him. I only answer to my king, and the father of my yet to be born infant.
“Are you hungry?”
“A little, yes.”
I am always hungry at the moment. Gestation is hard work.
Tyrant takes me by the hand and leads me to the kitchen which exists because I like the formality of taking food out of the fridge. He can manifest it there if he wants, but I like to prepare it as if it’s real.
“I do have one question,” I ask as I make myself a PB and J sammich. “How come the Swarm doesn’t attack Earth?”
“It does. It’s just a lot smaller once it gets there. Earth has a sort of un-magnifying effect on certain entities. On your planet, the Swarmlings are less than a fraction of an inch in length. You kill them with fly spray regularly.”
“Huh. That doesn’t really make sense.”
“The universe has its own rules,” Tyrant says. “I don’t question them. And nor should you. If we all thought about our odds of existence and survival, we’d have to come to the conclusion we can’t possibly exist or survive.”
“That doesn’t sound right.”
“Exactly,” Tyrant winks.
I find myself laughing with him as we skate through the stars, reproducing, rebuilding, creating love anew. This is my life now, and this is…
The End
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BAD ALIEN BOSS
Terrible
“I don’t like humans.”
“I know you don't like humans,” my king says. “But you’re going to need one. My human is large with child and she is a taxation professional. We need somebody with a completely different skill-set to do this job. You need an assistant, and not a warrior. Someone with clerical skills. Someone who likes making lists and checking them twice.”
“You would like me to abduct the concept of Santa Claus, sire?”
“No. I would like you to find an assistant.”
“Can we not find literally any other species to handle this?” I would rather deal with a scythkin matriarch capable of tearing us all into pieces, than a human. Since the king brought his mate aboard, we have encountered nothing but misfortune. I cannot categorically say that everything has been her fault. But I also cannot say it hasn't not been her fault.
“We cannot.”
I do not know all the intricacies of King Tyrant’s decisions. Personally, I think he just likes humans. I think he has been waiting for a human to make his very own for a long time now, though I would never suggest such a shameful thing to his face. I know why he really wants another human. This is a pretext for him to gain a companion for his bride. She is lonely without the company of her own species.
“As you wish. I will get a human, sire.”
“Good. You may even end up falling in love, as I have.”
“I may also end up falling into a supernova and having every single cell in my body melted into its composite atoms.”
It is not my habit to be openly disrespectful to King Tyrant, but the notion of falling in love with a human is ridiculous. We are transcendent, iridescent beings of war attempting to rebuild our empire. Humans are meat bags with too many opinions. I do not find them attractive. I barely find them tolerable.
My king used a recruitment agency when he chose his human employee. I do not have time for such nonsense. We need to return to our home planet and begin the arduous task of rebuilding all we have lost. Soldiers will need to be recruited, and then trained. New armies will have to be raised and supplied. We are a species at war, and a human is the last thing we need.
But King Tyrant says we need one, so I take a shuttle and I return to their spawning planet, where I choose the first human I see who is remotely suitable. There is little point in drawing this out. One person is very much like another in any sense that matters.
The female I spot has blue hair and appears to have pushed pieces of metal through the delicate tissue of her face. That indicates a penchant for pain, which will help her in her job. Without further thought or consideration, I reach down with our cosmic pincers and