Page 2 of Her Alien Soldier
She smiled up at him, and it was like smiling at a piece of stone, his face as stoic and unreadable as it had been all day. “So you’re just going to stand here forever?”
“Probably not forever. But this is important and I will not miss my contact because I grew tired or bored.”
“You need to sleep. Rest. Eat,” she said not even knowing why she was arguing with him. “Don’t you?”
“I can go quite a long time without any of those things,” he rumbled.
“Bathroom?”
He sighed deeply, and she was pretty sure he was looking at the ceiling summoning patience.
“I do not need that often, either.”
“Lucky,” she said, grinning at him.
“I suppose.”
“Okay. Well. I’m Maggie. If you change your mind and want whoever’s on duty to keep a lookout for your Paraxian, tell them I said to do it. They won’t mind. We do it for plenty of people who are meeting others here.”
“Your offer is appreciated,” he said, giving her another short nod. She waited for a moment for him to offer his name, but when it was clear he wasn’t planning to introduce himself, she shrugged and pushed away from the bar.
“Good luck,” she said, giving him a wave as she headed out, the sound of the crowd and the band following her out into the corridor.
Xarek watched the human bartender until she walked through the mechanized sliding doors that led to the corridors. She was talkative, curious, and far too distracting in her tight black shirt.
He could not afford distractions. Even attractive ones with ample curves and a voice that seemed made for the bedchamber.
He looked around the bar again. He knew he did not need to be quite so vigilant. A Paraxian would be even harder to miss here than one of his own kind. Where his people were powerfully built, standing much taller than most humans, and most other races as well, the Paraxians were even taller. But the Paraxians often made him think of a thin tree, battered about in the breeze. Tall, thin, with enormous, unsettling blue eyes that seemed to glow from within.
But they were graceful. Light on their feet. Surprisingly good at getting into places they should not.
Finding and trading in information. And that was why he waited.
The fate of his people depended on it. One piece of information, at this critical juncture in their war against the Redlians, was all it would take to annihilate them and finally be free from the war that had plagued them for as long as any living Altarian could remember.
Their history was one of battle. Technological advancement, yes, but most of it due to the necessity of keeping ahead of an enemy who was determined to destroy them.
Xarek barely contained the sigh of frustration that nearly escaped him, settling instead into his typical expression and stance.
One day, they would not be merely trying to survive. If Maggie the bartender happened to cross his path that day, he would be more than happy to give in to every single one of the urges sheinspired in him. It had been frustrating, distracting, having her so close all day. Smelling her scent, a mix of sweet and spice that made him want to bury his face between her plump breasts, her shapely thighs, and never come out.
And, these thoughts were serving no one.
He sat through another bartender’s shift, and into another. Three bands and a comedian. As the central hub for this quadrant, it made sense that the station was never lacking for entertainment.
After a Tilesian band with an incredibly loud, high-pitched singer took the stage, he finally finished his ale in a single gulp and set the mug on the bar.
There was only one entrance to the Mars Lounge. He supposed that made it easy for station security. Smart.
He would sit outside and wait. It would make him want to snap the Tilesian singer’s neck a bit less.
He exited the bar and looked up and down the corridor before sitting on a bench directly across from the entrance. It had been a very long time since the last time he had been here. That was on a supply mission. The station had upgraded nearly everything in that time. The gently-curving corridors were bright, with white floors, walls, and ceilings. Control panels and first aid boxes lined the corridor in an orderly way. Every once in a while, station-wide comms came on with a soft tone, and messages would go out about arrivals and departures, areas that were off-limits for maintenance.
He sat for several hours more, getting up every once in a while to pace, stretch his legs.
He was not used to this much inaction. He stifled a growl of frustration.
Either the Paraxian had failed in his mission, or things were taking longer than expected. Either meant more hardship for his people.
