Page 1

Jaz

“Kumquat?”

I almost plowed right into the eager Vrep. Mostly because he was only three feet tall, and had sprung into my path to wave what was most definitely not a kumquat in the general direction of my face.

He had four spindly legs wrapped in assorted bits of wool, and a rounded body perched upon them that was similarly attired.

Having arrived with the Drakes, the Vreps had been quick to take advantage of any opportunity.

They scrounged whatever wasn’t nailed down and sold it, from lacy undies some foolish person left hanging to dry, to, apparently, rather dubious kumquats.

One rather bent antennae emerged from a tattered cap to wave a hopeful eyeball at me as his front tentacle-like limb brandished what I was pretty sure was a peach of sorts.

Fresh produce was so hard to come by that I wasn’t up on my fruit.

Of course, his Primal was so garbled that I couldn’t be certain he’d misidentified it.

It might be the universal language for commerce, but it didn’t mean that it translated well to Earthling produce.

However, the fact that I’d swayed to a rough halt to avoid running over him only encouraged him to greater effort. Another tentacle whipped out a purple, oblong item.

“Pumpkin?” he queried.

Where the heck had he scored an eggplant?

I could only imagine what it would cost at the market that offered those things.

“No thank you,” I piped back in the same language, and added what I hoped sounded like an authentic click or two.

Drolgoks tended to not only have squeaky voices but ended every sentence that way.

I wasn’t very good at replicating it. I couldn’t, however, risk blowing my disguise.

The second antennae with its attached eyeball emerged to regard me, and I didn’t think I imagined disappointment in its watery orb. Which was when his third tentacle shot towards my face, firmly clutching a banana, and stated, “Carrot?”

“Not hungry.”

When the entire Vrep froze, waving eyeballs and all, I realized I’d forgotten to squeak or add a click.

With a mental curse, I bought the now-bruised carrot .

It was late for him to be out pushing his frankenfruit—most of his kind were already holed up for the night.

During the day, you couldn’t walk any distance without being pestered by hopeful eyeballs and highly suspicious merchandise.

My brisk exit was thoroughly ruined when my toe caught on a crack and almost pitched me headfirst into a building.

What involuntarily emerged from my lips had me glancing around to see if the Vrep had noticed. When he and the other sidewalk trippers continued on as normal, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Around here, you had to be careful how you cursed. We were in the supposed heart of Winnipeg, but you’d never know by the poor state of the city’s sidewalk. Too bad that the Drake occupation of Earth had not come with improved focus on infrastructure.

Damned boots. I pushed off the wall and back onto my feet.

The cloak I was now tangled up in was a suitably bright plaid—a mixture of green and pink that no respectable human would be caught dead in.

Beneath the hood, my dark hair was wrapped in a cheerful yellow scarf and goggles hid my far-too-human, and rather blue, eyes.

I was well enough wrapped to disguise my lack of scales.

That, the fake tail that pushed the cloak up from behind, the multiple layers that plumped my body to appropriate oval-ish status below my breasts and above my hips, and the fact I barely cleared five feet in height, ought to help label me as a Drolgok.

So long as I remembered to squeak and click, that is. The oversized boots made me clumsy as hell, but they helped with the disguise. Although my feet were demanding an apology for the discomfort and lack of style.

I kept a wary eye peeled. Only last night, this three-mile strip had changed hands between two rivaling human gangs. Those of us not directly involved needed to keep our heads down, if we wished to keep our heads.

I rather liked mine as it was, so I schlepped along like a good little Drolgok. Although alien species walked the streets unmolested, much of my life now revolved around human gang turf wars.

Don’t be such a princess, Jaz, I berated myself. It could be worse. After all, gang violence wasn’t the main reason I was fending off Vreps in ugly plaid and a fake tail.

I kept my head down as five huge forms strode by only ten feet from me.

The clank of their metal-embellished sandals broadcasted arrogance to everyone within earshot.

Seven feet to the top of their heads, but taller if you counted the twin bumps on their backs that pushed their hooded cloaks upward.

Drakes.

They towered over everyone else. My fellow sidewalk residents parted before them as if repelled by a polar opposite magnetic force.

Four had arranged themselves a stride back from the one in the lead.

When the wind pushed strands of his black hair—most of which was knotted elaborately behind his head—off his too-perfect but harsh face, I caught sight of the distinctive tattoo.

Bow to the resident bastard king. Fucq. His clan owned this city. And his kind was the main reason I was so desperate to leave it.

I breathed easier once they were well past. Good thing he hadn’t been around to hear my near slipup. The leader of Tazier Clan was less than rational when he heard his name being used as a curse. The last person caught doing so had been publicly reprimanded.

I’d seen enough of the spectacle to force me to clean up my mouth. Although there wasn’t anything nearly as satisfying as the f-word. Damned Fucq had even taken swear therapy away from me.

Leaving me with limited options when I plowed into a wall… What was a girl to do?

As the evening shadows lengthened, I focused on blending in with the other residents out and about on the street.

Many had their hoods pulled up against the biting wind and wore such bulky cloaks that it was impossible to even identify what species they were.

Except, of course, for the Drolgoks—I didn’t know where they’d obtained their fashion sense, but it certainly wasn’t modeled from any human magazine.

I spotted one peeling an orange. I wondered if he’d been told it was a kumquat.

The Drolgoks, along with the Vreps and a few other alien species quick to take advantage of the human situation, had come with the Drakes.

The assholes arrived when my father had been my age—and they’d changed everything.

They’d sliced through our resistance like a hot knife through butter—it took them less than a month to move in and put their giant taloned feet up on the planet-wide coffee table.

And just like that, humankind became Drake property.

My effing boot caught on another bit of heaved pavement, and this time I nearly faceplanted into another cloaked form.

I managed to divert to a wall instead, my shoulder slamming into the brick.

In my effort to avoid spending quality time as a public spectacle, an involuntary, and all too human, cry burst from my lips.

The hooded head tilted toward me.

Effing hell. I got back on my feet and hurried away, fake tail swaying in my wake. But I sensed a new set of prying eyes…

There were bigger worries on these streets than frankenfruit sellers and irrational reactions to swearing. Minutes and a full block of shops later, my instincts prickled.

My brother would have called me “stupid” for venturing out like this. Actually, he would have had far worse things to say. But dammit, staying safe in the compound only ensured I’d fulfill whatever effed up destiny he decreed.

I wanted so much more than that.

The reflections in the shop windows told me the cause of my unease was much more tastefully dressed than me, and therefore likely human. He didn’t look like the guy I’d almost plowed into. Maybe it was my imagination that he was following me?

I looked for a break in traffic and crossed the road. Gasoline was scarce, so the powered transports were interspersed with animals pulling wagons. Of course, with animals, what comes in must go out.

Now covered in crap, the exasperation with my current footwear just intensified. The streetlights flickered fitfully as I passed beneath them—they’d soon do their best to dispel the gloom as evening moved toward night.

I pulled my hood high around my goggles and yellow scarf.

My senses were honed by twenty-one years of surviving, and they told me that in the wake of the gang territory dispute, the street was much quieter than usual.

A few determined vendors—a mixed lot of humans and aliens—lurked in the door alcoves, selling whatever they might have made or, more likely, stolen.

There was a time when buskers were still brave enough to perform on these streets—but as I thought about it, I couldn’t remember when I’d last seen one.

Those were not skills that the Drakes found useful, and anything they didn’t sanction, tended to disappear.

My admirer crossed the street with me.

I dropped one hand free from my cloak, and used my teeth to pull the mitten off as I slowed down. I then hid my very human hand in the heavy folds of my pocket.

My stalker slowed too, but closed the distance between us. An alley loomed ahead, and I sensed him make his move, darting forward.

I waited until he reached for me. He put me in a headlock from behind and placed his hand at my throat, clearly intending to push me into the alley.

I spun away. Or tried to. My effing oversized boots got tangled, and instead of my smoothly executed counterattack, I ended up stumbling.

I did, however, manage to break free and snap the knife hiding in the spring-loaded sheath on my right forearm to my hand, waving it as I faced the thug.

“Back off, asshole,” I said, deliberately roughening and deepening my voice.