“Dare I ask?”
“Just a particular herb,” I say, waving a hand as the surly waiter comes by and drops another basket of fried leaves on our table. “Nothing that makes a lot of money.” My cute, cheery little flowers are the alien equivalent of catnip for a race called praxiians, and it’s apparently some sort of sex drug. The moment I found that out, I was rather horrified. The only thing I can sell is a Spanish fly equivalent that works best on the fearsome, catlike praxiians?
It’s definitely a pickle.
It’s also been part of the problems I’m having. One of my neighbors is praxiian, and he’s a rather terrifying sort. Most praxiians are large, but this one is particularly huge. He snarls and hisses every time I see him. I’ve caught him lurking on my land, as if assessing it for his own acquirement. It makes me nervous, because I’ve heard horror stories of the aggressive praxiians attacking human females. I’ve also heard of women turning up dead, their lands stolen by neighbors. I’m pretty sure he’s threatening me, because I’ve found a dead animal on my doorstep more than once, the throat ripped out.
And last week? I came home to find that the praxiian had been to my house and, ahem, jerked off all over my door.
That was when I knew it was time for action. If I’m going to be safe, I need to get married—or mated, though the term is interchangeable to these aliens – and secure myself a husband. If it looks like I have a male protector and I’m married, no one can kill me to try and steal my land. It would be better if I got pregnant to ensure things, but I’ve had enough alien sex to know that I vastly prefer the thought of a platonic marriage.
“I need a marriage in name only,” I tell Bethiah. “I truly don’t care what my man looks like or how old he is, as long as he’s kind and strong and can help me protect my place in this world.”
The bounty hunter nods slowly. “I think I get it. So I find a likely candidate for you…and then what? Drug him and kidnap him? How do you envision this playing out?” Her eyes light up. “Do you care if I maim him a little?”
I’m slightly terrified by the excitement that flashes in her eyes. “Well I can’t imagine that any man will look kindly upon me if you maim him right before I marry him.”
“But you’re kidnapping him and forcing him to marry you. Why does it matter if he’s roughed up a little?”
She’s got a point. Even so, I’m not sure I like the thought. “That’s why he needs to be nice. If he’s nice, eventually he’ll understand that I did what I did out of desperation. Then maybe we’ll settle in and become friends.”
“Friends,” Bethiah echoes. The bounty hunter leans in. “You do realize this is the dumbest keffing plan I’ve ever heard of?”
I stiffen. “How is it dumb?”
“You want me to kidnap a man, hold him at blaster point and force him to marry you. That’s great and I can totally do that, but then what? You don’t think he’s going to be mad? You think he’s going to stay?”
She’s right. I stare at her, and my lower lip starts to wobble. “It’s just…I don’t know what else to do. I have to get someone to help me protect my land. Marriage is the best way to do it. I thought maybe if he was kind we could work past that.” I grab a napkin and wipe at my face, trying to stop the tears.
Bethiah rubs a hand down her face, sighing heavily. “Kef me. Why do I get the weird jobs?” She takes a deep breath, then composes herself. “Okay. Fine. Let me see what I can do for you.”
“Thank you,” I tell her gratefully. I reach out and squeeze her hand, enthused. “I’m sure you’ll find just the right man for me.”
The bounty hunter gazes at my face for a long moment, then shakes her head. “Kef me.”
3
NASSAKTH
The bounty hunter that the little human met with earlier lingers in port. I watch her all day, noticing she runs a few errands from business to business, all very normal seeming. She picks up freshly cleaned clothes. She visits the general store. She books a flight at the docks. Then, she retreats back to the cantina.
I find her at the bar. It is night, which means a few of the other unsavory types that frequent Risda Spaceport are here, nursing drinks. The bounty hunter stands at the bar easily, unconcerned about the glances she gets. She looks as if she can take care of herself and she knows it.
I move to her side and gesture at the bartender, ordering a local ale. Then, I glance over at the bounty hunter.