Alien Desire by Hannah Haze
Chapter six - Tor
The creature that currently fusses about the food store, pulling out cylindrical tin containers of almost inedible substances, is like nothing I’ve seen before. And I’ve seen creatures of all creeds and all kinds in my journeys across the universes. But nothing like her.
I suspect, perhaps, I am no longer in one of my own universes. I don’t remember much before the crash, a vague recollection of the electronics of my spaceship going haywire and losing control of the projection, the ship being yanked suddenly in one direction, a bright flash of light and then hurtling towards this white world.
For many years on Astia, we believed ours to be the only universe in existence. Then my great-great-great-grandfather the Alpha and adventurer Byrok discovered another, and with it untold wealth and power for my family. Have I, his descendant, discovered a third?
The creature, Emma, discovers what she is looking for and offers it to me with a wide stretch of her mouth, showing off a row of white blunt teeth. I am beginning to learn that this means she is happy, content. Although her scent reveals this to me too.
It also confirms what I’d guessed by her small stature and rounded hips, that she is female.
Female and Omega.
From what I can gather, she is alone, except for one aggressive little hairy creature. And she has no space ship. I suspect that, like me, she is stranded on this planet.
I take the proffered container and snap off the lid in the way she’s shown me, then use the implement to scoop out the contents.
She speaks to me with that same happy expression and I do not wish to hurt the little thing’s feelings by admitting I find the taste of this food vile. It is food, after all, and I need it to regain my strength, although the healing pack on my side is already doing its magic and I feel more myself with every passing second.
Now I’m of my senses, I look around again with unhazed eyes at the location in which I find myself. A rudimentary building with limited technology, which suggests her species is of elementary capabilities and understanding. Far behind that of my own, the Grytons.
Unfortunately even our superior Gryton technology has not survived the crash; only what I’ve salvaged from the emergency trunk remains, designed to withstand any destruction. And unfortunately the contents of the trunk are limited. I can only hope I can combine it with the technology here to send a message to my world, a command for a rescue mission to be sent to collect me.
And the Omega too.
I watch her now from the corner of my eye. Her skin is much darker than mine, a shade of brown that remains static and unchanging, just like her hazel eyes. From her scalp protrudes many fine auburn strands that appear entirely natural. She is smaller than a Gryton female — much smaller and softer too. Her body, although similar to mine, is a combination of curves and sweeps. I inspect them now. Her tiny waist and her wide hips. She is clearly designed for child bearing.
Yes, I will need to take her back with me to Astia.
I sniff the air again to confirm it, to ensure in my half-conscious state I hadn’t imagined it. To ensure she is definitely Omega. Her sweet scent — a tantalising mixture of jumga fruit, star berries and quixly flowers — floats through my nostrils, bathing my mouth in a delicious concoction of taste, and melts into my bloodstream. My skin warms and swirls with colour.
Omega. No doubt about it. Omega.
I can’t quite believe it. When my father sent me on this mission to find the Gryton more Omegas, I’d known it for what it was. A fool’s errand to force me out of the way. One I’m sure he expected would have me return empty handed and therefore shamed. I myself had little hope. But I was determined to do my duty, to scour every corner of the two universes, knowing it would be many years before I would return home unsuccessfully.
Never did I dream I’d succeed. Or so quickly.
The Omega sits with her legs crossed, one of the food stuff perched on her lap, watching me as we both eat. I notice her observing the way my skin lights up in response to her arousing scent, but I have a suspicion she does not know what this means. An expression I gather is puzzlement hovers on her face.
It is a pretty face, despite its lack of Track lines, the ones that signify the purity of our Gryton line. I stare back at her and note that I was wrong. Her skin does change colour, darkening across her cheekbones. Curious.
I eat as much of the sloppy, tasteless food as I can bear, then push it to one side, and go to further explore the contents of the trunk. Inside, I find a translation kit, and a basic communications beacon. I also discover several spare suits rolled into balls, more healing packs and, to my relief, some food. I attach the small disc of the translation kit to my forehead and, picking up the communications beacon, go to explore the computer here.
The Omega trots beside me, struggling to keep up with my longer stride. It is adorable and my tail flicks in contentment. She stops when she sees this and her mouth falls open. I see she does not have a tail of her own. This must limit her species considerably in both movement and balance, but also in communication. Although I consider that she uses her face to express herself. Curious again.
Ignoring the wag of my tail, she points to the disc on my head.
“I hope it will allow us to understand each other,” I tell her, gesturing to her and then me, but she shakes her head and shrugs, and I know she doesn’t understand.
The computer, as I feared, is rudimentary. It sputters and grinds to life and the electronics are so slow, I can almost see them churning away. I crack my knuckles and dig in.
I’m keen to make the Omega understand me quickly. As soon as she understands me, we can begin mating. Then we can determine whether our species are compatible, whether she can bear my offspring. I am in no doubt that she can. No Omega could smell this sweet and not.
The computer begins to talk to me, and I lean back and close my eyes, tuning in to the translation unit and allowing it to do its job.
The Omega says something to me too, and fusses about, leaning over my shoulder to try to see what I’m doing, but I ignore her and after a while, she scurries away.
When I open my eyes hours later, my side aches. I peel away the healing patch and gaze down at the skin. It is less mangled and charred than it was, the skin beginning to fuse together, but it is not yet healed and I suspect it goes deeper than I realised. I return to my trunk to find a new patch and catch the Omega scuttling away from it, clearly inspecting the contents.
The curious little thing is curious indeed.
I beckon her towards me, keeping the colours of my skin neutral, my tail lowered, showing her I’m not angry. She looks unsure, that expressive face of hers betraying her emotions once again.
“It is Ok Omega,” I tell her, “You can look.” I beckon with my finger and purr at her.
I am curious too, curious to see if my purr has the same effect it does on her as other Omegas. Not that I personally have ever tried this. The few Omegas that exist on Astia are all owned by my father and a handful of his most trusted allies and advisers. Touching another Alpha’s Omega, attempting to command her with a purr, is punishable by death.
The purr rumbles low in my chest and I watch how it affects the creature. For a moment, I think it has failed, but then her body shudders and the pupils of her eyes swim wide. I do not know what this means — if this is a response of fear or desire — but I beckon her again.
“Emma,” I say, and she steps forward. Yes, little Omega, come here.
She steps hesitatingly towards me, hovering a pace away. She seemed less afraid of me when I was injured, but now I am on my way to recovery she is unsure, as if a wall has erected between us.
A wall I mean to smash down.
The Grytons are not barbarians. We are a civilised species. We do not force a mating on an Omega until they are ready, despite how eager we may be. Although sometimes heavy persuasion is required and certainly obedience.
The mating process itself is a brief one. However, despite the brevity of the process, I imagine it would be a little rough for a small creature like Emma. She has not the strength or stature of a Gryton Omega. I will need to be gentle.
I would like to impregnate her as quickly as possible. Certainly before the rescue mission is sent. My child in her belly will ensure I can keep her as my Omega and won’t have to hand her to my father. There will be a cost for this, but I am prepared to bear it. I have waited many years for an Omega of my own.
I need to make her understand what I want from her as quickly as possible, so that she will submit and let me mount her. I don’t know what she looks like beneath her clothes but from what is visible on the outside, I can see how similar we are. Somewhere beneath those layers of clothing is an opening into which I can insert my cock and offload my seed. The thought of it has my insides spinning in excitement and I forget about the pain burning in my side.
Tuning into my translation device pinned to my forehead, I concentrate on what I want to say to her. The machine has already concluded that her language is unknown and is busy trying to decipher the noises and code the computer here supplied. So far it has a few words for me to use. I need to keep talking with her so that it can pick up more.
“Emma, see,” I say to her, pointing inside the trunk, and am rewarded with a glimmer of recognition at this new word I have just added to my vocabulary.
“See,” she says, her lips curling upwards again.
When she doesn’t move, I lift out one object at a time and spread them before her as she had done with the revolting food stuff.
After I’ve applied a fresh healing pack to my wound, I pick up a package of dried vuvu berries, cooked by my mother for the journey. They bring luck and are a rare and expensive delicacy on our planet, the berries ripening once every decade. I rip open the package and offer it to Emma. With hesitant fingers, she reaches inside and pinches one between her finger and thumb, lifting it to her nose.
I point to it with a question in my eyes.
“Oh … berries,” she says and I repeat the word to log it in the translation device.
Pouring some into my palm, I tip them into my mouth and chew. She copies the action and we chew together.
The taste is a painful one. I have not seen my mother or my home for several months, and I miss them both, miss the companionship of my friends and family too. Travelling alone has been a cruel sort of torture. I am a sociable creature, popular with my peers — the reason, I assume, my father found me a threat.
The flavour of the berries hits my tongue at the same time it hits Emma’s. I can tell by the way a breath of air rushes from her lips and she closes her eyes.
“Amazing,” she says. I try to repeat the word and fail. “Good,” she says this time, “These are good.”
“Good,” I say, holding her gaze.
Yes, the Omega is good. Good and fertile and delicious smelling.