THREE
Khan
Spaceports always have a potent stench—theresult of so many species crammed into a small space. I hold my breath against the stale reek of recycled air as I navigate the dark corridors on my way from my ship to the dark cantina. Only after I’ve settled at a table do I adjust my hood and take a careful inhale. The jumble of scents isn’t always unpleasant. There are just so many smells all at once. No wonder my fellow Alphas prefer our home planet to space travel.
Today, the air is flavored with a thick musk from the Ogsul, the reptilian species running the auction. There are a million of them slinking around this spaceport. There’s a hint of sulfur from a Buruwr, a giant, gelatinous creature sitting in its own trail of slime right in front of the auction stage. But underneath the overwhelming cacophony of smells, there’s a delicate scent. Fragrant. Floral.Slightly musky.
The cantina is full of alien creatures, but no sign of what could produce such an amazing aroma. The perfume is growing stronger, like someone filled the room with a bouquet of blooms. But it’s not a flower; it’s a female. There are rumors of a special female to be found on the spaceport. That's why I'm here.
The stool creaks under me as I shift my weight. A few creatures glance my way and snap their gazes from mine. No one wants to catch the attention of an Ulfarri Alpha.
I rap the dinky table and, after a minute, a reluctant Ogsul trudges across the room with a drink for me.
“Brutal One.” The Ogsul bows and leaves the smoking vat of my preferred fermented drink on the table beside me. I sniff but don’t touch the oily liquid.
“Wait,” I growl. A tremble runs up from his scaled tail to his hairy shoulders, but the Ogsul stops. “Tell me about the auction.”
A pause. I don’t have to negotiate or threaten. As an Alpha, my reputation precedes me. They call us the Brutal Ones for a reason.
“Sorry,” the Ogsul says. “I get my chief.” And he scurries away.
I settle back on the stool. The honey scent is growing heavier, sweeter. My canines ache, and my own rich scent is growing stronger in response.
Maybe the rumors are true. Maybe my travels across the galaxies have finally met with success. Maybe the time has come for me to find what I’ve been searching for all my life, what any Alpha would kill for: an Omega.
“Brutal One.” Another Ogsul, this one taller with bulging eyes, appears at my table. He doesn’t tremble but stands rigid, several lengths away. I beckon, and he takes a small step closer.
Close enough. I lean forward, keeping my face in shadow and my voice low. “Do you have the female?”
The thick black hair on his arms rises. “We have many females. For auction.” His stumpy arm motions to the stage.
“But the…” If I say the wordOmega, it’s as good as shouting. “I heard you have something I want,” I murmur.
Ahead and to my right, the giant, slug-like Buruwr quivers, more bitter-smelling goo leaking from it onto the floor. Creatures across the universe will pay to plant their seed in the Omega’s fragrant, sacred womb. If the Buruwr wins the bid, it will take what is mine.
It will not win. I slide my hand down to stroke the hidden curve of my scimitar.
“There are tales that you have found what I am seeking. I am here, and I am willing to pay.”
The creature’s throat vibrates, a bitter scent pouring off his shaggy and scaly hide. But when I set a bag of coins on the table, his eyes bulge bigger.
“Yes,” the Ogsul says, bobbing his head. “An Omega.”
“You have one?” I forget myself and growl. The Ogsul leaps backwards a length faster than such a bulky creature should move. I curl my fist around my scimitar handle. “Where is the Omega? Tell me, now.” I’ve searched long and far for a female to adequately replace the Omegas of my kind. So far, no luck.
“We prepare her. Auction.”
“Is she Ulfarri?”
“No, Brutal One.”
Damn. Probably some cow-titted creature. But a womb is a womb. And I want heirs.
“We have serum,” he squeaks. “There is a creature we found that can take the Omega serum.”
Interesting. I must learn more about this serum. But first… “Describe this creature.”
“It calledHoo-man.” The Ogsul pulls out a holopad, and shows me a shadowy image. Not much to be seen but a small, frightened face surrounded by a mass of golden hair, peering out between the bars of a cage. Pale skin peeks out between shredded clothing.
