Bad Alien Boss (Royal Aliens 6)

I’m still angry from my fight with Emmet. All the angry juices are still coursing through my veins. It takes hours for me to calm down from a good fight, and then start to feel like complete shit. This is not a good time for whatever this is to be happening.

Terrible

“Have you retrieved your chosen human? That was very swift, even for someone as efficient as you are, Terrible.”

“I have. This is Lucky.”

I have to gesture to the human in order for him to notice her. Apparently, he is so used to the smell of humans, he cannot easily detect one in his presence anymore. Suffice to say, I am not pleased at the effect taking a human mate has had on my king.

Tyrant takes a look at the human. He does not seem any more impressed than I was when I first saw her. She’s still leaning against the wall, sucking on the flammable plastic and ingesting the contents of whatever nonsense is inside into her lungs with apparent enjoyment.

“What is your name?”

“Lucky.”

“Lucky? That’s a description, not a name.”

“What’s your name?” She asks the question back in turn, even though she very well knows the answer, or should be able to deduce it by context.

“King Tyrant, and this is my second in command, Lord Terrible.”

“Those sound like descriptions too.”

“Fair point, well made,” Tyrant concedes. “And what did you do on Earth?”

“As little as possible.”

She is quick-witted, but her answers are clearly and obviously failing to inspire confidence in King Tyrant. His human is a consummate professional. She is a taxation accountant so accomplished she was able to comply with DICK, the Department of Intergalactic Costs and Duties when it still existed. This human is, well, not.

I am not accustomed to failing King Tyrant, though I am getting the uncomfortable feeling that where this human is concerned, I may have to become accustomed to it.

“Perhaps we should discuss this outside,” Tyrant says.

I follow my king outside, away from the human, where we can discuss her without her hearing the general judgement of my monarch. It is a rather kind concession to her feelings and possibly to my ego if he is as unimpressed with her as I was.

“She is not qualified,” he says. “And she appears to have half the cutlery of the nation embedded in her face.”

I allow myself the slight expression of amusement at his observation, which is rather apt. She does have a number of what humans call piercings. One through her nose, another through her brow, and still another underneath her lower lip. They were the least of my concerns when I first laid eyes upon her, but I am not surprised Tyrant considers them evidence of some kind of deeper instability.

“Her appearance is unconventional, but I do not believe there is any concern regarding her qualifications. After all, what possible qualification could a human have for the sort of work I do? I thought all humans were more or less the same kind of useless.”

My king gives me a horrified look, which I do not enjoy.

“This human was supposed to be a companion for my wife. She does not look suitable.”

“I can make her suitable,” I tell him. “She is a human. She is weak. She is malleable. If she can be convinced to shove pieces of sharp metal through her face, she can be taught to behave in a constructive, and useful way.”

Tyrant is not as convinced of that as I am pretending to be.

“You’re going to have to train her to do the job, Terrible. We can’t return her. She’s just some human you ripped out of its life. She won’t know how to interact with us, or…”

I try to listen to my king, but the truth is that I do not care about the human or her needs. I feel as though he has forced me to associate myself with a being so far beneath myself, she could barely be considered a pet. His obsession with humanity will inevitably lead to ruin, of that I am certain.

Two

Lucky

The alien is back, looking at me with those magical, judgmental eyes. I’m used to getting stared at like this by men, that fuck you, I want to fuck you sort of look. Never had an alien do it, but I guess dudes are the same across all possible realms of existence. He’s like an ex-boyfriend I haven’t slept with yet.

“What’s your actual problem, anyway?”

“My actual problem is your behavior. It is terrible. You are disrespectful…”

“What reason have you given me to respect you, exactly?”

He smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. It flashes sharply at me, and disappears as quickly as it came.

“That is true, I suppose. I forget your species always needs some kind of threat in order to behave remotely appropriately.”

I laugh. He really doesn't know me at all. Threats have never worked. Bribes are a bit more likely to succeed, but my defining quality through life so far has not been giving a fuck about consequences.