The Alien Warrior King's Accountant - Loki Renard Page 0,23

Well, I’ve ruined it now. It was sweet for a moment, but I’ve fucked it up. What’s wrong with me?

He laughs, breaking the tension. “Maybe it is. I do not like taxes, human. I do not like being beholden to the DICK. If it were up to me, I would wage the war of all wars upon them and destroy them forever. I may have taken some of that out on you. It is difficult to separate you from the job you are doing, in some way aiding the DICK’s agenda.”

I nod, understanding. I’m used to my clients sort of hating me. “I will get your documents in filing order, and then you can wage war after it’s filed. I want my boss to see I can handle this.”

“Ah yes, Mr. Rogers. He is quite a phenomenon. I have a great respect for him.”

I wish Tyrant had great respect for me too. If I can reduce his tax obligations sufficiently, he will owe me a debt that cannot be paid in cash. Or I can at least dream that he will. I know logically that Tyrant doesn’t consider me more than a sort of sentient tax tool. But I can dream.

“Eat,” he reminds me. “I brought you here to ensure that you nourish yourself appropriately for the ordeal ahead.”

“Sorry. I got distracted.”

I start eating, and within a few bites the full force of my hunger makes itself apparent to me. I am absolutely starving, ravenous in a way I rarely felt back on Earth. The food tastes good, but not quite how I expected it to taste. It’s more like what food might taste like if someone explained the concept of it to someone who didn’t eat. Sort of fleshy, flavor without depth, nutrition without satisfaction.

“You’re not eating,” I note. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I feast once a month,” he says. “When the hunger comes upon my kind, we consume for a full day and a full night. Then we eat no more until the rising of the following cycle, determined by the moon on our planet of origin.”

“Oh.”

“But you do not have those energy reserves,” he comments.

My energy reserves, as he calls them, are replenishing themselves with the meal. I feel much clearer headed, which enables me to experience the full force of pure awe from just looking at him.

This alien is an astounding creature in every respect. He is built as powerfully as a bull and as artfully as Michelangelo’s David, but his alienhood is a lot larger.

I have to get myself under control. Being attracted to this alien king is a mistake. You're never supposed to fall for the boss. No matter how hot he is. Even if every time he looks at me I feel as if I am being sucked into the core of a nebula, all my inner thoughts and feelings spilling to the outside.

I am sure it is not common practice for kings to feed their accountants. I can see him watching me as I stare out the window, at the vastness of his chambers, everywhere besides directly at him where I might have to meet his gaze.

There’s a loud, vague clanging outside the door, and suddenly we are interrupted by a shiny aide whose flesh is lit with a particularly bright red glow. I am starting to learn that the colors have meanings, even though those meanings may not be what I think they would be.

He’s excited. I see bloodlust in his eyes. I can feel it pumping off him, even at a distance. Tyrant keeps the aide away from me, blocking me from view with his big, broad back.

“What is it? I am consulting with my accountant!”

“Sire! We have a prisoner! We captured him attempting to make entry through the exhaust port.”

The irony is lost on Tyrant, who attempted to make entry through my exhaust port not all that long ago. I refrain from mentioning that out loud, preferring to smile into the remnants of my meal.

“Is he in the interrogation chamber?”

“He is sealed inside the bulkhead, where he chewed his way through with biting mouthparts.”

“An insect class interloper!”

“A Mantid,” the aide agrees. Suddenly, I realize it is not an aide. It is Terrible. Tyrant’s XO, the one who doesn’t want me here, the one who thinks I’m worthless. The closest thing I have to an enemy on this ship. I didn’t recognize him with actual emotion in his voice.

“Can he fly?”

“Yes. He’s fluttered against the lighted parts of the ship more times