The Spaceman’s Surfer (Volardi Arrival #2)

Chapter One

Surfin' USA

The late afternoon California sun burned high. A modified blue and white surfboard cut through the foamy Pacific Ocean surf as spray clung to my tanned skin.

Hell yeah! This isn't surfing. It's rocketing over oil. Alien nanotech made it unfair for contests, but around cute guys at the beach? Why not?

A subdermal implant smaller than a rice grain overlaid a translucent arrow across the crest of an upcoming wave. "Turn left," advised a blank, mechanical tone.

"Don't need your help, Hon."

With an abdominal twist, I turned, and the board skimmed the water's surface, sending up a long foamy arc.

Bet that looked a-maz-ing!

It was easy enough to imagine the shot. I'm short from genetics, and muscled from habit with wet blond hair. Besides Ryan, I checked all the boxes for the California surfer look.

I thought about pushing the board further, doing tricks no one could do on Earth, but serious surfers would notice.

They'd ask questions I couldn't answer because my best friend Brandon is in a relationship with an alien possessing super-advanced tech.

Testing out a surfboard is one thing. Spilling secrets to eight billion people is another.

The implant gave me another arrow overlay and flashed. "Okay! Surfing help off! For real this time." It helped with finding the fastest path through LA and looking up information, but sometimes it was too helpful. Telling me how to surf, sing, or play guitar? Insulting.

The wave fizzled out, and the board glided to a stop.

Choppy waves threatened to send me flying into the deep blue water.

Along the full stretch of El Puerto Beach, couples sprawled lazily on colorful towels, some sipped iced drinks, and others laughed at conversations I wouldn't hear out here.

Off to the side, two older men in their mid-forties stood shoulder to shoulder, their heads both touching, as they whispered.

They had the aura of a decades-long relationship, with an intimacy that came from years spent together.

My chest tightened. Good for them.

The implant's zoom activated and centered on the couple. Two smiling faces filled my vision before they kissed. "Oh! Don't be creepy, Hon," I whispered to the AI.

They found each other, and the dating pool's a whole lot bigger for single men.

There's a galaxy of oh-so-gorgeous alien hunks out there.

They were big, and not just in height, with one sex being the biggest of the three sexes.

They all had dark flecks over their muscles like twin rows of constellations and belonged to an empire with a variety of planets, including water worlds perfect for me.

Earth's technically a water world too, but some Volardi planets made us look like amateurs. Brandon's mate came from Phalon. Ninety percent ocean with all sorts of islands.

Wonder if I can pull a favor? Visit when the fleet gets here in a few months and surf an alien ocean? Armstrong was the first on the moon. I'll be the first to Hang Ten off-planet.

A rogue wave punched my side and sent me sprawling into the salty ocean water. Drowning isn't a concern for a water rat, but my board disappeared! They usually have a strap, but not when it's made in an underground alien laboratory.

A translucent overlay highlighted the board, already a good hundred feet away.

I swam fast and up, gasping as I climbed on.

With a paddle, I soon trudged onto the fine sand, and the hot California air instantly turned sticky.

The cool water called me back, but a deep, Southern-accented voice drew out.

"Well, aren't you just the cutest little thing?"

I turned. A guy with a buzzcut and a wide grin stood over me. A green shirt slung over his broad, bare shoulders. The at-attention stance and muscles suggested military.

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm not little."

"Good to know," he winked.

Mentally, I smirked. Something about me gives it away. People always knew who I was into. My silent broadcast caused a lot of pain in Georgia. Three wonderful, but irritating brothers and a decent Pa kept me from having a much harder life. Now? It lets me get down to business, so to speak.

"I could have watched you all day," he said. "Nice moves out there, until that wave sideswiped you."

"Thanks," I said, trying not to smile as I walked to my guitar case. "Happens to the best of us."

He stepped closer, towering over me at six feet plus. "If you're not busy later..." He let the suggestion hang as the ocean slapped from behind. "Got an e-mail or better yet, a phone number?"

Cute, and a hometown boy, judging from the accent.

"Email," I said. The implant mistakenly brought up my inbox. There it was: the rejection notice. No gig. Just a reminder of why I came out here. Get some air. Find a distraction.

I think I found him.

He said something I didn't catch as the mental holographic overlay shimmered.

Brandon?

The short guy, only I can see and pacing back and forth with light brown hair and a forever-young face, is in his forties but looks early twenties. Volardi nanites rewound his age and made him a dad after he gave birth.

Before all that, we had an older brother-younger brother dynamic. When I came to Hollywood, he took me under his wing. Told me where to go for movie parts, while I found music gigs I never got.

"Thomas," said Brandon. "We need to talk."

There's never a good phrase.

My beach friend stared. "You okay, man?"

I forced a laugh. "Yeah, uh, just give me a second."

"Sure, because someone with..."

Brandon folded his arms as I concentrated on his voice. "The Volardi ships are coming."

"I know."

On the beach, Mister Muscles smiled. "You know you have a cute butt?"

I reluctantly waved my leering friend further down the beach. I touched my ear, suggesting I was on the phone.

"Wow. Cute guy! Sorry to mess up your hook-up."

"It's not a hook-up." I'm sure I frowned, and I didn't need to see the guy's face to know he did the same. "You're killing me, Brandon," I whispered. "Tell me this is important."

"Oh, it is. The Volardi are coming."

"Hon? I've known it since, you know..." Two words to convey meeting an alien, me in a high-tech mining suit fighting mercs, and becoming an uncle.

"No. They. Are. Com-ing." He glanced off to the side. I assumed Alen, his black-haired mate, was outside the camera view. "He just told me a few dozen motherships exited the Oort Cloud."

My implant drew calculations. The range could be from fifty to over one hundred times the distance to Pluto.

"Shouldn't I have known?" I tapped my head for emphasis.

"It's a local version for Earth."

A heavy hand touched my shoulder. "You okay?" I didn't know his name, but the soft smile said he had potential beyond a simple hook-up. A decent guy was behind those eyes, or from my hopeful imagination.

It no longer mattered.

Phones buzzed everywhere, even mine, buried under a sand-covered backpack. A deep masculine voice echoed from every phone, tablet, and car stereo on or near the beach. "People of Earth. We are the Volardi. We will arrive shortly."

A few seconds later, they kept their promise.

The skyline over LA shimmered three times before a massive, white crystalline ship instantly appeared over towering skyscrapers. The chiseled surface caught the late afternoon sun like a diamond. For me to see it way out here, it had to be several suburbs wide.

Multiple voices continued as one, "Per our agreement with the Human Ward—"

What? They just named him? To everybody on the planet? Sure, they didn't mention my buddy's first name, but it narrowed the options down.

"—we offer advanced technology and Volardi citizenship in exchange for our breeding program. Representatives will visit your local government centers shortly."

Brandon's face paled. Why did they have to blurt out his last name or just appear? For seconds, we stared at each other. My new friend and non-hookup excused himself. A whispered phone call confirmed his deployment orders.

Brandon was somewhere between a friend and a fourth brother, although closer to the latter.

Beyond that, we were in a special group.

An unlikely adventure from days past meant a formerly older actor, a puka shell wearing CEO, a senior theater performer, a screenwriter, a talent agent, and a military general knew about the existence of aliens.

"Not our secret anymore, is it?"

"No. No, it's not."

Silence swept across the beach, and soon, panic worldwide would start.

***