Wrax Read online

  Wrax

  Firosan Warriors

  Starr Huntress

  Thanika Hearth

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  An Alien Sci-Fi Romance

  Starr Huntress

  Thanika Hearth

  Copyright © 2017 Thanika Hearth

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The following contains adult themes. All characters are aged 18 or over.

  Chapter One

  Cara

  Ok, this is it.

  I am screwed. Royally screwed.

  I was up all night worrying about this stupid meeting and this stupid presentation and even though I’m pretty sure I know what I have to say, I can’t stop yawning enough to get my thoughts together. I think I got to sleep at five, and my alarm goes off just after six.

  My mom didn’t help; she called at ten at night last night to talk, for hours, about her and dad’s financial issues for this month. I don’t mind helping them out, but I wish she’d, you know, send a text instead or something. I’m sick of getting no sleep. It’s so emotionally draining to hear her complain for hours on end. I’ve never told her I won’t send her money, so I don’t think I deserve the hours of begging.

  I’m also fairly sure she used my last payment — that was meant to go straight on bills — for a brand new TV. I didn’t get mad, but I’m so tired and underprepared for this super-important meeting now that I’m starting to think I should have.

  Ugh. When was the last time mom called just to say hi? Just to tell me she was thinking about me? Missed me?

  I’m mad when I step to the front of the meeting room and stand in front of the projector with my hands on my hips. I’m wearing my killer presentation clothes. Tailored white blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt that clings to my waist. High heels, and a high bun. I’m all business right now. No nonsense.

  So why, while I talk about this case, are the partners snickering at me?

  Hardstark, Hardstark, Hardstark and Fitch. Four older men regard me with knowing smiles on their faces and four younger junior lawyers, like me, fully cover their mouths and giggle.

  The hell?

  I bring my hands to my face but I don’t stop speaking. Are there smudges? Pen? I look down to see if my buttons have popped open to reveal my conservative white bra, but no, it’s even less interesting than that.

  They are laughing because I have parked myself right in front of the projector’s rays, and my simple little presentation is glowing against my chest.

  ‘Projected Growth’ dances across my fairly ample bosom.

  When they all notice me notice it, their giggles become full-blown snorts and cackles. Hardstark Sr. makes a point to apologize to me and waves his hand dismissively. I can almost hear boys will be boys ring through the air.

  I cover my face briefly with my hands. I am so exhausted. I am emotionally and professionally — and for the moment, financially — drained.

  I chose to go to school not in Boston, where I wanted to — and where I got in, I might add — but nearby in our town’s community college. I wanted to take care of my sister who was having a difficult pregnancy. I wanted to be a shoulder to cry on because my mom finds everything overwhelming, especially after the Suhlik invasion (which admittedly was very stressful for her, caring for two young children and hiding from freaking alien deathlords). I wanted to stay close to Dan, my long-term boyfriend.

  So I went to the crappy local college and got a crappy second-rate law degree and after some incredible effort I walked into this second-rate law firm where I feel like I have to shout to be heard. And even then, if there are more important tits — er, I mean things — to be talked about, they still don’t notice me at all.

  And then my sister started badmouthing me for going to a crappy college; I heard her laughing with her friends on the phone while I made her soup and croutons from scratch, like goddamn Martha Stewart, to bring to her in bed. And then Dan’s protestations that I should go to Boston were finally explained to me when I found him in our bed with my best friend, in our crappy second-rate apartment.

  So I moved in with my mom, who decided that half my paycheck was almost enough to demand in rent from me. Dad’s gambling problem meant they couldn’t pay their mortgage without my help, so I felt terrible about thinking about leaving. It was a sickness, after all. He couldn’t control it. But mom? I think she just liked the extra five figures a year. Even a junior lawyer at a grotty firm in the middle of Nowhere, California makes a good wage.

  Which is why I was always too scared to pick up and leave, even though I have nothing really left for me here. A job I don’t like where no one respects me enough to listen to what I’m saying, parents who only ever speak to me to ask for money, a friend who would sleep with my live-in boyfriend, and a boyfriend who would sleep with my best friend. I have nothing.

  Sometimes the thought completely overwhelms me and I have to go to the bathroom by my desk for a moment and collect myself.

  I finish my presentation and stalk off while they clap and laugh. I don’t think it’s funny. I worked for hours on what I was going to say and I don’t think any of them listened to a single word.

  My hands go to my cell and I almost dial my ex-best friend’s number out of habit. But I can’t; I will never speak to her again. I don’t know if she and Dan are dating now, and I really don’t want to. Good luck to them, I suppose. He’s controlling and she gets very jealous. Maybe they’ll be perfect for each other. Maybe they’ll fix each other’s flaws and grow as people.

  I don’t fucking care.

  But I can’t really stop thinking about it.

  My phone is still in my hands. I look up at my pale face and run my fingers through my hair. It’s honey-colored and soft, and my favorite feature by far. I try to force a smile in the mirror but it looks insane. Slowly, I dial.

  “Hey Cara, honey,” my mom answers, sounding confused.

  “Hey mom,” I say.

  “Did you talk to your boss about that raise?” she asks.

  “Bosses. I have four,” I correct, for no real reason. “No, I didn’t. I’m just feeling really down about my life, I wanted to talk to someone about it.”

  “Aww, sweetheart,” she says, and I want to sink down onto the floor and just listen to her comfort me, like I’m a child again. “You should really talk to your boss about a raise. You’ve been working there a year, right? And if you just got a ten percent raise we could all go on a longer holiday this year.”

  I bite my tongue. She’s been talking about Hawaii for months. She bought me a guide book for Hawaii for my birthday and spent an hour gushing about all the resorts she has found that she would love to visit. She didn’t get me anything else.

  I would be able to afford a nice long holiday in Hawaii twice a year if I wasn’t paying her half of my paycheck just so they could keep their house, as well as let dad keep gambling as much as he wants.

  “Did you get dad to gamblers anonymous today?” I ask. The connection is clear as day in my head but I have confused her with the sudden change of topic.

  “No, he wasn’t feeling well,” she says. “And i
t’s hard on him, you know? To sit there and listen to all that damn moaning. And my toe’s been aching so I’m keeping my feet up.”

  I am suddenly filled with righteous indignation. I can hear the television in the background. She did injure her foot quite badly at some point during the Suhlik’s attack on Earth, but that was, what? Fifteen years ago? She’s been using it as an excuse not to do anything she doesn’t want to do for fifteen years.

  “You want me to ask for a raise so that I can send you on an expensive holiday, and you won’t even do the one thing to help you save money that I asked you to do? That you should be doing anyway for his health?”

  “Cara, don’t be so rude to me, I’m putting you up, aren’t I? We’re doing you a huge favor. Your father wanted to turn the spare bedroom into a woodworking room, you know that, but we’ve kept the bed in there just for you. You should watch how you speak to us.”

  I deflate, and switch off my phone. I have never hung up on my mother before and I don’t even want to know the kinds of things she’ll say to me when I stroll back home after my incredibly long workday.

  I’m so exhausted.

  Hardstark Jr. is walking past when I slope back to my desk.

  “Bad day?” he asks.

  I look up, shocked that he has even noticed me. “Yes,” I stammer.

  “When’s your birthday again, Cara?” he asks, looking down his nose at the mess on my desk and straightening up a stack of papers with his index finger.

  “October first, why?”

  “Mm. You should go and look at the big television. There was an announcement. You ran out and missed it, but I think they’ll replay it.” He clears his throat and averts his gaze.

  What is he talking about?

  I rub my arms as I step into the conference room, a different one to the one I just stood in, and I turn on the television. Every channel is the same, no matter where I flip to. It’s the end of an announcement in a cool female voice. I wait for it to start up again.

  “Repeat. The Mahdfel Lottery has been updated to include several new systems. If your birthday is shown on the screen, please report to your nearest DNA clinic for retesting. Repeat…”

  My jaw falls open. Random birthdays are up, bold, on the screen. Mine is there, right in the center. Retesting?

  I can’t believe it.

  I thought I was free and clear! I never wanted to be a baby machine for a race of grunting alien men. I didn’t want to leave Earth to have alien kids with a strange alien dude. When I went to the center six years ago they had DNA tested me to see if I was a match to any Mahdfel warrior who was of a child-bearing age, and I was a 96% match, but no higher.

  It’s against the law to send any Earth woman to bear a Mahdfel baby if the match is under 97.5%. It was a pretty close call but I escaped.

  I relax the muscles in my body as I think and continue to watch the screen.

  Escaped? I repeat the word to myself.

  To this life?

  My mouth has suddenly gone very dry. I pour myself a plastic cup full of water from the cooler and I drink it, quickly, and throw the cup away. The law states that I have to go to get tested when I am called, so there is no way I’m getting out of this, but I still feel like I need to collect my thoughts first.

  “I’m taking a half-day to get to the DNA clinic,” I say to one of the Hardstarks as I walk out, grabbing my jacket and purse on the way.

  “That’s fine,” he replies, without really looking at me. “Uh, good luck, Cara.”

  I give him my most brilliant smile. “Thanks!” I say. Does he mean good luck as in ‘bye’? Or does he mean good luck as in ‘come back’?

  It doesn’t matter.

  I get into my modest car and navigate through my pretty little hometown to the clinic like I am in a daze. I barely know that I am moving. I just didn’t expect this to happen. When I was told I was free and clear six years ago I thought I’d never have to think about aliens again.

  The Suhlik won’t attack again while the crazy warrior race, the Mahdfel, are on our side. Right? And they’ll stay our allies as long as we fulfill our contract and help them produce the next generation — as they can’t produce female young.

  I know people who know people who got teleported off to bear their children, but our debt to the aliens has never been in the forefront of my mind. My own DNA match was scarily high, but not high enough that Earth would allow me to go off and mate with one.

  If your DNA match is not high enough, I’ve heard that you could die trying to carry and birth a Mahdfel baby. Those guys are big, and they’re strong. I feel sorry for any human woman who has a high enough match that they are forced to go and start a new life on an alien battle cruiser or space station. I think that even if you have a 99% DNA match, there is still some small chance that you could die.

  My mouth is dry again and I have no water with me.

  My DNA was a really close match to someone out there, somewhere. Does that mean it’s pretty likely that it’ll be a close enough match to someone else, now that even more solar systems are in the mix?

  I crunch into the driveway and turn off my car. Two things strike me at that moment. First, that this could potentially be the last time I ever see this little blue vehicle.

  And second, that my car is the only thing I can think of that I’ll miss.

  Tears spring to my eyes but I brush them away. I am young. I really am. Twenty-four is very young to think that I have ruined my life!

  I realize, as I sit in my car and try to gather the courage to go in and get retested, that even if I am not selected to go up into space and become a baby carrier to fulfill an alien war pact … that I will definitely make some changes here on Earth.

  I will reapply for Harvard, dammit. I will get in — because I got in before — and I will pack up and move, but not before I tell off my parents for taking advantage of me and not making positive changes in their own lives.

  That sounds great. My heartbeat picks up at the thought of it.

  Swallowing, I unclip my seatbelt, step out of the car, and walk to the entrance of the DNA clinic. Fifteen years ago, before the Suhlik attack, I was only, what? Nine? I don’t remember when these buildings were anything else. I barely remember walking down the street and not seeing shiny new buildings mixed in with the old. I barely remember a time without Mahdfel influence.

  I don’t remember a time where the DNA Lottery wasn’t a thing, to be honest. It’s just always been a constant worry in the back of every woman’s mind. What if they lower their expectations? What if the law changes and all women have to go? Not just the single and unattached.

  I know several women who got married or pregnant just to avoid having to go up to the unknown, and I actually at one point pressured Dan to get married to me, I have to admit, but I am very glad that he dragged his feet about the whole thing.

  I’d rather be one of the so-called ‘DNA brides’ than see him again, that’s for sure.

  I write my details, including my damning birth date, on a form. That’s another thing I can be mad at my mom for, I think with a small smile as I take a seat in the waiting room. If I’d been born on a different date maybe they would have taken a couple more months to get to me. Maybe by then I’d have found Mr Right and we’d be married, and I’d be safe.

  It feels like I’m only just getting comfortable with a magazine on my lap, and looking around at the poor women with their hands in their laps sitting nearby, when a nurse comes out, looking tired and apologetic.

  “Cara Delaney,” she says.

  I set down the magazine and silently walk behind her through the door, down a white hallway, and into a small testing room.

  “How are you today, are you alright?” she asks pleasantly, and for a moment I feel like bursting into tears and telling her everything that’s wrong with me.

  “I’m fine, thank you. How are you?” I reply quietly.

  “Oh, you know,” she says with a small laugh. “Twelve hour shifts.�
�

  I know what working that long feels like, but I do wonder what a twelve hour shift in a DNA clinic looks like. I remember hearing that most of these nurses work in nearby hospitals too. I feel very sorry for her. This change-up must have ruined her week, at least. “What’s this new system, do you know?” I ask.

  “Oh,” she says, leaning back and clicking through some files on her computer. I wonder what kind of details they have on me and my DNA. “There are Mahdfel all over the universe. Not all of them signed up to get women from Earth initially. Some of these systems just lost some of their female species in a genocide.” She makes a ‘blergh’ face, and I can’t help but press my hand to my mouth. An entire species, gone, and here is an overtired Earth nurse reducing that fact to ‘blergh’. I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry. The whole situation is so surreal.

  “The Suhlik?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I lower my eyes. I remember them. I remember the attack on Earth. I was terrified; a child. It’s thanks to the Mahdfel that humans weren’t wiped out of the universe entirely. I feel a bit less annoyed that I have to be here.

  But it still sucks.

  “Alright, you remember how it’s done? It shouldn’t hurt. Just a prick on this thumb.”

  I hold out my thumb and she clicks a needle into it, dabbing a drop of my blood for testing and inserting it into the state of the art machinery that I couldn’t even hope to begin to understand. I’ve always been hopeless with things like that. Math and spacial awareness and how electronics etc work. My strengths have always been in memorizing, writing and talking. I’ve got a huge amount of curiosity and interest in people, too. That’s why I wanted to become a lawyer, I think.

  “And the cheek.”

  She swabs the inside of my cheek while I press a cotton ball to my thumb, and pops that inside a different part of the machine.

  It chugs along — it must be old, after all — until it feeds its response back into the computer.