Page 1 of Her Alien Soldier (Asterion Station #1)

M aggie bobbed her head to the music the band of Bellarians was playing, an upbeat, thumping song that was like a mix of classic rock and jazz from back home.

She poured four shots for the party of Cendilax ladies at the table near the stage, then placed a fresh ale in front of the Plantir at the end of the bar, who was swaying a little on his stool.

He’d probably need help getting back to his quarters. He wouldn’t be flying out, that was for sure. The technicians at the docking bay wouldn’t let him anywhere near a ship in that state.

She applauded with the rest of the bar when the song came to an end, then grinned when they slipped into an even more raucous song.

There was no dance floor, but quite a few patrons were standing near their tables, dancing either alone or in groups.

The chatter, laughter, and the mixture of different languages, voices, and tones, was amazing.

Maggie shimmied her hips a little as she poured a glass of wine for a human woman at the bar, then bobbed her way to the other end of the bar to pick up the credits a Tritese businessman had left her as a tip.

She was just about to turn back to get the newly-sanitized glasses out of the sanitizer when movement near the entrance caught her eye.

She couldn’t help staring. Altarians were a rare sight in this quadrant anyway, but even beyond that, the one standing at the entrance, scowling as he surveyed the crowd, would have made anyone stare.

He was enormous, standing about eight feet tall.

Shoulders broad enough to nearly span the wide doorway.

He wore dark gray clothing, simple pants and a shirt that stretched across his muscular chest. It worked really well against his dark purple skin.

His black hair was pulled back in a low, long tail, and a short, neatly trimmed beard adorned his strong jawline.

His mouth was set in a stern, flat line, crested brow furrowed as his dark eyes scanned the bar.

She moved away when one of the waitresses put in an order, turning her back for a few moments to mix the drinks, then handed them over to the waitress with a smile.

She turned back toward the door and nearly jumped out of her skin.

The Altarian was standing at the bar, glowering.

“Hi! What can I get you?” she asked. Most who visited Asterion Station had implants or earpieces that would allow them to understand any of the thousand-plus languages that might be spoken there. As a hub for this quadrant, it just made sense.

People came here for connection, even as they went about their busy lives. That was true for just about every alien she’d ever met in her 10 years of working at Mars Lounge.

“Nothing,” he responded. His voice was deep, with such a rumble to it that she swore she felt the floor tremor beneath her feet. She raised her eyebrows at his response, waiting. “I seek a Paraxian,” he added after a few moments.

Maggie shook her head. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen a Paraxian around here in…” she shook her head again, blowing out a breath as she thought. “A few rotations, at least,” she said with a shrug. “They’re nearly as rare here as your people.”

He gave a single, short nod and looked around again. “I will wait.”

“You’re free to do that as long as you order something.”

He looked like he was about to protest, that thin line of his mouth firming even more. “Very well. Altarian ale?”

“I can do that. One moment,” Maggie said, patting the bar then walking through the door behind the bar and into a large cooler.

They stored the things that were requested more rarely back here, out of the way.

She made her way through the maze of racks and chest coolers, locating one of the few bottles of Altarian ale they kept in storage.

She brought the bottle out, grabbed a large mug, and poured it before carrying it over to where the Altarian was still standing.

He nodded in what she guessed was thanks and slid a few credits toward her as he went back to scanning the other people in the area, leaning tensely against the bar as he took a drink from his mug.

No reaction one way or the other, and one thing Maggie knew for sure was that Altarian ale was not for the weak.

She’d tried it once (she wanted to know what she was serving!) and two sips had knocked her on her ass for the rest of the evening.

But the Altarian may as well have been drinking water for all the reaction he had.

She shook her head, forcing herself to stop staring at the giant grumpy alien, then went to mix a few more drinks, pour more ales for the rowdy table in the back, and chat with the people who’d been at the table near the stage, who were happily tipsy and wanted her to know she was the best bartender ever.

She waved at them as they left, shaking her head and laughing softly.

“They’ll be much less chipper in the morning,” the human woman at the bar said, and Maggie nodded in agreement as she wandered over to her.

“You’re new here,” Maggie said, and the other woman nodded.

“Maintenance. It’s my first week,” she said. “Agatha Reynes.”

“Maggie Benson,” Maggie said, and she smiled.

“Well, I’ll be seeing you around, Maggie Benson,” she said with a grin. “Maybe we can hang out sometime?”

“Oh definitely!” Maggie said with a smile. “You know where to find me!”

She nodded and waved, and then she was gone. Maggie turned to put some clean glasses in the cabinets behind the bar.

Her shift went on as usual, though the addition of the Altarian stoically nursing his single mug of Altarian ale as the hours passed by made her feel a little bad for him.

When Maggie’s replacement came in, she filled him in on what they needed to restock, mentioned that the Altarian was waiting for a Paraxian, and then finally stepped out from behind the bar.

Usually, she’d make a beeline for her quarters, glad to be away from the noise.

She loved it, but after eight hours of loud voices and even louder performers, she was usually ready for some peace and quiet.

But, today, she hesitated, going back and standing next to the Altarian at the bar. He turned to look at her, furrowing his brow, but not saying a word.

“Were they supposed to be here today?” she asked him.

“They were inexact.”

“Frustrating,” she offered and he gave a terse nod. “You know… you don’t have to wait here. I can have whoever’s on watching out for a Paraxian. If you leave your name and how to contact you, they can just let you know if one arrives.”

“I would not ask that of someone who is already working, and busily so. But thank you,” he added after a moment.

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 she inspired 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.

And instead of being there, defending his homeworld with his fellow soldiers, he was here. He shrugged his shoulders, feeling the nagging pain of his injury. A Redlian shot had gotten lucky, taken him through the chest within a hair’s breadth of his heart. Shredded muscle, shattered bone.

He was of little use in battle until he could move well again. So here he was.

He sat again, resting his back against the wall, his gaze fixed on the entrance to the bar.

And, in the boredom, he found himself imagining Maggie the bartender, stripped bare, begging for him.