2. Vren
Chapter two
Vren
T he universe just got a little bit smaller.
I stand at the vast windows of the Earth Administrative Center, watching craft of various sizes dart through the sky lanes.
Some are human vehicles—sleek and practical.
Others belong to the various alien species who now call Earth home.
After three cycles of space travel from the Zexian homeland, I am finally here, breathing non-recycled air, feeling natural gravity pull at my limbs.
And unfortunately, that also means I must play by human rules.
I glance down at the bundle of papers clutched in my hand and sigh.
The documents are wrinkled at the edges from my grip, covered in stamps and signatures from the various offices I've visited today.
I've spent the last seven Earth hours waiting in countless lines, trying to get everything in order according to their byzantine procedures.
The line at Records Processing has been particularly trying—the human clerk's eyes never quite meeting mine as he stamps form after form with deliberate slowness.
Despite how excited I am to start my new life here, to experience the legendary blue skies and green forests I've studied in preparation for this journey, I find only one thought consistently returning to my mind.
Felicity Stone.
I'd felt the shimmer of recognition the moment I saw her call my name in the waiting room. Not just physical attraction, though by the stars, she is beautiful with her warm brown eyes and graceful movements. No, this is something deeper—a certainty that resonates in my chest when our gazes connect.
She is the woman meant for me. I want my own human mate, like the women who are paired with the fiercest Zexian warriors who guard the solar system. Those warriors earn their mates through acts of valor and protection, proving themselves worthy of the bond.
I am not one of those elite guardians. My talents lie in more practical matters, which is why I volunteered for this first wave of settlement.
But the longing remains the same—to find a companion who complements my spirit, who brings balance to my life.
I just have to prove myself worthy of her in different ways, through patience and understanding rather than battle prowess.
"Your identity card, sir."
I blink back to awareness as a disinterested human attendant slides a small plastic rectangle across the counter. Another document to add to my collection. I thank him with a polite nod, tucking the card carefully into the inner pocket of my travel vest.
As I turn to leave, planning my route to the temporary housing assigned to me, a familiar voice stops me in my tracks.
"Vren?"
My pulse quickens immediately. I look up and meet her warm, brown eyes, the exact color of rich Earth soil. My heart stutters in my chest, and I stand, aware of how I tower over her petite frame.
"Felicity," I say, her name feeling right on my tongue, like I am meant to speak it.
Her professional attire—what humans call a "pantsuit"—is a deep green that complements her olive skin tone and brings out flecks of amber in her eyes. Her dark hair is pulled back in a simple style that emphasizes the graceful curve of her neck.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, surprise evident in her expression. There's also something else there—wariness, perhaps, after my too-forward approach during our first meeting.
I inwardly cringe at my lack of cultural awareness. The human training modules clearly stated their preference for gradual courtship, yet I had blundered ahead like a youngling on his first mission.
I glance around, orienting myself. We're in the courtyard of the towering administrative buildings.
Golden late-afternoon light slants across the concrete, casting long shadows behind the humans and various aliens making their way home for the day.
I'm supposed to be heading to my assigned temporary quarters, but the need to be near her, to somehow correct my earlier misstep, has kept me lingering in the complex long after my business was concluded.
"I just finished my paperwork," I say, lifting the stack of documents as evidence. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "The citizenship process is... extensive."
This world is full of rules and seemingly pointless regulations.
Forms must be submitted in specific sequences, identification must be verified by multiple departments, permissions must be granted by authorities who barely acknowledge one another.
It is exhausting, but it would be worth all the bureaucratic challenges if it somehow brought me closer to finding my place here—and perhaps, to finding connection with her.
Felicity. Even thinking her name sends a warm current through my chest. The urge to claim her surges through my body as she steps closer, but I restrain it. I must respect human customs, even when they feel foreign to me.
"Oh, yeah, there's a lot," she acknowledges with a small sympathetic smile that transforms her professional demeanor into something warmer. "But I'm glad you got it done."
She adjusts her shoulder bag, a nervous gesture that draws my attention to her hands—slender fingers, short practical nails, a simple band on her right hand but none on her left. According to human custom, this means she isn't promised to another. The thought brings me unexpected relief.
"Anyway," she adds, her cheeks taking on a pink hue that fascinates me. Human skin is so expressive, revealing emotions in ways Zexian purple scales cannot. "I guess I'll see you at our next appointment."
Our next appointment is twenty-three Earth days away, according to the scheduling system. The thought of waiting so long before seeing her again creates an uncomfortable heaviness in my chest. I need to establish some connection now, some foundation upon which to build during that separation.
Drawing on every diplomatic skill I've learned about during my readings, I search for an approach that might be acceptable by human standards.
Direct proposition clearly failed. Perhaps requesting assistance would be more appropriate—humans seem to appreciate being needed, particularly in professional contexts.
I step closer to her, unable to resist the magnetic pull between us.
My hand brushes against hers seemingly by accident, and my body reacts instantly to the contact.
Heat surges through me, centering low in my abdomen.
My cock hardens, wishing to be deep inside of her, knotting her as we mate for the first time.
I quickly adjust my stance to hide this inappropriate physical response, grateful for the looseness of my traveling clothes. Such a reaction would be perfectly natural on Zexia, but here, I understand it would be considered primitive and unwelcome.
She looks at me with a hint of confusion and what might be amusement in her eyes. Has she noticed my discomfort? Is she aware of the effect she has on me?
"Actually," I begin, selecting my words carefully, "I was wondering if you could help me one more time."
Felicity's face flushes a darker shade of pink. "How?"
"Could you help me find the motel?" I ask, indicating the address printed on one of my many documents. "The man at the social housing desk was... unhelpful when giving me directions."
This isn't entirely untrue. The housing coordinator had indeed been curt, his instructions vague and delivered with barely concealed resentment. It seems not all Earthlings are happy with the new alien immigration policies. Especially the men.
In my short time here, I've noticed a pattern—human males seem particularly resistant to Zexian presence.
Their postures stiffen when we enter rooms, their voices take on challenging tones, their eyes track us with suspicion.
I understand it will take time for them to adjust to our presence, but I hadn't expected this much friction.
Is it jealousy? Do they sense our interest in their women? Or is it simply the age-old territorial response to newcomers who are physically different, potentially threatening?
Felicity hesitates for just a moment, her professional ethics visibly warring with her natural inclination to assist. "Well, it is on my way home," she finally says, though I suspect this might not be entirely true. "I can point you in the right direction."
Relief and gratitude flood through me. "Thank you. The Earth navigation systems are still unfamiliar to me."
She nods, setting off across the courtyard toward the south gate. I fall into step beside her, careful to match my longer stride to her more moderate pace. We exit the government complex and enter the public walkways of the city.
Truthfully, I could have found the temporary housing on my own.
The coordinates are programmed into my communication device, and my species has excellent directional instincts.
But I wanted—needed—more time with her, a chance to correct her impression of me as just another alien who doesn't understand human boundaries.
As we walk side by side, I resist the powerful urge to reach out and take her hand in mine.
On Zexia, physical contact between potential mates is encouraged from the first meeting—touch allows for the assessment of compatibility on levels deeper than conversation can reach.
Touch is what initiates the mating bond.
But here, I must respect the invisible boundaries humans maintain around their bodies.
"To be honest," she says as we navigate a crowded pedestrian crossing, "I haven't seen the Zexian housing yet. I've heard it's supposed to make the transition a little easier, with familiar architectural elements and amenities suited to your physiology."
Her professional knowledge impresses me. She's clearly studied our needs with genuine interest.
"It sucks that you have to use the motels instead," she adds, showing unexpected empathy. "The permanent housing complex isn't supposed to be ready for another month."