Chasing Violet Page 2

  “For the right man? Probably. Just as much as he would be willing to give up for me.”

  “Would you be opposed to a violent man, even if his violence stemmed from protecting you?”

  “So he’s gonna beat up the boyfriend? Hell, yeah. I’d be okay with that.”

  “Violet, we’re running out of time. Would you like me to hold the questionnaire, or submit what I have so far?”

  “Eh. Finish it off for me and submit it. I think you have a feel for my likes.”

  “I do feel like I know you quite well,” Jilly agreed.

  Smiling at the computer personality’s antics, Violet grabbed her purse and headed out the front door.

  She followed the lit arrows down various hallways to a roomful of women. They were talking amongst each other, holding long-stemmed champagne flutes, and twittered back and forth excitedly. Some were seated on loveseats throughout the room, others stood at small tables.

  “Hello. I’m Amber. Please, have a seat.”

  The small woman on the loveseat had large eyes, played up with dark makeup. Her pink hair was cut short, but then it was fashionable to wear the rainbow colored hair in short styles. Violet suspected it was damaging to hair to keep up with the color, but what did she know?

  “Hi. I’m Violet.”

  The other woman covered her mouth with her hand to release a giggle. “Look at us! With color names.” She leaned in. “What’s your real name?”

  “My real name?”

  One of the blondes who stood at a table spoke. “We all decided right before you arrived that we weren’t using our real names. I’m sure all the men in there know who’s who and this’ll put a rift in their plans.”

  A couple of the women snickered.

  “That sounds like fun. I better change Violet, then. How about Rose?”

  “That’s a good one,” the blonde said.

  A woman with purple hair stood with her. “I hope one of the horned guys picks me,” she said. “Have you seen the bodies on those guys?” She fanned herself.

  Violet frowned. “Why are you hoping someone will pick you? Why aren’t we turning this around and doing the picking ourselves?”

  “Us pick?” Purple hair looked baffled.

  “Yes,” Violet continued. “Why let men have the upper hand? We’re young. And beautiful. Obviously, many want us, or we wouldn’t be here. So when men approach, fire away your own questions. Treat the encounter the way you would a job interview. Let him talk, file away what you want for future reference, and move on to the next guy.”

  Before she knew it, the entire room of women had surrounded her, listening to her talk.

  “Oh, I know! Like those speed dating sites you used to hear about.”

  “Yeah! We’re not the victims. We’re the chosen.”

  This woman had yellow hair. Not blond. Yellow, like the sun. Like butter. Like a lemon. Violet forced herself to hold back the shudder. So glad she wasn’t into the rainbow hair color phase. Here’s hoping the men of the ship were. Of course, with the way some of those alien employees looked, they better have personality in spades to make up for their looks.

  One of the species had eight arms. Personality, be damned. Who knew what could be done with eight arms?

  “Why shouldn’t we turn this around? We should have the pick of the litter. Let them learn how to treat a lady,” said one. “By the way, my name is Jacey.”

  Lemonhead added, “I’m Trina.”

  “Has anyone seen them?” Violet asked.

  “The men?” Jacey asked.

  Who else? “Yes.”

  “No. This is the first time I’ve been out of my room.”

  “Well, I saw them.”

  “You did? What are they like?”

  A lot of the women moved in closer.

  “There are a lot of different types of aliens. There’s an octopus-looking group. Lots of long, tentacle arms. There are these horned guys that look rather scrumptious. All hard and muscular.” Aware that her voice had slipped into a rather dreamy-mode, she hardened it to continue. “There are guys with more than two eyes. There are some blue guys. Scaled guys. In fact, now that I think about it, I wonder how they got so many different species on one ship? I mean, we’re all human, right? Us girls?”

  “I wonder how they get along?”

  “Probably not so well,” Violet said. “I did notice an octopus alien irritated some of the others, and they all shushed him rather harshly.”

  “That’s exciting. It means there’ll be fights,” Jacey said.

  All heads turned toward her.

  “What? I like an alpha male who’ll fight for me.”

  “You’re the kind who’s going to flirt with several guys and get them all riled up, aren’t ya?” Amber asked.

  Jacey grinned, her teeth even and white. “You got it.”

  “What were they doing in that room, anyway?” Amber asked Violet. “By the way, my real name’s Dahlia.”

  Violet smiled. “I’m not sure. They were viewing something on a video screen. They seemed pretty intent.”

  “Oh, maybe those were our profiles. Or the questionnaires we filled out upon arrival.”

  A small, rolling bot opened the double doors of the room. “Ladies,” he said. “Dinner is served. Please sit anywhere.”

  There was complete silence when they entered the room. The only sounds were those of the soft music playing in the background and the sounds of the high heels clacking on the floors as they made their way in.

  All the strange aliens were already seated at the tables. A few rose when the women entered the room, holding chairs out to entice the nearest ones to them.

  “Yo. Girly. This way.” An octopus waggled his tentacles at her, but Violet continued walking up to the north end of the room.

  An arm reached out, and grasped her elbow. “Please. Won’t you sit here?”

  It didn’t sound much like a request.

  Chapter Two

  The dream, when it came, was so vivid. Cadoc realized the memories were all too real though he slumbered. Something about the new galaxy they entered triggered his thoughts to focus on the day in question. The haunting gray eyes of the tiny girl-child behind the steel bars were burned into his soul. He hadn’t been prepared for that—the emotions she stirred. And why would she? Why had she? Years later, these were his thoughts when before they hadn’t mattered as much. Cadoc was too busy strutting before his friends in his yesterday’s, telling them he was going to have his manhood ceremony. There were laughs and howls. He was no man, he would fail and the Berserker would devour the victim in front of him while he sobbed like a female.

  “I have been marked,” he said with a glare of defiance. Bare-chested and bare-armed, he showed off his sword.

  “It means nothing if you can’t access the magic,” Talpin, his friend said in a way not to tease overmuch. Talpin who was older than Cadoc, tried and failed at the ceremonies held every year since gaining his first tattoo.

  “I will show all of you.” Cadoc stormed off.

  Cadoc twitched in his sleep. He was furious his friends thought him a child. His father insisted he was ready for battle. He woke with his first tattoo that morning. And what a powerful weapon it was. His father seemed relieved, and yet worried. Granted Cadoc was young, but his father was a leader. Cadoc would be no less.

  How proud he was to show the weapon image to his beloved mother, racing to her side. His first tattoo, magically appearing overnight. The females lived in the domes on the planet, sheltered from everything except the beauty of life. Long couches piled with silk materials and pillows of the finest quality pampered their rolls of beautifully tinted pink flesh. Nothing except childbirth was expected of them. Not even a hand in rearing the offspring, though many loved to hold their children, including Cadoc’s mother who lavished affection on him.

  Their female children, also sequestered to the domed area, were given their own dais when becoming a woman. Entering into the respected age of m
aturity. Warriors were as proud of their daughters as of their sons. Fiercely protective. The female of their species were revered. They gave life. Cadoc’s father was an overseer and leader. Females must have everything they want. Their rather buoyant rotund bodies never labored at work or even needed to walk. All was brought to them by the lesser warriors, the males whose mothers were too small to give a powerful offspring and meager weapon tattoos. The more portly their size, the better their chance at massive warriors. Their large frames were necessary to give birth.

  “Mother, see, look at me! I’m going to be a man today.” Cadoc was breathless as he took the stairs two at a time to her high dais.

  Excitedly he pointed at his right arm showing off the long steel blade of a sword and mighty handled tattoo. The dais his mother rode turned somewhat to give his rotund mother a better view. She smiled at him and traced the image. Cadoc could see she was pleased, which heightened his excitement.

  “Can you use this, my son? Have you been able to discover the magic of manhood? Are you a man, Cadoc? Do you know what it means to be a man, my love?”

  “Of course, Mother. With this I can kill my enemy. I will be a great warrior like father.”

  Her smile wavered for a moment. She reached to tuck a shoulder length strand of his inky dark hair behind his ear. He fought the urge to duck or bat her hand away, he was going to be twelve after all. Soon he would be a man. But he did love the soft warmth of her fingertips. She was so beautiful. With his mother, he could be gentle. She was a female, so very important to survival. Soon many daises were floating closer, hovering to see his tattoo. How proud Cadoc was. He could see the glow of his orange eyes with a long black pupil reflecting off the onyx bowl filled with treats for his mother’s fancy. A bowl his mother offered to him, to choose a delight.

  “Oh no, Mother. I’m too old for treats now.” He tried to sound sincere.

  “Take just one, my love. It would make me happy.”

  Cadoc gave her a grin of delight. “Of course for you. Anything for you, Mother.”

  “I love you, my son.”

  The large purple candied fruit stained his hands as he raced from the dome into the tall green grass for home. The overhead sun beat down on him, always a surprise after leaving the temperature controlled female place. Running built the heart of a warrior, so did ignoring the elements. Cadoc pulled up short as he rounded a corner and heard his father’s unmistakable voice. He was speaking with the Ambassador. Cadoc started to leave, eavesdropping was frowned on. The next few words stopped him in his tracks.

  “The boy is too young to face the Berserker.” The Ambassador sounded harried.

  “He must fight today. If we wait, he might win and we will be forced to return that odd female thing to her own planet. Or worse, he might want to keep it. There is no way. No way. You know the laws will be kept. The boy hasn’t got a chance right now. He will be ready next year when he has more power. I refuse to allow him to breed with one of those females when he’s grown and ready. Puny little things, worthless. The warriors they produce would be useless, perhaps weaponless. Let the Berserker destroy her. Or one day the boy will be called to her, an imprint of first contact will linger. I could kill the son of a bitch who brought that thing here.”

  “The warriors will not like this.”

  “I do not like this. But it must be done. You have seen it. Even in slumber—the face, the hair, it’s too compelling, too vulnerable. It is too small and weak. I will go to my grave sorry, but our species must survive. No, I am making the right decision.”

  “Send it back.”

  “I cannot, the fool registered it. Normal procedure with a victim. Damn the idiot to hell. But this is the last we will see of that species. Though the lesson learned will be hard.”

  “At least give it to another that will fail.”

  “There is only one who will fail this year…”

  The voices moved away. Cadoc licked at his treat. His father wasn’t happy about something. One of the boys wasn’t ready for manhood. That meant a victim would die. That brought excitement to the arena. And blood. Cadoc shuddered. It was thrilling to watch the older boys fight for their prize. Many were able to keep the little animals. Others were forced to return their prize, though they were given something else. Worse were the screams of the victims of the boys who lost, who failed to become a man, at least that year. They would continue to battle until deemed unworthy. No warrior wanted that. Serving under the female dome was a privilege no male wanted.

  That night inside the domed warrior arena, a precaution to contain the Berserkers, the boys were waiting on their turn at battle. Cadoc was nervous. All day he had been trying to access the magic of his tattoo. Growling in frustration, he wanted to climb inside his own body and pull the sword forth. Nothing he did or said helped.

  Dressed in a simple loincloth, his chest bare, he stood still as rounded metal bracelets were clicked onto his wrists. The metal bracelets were now his right of passage in case the magic of the sword was revealed. Cadoc knew how to place a sword, he had watched many a training battle. The weapon was to lay across the wrist band, the steel to steel touching to set a charge. Anxiously he paced as he watched the first boy go in. It was the child’s third try, the last years he hadn’t been strong enough. A beast was lowered in a cage. Inside was a blood-red, shaggy creature that made the crowd laugh. The beast snorted green snot. A tiny bug fluttered, frightening the beast, sending it to cower against the bars.

  Talpin, Cadoc’s friend, gave a groan. Cadoc chuckled. If Talpin managed to win his way into manhood this time, the beast was going to be sent packing. He wondered if this was the boy his father was worried about. The beast in question was kind of cute in an ugly way with lots of hair. His father should have known there was no way Talpin would ask to keep this thing.

  Cadoc sucked in his breath when a Berserker appeared. Ten foot tall hairy beasts. Chests the size of four men. Three-eyed, flat nosed, fanged fighters. The Berserker licked its lips at the caged beast. Cadoc felt a moment’s pity. Talpin had three tattoos to call upon. So far he mastered two. With grim determination Talpin called forth his long hammer-axe. He learned to use the weapon as an extension. His muscles flexed, impressing Cadoc. A valiant swing to the knee of the Berserker and Talpin was struck, flying back onto his ass. The crowd roared in laughter. The hammer-axe was too far to reach.

  The small dagger he pulled from the tattoo at his foot struck with lightning speed into the foot of the Berserker. The huge creature bellowed in rage. He plucked the dagger from his foot and crushed it. The tiny pieces reformed in the air, miniscule, to land again at Talpin’s foot. Talpin was furious. The beast in the cage cried out when the Berserker went for it. Talpin, in his great rage, finally called to the sword at his thigh. A war cry on his lips and Talpin jumped onto the Berserker and struck the mighty creature from behind with the butt end of the weapon between the shoulder blades. Roaring in pain, the beast went down. It wasn’t dead but sending it to its knees was a victory.

  Talpin was a man!

  The crowed bellowed in delight, Cadoc included. The caged beast was taken away with Talpin riding on top. Cadoc was happy for his friend, and the strange ugly beast. His father would have no worries now. The second boy didn’t fare as well, which came as a surprise to many. The Berserker proved victorious. Cadoc cringed as the three-eyed monster ripped the head off its prize. He munched as he was led away, waving the bald torso, making small hooved feet flap at the audience in a grotesque way.

  Cadoc was next. There was a murmur of excitement, he was the youngest there. Bets were placed. He was a leader’s son, big for his age, but only a child. There was a general certainty he would fail. Not that it mattered, he showed bravery for being in the arena. The cage swung down, settling on the soft dirt floor, sending puffs of dust to rise and settle. As Cadoc moved forward to study his prize, he was stumped. It took his eyes a moment to find it. He’d never seen anything like this creature. It was female. His malenes
s scented that fact, that wasn’t surprising, as many victims were female as well as male. She was so tiny, almost lost in the cage. Long ebony hair—hair his color—swept down to the middle of her back. She appeared dazed as though dreaming. Her clothes were odd. That it wore clothes was odd. A tiny thumb was pressed into her mouth. The crowd was strangely silent. There were no cheers, no laughter.

  Beautiful eyes stared onto Cadoc. His body trembled. Little red lips quivered from a perfect face. A small hand wrapped around the bar as she crept closer. Suddenly the female retreated to the back of the cage. The ground shook. Not ten feet away stood a Berserker. There were boos from the crowd. Angry shouts of fury. Cadoc was confused. The victim didn’t appear to be a simple animal. She was different, but not a mere beast.

  A pain sliced through Cadoc’s chest. This was the thing his father mentioned. He was the boy not ready to be a man. His father wanted him to fail. Why? Scanning the crowd, he locked eyes onto his mother. He was surprised to see her there, the manhood ceremony was distasteful to females. But his mother was always an exception to the rule, she loved him with all her heart. Cadoc believed his warrior heart came from his mother. Her dais was floating above the crowd of warriors. Warriors who were stomping in anger. She also seemed none too pleased and sent a furious glare toward Cadoc’s father.

  The pain of hurt racked a sudden sob from Cadoc’s chest. He was to lose. The female-thing was to die. Ripped apart by a Berserker. Cadoc looked way up at the grinning creature. Claws—razor sharp—could kill him if it was permitted. It wasn’t. Those claws were reserved for the spoils of war. An image of those talons slicing into a perfect white thigh made his breath catch. For some reason the caged female threatened his father. A warrior, who was threatened by this?

  “Do you know what it means to be a man, my love?” His mother’s words were in his head.

  Cadoc thought killing would make him a warrior. But she hadn’t asked if he knew what it meant to be a warrior. A man, she said. A man. Am I a man? I must be. I have to be.

  Cadoc rose from his crouched position. Fists balled. He would lose, but they were going to have to pry the filthy Berserker’s hair from his hands. Hands that didn’t want to kill, but would to protect.