessary precaution, since most people went out of their way to avoid him. Fortuitous rumors of his ruthlessness had spread. Fear encouraged obedience and discouraged rebellion.

“Commerce thrives,” Urazi commented.

Marlix eyed the vendors hawking fish and mammal, edible plants, pottery, and metalware. Animals brayed, and live fowl cackled. Barkers cried, customers argued, and coins clanked. He could not deny the success of the Market and the enterprise with Terra. As a matter of principle, Marlix stayed away from the Market city to avoid adding to his rival’s coffers. So it had been many months since he’d visited, and his absence allowed him to note changes. A larger number of alphas and even some betas had strapped daggers to their thighs. Females scurried faster than usual.

Marlix inhaled. The scent of danger mixed with wood smoke. “But it is different.”

“Yes.” Urazi nodded.

“I warned Commander Dak of the imprudence of allowing the Enclave of deviants to exist. The pestilence has begun to spread beyond his territory.”

“You were wise in your predictions,” Urazi said.

Marlix glanced at the bolts of fabric his beta carried. “We must commission new uniforms immediately.”

“I will take care of it right away.”

“It does not take a seer to recognize that alphas taking females as betas will undermine social order. It makes no sense to arbitrarily award status to a gender that is so clearly inferior.” He shook his head in regret. “I did not act as I should have,” Marlix said, lowering his voice as he admitted to his trusted anointed beta what he could not reveal to anyone else. An Alpha could not display fault or weakness, lest he lose respect. “I should have neutralized Commander Dak and voted with the High Council to depose him when I had the chance.”

“Do not fault yourself,” Urazi said. “You faced a dilemma. If you had voted with Commanders Qalin and Tarbek to remove Dak from power, it might have jeopardized your command by setting a precarious precedent. What would prevent members of the High Council from manufacturing an excuse to impeach you and seize your province?”

“That was my reasoning.” However, justification didn’t make him feel better.

“I do not condone fratricide, but I cannot help but wonder if Commander Tarbek had succeeded in assassinating Dak, if that might have solved the problem,” Urazi postulated.

Marlix shook his head. “It would have exchanged one crisis for another. It is true that if Tarbek had eliminated Dak, the Enclave would have been razed, the deviants brought to justice, and the social unrest would have been avoided. However, Tarbek would still be alive and selling breeders to intergalactic slave traders, and soon all of Parseon would have faced a shortage of females and not just Artom, who inherited Tarbek’s province.” He sighed. “It takes females to produce alphas.” He glanced at Urazi. “And betas, of course.”

Neither said anything for a long moment, then Urazi said, “It has been a while since we have indulged.”

“It has.” Marlix stiffened and beat back a rush of self-disgust. Why had nature cursed him so? If only he and his beta had been able to… Unbidden, the vendoress came to mind. He’d experienced a disturbing lack of revulsion at her Terranness, her femaleness. Nay, the truth was worse. She’d caused his manhood to harden and distracted him from the shame that usually accompanied his lapses.