Alien Warrior's Bounty Read online

  “Amber?”

  “I’ve just come up with my own version of the Turing Test,” she says. “It’s called the Momoa Test. Basically if a guy looks like Jason Momoa, talks like Jason Momoa, and smells like Jason Momoa, then guess what? He is Jason Momoa.”

  I boop a few more badges. Right at that moment, my nostrils are assailed by a particularly strong scent of young men with poor hygiene habits, and I wrinkle my nose.

  “Smells like him? Seriously, Amber?”

  “You’re right,” she says breathlessly. “I’d better go check.”

  “Um, that’s not what I said, but…”

  Just like that, Amber drops her scanner on the table beside her and marches away toward the object of her obsession at the back of the line. I call her name, but I know it’s hopeless when she gets like this. She’s practically in a trance.

  Great. That leaves me with two lines to manage.

  “Oh, come on,” I mutter.

  I should have known that getting Amber to volunteer as a convention worker wasn’t the greatest idea. She’s never been what you would call a workaholic, and her squirrel brain is easily distracted by whatever new shiny object might come strolling along, especially if that shiny object is shirtless and painted up like a dothraki warlord.

  It looks like I’ll have to cover for Amber until she gets back. I dart back and forth between the two check-in stations, scanning people’s badges as quickly as I can. The lines for the convention are already so long they go out the door of the lobby and continue down the sidewalk. Now, with only little old me to check everyone in, the crowd is getting increasingly restless.

  This will require drastic measures.

  I kick off my ridiculously high heels for better mobility, grab Amber’s scanner gun where she dropped it on the table, and dual-wielding like a badass from a John Woo movie, I start booping badges left and right. It’s faster, but it doesn’t take long before I’m breaking a sweat.

  “Amber, where the hell are you?” I mutter to myself through my plastered-on fake smile.

  I hop up on my tiptoes and scan the back of the lines for her Momoa lookalike, but there’s no sign of him or my friend.

  Knowing Amber, they are probably already back at his hotel room reenacting their characters’ wedding night.

  Thinking that they might have somehow snuck past me into the convention center, I swivel around on my heels to check behind me. There’s no Amber, but what I do see back there gets my attention.

  A row of about a half dozen random guys are standing behind me with their phones out, filming me. With my teensy outfit, the little dance I was doing bouncing back and forth between the lines must have given them quite a show. The only thing covering me beneath the long loincloth is a very skimpy pair of matching panties that I’m sure I was just flashing.

  “Seriously?” I shout.

  Busted, the guys all turn away, fumbling with their phones and trying to act like they weren’t sneaking shots of my booty just now.

  Yeah, Amber was right about the guys drooling all over me in this stupid costume. But who wants the attention of these sneaky little creeps? Is it too much to ask for a guy to come up and talk to me like a normal person? A little backbone is all I’m asking for here.

  Maybe I need to be more like Amber. When she sees what she wants, she’s not afraid to go get it. The problem is, I’m not seeing anything I want around here.

  I don’t want some sweaty boy who has to sneak around taking pictures behind a girl’s back. I want a guy who’s confident. A guy who’s dominant. A guy who can sweep me off my feet.

  Cliche? Whatever. It’s what I want.

  Good luck finding a guy like that on this planet, though.

  I’m about to unload a few choice words on the guys who were filming me with their phones, but I decide to let it go. Besides, I’ve got about two million fanboys to check in here, and I can hear them all getting restless.

  A commotion is developing at the back of the line, and at the center of it is a giant. Easily seven feet tall, he towers over everyone else, and I assume that he must be wearing some kind of jacked up boots or even stilts. However, as he roughly shoves his way through the crowd amid curses and complaints, I realize that is not the case.

  Setting his terrible line etiquette aside, I have to admit that this guy has one heck of a costume. I’m having trouble identifying what character he’s supposed to be, though.

  The skin of his shirtless torso and bare arms and legs is painted an interesting, deep teal color that is splotched with lighter green marks. My first thought is that his bulging muscles are some sort of body suit, but the way that they twitch and flex with his movements reveals that they are the real deal.

  As my eyes trail down his body, I notice this guy has really paid attention to detail with his costume. He doesn’t have a belly button showing between his carved abs, which is in keeping with the whole cold-blooded reptilian look he’s going for.

  Then there’s the way that the armored plates on his forearms and shoulders glint in the sunlight, making them look like real steel too. His lower body is covered only in a loincloth of leather and chain mail that leaves his powerful legs exposed. A short cape of coarse black material undulates behind him, and the heels of his heavy boots ring on the linoleum floor as he strides forward.

  Completing the costume is a chrome spear slung over one shoulder by a leather strap.

  Nobody is challenging him about breaking in line anymore. They are all moving back, out of his way, gazing up at his impressive helmet of brushed steel with its tinted visor that hides his features.

  It’s as if everyone is mesmerized by his imposing presence, myself included. I only snap out of my daze when I realize the giant is making a beeline straight for me.

  His boots scuff to a stop and he stares down at me facelessly.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I say in a quavering voice. “But I’ll need you to wait in the back of the…”

  He raises a massive gloved hand to silence me.

  The way that his helmet tilts forward and back up makes it clear that he is running his eyes down my body to the tips of my toes and back up again. On its return trip to my face, his gaze seems to catch on my breasts, and I hold back an instinct to cover myself with my arms.

  The big teal man speaks, and his voice seems to be modulated by his helmet, emerging as a strange, mechanical rasp.

  “Clare McNeill?”

  The lobby has grown so quiet now that everyone can hear the sound of my nervous gulp.

  CHAPTER 3: ROGAR

  The female is even more amazing than I expected. The pictures that Lorka provided failed to do her justice.

  The effect is only heightened by her garb, which is distractingly revealing. Her top is little more than a few coils of bronze and a strip of fabric that strains to conceal the swell of her ample breasts. Down below, a floor-length loincloth conceals her sex but leaves the sensuous curve of her bare hips and thighs exposed.

  My favorite part, however, is how that mane of honey-blond hair is pulled tight into a long braid that curves from the top of her head and drapes over one shoulder. I’d like nothing more than to wrap that golden rope around my knuckles to steer her head as I sink myself into that gorgeous mouth of hers.

  That little fantasy stirs my cock. Thankfully, my leather and mail constrain my arousal and remind me that I’m here for business, not pleasure.

  “Y-yes,” the female stammers, her rosy lips trembling deliciously. “I’m Clare McNeill. Is there something I can—hey!”

  Before she can finish, I have hoisted her up by her plump hips and tossed her over the steel pauldron of my right shoulder.

  Ordinarily, I would wait until later, after nightfall, and catch her when there are less prying eyes around. However, today it took me nearly three hours to track her scent signature from her tiny habitation unit to this sprawling public facility. I don’t intend to lose track of her now that I’ve found her.

  Besides, I have
reason to believe that I’m not the only hunter after this quarry.

  “Whoa, what the fuck?” the little Earthling shouts, swinging her legs and drumming her tiny fists against my back. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

  I expected her to resist, of course. They always do, no matter the species. I’ve never met a bounty that was willing to go quietly.

  In this case, however, I’m hardly worried about it. The female herself is no match for my strength, and the planetary defense forces of this primitive world appear to pose little threat. Police, they seem to be called. From what I’ve seen, they are armed with little more than rudimentary hand-held projectile weapons. They wouldn’t stand a chance against my firepower. Plus, I’m certain they won’t dare attack me directly as long as I have one of their species hostage.

  If all goes well, it won’t come to that.

  All I have to do now is get outside so I can beam up to my ship. After that, all that’s left is a long, boring trip back to the outer rim to claim my reward.

  My pulse quickens as I think about it. The reward that is waiting for me is so much more valuable than mere money.

  As the little half-naked female kicks and flails on my shoulder, I whirl around, and the onlooking humans take a step back with a collective gasp. Several of the males reach into their pockets, and in the blink of an eye, I have unslung my pulse spear from my other shoulder, ready to defend myself against an attack.

  But no attack comes. To my surprise, the humans are not drawing weapons. Instead, they all pull out little rectangular devices resembling small data slates. When I see the small circular lenses near the top of each device, I realize that they are cameras.

  They’re recording me and the female.

  Damn, Lorka wasn’t kidding when he said that Earthlings like to take pictures.

  “Cool costume, dude,” a scrawny adolescent male says, grinning beneath his wispy mustache. “What are you supposed to be?”

  “Costume?” I grunt. “Dude?”

  I tighten my grip on the half-naked female’s thighs as she tries to wriggle away from my shoulder.

  “What the hell?” she shouts at the onlookers. “This isn’t a show, you idiots! Somebody help me! I’m being abducted.”

  But nobody pays her words any heed. They all laugh and go right on recording us.

  I think I have some understanding of what is happening here.

  It seems that I have intruded into some sort of Earth festival—a religious celebration, perhaps. While most of the humans here are clad in typical Earthling garb, others are wearing more exotic costumes, probably representing deities or heroes from their primitive legends.

  The situation could work in my favor. With my face hidden inside my helmet, I can reasonably pass for a larger specimen of their race. Yes, the color and texture of my skin is different from theirs, but that could be accounted for by makeup.

  Better still, they don’t realize that I’m actually abducting the female. Apparently these fools think it’s all part of some elaborate drama.

  I decide to play along.

  “I’m a star warrior,” I answer the adolescent who queried me before. “Now get out of my way.”

  He shrugs as he steps aside. “Pretty realistic.”

  “Good acting too,” I hear someone else comment as the female becomes increasingly agitated on my shoulder.

  It’s time to get out of here while the ruse holds up.

  Shouldering my weapon again, I march across the massive antechamber, returning the way I came. The crowd separates before me like water around the prow of a ship as I carry the kicking, screaming female toward the glass entrance. All the while, the humans are recording with their strange little rectangular devices.

  As I stride forward through the sea of people, something unexpected happens. A sudden surge of emotion courses through my veins and raises my hackles. It takes me a moment to identify the unfamiliar feeling.

  Jealousy.

  I don’t want these young males taking pictures of my quarry, especially not in her rather compromising position with her half-exposed rear end bent over my shoulder.

  Before I even realize what I’m doing, my gauntleted hand has darted out to seize one of the camera devices, which I crush easily.

  The owner’s jaw drops open and his eyes go wide, his gaze bouncing between me and the ruined device. For a moment, he’s too astonished to speak, but then his face flushes with anger.

  “What the fuck?” he shouts. “You’re going to have to pay for that, asshole!”

  He turns to his companion, who, apparently undaunted, is continuing to record me with his own device.

  “Did you see what he did to my phone?” the first one sputters. “Did you get that on video?”

  “Oh I got it.”

  “You hear that? We’ve got you on camera, fucker. You’re gonna pay for that. You’re gonna…”

  The rest of his words are drowned out by the clamor of the crowd as I leave him behind and press toward the glass doorway that leads outside.

  I silently chastise myself for letting my emotions get the better of me back there. I have no reason to feel jealous about this little human female. She belongs to Lord Putrude now. I’m only the courier.

  Nevertheless, it would be nice not to have a hundred cameras recording this abduction. If these videos get too much attention, that could be very bad. Technically, I shouldn’t even be here. Earth is not one of the Reunited Worlds, which means I’m breaking galactic law by coming here.

  But I think I’m in the clear. These idiots still believe me to be one of their own species in a costume. As far as these humans are concerned, nothing truly extraordinary has happened here.

  It only takes one split second, however, for all that to change.

  Three bolts of sizzling purple energy burst through the glass facade that leads out to the street. The first two shots fly wide, but the third catches my steel pauldron and ricochets away, scorching a nearby wall. The shattered glass falls like sheets of rain, and between the tinkling shards I catch a glimpse of our attackers outside.

  There are at least three of them. A wink of sunlight reveals one of them to be a bounty droid. Fuck.

  I spin and duck behind a concrete column as another salvo of energy bolts rips my cape into tatters. One of the blasts hits a nearby human, vaporizing him in a puff of purple cinders.

  And just like that, everything erupts into pandemonium as screaming humans run every which way, trampling each other in their panic.

  See, now this is exactly the kind of disaster I wanted to avoid.

  I’m going to tear Lorka a new cloaca over this. I knew I should never have taken this job, big payoff or not. I knew that Putrude would hire multiple bounty hunters to retrieve his prize for him. Now these non-Guild assholes are trying to kill me and steal my quarry. Considering that their shit aim, however, it’s a good thing they didn’t accidentally shoot the bounty herself.

  I check in with the girl.

  “How are you doing? I ask. “Are you hurt?”

  She’s too busy hyperventilating to answer. Good. At least that means she’s still breathing. And I still have a chance to get my payday.

  I take a deep breath, block out the chaos of panicked humans swirling around me, and try to assess the situation.

  All I need is to get outside so I can beam up to my ship, which is cloaked and hovering above the planet’s stratosphere. As long as I have an unobstructed line between me and the ship, I’m good to go.

  One option would be to make a run for it, but the way those rogue bounty hunters are shooting makes it too dangerous. If they hit the girl, everything will be ruined.

  I look up at the glass ceiling arching above our heads. A couple of well-placed shots from my pulse spear would bring it crashing down, opening a path to my ship. But the lacerating shards of glass would be way too risky. Lord Putrude would probably be less interested in the girl if she was cut to ribbons.

  “We need to get to th
e roof,” I growl.

  Even though I’m abducting the girl, she seems to realize instinctively that I also want to protect her from these attackers. She extends her arm over my shoulder and points to the far wall and manages to choke out one breathless word.

  “Elevators.”

  Perfect.

  Arming myself with my pulse spear, I point the tip of the weapon through the shattered entrance and fling a few random blasts in the direction of our attackers. I don’t actually expect to hit them, but hopefully it will make them duck just long enough to buy us some time.

  Crouching low, I race across the lobby to the bank of elevators. With perfect timing, one of the elevators dings and the doors slide open. It is packed with about a dozen young Earthlings dressed in a motley array of colorful costumes. When they see the chaotic scene unfolding, their smiles are replaced by expressions of shock.

  “Out,” I snarl.

  The humans stare at me, their mouths hanging open dumbly.

  “Out, now!” My voice booms loud over the cacophony of panic behind me, and I fire an energy pulse into the wall to emphasize my point.

  The humans come tumbling out of the elevator, tripping over one another as they flee.

  Once the elevator is clear, I drop the female from my shoulder and shove her inside. I send two more blasts in the direction of our attackers, just to keep them at bay for a few more moments.

  “Close the doors,” I command.

  The girl is already ahead of me, repeatedly pressing a glowing button until the doors lazily slide closed. Right as they squeeze shut, I hear more screams from outside as another wave of blaster fire rakes the room.

  “Roof,” I grunt.

  The female shakes her head as she studies the array of buttons by the door. I would do it myself, but I don’t understand any of the Earth symbols with which they are marked. The translator built into my helm works for spoken language but not written.

  “This elevator doesn’t go to the roof,” she stammers, flapping her hands.