My Alien Bodyguard by Calista Skye

1

- Freya -

“For a test, this is almost too easy.”

I stiffen. Then my hand goes to the microphone at my throat and I squeeze. “Seriously?”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Greg drawls in my earpiece, laughter in his voice. “Relax, this is it. Keep going.”

He’s such a jerk. It’s just like him to say something like that while I’m in the middle of the action, killing my concentration and making me doubt. He says it’s to keep me alert, but we all know he can’t help himself. He just has to yank people around.

I’m not going to let it get to me.

Shifting my focus to the door ten feet away, I get back into the mindset of a lock breaker. There’s no movement anywhere in the pitch blackness around the building. No streetlights, no light above the door I’m going to work on. There’s only the occasional flash of headlights from a car passing on the freeway a hundred yards away. There’s not a lot of them; after the Bululg invasion, most people can’t afford the gas. Or the strictly rationed electricity.

“Don’t mind that,” I mutter to myself as I scan for movement. “Less light, less risk.”

There’s not a sound except for the usual muted roar of the city at night and the soft drips after the brief rain shower a half-hour ago. It cleaned the air and cooled it down, fragrant with dirt and wet asphalt.

The building itself should be unguarded. It’s a big, raw concrete structure that the aliens built for storing the stuff they’re looting from the Earth before they can take it away in their transport spaceships.

They didn’t used to do that; before, all they did was abduct Earth girls and sell them at auctions at their space stations. But it seems that whole venture went sour on them somehow. They still do it, but not as much as before. Rumor is they’re having trouble up in space, with people sabotaging their slave trader business.

Some say it’s a mysterious Earth Resistance movement that’s behind it, but nobody really believes it. All we know is the Bululg are now stripping Earth of everything that has value to them, like gold and gemstones and refined metals and such.

Plastics apparently are highly valuable up there in space, as well as pearls and wood and paper. I guess Earth is unusually gifted with natural resources. And the invaders want all of it, to take off the planet and sell.

Well, other people can sell stuff to aliens, too. We just have to get hold of it. This storehouse should be full of goods, including gold and platinum and maybe a couple of boxes of gemstones. Greg has a buyer, too, some shady alien he won’t talk about.

I take a couple of deep breaths of cool night air and hold my hand out. It trembles a fair bit with my nerves. But I’m not worried. Once I get started, my hands will settle down and be rock steady while I focus.

Thirty more seconds and I’ll go for it. It’s supposed to be my test for full membership in Greg’s gang, so I’ll finally get a full share of the loot. Not a moment too soon — I’ve been picking locks for them for three months now, without a single mishap. This time the loot should be the biggest ever, and my share could easily be six figures. Maybe even seven.

I pat myself down for the last time. The black suit is part spandex and hugs my ample figure to an obscene degree. But it keeps me stealthy, and that’s the point. My head doesn’t need any disguise at night time.

My hand nervously pats the fanny pack I wear at the front for easy access. It contains the tools I need, and I like to check that it’s still there. Some of them are unique. It’s not that the alien locks give me that much of a challenge, but it’s better to be prepared.

A car passes on the highway, its light cone sweeping across the ugly, slab-sided building I’m going to break into.

The hiss from tires on wet asphalt fades.

Time.

I squeeze the microphone, my only share of an earlier raid on an old military storehouse.

“I’m going for it,” I whisper, knowing the slight vibration of my throat will be caught by the mike.

In six quiet steps I’m at the door, crouched down with both lock picks inserted in the single lock. One to lift pins, one to get some tension in the lock. It’s an ordinary six-pin tumbler, no particular trick to it. There’s only the one lock, no electronics, no alarm.

I’m not surprised. The Bululg know most of the people of Earth are now too demoralized to consider doing something like this, so they don’t bother with much security. I guess it saves them money, and they’re a cheap kind of alien. Cheap and greedy.

I get a click on the first and fourth pins.

“This is easy,” I mutter distractedly, then decide to shut up. There should be nobody around, except for Greg and Thora. But you never know. The Bululg have this way of surprising you with their nastiness.

I start again from the beginning. The lock chafes a little on the pick. Pin two is binding, so is three. I get a click on five. Three pins lifted, pretty good going.

Switching to a thinner pick, I start again. Pin two still binding, but I get the feeling pin three will be last, so I jiggle and push harder. Two finally clicks—

“You about done there?” Greg says in my earpiece, louder than necessary.

“Fuck!” I seethe. He knows not to talk to me while I’m picking. Now I can’t be sure if pin six clicked or not.

All right, I’ll keep calm. If this is supposed to be my test for full membership, I should be able to handle a little bit of harassment during it. That’s how they did it in the army, Greg says. Back when Earth had a military of its own. Only three years ago, but it feels like forever.

There’s a crisp click from pin six.

I start from the beginning, sliding the pick into the lock, lightly pushing it up against the pins while twisting the pick in my other hand to provide just the right amount of tension to engage the mechanism. Only pin three left now. It’s a sticky one.

I take out the specialty pick my dad invented. It has a concave, extremely magnetic tip and attaches better to the pins. You need a steady hand to use it, and I almost never do. Picks wear out, and this one is really important to me.

Too important. It was the last pick he made, and he used the best materials he could get. That tells me that he really made it for me.

I change my mind, put the pick back in its protective plastic tube and choose another, less valuable one.

Click.

The tumbler rotates silently.

I withdraw the picks and manage not to pump my fist in triumph.

Instead I squeeze the mike. “I’m in.”

I take a step back to let the door swing open so I can peer inside. Pretty dark in there—

Suddenly a sharp light stabs out at me, but I can just about make out a huge, ghostly white shape that comes rushing towards me.

I squeal, then fall backwards on my butt in sheer horror. Something tightens around me and my hand is squeezed.

I scramble to get back up and run, but I’m being curled up and held firmly with one arm pinned behind my back and one foot up by my face. The earpiece falls out and I drop the other lockpick.

Shit. I’m caught in a net. And that light is getting close.

Panicking, I kick and struggle and writhe, but the net only draws tighter around me. I can’t reach my mike to alert the others so they can get away. But I can yell.

“They got me!” I scream, my voice piercingly shrill. “Run! Run!”

The gang probably can’t hear the words, but if they hear me yelling anything at all, they must know to escape.

I kick viciously at the net, but it’s both elastic and unyielding. Damn, I never saw that trap.

The earpiece on the floor squeaks thinly, but I have no chance to decipher what was said. Probably Thora asking if I’m okay. And no, I’m really not.

I stop trying to get free. It’s doing more harm than good. The net just squeezes me harder.

The cone of bluish light wanders up and down my body, still blinding me.

I squint. There’s someone there, really close. That light-colored shape is not a ghost at all.

My one free hand is still holding the lock pick, and without thinking I slash it as hard as I can towards the person standing there.

It connects with something, and I’m rewarded with a surprised grunt. Then the lock pick is plucked from my hand and rattles brightly as it lands on the concrete ground.

I’m lifted in the net, high up, the tight mesh squeezing my face as I dangle.

The light is in my eyes, but I can make out yellow eyes staring at me.

And the rest of him… yeah, that’s a freaking monster. Has to be, considering how high above the ground I’m hanging.

The eyes study me for a long time, rotating the net to check me out from every angle. Laboratory mice in glass cages get less scrutiny than this.

I scream and kick again, but it still does no good.

The monster lifts its other arm and looks at it. And there is definitely dark blood on its turquoise skin.

Then it clears its throat, making my chest tremble with the bass tones. Yeah, this is definitely a male monster.

“I am your bodyguard,” he rumbles.