Page 14 of Aliens Love Curves
Maybe I took things too far. Maybe I let my anger over last night push me into unnecessary risks. But then I remember Harlan's words – "You were born to race" – and my resolve strengthens. I'm tired of playing it safe, tired of trying to meet everyone else's expectations.
Still, as I enter our shared apartment, I can't help but hope Stryker's there. We need to talk, to clear the air. But the apartment is empty. I spend the next few hours pacing, chewing on my bottom lip as I contemplate the day’s events. Before I know it, it’s dark outside, except for the glow of Ova's moons through the windows.
I change for bed, pulling on the same satin nightdress that caused such tension last night. As I slip between the sheets, I hear Stryker's familiar heavy footsteps pause outside the apartment. I quickly turn off the bedside light. For a moment, I think he might walk away, but the door open and close softly.
He pads softly into the open-plan room, pausing for a moment as he passes the bed. My eyes desperately want to open to see what emotion is registered on his face, but I keep them firmly glued together. I hear his retreats, followed by the sound of him settling onto the couch. My heart hammers against my sternum and I lie awake in the darkness wondering if he canhear it. I’m unsettled, my mind full of prototype gliders and racing dreams, of the real objective for being here—our mission, of Harlan's charm and Stryker's concern.
I realize I'm walking a dangerous line. Between duty and desire, between Stryker and Harlan, between the thrill of racing and the growing certainty that something sinister lurks beneath Quickening Gliders' gleaming surface.
The question is, which line will I cross first?
Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new choices. But for now, I let the memory of today's flight carry me into dreams, where I soar free above it all, unburdened by expectations or complications.
If only real life were so simple.
Chapter 8 – Stryker
The first rays of Ova's sun haven't yet pierced the morning mist when I slip out of bed – or rather, off the couch that's become my nightly torture chamber. Every muscle protests; I've spent another restless night thinking about Casey and the mysterious lunch she had with Harlan.
Yesterday's memory burns fresh in my mind as I step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over my tense muscles. However, the shower's heat does little to ease the tension in my muscles as images from yesterday keep flashing through my mind—especially Casey's face lighting up at Harlan's invitation.
Later, I’d stayed hidden close to the apartment and had watched his sleek chauffeur-driven glider pull up. My stomach had pulled tight when I saw the way Casey had practically floated out of the apartment door, all smiles. How the dress she'd chosen to wear for him had hugged every curve...
My fist connects with the shower wall, the impact barely registering. I shouldn't be thinking about Casey like this. Shouldn't notice how her flight suit clings to her body during manoeuvres, or how her eyes sparkle when she's excited about a new glider modification.
But I do notice. I notice everything about her.
While Casey was being wined and dined by that smooth-talking CEO, I'd wandered the complex, trying to walk off my anger – or jealousy, if I'm honest with myself.
That's when I'd seen it. The activity on the far side of the launch pad had caught my attention – workers moving with suspicious efficiency in the shadows of the early evening, loading large crates into unmarked gliders. No manifests, no documentation, no official oversight.
I close my eyes, letting the water run down my face as I replay the scene. The workers had been careful, professional. Too professional for a legitimate shipping operation. And those crates... standard shipping containers don't need reinforced plasma shielding.
The early evening air had been crisp, the faint hum of distant gliders providing cover for any conversation. I'd positioned myself carefully, using the cargo containers to break up my silhouette while maintaining a clear view of both approaches.
Movement had caught my eye – a maintenance crew, starting their evening checks. They were being watched, I’d realized, by someone in the upper control tower. The figure had been barely visible, but the glint of electrobinoculars was unmistakable. My interest was immediately piqued. Why would maintenance crews need surveillance?
Towelling off, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My pink skin is flushed darker than usual, whether from the hot shower or my troubled thoughts, I'm not sure. I dress quickly in my instructor's uniform, not that I’ve had much use for it so far, my tail twitching with nervous energy.
In the combined sleeping and living room, I pause and listen because the room is still cast in darkness. The window coverings are still closed, and Casey is emulating soft sounds of sleep. My hand reaches for one of her small feet sticking out the bottom of the covers. I’m tempted to wake her, to confront her about yesterday. Instead, I grab the tech-pad we brought with us and write a quick note:
As soon as you awake, meet me at the far side of Launch Pad C. Important. - S
An hour later, I'm leaning against a storage container, watching the morning traffic of gliders coming and going. The spot gives a perfect view of where I'd witnessed last night's activities, while keeping us hidden from casual observation.
The sound of footsteps makes my ears twitch. Casey approaches, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. The morning sun catches her hair, creating a halo effect that makes her look almost ethereal. Her uniform, standard issue but somehow transformed on her frame, moves with each confident stride. Her curves hugged by it in a way that makes my mouth go dry. I force myself to focus on my anger, on the mission...anything but those damn human curves.
"Have a nice lunch yesterday?" The words come out more bitter than I intend for them to.
"Stryker, about that—" she begins, but I cut her off with a sharp gesture.
"Save it. We have more important things to discuss."
The hurt that flashes across her face makes my chest tighten, but I press on. "Watch." I point to the loading area. "Yesterday, while you were enjoying Harlan's hospitality, I observed multiple unmarked gliders being loaded with shielded crates."
Casey frowns, moving closer to get a better look. Her shoulder brushes against mine, sending electricity through my body. "Shielded crates? What for?"
"That's what we need to find out." I try to ignore how good she smells, like stardust and something uniquely Casey. "Standard cargo doesn't need plasma shielding. Whatever's in those crates, Harlan doesn't want it detected."