16. Varak
CHAPTER 16
VARAK
T he bell above the door chimes as I burst into Papa Marella's. The scent of garlic and tomato sauce hangs in the air, but the tables sit empty. No Aileen.
"Looking for someone?" Smith Johnson wipes his hands on his apron. "She's not here."
"Where is she?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" His human disguise melts away, revealing green scales and razor-sharp teeth.
I dodge as a chair flies at my head. It crashes into the wall, leaving a dent in the red and white checkered wallpaper. Aileen's father loves that wallpaper.
"Stand still and die, Vakutan scum."
"Not in here." I catch his fist before it connects with my face. "Take it outside."
"Afraid to wreck the place?" Smith's tail whips around, knocking over a table. "How sweet."
I block another punch, careful not to stumble into the glass display case filled with cannoli. The photographs on the wall rattle as Smith slams me against it.
"Fight back, coward." His claws rake across my chest.
"Not here." I headbutt him, pushing him toward the door. "Outside."
"Why? Worried about your little human girlfriend's feelings?"
The front window beckons. One good throw would take this outside. But the street's still busy with afternoon traffic. Humans everywhere.
"What's wrong?" Smith's tongue flicks out, tasting the air. "Scared the primitives will see what you really are?"
I duck another wild swing. The punch connects with the wall instead, cracking the plaster. Sam's going to notice that tomorrow.
"Come on, big shot." Smith spreads his arms wide. "Show these humans what a real alien looks like."
The dining room's getting demolished swing by swing. But if I take this fight outside, everyone will know. The timeline will shatter. Everything I've worked for...
"What's it gonna be, hero?" Smith grins, showing those razor teeth. "The restaurant or the secret?"
A door creaks behind us. Sam emerges from the kitchen, wiping flour from his hands onto his apron. His eyes go wide at the sight of Smith's true form.
"What in the Hell is going on?" Sam points at Smith's scaled body. "Is this for the Slick Schlock?"
The green scales ripple across Smith's skin as he turns to face Sam. His forked tongue flicks out between razor teeth.
"Tik Tok," Smith says in a flat, mechanical voice.
Sam takes a step back, his face pale. "What happened to your Jamaican accent?"
"Tik Tok, Mon." Smith's attempt at the accent sounds wrong, like a computer trying to mimic human speech.
The distraction gives me the opening I need. I launch myself at Smith, wrapping my arms around his waist. We crash into a table, sending plates and silverware clattering across the floor.
"He's an alien," I shout at Sam. "Run!"
My fist connects with Smith's jaw, but it's like punching water. His liquid form absorbs the impact, reforming instantly.
"You can't hurt me." Smith's laugh echoes through the restaurant. "Not without a hundred-story drop."
"Will you get out of here already?" I shout at Sam, who stands watching the fight with his mouth open.
"Hey, Chuckie, is this guy made of water or something?"
"Or something." I dodge another of Smith's attacks. "Will you just run?"
"Nah, I got just the thing."
Sam disappears into the kitchen. The clatter of pots and pans follows. Smith's claws rake across my back, drawing blood. The pain burns white-hot.
"Your human pets can't help you." Smith's body ripples like mercury. "Nothing can."
Sam bursts back through the kitchen door, clutching a massive bag of flour. "Let's see how you like this arrowroot powder!"
White powder explodes through the air as Sam hurls the contents at Smith. The flour coats Smith's liquid form, and his movements turn sluggish. His body congeals like gravy left too long on the stove.
"No!" Smith's voice gurgles as his form starts to solidify.
I grab Smith's semi-solid mass and heave him toward the pizza oven. His body sloshes and squelches as I stuff him inside. The door slams shut with a satisfying clang.
Sam jams a metal rod through the oven door handle. The screams fade to a wet gurgle, then silence. The acrid stench of burning shapeshifter fills the restaurant.
"Ugh, I'll never get the smell outta the upholstery." Sam pinches his nose, waving at the air.
"We really stomped him, didn't we?" The pride in my voice sounds hollow even to me. A seasoned Vakutan warrior saved by a human with a bag of flour.
"What do you mean, we?" Sam crosses his arms. "I did all the heavy lifting. Some days Sam Marella serves up Chicago's finest pizza pies. But today? He's serving up the whoop ass."
My scales flush hot with embarrassment beneath my holographic disguise. But he's right. Sam Marella, pizza maker and science fiction enthusiast, did what an elite Vakutan operative could not. He saw the threat and acted without hesitation. The songs of my people celebrate such deeds.
"You know, Sam, on my world we have epic operas celebrating heroes. Your quick thinking would make an excellent third act."
"An alien opera, huh?" Sam scratches his chin. "Better than getting my picture on the wall at Luigi's for fastest pizza toss."
The oven door rattles. We both jump, but the metal rod holds firm. The bubbling sounds inside grow quieter.
"Sam, could you get Selene? We need to talk."
"Sure thing, Space Ranger." Sam winks and disappears into the back.
I deactivate my holographic disguise while I wait. The kitchen's fluorescent lights cast a harsh glare on my red scales. The familiar scent of oregano and basil mingles with the acrid smell of burnt shapeshifter.
"Sam, what's so important that—" Selene stops mid-sentence. Her hand flies to her mouth. "Oh my God."
"Please, sit down." I gesture to the steel prep table. "There's something I need to tell you both."
Sam pulls out chairs while Selene stands frozen. "Honey, sit. Our daughter's dating an alien. How cool is that?"
"Cool?" Selene's voice rises an octave. "Our daughter is dating a... a..."
"Vakutan." I bow my head. "My real name is Varak."
"I knew it!" Sam pumps his fist. "Just like Star Trek. You're probably part of some galactic federation, right?"
"Actually, even though aliens are real, Star Trek was a work of fiction?—"
"Yup, totally one hundred percent real." Sam nods sagely. "If I didn't need to be here running the restaurant, I could make Starfleet captain in a year."
"Starfleet isn't—" I catch myself. No point arguing. "That is, of course you could. But right now, I have to know if you've seen Aileen? She might be in danger."
The front door bursts open and bodies pour through. A dozen Latino gangbangers flood the restaurant, their colors marking them as Los Lobos. They leap onto counters and tables, fists pumping in the air.
"Los Lobos kick your ass!" They chant in unison. "Los Lobos kick your face!"
My combat training kicks in. I shift into a defensive stance, ready to protect Sam and Selene.
"Los Lobos kick your balls into outer space!"
Sam grabs a rolling pin from the counter. "Not in my restaurant, you don't."
"Wait a second." Selene's hand catches Sam's arm. "Haven't you noticed they're not tearing the place up, they're picking up the mess you guys left?"
She's right. Between chants and aggressive posturing, the Lobos are sweeping broken glass and righting overturned tables. One gangbanger carefully hangs a fallen picture frame back on the wall.
A female Lobo with electric purple hair stalks toward me. Her face inches from mine, she locks eyes and shouts:
"Los Lobos kick your ass!"
The mint on her breath mingles with the burnt shapeshifter smell still lingering in the air. Her stance screams challenge, but there's something else in her eyes. A message.
"Los Lobos kick your face!"
She leans even closer, practically touching noses. Behind her, the gang continues their synchronized cleanup operation.
"Los Lobos kick your balls into outer space!"
Those fierce green eyes. I know them anywhere, even framed by electric purple hair. My Aileen. Relief floods through me as I sweep her into my arms, claiming her mouth with mine. Her lips taste of mint and victory.
"Aww." Selene's voice cuts through the moment. "Isn't that sweet."
"Sweet?" Sam's pitch rises. "Can't you see what our daughter has done to her hair? What will the neighbors think?" He waves his hands at Aileen's purple locks. "Are you watching the Japanimation with the street gangs and the tentacles and the schoolgirls?"
Jefe Rios pauses mid-sweep, dustpan hovering above the floor. His eyes narrow at Sam. "You know a lot about tentacle porn, essay."
"So, uh, about all these aliens trying to get my restaurant..." Sam's voice trails off as he glances between me and the still-smoking pizza oven.
"It's time I showed you why." I lead them toward the basement door. The familiar creak of wooden stairs echoes as we descend into musty darkness.
"Watch your step," I say, activating my wrist computer's light source. The blue glow illuminates decades of dust and cobwebs.
Sam coughs. "Nothing down here but the boiler and my collection of—I mean, just the boiler."
I press my palm against the metal surface of the ancient heating unit. A soft hum emanates from within as hidden scanners read my biological signature. The boiler slides sideways with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a gleaming corridor beyond.
Selene gasps. "That's been here the whole time?"
"Since 1947." I key in the access code. "Your building sits on top of something far more important than a pizza restaurant."
The corridor stretches before us, its polished metal walls reflecting our faces like fun house mirrors. Blue light pulses along recessed tracks in the floor, leading deeper underground.
"This is just like that movie with the—" Sam starts.
"Follow me." I cut him off before he can start another science fiction tangent. "Stay close, and don't touch anything."
My compad chirps as we descend deeper into the facility. The readings make no sense - energy levels barely register above background radiation.
"This can't be right." I tap the screen, but the numbers remain stubbornly low. "There should be enough power here to level Chicago."
"Maybe your alien detector needs new batteries," Sam says.
The corridor opens into a vast chamber. Dust covers ancient control panels and dead monitors. At the center stands a massive cylinder, frost coating its surface.
"Is that..." Aileen's purple hair glows in the emergency lighting. "A cryo pod?"
"Yes." I approach the cylinder, wiping away decades of ice. "But something's wrong. The power readings are too low. The stasis field should be?—"
Red warning lights flash across my compad's screen. The cylinder hums to life, its surface beginning to warm.
"No." I frantically key commands into the nearest console. "No no no."
"What's happening?" Selene grabs Sam's arm.
"We triggered the wake-up sequence." My claws scratch against the metal as I try to abort the procedure. "The pod's emergency protocols detected our presence."
Steam hisses from vents around the base. The frost melts away, revealing the figure inside. Seven feet of black scales with crimson highlights. Muscle mass beyond even Vakutan norms.
"That's the weapon?" Aileen steps closer. "He looks like you."
"He's Grolgath." I pull her back. "Enhanced. Augmented. And completely unpredictable."
The pod's cover begins to retract with a pneumatic whine. More steam billows out, obscuring our view of the creature within. A massive hand presses against the glass.
"We need to get out of here." I push the others toward the exit. "Now."
The glass shatters. Through the fog, golden eyes snap open.
A black scaled blur rockets past me, shoving me aside like I'm made of paper. The impact sends me sprawling against the console as Garros bounds up the stairs three at a time.
"Stay here!" I sprint after him, taking the steps two at a time. My boots clang against metal as I emerge into the restaurant's basement.
The boiler door hangs open, torn from its hinges. Footprints in the dust lead upstairs. I follow them through the kitchen, past upended shelves and scattered ingredients.
Outside, pedestrians scream and point at something moving too fast to track. A car swerves, tires squealing. The shadow of Garros' massive form disappears down an alley.
I race after him, my lungs burning. The alley opens onto a busy street. Humans mill about, going about their daily routines. No sign of a seven-foot alien warrior.
My compad beeps. The bioscan shows nothing unusual - just normal human readings. I spin in a circle, searching faces in the crowd. Any of them could be him now.
Back at the restaurant, Aileen and her parents wait by the basement door. Their faces fall when they see I'm alone.
"He's gone." I slump against the wall. "And he can look like anyone now. A perfect shapeshifter with combat augmentations and superhuman strength."
"We have to find him." Aileen grabs my arm. "Before he hurts someone."
"How?" I gesture at the street outside. "He could be anyone, anywhere. And we have no idea what he wants or what he'll do next."
"So we just unleashed an unstoppable alien weapon on Chicago?" Sam's voice cracks.
"Not just Chicago." I close my eyes, defeat washing over me. "The whole world."