Alien and the Wedding Planner

“But that doesn’t make any sense. It’s better to feel nothing and watch the population shrink than to make a change?”

The pod in Alana’s hand vibrated and a digitized voice said, “Take the corridor to your right.”

Ice pulled her gently in that direction. “Some of the elite believe that complete intellect with no emotions or other concerns at all is the highest state of being achievable. For them, Arcana didn’t go far enough. Even people who continued to have wild emotional swings were executed as disruptors.”

Alana had thought it sounded like a dystopian nightmare when people were just “corrected.” Executions over emotions were a next-level kind of horror she didn’t even want to imagine. No wonder people suppressed their feelings and stopped connecting with each other.

The pod gave further directions. Soon they were descending a long, winding staircase, going even deeper into the bedrock. The stairs flowed into a large chamber with several tunnels leading away from it.

“I didn’t even know this was here,” Ice said, mystified. The Dowager Empress stepped out of the mouth of one of the tunnels.

“Hello, Alana Watson.” She nodded at each of them. “Minister Silverkiller. It’s nice to see Winter Silverkiller’s son up and about. You do have your mother’s eyes.”

Ice inclined his head in respect. “I was told she insisted on that feature when my parents submitted their request to the genetic designer.”

She laughed. Her voice sounded like a mellifluous song bird. The empress wore a long, flowing, silvery robe like her attaché had, clasped at her neck. Alana couldn’t decide if she looked like an icy superhero or a villain. Marvel would love her as their new character.

The prime minister stepped out of another tunnel, a weapon of some type in his hand. It was shiny metal but shaped more like a water pistol from earth than something threatening. When he fired it at the empress, barely missing her as she dropped and rolled, Alana realized it was the same kind of charge someone had fired at her earlier.

Ice rushed toward the prime minister, but Storm came from behind them and reached him first. The prime minister got off one more shot that glanced off Storm’s shoulder, taking a chunk of his uniform and what looked like a layer of skin with it. The panic on the prime minister’s face made it clear he hadn’t expected a soldier. As Storm slapped the weapon out of his hand, blood coursing down his arm from the shoulder wound, Prime Minister Hallow reached inside the closure on the front of his shirt and pulled out a short, wide blade.

Storm grabbed his wrist with one hand and the prime minister’s throat with the other. A few shakes, and the knife clattered to the ground.

Ice and Alana helped the empress to her feet. She was shaken, but lifted her chin and narrowed her already narrow eyes at the prime minister.

“You were warned,” she said cryptically.

Storm managed to get both the prime minister’s wrists behind his back to hold him firm. The prime minister laughed bitterly. “How can you condone this?” he asked. “Humans will destroy our culture, water down our bloodline. Crimeans will become as lazy, ignorant, and self-satisfied as those on the Old Earth. Our intellectual destiny will be thwarted. Think, Empress, of what we could achieve. We’ll figure out the population problem another way, through technology.”

His voice went from snide to pleading, and the empress looked at him with something like sadness.

“You’re wrong. We have been wrong. I’m remedying that now.” She turned to Alana and motioned for her to walk toward a blank wall between two tunnels. “My son has told me of your breakthrough. You and the Minister.”

Alana’s face heated up at the idea that the royals of this planet took such an interest in her sex life. It made sense, under the circumstances, but she’d never really considered that it would get discussed by so many other people. “I see,” she said simply.

She gestured for Ice to join them. “Minister, you told my son you were surprised at your reaction to Alana when you’ve never felt interest in a Crimean woman before.”

“Yes, Empress. I can find no explanation for it.”

“And you feel new things for Alana. Not just physical, but emotional.”

Alana swallowed hard as Ice turned to her and said, “Yes. Your happiness…pleases me. When you were attacked in the garden, I…was furious and frightened all at once. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose you. I would be utterly devastated.”

The prime minister groaned as if in pain. “You see, Empress? Anger. Fear. You’re about to push us into an age of barbarism the likes of which Crimea hasn’t seen since—” He stopped, as if he’d almost given something away.

The empress regarded him for a moment, then finished his sentence. “Since humans landed on this planet thousands of years ago and colonized it.”

Storm and Ice exchanged a look. Alana thought they both showed shock and disbelief. The prime minister hung his head. Obviously, it was true.

“I think I can help you figure out why you were so attracted to Alana but no one else,” the empress said. “Thanks to Arcana and a focus on intellectual pursuits, we evolved without the urge to feel emotions. It’s ingrained now, and was even when babies were still born naturally to couples. We drummed emotions out of the populace, and learned to live without them.” She lifted a hand toward Alana. “But she feels. Human emotion. The same emotions that Crimeans used to have. Alana, humans are our ancestors. You represent a primal version of Crimeans, and your feelings and urges have sparked an awakening in Ice of who we used to be.”

The empress touched the wall and a panel slid to the side. Glass or thick crystal blocked their entry, but visible behind it was what looked like a large book. It might not have been paper, but it was shaped the same and clearly very old. Most of the writing Alana had seen in Crimea looked like Egyptian hieroglyphics. The collar she wore allowed her to understand speech, but she hadn’t been able to read anything. The front of the book was the first thing she’d been able to read since arriving—a single number: Eighteen.

“Minister, this crystal wall was built and cured thousands of years ago to protect the historical relic that details the true history of our people. You won’t find this information in the libraries. I’m sure you can set your scientists and archaeologists on the task of excavating it so that its knowledge can be shared with the people of Crimea.”

“No,” the prime minister whispered.

“Yes,” she replied. “The people have a right to know where they came from and how their ruling class has led them astray.”