The Alien Warrior King's Accountant (Royal Aliens 4)

“Where is your ship?”

“In space, of course. I parked my shuttle on the roof. Come on, come on. Before somebody notices.”

The odds that nobody has noticed seem extremely small. He is the most noticeable thing I have ever seen. But I follow him up onto the roof because he has a commanding sort of presence mixed with a growing impatience which I do not think will end well for me. I am more or less being alien abducted in my jimmy jams and Snoopy slippers, because who needs shoes when you have soft foot coverings with a cartoon dog on them?

I expect to see a small spaceship type thing on the roof. But that’s not what’s there. His ‘shuttle’ looks like a big hot air balloon covered in morphing colors which more or less follow the same iridescence as the king himself, flashing patterns which match his.

“Wow. I didn’t think that’s what an alien spaceship would look like.”

“Do you really think advanced alien species could travel light years and not figure out how to blend in?” The eight-foot alien has the nerve to sound slightly sarcastic. “An alien spaceship could look like a piece of toast if we wanted it to.”

“How nice.”

That’s what I say when I don’t know what to say. It works in all situations, and apparently it works with bare-chested shining alien kings too. Good to know.

He opens the wicker basket door of what is allegedly his shuttle and gestures me in. I follow the path his hand describes, and find myself sitting on what looks like a picnic hamper.

King Tyrant pulls on the cord which makes the burning flame of the not-at-all-completely-ostentatious hot air balloon and together we ascend into the heavens. I can feel the cool winds of the crisp morning on my skin, and it’s a very refreshing sensation which makes the tips of my ears and nose tingle. I can see the mountains out over the city, covered in wilderness I always meant to explore but never found the time.

Slowly, the city dwindles beneath us into a glowing spiderweb, and then space is closing in around us. Higher, higher, higher we go, until cities become continents and continents are covered by clouds.

“I can’t breathe in space,” I say conversationally, in case he didn’t know.

“I am well aware of the limits of your biology, human,” he reassures me.

“My name is Tania,” I remind him, so he can use my name instead of referring to me by my species which feels somehow very un-PC.

“Tania,” he repeats. “What does that name mean?”

“It means fairy queen.”

“A name for a queen, but an accountant for a king,” he murmurs, finding that pleasing, apparently.

There’s what might be counted as an awkward moment as I try to mentally catch up with events. Tyrant says that his shuttle can look like a piece of toast if he wants it to. He is clearly superior and advanced in every way.

“What is your species called?”

“Excuse me?”

I get the impression that it might be a rude question, like I’m supposed to already know all about his species and him — though he did introduce himself when he came to my door, so maybe not.

“We are the Essence. We are the universe’s ultimate warriors. Besides the Scythkin. They’re also pretty good, being covered in retractable blades. But we are the most warlike, the most naturally dominant. Our colonies number in the millions…”

He continues to brag about his vast empire, and all I can think about is how complex his taxes are going to be. I don’t even know what code we’re using. I can guess it won’t be the U.S. tax code. There must be some kind of intergalactic tax sort of situation going on.

“I would have thought that aliens so sufficiently advanced could do their own accounts.”

“Accounting is a crude and primal trade. It is suited for your species. I loathe accounting. I loathe accountants! I loathe…”

The list of things Tyrant loathes is really long. I stop listening once he starts naming things I don't know about. Whatever Gerks are, he does not like them at all.

Again, I use the time he spends talking to try to orient myself to sanity. I have to get my shit together. This isn’t a nightmare. Mr. Rogers wasn't crazy. I’ve just turned up to my first international work assignment in fluffy slippers. I hope there’s a shower and a change of clothes where I’m going. He said there would be, and I guess I have to take him at his word.

“Almost there,” he interrupts himself to announce.

There is a very bright light shining above us. It’s so bright I have to shade my eyes. Looking up is out of the question. The balloon is rising faster now, almost as though it is being sucked up into the innards of the ship.