Page 24 of My Big Alien Bodyguard

She is so sweet. So lovable. And so absolutely unleavable. There is no way I will be able to sacrifice her once our contracts are up. I know that already as surely as I know anything. I don’t know what I am going to do, however. I am not a creature with much in the way of choice. I have to hope that somehow all of this will work out, that there is meaning to these apparently random events, and that loving Lyric will be enough.

I’m not usually given to that kind of romantic thought, but she has a way of making me believe in things I used to think were nonsense. Things like love, and forgiveness, and hell, maybe even hope.

The surgeon consults with the holographic Simon Scowl and me after Lyric’s surgery.

“It went well,” the surgeon says. “She’s strong. She should heal well as long as she takes some time to recover.”

Simon hadn’t asked. I notice, though maybe it is an artifact of the holograph, that he almost seems a little annoyed at the news the surgery was a complete success.

“She needs to rest for at least a week. No touring. I’d recommend staying on the station here in one of the hotels so we can do the checkups as necessary. Her cortisol readings are very high. She is incredibly stressed, in addition to being very wounded. If you want her to be able to finish the next leg of the tour, she needs a break.

“Fine. We’ll call it rehab,” Simon says. “Imply some kind of addiction.”

“But she’s…”

“Imply. Some kind. Of Addiction,” he repeats.

It’s not my place to say otherwise, and if I know Simon, his media machine is already on the case. He designed his intergalactic starlets to be women of the highest caliber, unattainably perfect creatures of pure aspiration. But he isclearly prepared to pivot and destroy Lyric’s reputation if that means more money for him. I am starting to think that this was the plan all along. Simon is a keen judge of character and a master manipulator. He has gone out of his way to keep himself physically separate from Lyric. That means he is not in physical danger when she is in physical danger. Now I’m wondering if that’s not an accident. Just how much danger does he intend to put her in?

9

Lyric

“Lyric ‘Bodycount’ Walker is still yet to return to tour after the careless, reckless, and some say selfish antics at her last appearance. Word is several hundred concertgoers are banding together to sue Lyric for injuries sustained during the stage collapse. Latest rumors to surface indicate that Lyric is suffering in the grips of substance addiction. If true, her tenure as interstellar starlet may be cut short. No interstellar starlet has ever abandoned her tour before the three-year period. We interview previous interstellar starlets to get their insights into these current events.

The journalist cuts to one of my predecessors, a woman named Lilly Runs. She’s now in her late forties, but she still looks around twenty-five or so thanks to the many cosmetic and rejuvenating procedures she has access to. She was one of the very first interstellar starlets. She’s a legend. She’s also Simon Scowl’s ex-wife.

“Listen, being interstellar starlet means more than just being a singer. It’s about representing humanity. My message toLyric would be to take this seriously. With great power comes great responsibility. She’s not just hurting herself. She’s hurting humanity.”

“Oh fuck off,” I mutter. “I’m not hurting anybody.”

I wish I could turn the television off, but I can’t find the remote. I’m not sure this room ever had a remote. There’s nothing to do here but watch the screens anyway.

The surgery went fine, so I’ve been told. My leg isn’t even in a cast anymore. The tech they have to knit bones is that impressive. But they’re not letting me out, and I’m seeing medics at least twice a day and I’m tired of them taking blood and I’m tired of needles and of being a thing to fix. I feel more like a car being restored than a person healing.

I have to be patient, though, and I have to be good. I know that I have pushed everybody to their limits, including my big alien bodyguard. I am genuinely concerned he’s going to get sick of my bullshit. He’s such a responsible, kind, competent guy. I owe my life to him I don’t know how many times over.

Zayne is out for the moment. He gets to leave from time to time. He reckons he’s running security patrols, and maybe he is, but I am very, very bored, and very, very annoyed in his absence. I find it genuinely hard to behave myself when he is not here, mostly because when he’s not here I have only the television to amuse me. In spite of how advanced tech has generally gotten, hotels still have televisions, and those televisions are tuned to one station: hotel TV, occasionally interrupted by the news.

At the moment, I am the news, and anchor Jessie Stone has no qualms about turning me into the entire cycle. She seems to take nearly endless pleasure in daily, hourly, narrating the downfallof my career. This woman has been hunting me with her big smile since my tenure as starlet began. Hearing her voice now is the last straw. I’m so angry at myself for fucking this opportunity up, and for failing to read the contract, and basically setting myself up to ruin everything. Asking the audience onto the stage was stupid, but everything else I’ve done has been pretty dumb too.

I now see how this is going to play out. I’m going to give Simon Scowl everything he wants, and he’s going to give me nothing in return. I’m going to be ruined by this, and he’ll be richer than ever before. There’s literally no way for him to lose, and no way for me to win.

“Lyric’s reputation, already in tatters, is taking yet another blow as further revelations of drug abuse are beginning to surface…”

And that’s about when I lose my temper properly. I wish I had some drugs to abuse, but Zayne wouldn’t allow them. I am as clean as I have ever been. I don’t even get to drink. I am on a harsh regime of absolutely clean living. The only time I get to enjoy myself is when I perform and I get drugged by the crowd, but that obviously doesn’t count.

I realize that they’re never going to care what the truth about me is. I’m not being given the chance to tell my story. I’m stuck here, incredibly isolated, watching everything I thought I worked for being taken away from me by rumors and lies.

“Shut up!”

I pick up the television with the woman still talking. I guess it runs on batteries or something, because there’s no cord to stopme from taking the unit for a walk. For a brief moment, I am not sure what I am going to do…

“Will this be the first time a starlet is retired within the first few weeks of her reign? How shameful that would be! Is Lyric Walker a big stupid…”

I’m not sure that she actually did just call me a big stupid, her voice is muffled against my midsection as I lug the device away from the wall and toward the window. Floor to ceiling windows line one wall of this room. They’re supposed to feel luxurious, but they make me feel like a lab animal in a lab cage, and most of the time Zayne insists that I keep the curtains closed anyway because people put up drones to record through the windows. But when Zayne’s not here, I open the curtains and I open the partitions of the windows that open because that makes me feel slightly less claustrophobic.

If anybody has a drone up now, they’re going to be getting some incredible footage.

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