Page 36 of Alien's Luck
Had the Khargal Patrol spotted him? His wings itched, wanting to spread wide to block him and Carla from view.
“I hate it when they say that in the movies. Just spit it out,” Carla said.
“There is no time?—”
“No, wrong answer.” She dug her heels in, as if refusing to take another step. “I thought the entire point of this farce was to be seen.”
There truly was no time for this. Patrol agents worked their way through the crowd, growing closer.
Ari had removed his implanted identity chip when he fled his home planet, but the Patrol’s scanners were capable of identification with genetic material. The likelihood of the Patrol being there for him was slim—however flattering to imagine Khargal law enforcement would go to all that trouble for his humble self—but he had no intention of catching their attention.
This situation was his fault. He had grown complacent with the luxury and perceived safety of the resort; now, he dodged the Patrol from his homeworld.
Unsuccessfully.
Static filled every screen and portable device in the area, followed by an announcement. “Attention, Khargal citizen. Halt. Yield for inspection.” The Patrol had cut into the feed for their proclamation, possibly broadcasting to the entire complex.
Ari kept moving, his hand firmly planted in the middle of Carla’s back to push her forward. There would be no yielding for inspection.
“There is a small matter about a warrant for my arrest. Now, please hurry, but do not be obvious about it.” He prepared himself for teasing or mockery. He glanced behind them. The crowd had parted for the Khargal Patrol. Scarlet red uniforms,severe, featureless visors hiding their faces, and weapons in hand had that effect.
Instead, Carla grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together, and gave a quick nod. “Why didn’t you just say that? Casual fleeing. Can do. Come on, don’t stand around flapping your jaw.”
They pushed through the crowd, past the gamblers with eyes fixed on screens, past the people conversing over drinks, and toward the back to the service exit. From there, they could exit through the kitchen to a loading dock. Casually fleeing, as Carla described.
A Patrol agent materialized from nothingness, suddenly very present and blocking their path. The male was featureless behind the visor, like a machine. “Halt! Khargal citizen, submit to an identity scan.”
“No, thank you,” Carla said.
“It is mandatory,” the male said, turning the blank visor to face Carla.
Her shoulders drew back. After only a few days, Ari recognized that she was preparing herself for a fight. Perhaps not physical—humans were underwhelming when it came to being a physical threat—but certainly verbal.
“Under what authority?” Carla demanded.
“I am empowered by the High Council of Duras to enforce its laws.”
“This isn’t Duras.”
The Patrol guard turned that blank faceplate toward Ari, ignoring Carla. “Khargal, present your identity.”
“As deeply as I wish to comply, I cannot. I do not have one,” Ari said.
“Impossible. Every Khargal is given an implant.”
“It is an amusing story,” Ari said, completely rambling and unsure where this fabrication would take him. “My parentswere very devout members of an obscure religion whose beliefs prevented them from being constantly monitored by an overreaching government, or so they claimed. Also, no dairy. We grew our own food to avoid pesticides, but the compound was isolated, so there wasn’t much of a choice. Start farming or start starving, beloved leader always said.”
“Sounds like a cult. Were your parents in a cult?” Carla asked.
“No, it was a cooperative.”
“Definitely a cult. Did you have to wear special clothes and or shave your head?”
“A simple uniform makes everyone more efficient. That is not unusual.” Ari’s wings shivered, taking delight in how Carla improvised easily with the obviously fictional tale.
“Sounds suspicious,” she said. “But no dairy? No, thank you.”
The Patrol guard’s attention bounced between Carla and Ari, expression hidden by the visor.
