Mated to the Zoran (Scifi Alien Romance) (Zoran's Chosen Book 1) Read online

  “Please, sir,” she pleads.

  “No! Stop those crocodile tears! You had your chance and you blew it!”

  I can’t sit by and let Kovachs chew her out like this. I focus on the ticking clock, my eyes narrowed as my abilities take over. The sounds around me fade away as I mentally infiltrate the system.

  I adjust the time clock above Kovach’s head — the arrow literally moving backwards — and change the check-in time on Nevaeh’s digital record.

  When I come back out of my trance, the sounds all around me return instantly, and blood rushes to my ears. The clients walking by, the ringing comms, Nevaeh’s sniffling and Kovach’s growling all hit me at once. I feel dizzy and disoriented, and grip my desk for support.

  “Sir,” I say when I’ve regained my composure. I nod at the clock above my manager’s scowling head. “Nevaeh’s actually five minutes early.”

  He looks up and his eyes bulge. “What?! How?!”

  “We all make mistakes,” I say as I vacate my booth. I quickly usher Nevaeh inside, motioning for her to take my place before he can focus his anger back on her.

  Kovach’s beady eyes turn to me. “You. Do you have anything to do with this?!”

  “How could I?” I say. “I’m not a wizard.”

  All around us my colleagues snicker. My manager looks around with a savage look in his eyes. He’s not used to getting the tables turned on him. “What are you looking at?! Back to work!” He storms off.

  I feel mighty pleased with myself as I clock out. Finally I managed to use my powers for good!

  And then, I see it.

  A hidden camera.

  Tucked away in the new ventilation monitor, distributed by SINTRA Corp.

  That name gives me the creeps. I don’t trust megacorps — unfortunately, I work for one, so I know exactly how they like to operate. And this hidden camera isn’t there for my benefit, that’s for sure. Plus, SINTRA is based on Earth, the original human planet, and the laws there can be a bit… lax.

  When you’ve got Zoran blood flowing through your veins, you simply don’t trust Earth-based megacorps…

  Chapter Two

  Theros

  Ah, New Exon! The fresh scent of Glorax needles and Niva bark. The grueling training, the endless Zoran Purist chestbeating…

  I can’t help but wonder as I look up at the clear blue skies of New Exon if I truly belong here. All my life I’ve had to fight for acceptance for having partial human heritage. No Zoran has been able to strike me down in the tournaments, so my partial blood isn’t brought up much. Not since I’ve started winning. I’ve carved my own path, and I’m not one to insult lightly.

  However, I can still feel their thoughts. Their doubts aren’t spoken, but I hear them all the same. The Thaboists, the Tha for short, they think I’m not fully one of them. Even though I can hand every one of them their colorful asses in battle, the Zoran Traditionalists still doubt my allegiance, my loyalty, my strength.

  Truth be told, I’m getting pretty tired off this sectioned-off side of New Exon. It’s home, and if I give into the growing wanderlust that’s taken hold of me, I know I will miss it dearly — even if I won’t miss most of the knuckleheads who take themselves and their Zoran heritage 100% too seriously.

  I’ve done my best to keep my head down and move up the ranks, but it’s beginning to wear on my nerves. I’ve got half a mind to break the Lovespore Filters and see to it that these boneheads feel something other than smug for once.

  One day out of the year (Mating Day, when the filters are turned off in accordance with the Sacred Order’s decree) isn’t enough for these thick skinned boneheads. They’ve become just as entitled as the human xenophobes who rejected us on Earth. I’ve heard the stories, and my opinion, the Tha are walking the wrong path. It’s all done to “restore the culture”, but every day my doubts grow deeper.

  Is this how Thabo truly wanted us to live? I’ve heard rumors that he too had a human female for a mate, but the commanders deny that vigorously.

  I push these thoughts away as I reach camp. Best not to have my mind filled with doubts when talking to Helios, my commander.

  “Theros, reporting for duty, sir,” I growl.

  To my surprise, my otherwise macho commander is unclogging his pores with an Ugar fruit mask while submerged in a mudtub. I keep a straight face and meet my superior’s eyes.

  “Will I be sent to Arcor with the next exploration ship?” I ask.

  I long to see the surface of our moon. That is where the Vinzonians or Vin live — our rival class, our polar opposites. We are warriors, they are merchants and diplomats. According to our priests (The Kazimir, or Kaz for short) we are both equally important, but as a Tha, you’re trained to despite the Vin, to hate them with every fiber of your being.

  How can I hate what I have not seen with my own two eyes?

  “No,” Helios answers. “No, I need you to fly a trade vessel to Corlis. Tonight.”

  “The tournament is tonight,” I answer, fighting back an angry growl. The tournaments are the only place where I can really let go of all my aggression. It’s where I excel. And now he’s even taking that away from me?!

  “We’re counting on you for this trade run, Theros.”

  I keep my anger in check, though just barely. “Who will fight in my place?”

  I know the answer before he even opens his mouth.

  “Auges.”

  The commander’s frail nephew, who has been juicing on Choog herbs to grow his muscles. His manhood will pay the price for it later…

  I push the anger away. I want to fight, to challenge my commander’s orders, but now is not the time. My position within the ranks as a partial blood is shaky at best.

  I have to bide my time, choose my moment. This is not it.

  “Very well, sir.” I answer through gritted teeth. “I will travel to Corlis tonight.”

  Chapter Three

  Anaya

  I’m being followed.

  The oafs that are doing it are being fairly obvious about it, too. Even if I didn’t have Zoran blood, I think I would have noticed them. They switch tracks when I switch tracks, and they even take a table when I slip into the Port Brewery for an unnecessary cup of java, conforming my sneaking suspicions. At this point I’m just dragging them along, choosing visible, public places to see how long they intend on trailing me.

  I’m not too worried about them, because my father raised me well. I know how to defend myself when push comes to shove. It would be nice if he was still around, but you can’t control how life goes. You’ve got to roll with the punches. About a decade ago my parents took up residence on an intergalactic explorer ship and were sent off into the unknown. It will be their last great adventure. I declined their invitation to join them because I want to stand on my own two feet, and I’ve been taking care of myself ever since.

  As I cross over the footbridge into the next sector of curiosity shops and breweries, I feel a woosh of energy surge through me. Just like the surge that caused the mishaps after the Rift appeared at the edge of the galaxy.

  Not now. Shit. Not now!

  All the neon signs my eyes land on brighten, and I feel an acute sense of oneness with the stations comms. I hold onto the bridge’s railing for support, my knees feeling weak, and the lights above me flicker wildly.

  From the corner of my eyes I see my pursuers gaining on me. Normally, I might be able to fend them off, but not when I’m out of sorts like this.

  I have no other choice.

  Instead of holding back, I focus on Mikael. I wouldn’t telepathically hack into him if I had any other choice, but right now, he’s the only one I can turn to. I’m inches away from losing control, and terrified of might happen.

  What if they attack me, and I fry the entire station’s circuits in self-defense? Or what if all the air-locks suddenly open? It’s all too unpredictable.

  A raucous crackling fills my ears, my vision blurring. The sound subdues as Mikael’s comm
port appears in front of me. I can sense he’s immediately aware of my presence.

  “What is it now?” he says, bemused. “Let me guess: you want to finish our game of Marbitian Checkers?”

  “I’m being followed.”

  Mikael sobers up immediately.

  “I was afraid this might happen. Where are you now?”

  I look around me. Those two guys are walking straight towards me, their faces showing no emotions.

  “Port Sector, 21st level, on a footbridge, across a HyperJava.”

  “I’m connecting to the station right now. Hold on.”

  My heart is racing, my palms growing sweatier by the second.

  “There, I see you. Go left, towards the elevator,” Mikael answers me.

  “That’s a VIP elevator.”

  “I know. Go!”

  I walk towards the elevator, trying to appear nonchalant, but I’m ready to break into a run if need be.

  “Are they still behind me?”

  “They are,” he answers grimly, “but they won’t catch you. Keep up this pace.”

  The glass door of the VIP elevator opens when I approach, and I hop in quickly. The doors slam shut and the elevator takes off right away, shooting up towards the Tier1 levels.

  I catch the scowling faces of the two grunts before I zip away, and my heart flutters with relief.

  “How’d you do that?” I ask. “Hack into the system like that?”

  “The Station’s AI owed me a favor,” he says, bemused. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

  When the doors open Mikael is waiting for me, as promised. I hug him tightly, thanking my lucky stars. If it weren’t for him…

  “Thank you,” I say. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

  “You can thank me when we get back to my quarters without those thugs catching up with us. Follow me.”

  The Tier1 promenade is bustling with activity. Mikael guides me towards a service exit discreetly. We barely seem to attract any attention from the Marbits glaring at one another over a game of Marbitian Poker (no alien in the universe is dumb enough to face a Marbit at the poker table, so they have to make do with each other), the Rathnid brothers trying to take each other’s heads off over the last menu item in a vending machine (the vending machine’s AI utterly failing to get a sentence in), or the glowing-eyed Vechin slurping nectar through a straw as they stroll through the promenade, sated and no longer a bother to anyone on Corlis.

  A few twists and turns later and I’m certain we’ve lost my pursuers. For now.

  The uneasy feeling in my gut tells me it won’t be the last I’ve seen of them…

  By the time we make it to Mikael’s quarters my heart rate has finally gone down. Still, I have no idea what might be waiting for me at home…

  “Welcome to my humble abode,” Mikael says with his characteristic charm. It’s a cramped space, but it’s cozy. His holo-plug has seen a lot of use, but I do the polite thing and pretend not to notice.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asks. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything fit for organics in my fridge, but I could go to the deli if you want.”

  “No, that’s fine,” I say. “Really. I’m just glad for your company.”

  We sit down and chat, but I can tell Mikael is more jittery than usual.

  “What’s up?” I ask. “Was it those guys?”

  “No,” he says. “It’s Shinji. I caught him red-handed, fusing cores with another AI.”

  “Oh no,” I say. “You poor thing!”

  “I’m fine,” he says. “Really.”

  Despite his posturing, I can tell the pressure on his circuits is immense. I try to lift his spirits the only way I know how — rounding up a few bowls of Synthcream from his fridge.

  “Who am I kidding,” Mikael laments. “I’m not fine. Not at all. Where will I ever find an AI with his wit, his beauty, his elegance?”

  I thrust the bowl into his hands.

  “Plenty of AI in the sea, like I said.”

  “How will I ever find someone, Anaya? How?”

  “I’m sure there’s a AI dating app?”

  “Well,” he sniffles, “There’s Techster.”

  “Let’s get you signed up then!”

  I make a profile on his comm, and half an hour later the matches from other high-end AIs come pouring in.

  “See,” I tell him. “What do you think?”

  “This isn’t going to help,” he says as he swipes through all of his matches. Despite what he’s saying, I can tell he’s less stressed already. I’m still worried though. When ServiceAI’s like Mikael get too jittery, they’ll be ‘reassigned’.

  That’s a fancy word for decommissioned.

  It’s a cruel and heartless thing to do to a being with such intelligence, memories and aspirations, but there aren’t any regulatory protections for AI. Yet. I hope that’ll change sooner rather than later, but I’m not holding my breath.

  Mikael makes us both a cup of Key’s & Bey’s Tea, and changes the subject away from his love life.

  “Who do you think was following you?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say truthfully.

  “You should contact Station Patrol,” he says.

  “Why? They’re next to useless.”

  “They could protect you.”

  “They could just as easily consider me a threat and lock me up. No thank you. I’m going home. I need a long, hot shower.”

  “What if it isn’t safe there? What if they know where you live?”

  A shiver runs down my spine. If I’m not safe in my own home, then I’m not safe anywhere.

  “It’s fine,” I say, doing my best to sound confident. “They were just some thugs who probably wanted to snatch my comm or something. It’s not like there’s an intergalactic conglomerate on my trail or anything.”

  Mikael begrudgingly relents, his eyes full of synthetic worry.

  “I’m ordering you a Frysk,” he says. “You’re not walking at home at this hour. Not with people trailing you.”

  “I can handle myself, Mikael. But thank you.”

  “Promise me you’ll hack me if they show up again. I don’t care what time it is — you contact me, all right? The moment you see them!”

  “I promise I’ll hack you if I need you, Mikael.”

  The AI frowns at me, his hands resting on his hips.

  “You’re a good friend,” I add, giving him a friendly peck on the cheek. “I’ll be alright. Promise.”

  Chapter Four

  Theros

  Any bonehead can man a Trade Vessel. This is not about me being needed for this run — it’s about me being replaced.

  I’m on the fast track to planet wide notoriety, and Helios doesn’t want to see that happen. A partial blood tournament champion? I’m a walking contradiction, diametrically opposed to all of their teachings. I’m a quarter human. According to Thaboist scripture, any full blood Zoran should be wiping the floor with me. Instead, I am undefeated.

  Helios would like to see his nephew take my place as champion. It’s nepotism, plain and simple, but my commander holds the power.

  For now.

  Disgusting as it is, I haven’t worked up enough influence amongst the higher-ups to overturn Helios’s decisions.

  Seeing as I cannot change it, I’m better off not losing any sleep over it either. I crack open a Nutrifix brew, my drink of choice. Chugging the nutrifier, I flick on the command buttons and the thruster engines of the Trade Vessel, and set a course for Corlis Station.

  I look out over New Exon through the panels of my ship, the ground getting smaller by the second. Feeling rebellious, I turn the on board radio to a human station.

  A talk show called the Daily Quasar is on. I mentally take cultural-humor notes as I listen to the program. The content and the colloquialisms being used puzzle me.

  These humans… they enjoy hearing themselves talk, don’t they? These Daily Quasar types, they seem to place their opinions above ha
rd data. A strange way to report the news, that is.

  An incoming call interrupts my listening experience. Jaka.

  “Speak, friend,” I say as I answer his message.

  “I can’t believe Helios!” Jaka says, his low growl so loud and vicious it sounds like he’s standing right next to me. “I’ll have his head for this! Sending you away on some errand the night of the tournament — has he lost it?!”

  “Calm down, friend,” I say.

  “How can you say that?! You could have made history tonight!”

  “I will make history some other night then. We haven’t quite run out of history yet, fortunately.”

  “I will take this to the head of the regiments!” he barks. “Half of the crowd will be there just to see you fight, and what now? Who will fight in your place?”

  “Auges.”

  “That twerp? He couldn’t fight his way through an Ugar if he needed to!”

  A thin smile forms on my lips. Jaka is an idealist. He feels every injustice should be met head on, confronted right away. Me? I’m a realist. I know how politics work in the Warrior Regiments. Partial bloods like me, we’re on the bottom ring.

  We have to fight twice as hard for half the opportunities. Calling Helios out won’t do me any good. In fact, it will most likely hamper my growth. I don’t have the influence or the favors to offer to those I need to petition. My gut tells me something large needs to happen first.

  The entire paradigm needs to be shifted before I, or anyone hoping for balance and fairness amongst the Thaboists, will have a leg to stand on in higher court.

  “Let it rest, Jaka,” I say. “Please. We will deal with Helios when we’re both in charge, yeah?”

  “All right, brother,” he relents. “I can’t take much more, though. This is not how things should be.”

  “Now that is one thing we can agree on. I will see you soon.”

  “Stay safe, brother.”

  The call ends. Instead of turning the talk-radio back on, I let a silence fill the ship. My vessel passes into the quiet stillness of non-commercialized space, and I recline in my seat and relax.