Alien Freak - Calista Skye Page 0,89
civilian, there’s no such thing. The Gurandu hunters are in violation of the hunting laws as enforced by the Star Marshals. This is why we were perhaps somewhat impatient with that Gurandu ship just now. They would be subject to arrest and trial. And, no doubt, conviction. In short, the Gurandu hunt for the Lancefers has been illegal for nine years. I just thought you wanted to know.”
I lightly punch Zaroc’s arm. “You’re off the hook!”
“If the Gurandu see it that way, which I can’t imagine,” he says. “But we’ll see. What about the much worse injustice of the Bululg selling humans like Averie?”
The Chief Justice clears her throat. “Unfortunately, Lady Averie, there is no change in the legal position of you versus the Bululg. They do have a claim on you. But the Star Marshals will not enforce that claim, though we recognize it. Now, then. There is the matter of us inadvertently damaging your ship last time we met.”
“You repaired it,” I point out. “It worked really well afterwards. Until… well. Until it didn’t.”
“Perhaps,” the Chief Superintendent concedes, “but the repairs were temporary. We have now brought you the replacement for your own ship. Please come with me.”
---
“Now, that’s more like it!” Zaroc exclaims when we’re shown our second new ship in less than an hour. “This must be brand new!”
It’s obviously a warship. Much bigger than Zaroc’s old ship, dull black and dangerous, bristling with weapons and guns and spears and serrated edges and spars and fins. It reminds me of those Apache helicopters that the US Army used to have, crossed with a battleship from the Navy and a drawer full of kitchen knives.
“The Fast Tactical Police Gunship Nine Hundred and Fifty Five,” the Chief Superintendent states. “Though I imagine you will probably want to change the name, now that it’s yours. Fresh from manufacture and testing. Eight beam lasers, eighteen plasma cannons, six missile pods, ten chainguns. And a few other things.”
I can’t hold back a laugh. “It’s a freaking tank!”
“This could take out a squadron of Bululg saucers,” Zaroc marvels. “Maybe even a Gurandu corvette.”
“We would be disappointed if it could not,” the Chief Superintendent says modestly.
I tap my lips. “Zaroc?”
“My love?”
“Now that we have a big, capable spaceship, and our enemies are gone from this solar system…”
“Ah! Of course. Yes, let’s get married right away. It’s safe to stay with the monks for a little longer now. Surely, they can wed us? And arrange a decent banquet?”
I laugh, really happy for the first time in I don’t know how long. “You read my mind, love! Surely, they can. In fact, I doubt even you could stop them. But first, Chief Superintendent, my fiance needs medical attention.”
- - -
After a few hours, the warrior monks have a whole wedding ritual ready, but there’s no white dress and only a small bouquet of very exotic red flowers that I suspect are meat-eating. That’s absolutely fine. I have the only thing I need: my amazing, red alien.
And a small and probably slightly crazy warrior abbot who officiates as if he’s never done anything else.
One of the fallen rocks from the tower is a very convincing altar to the War God that the monks worship, and I can live with that. My life has been pretty violent lately, and I’m not sure that’s going to change in a galaxy as wild as this. Might as well get a belligerent deity on my side.
“I do!” Zaroc says when the time comes, with no room for any hesitation or doubt, because he is who he is.
“I do,” I say, having never meant anything more in my life.
My husband kisses me, the monks cheer, and then I’m married.
The banquet is beyond opulent and lasts for several hours. The monks keep their vast stores of food underground, so none of that was affected by the tower collapsing.
The abbot offers to have the Bululg prisoners put in cages and made to watch me having a good time, but I politely decline. The fewer Bululg I see again, the better. And I’ve had far too much of them already today.
The day has long since become night when I suggest we break it up. “It’s been a very long day,” I explain to the astonished monks, who plainly have no intention of getting up from the table at any time before noon tomorrow. “And we don’t want to take up more of your hospitality.”
So we make our goodbyes again, this time to all the