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

I am done. Somewhere between the sweat-slaked trysts and the multiple orgasms, I’ve managed to finish the accounts. All the numbers are spread out before me, perfectly ordered and triple checked. I have taken Tyrant's empire and transformed it into a data series which describes every part of his rampage across multiple civilizations.

What I see in these numbers does not portray Tyrant as a good man, if he were a man, which he is not. Tyrant has razed worlds, waged endless wars, and taken from others without ceasing. With me, he is different — or is he? He took me almost the moment we met. He made me his. He claimed me for his kingdom. The difference between me and the many others he has pillaged is that I wanted him.

I do not know how many Earth days have passed since I started working for Tyrant. I know I don't want to count them — and I know I don’t want them to end.

But they have to end.

We both know it. We can feel the end looming ever nearer, seeming to grow all the closer when we touch, and when we kiss. We never speak of it. We both try to avoid thinking of it. At least, I assume we do. I don’t rightly know what is going on in Tyrant’s alien brain. I know that for me, every moment spent with him is bittersweet.

“That’s it? You’re sure?” Terrible is beside me, questioning me. Doubting me. Being the huge dick that he always is.

“I’m very sure,” I tell him. “You can inform DICK that we’re ready to file.”

Terrible nods, the fin on his head catching the light breaking through the window which looks like it has a forest view. The illusion of this little space is so perfect it feels absolutely real. Aside from Tyrant, I might miss this most of all.

“Hey!”

I exclaim in annoyance as everything I was just admiring flashes out of existence and is replaced with a void filled with filing cabinets, and a sensible desk with two chairs, one on either side. My accounts are there, stacked in official binders.

“The man from DICK does not want to see your bedroom,” Terrible explains.

“Did you have to do it so soon? He must be hours, or days away.”

“Actually, he has been here for the past week, awaiting your work.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yes. I would have insisted you hurry, but Tyrant kept distracting you, and vice versa.”

There’s a hint of bitterness in Terrible’s tone. I don’t think he likes the fact that Tyrant is so into me. I think he preferred the king as he used to be — however that was.

“Well, I’m ready,” I tell him. “You can show your DICK in any time.”

“I will retrieve him. Stay here and try not to end up naked before we return.”

I wait as I have been instructed. I try sitting down in one of the chairs, then I decide that I don’t want to be sitting down when the agent comes in. I’m not sure what kind of alien to expect. Maybe something with gills? Or a big slimy monster that smells like farts and death? Or maybe just a sentient knife that cuts and cuts and hears no screams.

When the door opens, the creature that walks through it is a modest five foot eight at best, has thinning hair, thick spectacles, and a brown suit matched with a beige sweater beneath.

“Oh my god!” I exclaim in a tone which could probably be uncharitably described as screaming. “You’re human!”

The man from DICK gives me a dour stare. “Of course I’m human. Humans are the best accountants in all existence. Your presence here may save King Tyrant a small portion of his holdings and prevent him from being removed from existence.”

With that thinly veiled insult, it’s right down to business.

“Actually, according to my calculations, he owes nothing.”

He throws back his head and laughs at me. “Ah ha ha ha ha!” He makes the sound almost mechanically, as if he is trying to remember how to be amused.

I do not smile, because I am not joking.

“You can’t be serious," he says.

“I am very serious. I have good reason to believe that King Tyrant is close to tax neutral. In spite of his great empire, he has accrued relatively little actual wealth.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You may find it hard to believe, but I have painstakingly combed through years of data, and according to my calculations, King Tyrant is closer to bankruptcy than he is to solvency.”

“How close to bankruptcy?”

“If he owned a small hardware store in the Midwest, he’d be running a fire sale.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I know. But it is accurate. Tyrant’s finances are a complete mess. There doesn’t seem to be any effort put into financial planning. I’m not sure he’s going to be able to feed his fleet for another month. There’s a very real possibility that Tyrant’s entire empire could crumble by Christmas. Feel free to review the documents yourself. I believe I have adequately applied the DICK guidelines.”