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Uncertain Times

After the chaos that broke out during the night of the assassination, which had an uncertain level of casualties thanks to the official number being so unbelievably optimistic that I won’t bother to repeat it, things were unusually calm. Granted, this was due to the sudden deployment of the 4th and 6th Royal Marine fleet to major Earth cities including my own, the declaration of curfew, and checkpoints set up at the entrance of pretty much any alien populated district or anything of economic value.

Or perhaps it was due to the tiny, blinking star that marked the sky, moving in a pattern that made it clear that it wanted to be visible no matter where the sun was. The government didn’t say what it was, but the implication was clear: they were watching and ready. It probably was not an Orbital Bomber, but it just as easily could be.

Unfortunately, business suffered as a result of this. I was able to get a checkpoint permit easily thanks to client references, but it still took so long to get through them all that the amount of clients I could visit in a day were cut by a quarter. So, I had a lot more spare time, and thanks to television being about as strictly controlled and non-threatening as Regulian-monitored internet in light of recent events, it was mostly limited to family-friendly sitcoms, both human and alien, and the occasional news update. At least, thanks to the Duke, I had something else to spend my time on…

“Nate?” Rit lifted her pointed, vulpine ears from the open computer case, immediately holding the power button down until the fans quieted to a stop, “The hard drive is starting to click.”

“Really?” I shuffled towards her work-bench, “I didn’t hear a thing and there weren’t any errors in the logs...”

She tapped a claw on the tip of her right ear, causing it to flick instinctively.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. If you hand it over, it will break in a week or two.”

Scratching her behind the ear, I said, “Okay. We’ll extract the data, replace the hard drive with a new one, reinstall Windows XP and copy everything back in. Good as old.”

“How delightfully dishonest!”

“Parts fail. If this was a normal computer business I’d charge for the part, but I’m not a computer repairman, I’m an antique restorer. You know how much a Regulian noble will pay for this? About 2,500 bucks...”

“I don’t know how much that is worth.”

“...and then sometimes you get a bonus if something interesting is on it. Once got 500 extra because a Lupiad professor found some furry porn on it and thought it was archeological evidence that they visited Earth before.”

“Furry porn?”

Coughing, I attempted to change the subject, “So, uh, you’re really learning fast all things, uh, considered...”

“Considering I spent a quarter of my life living in a tribe that hunted with spears and the rest living among people who saw no purpose for me except for what lies between my legs?”

“Uh, well, uh...”

She tapped me on the cheek with her nose and whispered, “I’m kidding.”

DING DING DING!

My nondescript ring-tone cried out and I hastily whipped out my phone and answered.

“Never-Late Nate here.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve got a computer here that needs repaired.”

The voice was a human male, about forty years old. I briefly had flashbacks back to the days of fixing my dad’s computer after he clicked on ads promising free money.

“Sorry, uh, this is more of a service for rare, antique computers,” I said. It was difficult to describe the business to a fellow human since I was essentially overcharging aliens for shitty, old computers. They were willing to pay for it though, so I felt that justified it. Phrasing the job in the wrong way might also essentially be putting up a sign saying No Dogs (Unless they’re Sirian), No Vagrants, and No Humans Allowed, which would not give me a good reputation among my own people, so I had to put it delicately, “We’re willing to look at it, but our rates are...”

“You fix computers for rich, alien nobles so they have a little piece of our planet to show off to them. I know about your business. I have a friend who makes a killing assembling IKEA chairs and selling them as traditional Earth furniture.”

I had to admit, that was a good idea.

“I’ve got some old hunk of junk that ain’t working and some big VIPs coming over, got a big deal I’m trying to sell them on and I need to dazzle them, understand?”

“Big deal?”

“They’re looking for a venue for a private party and they’re considering my night-club, The Fur Coat.”

The Fur Coat! Probably the most prestigious nightclub in town that catered to both humans and aliens, and certainly the most lucrative one that was still owned by a human. Most the clientele were aliens, the prices were out of the range of most humans, but there were plenty who stopped by, often whom got their drinks covered by amorous aliens looking for a human to spend the night with.

“Mr. Grimes, I presume?” I asked.

“Yes,” he paused, “I don’t care how expensive your rates are, I can afford them. You want extra, I’ll even give you a private table for a night and send some girls to join you. You prefer skin or fur?”

“Not necessary,” I said, clearing my throat. Rit’s ear was following me as I paced the room, “It’ll be the standard rate. What time did you…?”

“An hour ago. Get on over here now.”

“My car was stolen and the checkpoints will slow things down, I can’t promise….”

“I’ll send a car over. I got someone I know working nearby. He’ll be over shortly.”

The phone went silent.

“How exciting!” Rit exclaimed, brushing up against me, “Do you think he has a long-lost love who suddenly shows up out of the blue?”

I stared back at her. I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about nor could tell if she was trying to be funny; if she was, her sly, amber eyes didn’t betray it.

“Like that movie we watched,” she said, tilting her head. I couldn’t help but scratch her behind the ear, it was like she knew how to make herself look adorable, “The cynical night-club owner, the foreign occupation...”

“Casablanca?”

“Yes!” She exclaimed excitedly before her ears drooped, “It’s too bad we didn’t get to finish...”

I held up my hand to cut her off, which she did, flinching a little as I raised my hand. I felt a little guilty, I knew what she was and she did seem very accepting of the fact for the most part, but it still felt very uncomfortable giving her orders, even if I didn’t mean to. If she had been a free human or alien, I would have done the same if they brought up such memories, but she clearly had her own that she didn’t like to be reminded of.

“I’m sorry.”

Smiling, she leaned forward and gave me a lick on the cheek, “For what?”

I didn’t bother explaining. I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for either of us. She was a slave and I was her master, even if I asked her to do something there was still an order behind it. It was that sinister authority that made me hesitant to initiate sex with her, waiting for her to let me know when she was in the mood before doing anything.

“Nothing,” I pecked her on the tip of her nose, her tail excitedly swishing as I did, “I’ve got to meet this fellow. You think you can handle those jobs I gave you?”

“Of course, master,” she bowed gracefully.

Uncomfortable with her choice of words, I stepped away, nearly clocking my head on the wolf head that hung on the wall, the hunt’s trophy. It had arrived recently and fully preserved and every part I was looking for was intact.

And coincidentally, I had grown a mole on my hip.

A plain, average, pre-invasion taxi stopped in front of the apartment and the driver, a pale-skinned human by the name of Patrick, or Patty, beckoned me into the back. He was young, barely in his twenties, with short brown hair and not a thread of facial hair.

“Ol’ Grimy wants you there in a hurry, eh?” He asked, peering back at me from behind a thick pane of bullet-proof glass.

“So he told me.”

“Good Ol’ Uncle Grimy,” he chuckled as he shifted gears and accelerated, “I’m his nephew, you know?”

“Please to meet you,” I extended my hand, intentionally tapping it on the divider as a joke.

Laughing, he peered back, “You been to his club before?”

“Yeah, once or twice.”

“Ah, so you like furry pussy?”

I thought of Rit waiting back home. Of lifting her tail and pressing my cock into that tight, pink slit of hers. The guilt in my brain had passed for the moment and I was thinking with a different organ now, “I’m coming around to it.”

“Well, I’m a furry pussy expert! Name an alien species that’s been on this planet and I’ve had their pussy! What kind d’you like?”

Once again my thoughts ran to the red-furred angel waiting back home, “Vulpeculan.”

“Everyone like them! It doesn’t count! You find a fuckin’ Bhutanese monk who hadn’t even heard of the invasion and show him a Vulpy and even he’d rip off his robes and dip his stick in there in a flash. Males too! I ain’t a fag, no offense intended, but I sucked a Vulpy’s red rocket once and he sucked mind. It ain’t gay if it’s them!”

I couldn’t really judge. I did let a certain Duke have his way with me out of gratitude and still considered myself straight, perhaps with the occasional curious tendencies. Plus, Patty was certainly a character and I couldn’t deny him the opportunity to ramble on and spurt out as much vulgarities as possible.

“But you know what I like the best? Regulian pussy. Bad pun, I know, I know! But I like larger...not fat! Larger as in stronger women and those pussy-cats know how to use their thighs! Just make sure she ain’t taken, because you can win a fight with a jealous Vulpy boyfriend, a Sirian will humiliate you in a brawl, a Lupiad will send you to the hospital, but a pissed-off Regulian will fucking kill you.”

Curiosity got the best of me, “Patty, you said you’ve had every alien woman imaginable?”

“Not in such eloquent words,” he chuckled before exclaiming, “I’ve had every alien pussy imaginable!”

“I was at the Duke’s party...”

“Hooooo!” He whistled, “You could probably tell me a thing or two about pussy!”

“I saw an alien that looked like a horse. Bipeds, like the others, of course...”

“Ain’t seen an alien like that, I’d know. Horses have huge asses,” he muttered, lost deep in thought for awhile. He was clearly giving this all way too much though, “Did she have a huge pussy?”

“It was a he.”

“Ah, good! You see? I told you, if a pussy has come on this planet, I have fucked it. As soon as that horse’s sister lands on Earth, I’ll be right there to sweep her off her hooves and show her some loving,” he said, laughing like a mad-man and, disconcertingly, fidgeting with something below the barrier that was not the gear-shift, “I’ve heard of some aliens that haven’t come here yet. I know there’s some that look like raccoons, found out about that when I was driving a Lupiad and the topic turned to, you guessed it, pussy. There’s rumors about weasels and bears and others too; hell, the whole animal kingdom. But you know who I bet really’s running the whole show?”

“Who?”

“The Reptilians,” he grumbled, suddenly growing serious, “They’ve been around for much longer, don’t you know? They shape-shift and take the forms of others; they’re really behind everything!”

“You don’t seem eager to take their pussy.”

“Cause reptiles don’t have pussies and I don’t fuck cloacacas or whatever!” He shouted, “I’m calling it right now, out of this whole fucking zoo that has invaded, it’s the Reptilians that are behind it all! Any day now, they’ll show their scales.”

We were now reaching a point where the conversation was going from mild, light-hearted chauvinism into straight-up paranoia, and this was coming from a man who lived through an alien invasion, so I decided to take action and turn the subject to something inoffensive.

“Hey, can you turn the radio on? I’d like to hear the news.”

Patty, against his character, silently pressed a few buttons and the speakers crackled before a voice came on and to my surprise, it was live-translated into English.

“...greater autonomy for Earth is the only way to ensure their loyalty, we have seen this work in the Autonomous Swiss Confederation. Humanity is a fighting race, one with ambition to explore the universe. If I am appointed King, I will make regional, elected Tribunes mandatory for every Duchy, increase pay and benefits for human soldiers in all branches of the military, and immediately investigate illicit slavery operations and ensure that servitude remain a choice or judicial punishment. I will guarantee a stable, loyal Earth, and enlistment in the Royal Army will double!”

A barrage of thumbs and roars echoed through the speakers and I pictured a crowd of aliens, some cheering and others snarling and retracting their claws in preparation for a Parliamentary brawl.

“Wouldn’t trust a word he says,” Patty muttered, “What do they need so many soldiers for, huh?”

“What Duke Raleth says is nothing more than slander towards the Empire,” a distressingly familiar female voice spoke up, silencing the crowd immediately. It was Aleesh, and she still spoke with the same level of willful authority that she gave when addressing me, as if the whole world was her slave. “There are no illicit slavery operations on Earth, despite what the rebels claim. When I am appointed Queen, I will quash the rebels. The punishment for joining such a faction shall be death and all immediate family members shall be likewise killed or put into indentured servitude.”

Cries of “Sirian Bitch,” rang out among the more progressive members of parliament and even plenty of the more moderate hard-liners.

“I’d like to be her indentured servitude, if you know what I mean...” Patty whispered under his breath. I held back on sharing my personal experience with her.

Raleth spoke up once more, “Perhaps, Duchess Aleesh should look to her own territories and compare them to South America. Our lands are very similar and have suffered much the same fate in the past. Tell us, my dear, of how loyal your subjects in the Congo are?”

“Duke Raleth, you speak of South America, a land you have the full resources of. I have only half of Africa as my demesne. But fear not, when I am appointed Queen, I will consolidate the southern half into the Duchy of Africa and with the full strength of the land, we will pacify all rebellious elements for good!” She paused, uttering a low growl before spitting out one final line, “No matter what continent they’re on.”

“Order! Order! Order!” Growled the Session-Master, banging something against a podium. They did not have gavels, so I imagined a Regulian who was so infuriated that his reddened skin was showing through his fur, banging his shoe against the podium, “This session will come to order!”

“I would like to speak on behalf of Duke Horith of North America.”

Another familiar voice, this one all the more surprising.

“The session recognizes Argus, of ArgusCorp.”

“Thank you, your honor,” Argus spoke calmly and with a sense of purpose. He generally was always so controlled but right now there was an undercurrent behind his voice as if he were about to pounce on a prey, “Duke Horith, nor his Prime Minister could make it today as they’re busy with urgent work in the far north, but they have authorized me to speak on his behalf and I have this official notice and seal to prove it.”

There was a fluttering of papers and a long pause.

“Proceed, sir.”

“The two candidates have both been offering flawed solutions to the problem of inheritance. First of all, it does not matter how stable South America has become as the Emperor will never allow such a show of weakness, especially when greater native rule has only made the economy of Beta Vulpeculae stagnate and allow thorough degenerates control over the planet. This was acceptable back then due to the...”

The audio completely cut out, both the original Regulian and the English translation. Eventually the audio returned, but it was only in Regulian.

“...Aleesh’s plan is intriguing, but such a desperate move requires a popular figure behind it and although I respect her, especially after the death of her father, she does not have wide popularity at home or abroad.

So where does this lead us? Do we simply sit back and let the Emperor roll the dice and assign another Regulian noble-born? No! We should put all our support behind Duke Horith for King. Despite his reputation for wild-living, he is popular among the humans of North America and he has a solid cabinet working behind him, not the least of which would be Prime Minister Yir, one of the most competent ministers I have ever seen! And yet despite his popularity, he remains steadfast to the ideals of the Empire and all the institutions it stands for!”

Argus’s words shocked me. I knew that he was the owner of a major company and trying to arrange a marriage with his daughter to Horith, but to hear him speak on behalf of him like this showed political clout that I never knew he had. And him speaking up in support of “Institutions,” the most obvious implication being slavery, which both Argus and Horith, as nice as they were to me, were eager participants in, and Argus made no mention of cases where it went beyond Regulian law including post-war kidnappings, once again implying that such things either were not happening or were worth glancing over.

“Duke Horith for King of Earth! Man’s best friend!”

No, those last three words were not literal translations, but they carried the same meaning as what Argus had said and those words would quickly spread as a political meme, despite the internet and TV restrictions.

Regardless, Parliament roared wildly, both with glee and with disgust. Argus’s speech might have been well-crafted, but it was not about to put a stop to the political chaos. Still, at least it didn’t escalate matters.

At least, until Raleth decided to get the last, bitter words in:

“All hail Horith and Argus! Co-Emperors of the Revived Lupiad-Sirian Empire!”

The broadcast immediately dropped. No static or noise, just the silent feedback from a muted radio station.

Patty was shocked into silence and actually had to pull over and just stare at the dead radio. I was similarly surprised, not once during the alien occupation had I ever heard of a Lupiad-Sirian Empire. They came from different planets and...were very similar to dogs and wolves, even to the point of being able to interbreed. It almost made too much sense, them having a common history.

I doubted Argus, let alone the Duke had such aspirations, but it was very telling how the broadcast got cut off so quickly. Perhaps there were bigger fractures showing elsewhere in the Empire? Cracks that the Regulians did not want us knowing about?

“Lets get going, Patty.”

“Yeah.”

He kicked the car into gear and we sped down the road, approaching the first check-point.