Love: BBW Alien Lottery Romance (Chosen by the Karal Book 2) (2 page)

For a man who was in the inner circle of command on Karal, this mission, for that was what he saw it as, was simple, straightforward, and would be a success.

Torac took one last look at the Stream, pulled his hood up around his face so that no one saw him for what he was, and made his way back to the space cruiser. He would sleep there tonight; he didn’t want to sleep in one of their beds, or eat any of their contaminated food. After one day here, he had realised why the species of humans was doomed. They ate junk, threw too much away, despite their lack of raw materials, and judging by the immense crowds he had stood with, to watch the lottery on the Stream, there were just too many of them.

His cruiser was secured in a compound at the now-almost-disused airport. One other Karalian had travelled with him from Karal, Okil, who had grown to enjoy visiting Earth. Torac did not expect him to return tonight, he said something about going to a music concert. Torac hadn’t heard the human music, but he imagined it was as terrible as the rest of Earth culture.

With his bad mood deepening, he lay down to sleep in his cruiser. The silence was comforting to him. For Torac found this Earth world frightening in so many ways. Not that he would ever admit it, not even to himself. Humans were so out of control emotionally. Greed, envy, and jealousy had fuelled the human race to their own destruction. Those traits were in every Karalian too, he knew that, and he worried, as the man who was supposed to keep order on the planet, that these traits would be awoken in all his people and that they too would wear their emotions on their skin, to be seen by everyone.

As he slept, he would have been right to worry. First, the picture of the young woman with her green eyes and red hair haunted his dreams; already she had woken his inner self. Colours flashed across his skin as he imagined the things he would do with her. Things he had been forced to practice in the simulator.

Tomorrow, he would meet her and those feelings would become stronger. And he would realise just what a threat she was to him.

“Here, I’ve made you some breakfast, and Mr. Collier said if I go in early he would give me the coins for a new dress as long as you mention his name on the Stream.” Her mom looked excited, the tears of yesterday gone.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you going into debt for me.”

“No, no, he said it would be worth it for the free advertising. I’m not sure if he will have written something out, so you might have to try to worm it in. I’ve told him no more than three lines.”

Celia felt her mood darken. It had begun; she would be selling her soul for the short time she remained on Earth. Until her departure to Karal, she wanted to make enough money to give her parents, sister, and brothers a new start. But it went against everything she believed in.

Getting up, she washed her face and tied her hair back, a hat might help too; and then, perhaps, she would be able to go around town without being recognised. With that in mind, she went into the kitchen and looked at the food on the table.

“I know, it’s a bit much, but Mrs. Wells let me have some of her fresh bread.”

“What does she want me to say?” Celia asked, with no humour in her voice.

Her mom was silent. At first, she said nothing and then, with a choked throat, she said, “Nothing, it was more of a parting gift. She said she would miss you going in and reading to her.”

Celia had often gone into Mrs. Wells, and read to her while she baked. It was not a one-sided relationship. Mrs. Wells had so many books, which she guarded jealously; they were a rare commodity on Earth. Books were a way to escape her everyday life, they fuelled Celia’s dreams, but she was only allowed to read them if she read them aloud while Mrs. Wells worked. As Celia tasted the fresh bread her mom offered her, she realised she was going to miss Mrs. Wells’s books, along with the old lady.

“She asked for you to go in and see her before you go,” her mom said, but then the room erupted as her brothers came in and Celia didn’t have a chance to ask why.

“Is that fresh?” Carlo asked.

“Oh course it is, dummy,” answered Jat.

“I don’t think I’ve ever tasted fresh bread,” Carlo said.

“Well, its Celia’s, not yours.” Her mom made the boys sit still in their chairs and stop breathing in the smell of the delicious bread.

“No, please, I want you to have it. Then every time you smell fresh bread you’ll think of me,” Celia teased.

“Yuck,” said Carlo.

“You’re welcome,” she joked.

Her mom cut thick slices and handed them out. “There is some spread, but it might spoil the taste.”

“This is perfect,” Celia said, but before she took a bite, Micha came into the kitchen, her eyes still red from crying. “Here, Mich, you have mine. I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t need to eat anyway, not here; once you get to Karal they will give you all the food you can possibly eat,” Jat said, stuffing his bread into his mouth.

Micha simply looked at the bread, her lip trembling. Celia hugged her and then said, “Hey, come on. Eat this and then you can come with me to see Mrs. Wells. Then we are going dress shopping.”

Micha brightened up a little at the novelty of shopping for a new dress. Normally they went to the thrift stores and chose good second-hand ones. Even then, they had to go for practical and long-lasting. “Can I help you choose?”

“Of course, because I thought I would give it to you once I’ve worn it, anyway. I mean, I don’t expect I’ll need a fancy dress once I go to Karal.”

“They have plenty of fabric. It’s not as if you couldn’t make all the new dresses you could ever want,” Micha said wistfully.

“True,” Celia said. “I’ll try to find a way to get some sent down here for you too, Mich.”

“Oh, yes. It would be brilliant if your alien was very rich and he sent us fresh bread every day.” Micha definitely looked happier now and took a bite of the warm bread. She sighed in contentment as her mouth worked to chew it. When she swallowed her stomach growled, as if in appreciation at receiving food with made with real ingredients.

“At least you don’t have to worry if he’s good looking, they all are,” her mom said, cutting more bread. Usually they would save the extra food, but the fresh bread was such a treat, and this was a special day; she handed out seconds.

“He’d better look after her too.” Her dad came into the kitchen dressed for work. His job was low paid and menial, but it was steady money and he had worked it for years. He worked hard and was always punctual, that was how he kept the job when many others were fired. It was why today, despite it being the last day his daughter might be on Earth, he was still going in as usual. And Celia understood that.

“Here, Dad, take this.” She picked up the last of the loaf and gave it him.

“So I can remember you every time I smell fresh bread?” he said, giving her a wink and then adding, “I will always remember you, Celia. Always.” He tucked the loaf in his jacket and gave her a kiss. He embraced her mom, as he did every time he entered or left the house, and said goodbye to his other children and left, not a single tear spilling from his eyes. They would wait until the night, when her bed was empty and she was light years away.

“What’s that?” Jat asked when he heard voices.

“Paps, they’ve been there all night.”

“Really? I never thought it would be such big news, not when it’s only Celia going to Karal.”

“Jat!” her mom said, threatening to take his bread away.

“What? It’s not as if she is the first one. What’s her name was last month,” Jat said, defending himself and his bread.

“It’ll die down in a month or so, but last month’s winner, Elissa, was never available for interviews. She burned her hands, remember.”

“So you’re like number one again.” Micha had finished her bread and now licked her fingers, savouring every last bit.

“Right. Let’s go and get this dress.” Celia stood up from the table and went to change. If she stayed in the kitchen any longer, she would just hide under the table so that she would never have to be parted from her family. However, what was done could not be undone, so the sooner she got busy, the easier it would be.

***

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yes. You and Mich go out the front door; I’ll climb over the wall and meet you down the street. Give me a couple of minutes to pop into Mrs. Wells’ and then I’ll meet you at Mr. Collier’s. OK?”

“Why not just go out the front?”

“We’ll never get away from them. I would rather get the dress and try to get paid to be interviewed. If they take lots of pictures of me now, they won’t be interested. I don’t exactly look photogenic, do I?”

She was wearing her usual grey pants, which might have been white in a previous life, but most of the clothes they wore had long lost their colour. Dyes were expensive and only used sparingly by the rich people, or ‘pents,’ who lived in a separate part of town. High in their penthouses, above the low-quality air, which sank to the ground to poison the inhabitants of the poorer neighbourhoods.

She had it all planned. The better she looked, the more they would be willing to pay, that was how it worked. The Streams would not be interested in a dowdy, grubby girl in cast-off clothes; she was a typical “skim”—a person of Earth who skimmed the bottom of everything, air, clothes, food. No, why would they be interested? Not when the Streams were made for vibrant colours to divert the attention of the poor, starving masses. It was their only hope in life, to be able to aspire to be one of those “pents” one day.

She listened as her mom left, and then went out into the back yard. Jat came out and gave her a boost, trying to get her over the wall. Celia was a little on the curvy side, she always had been, despite the lack of food on her plate. Her mom blamed her genes, or told her she was big boned whenever she was teased. Somehow her brother, despite his difficulty breathing in the thick air, managed to boost her over the fence and into the garbage-filled courtyard next door. From there she had to get herself over two more walls before she was able to stand at the back door of Mrs. Wells’ house.

Knocking, she stood impatiently while she heard the old woman cursing as she hobbled to the door. “I told you lot, I am not giving interviews. Oh, it’s you.”

“Mrs. Wells, sorry to use the back door, but I’m trying to avoid the paps.”

“Come in quickly, and then you can go out the same way. Don’t let them see you, or else they’ll be knocking on my door all hours of the day and night.”

“I don’t have much time; I have to meet my mom.”

“Won’t take a minute. I have a gift for you, that’s all.” She went to the sideboard and drew out a package, neatly wrapped in old baking parchment. Mrs. Wells baked what she could to keep a roof over her head. She always made tasty treats despite the lack of ingredients. It made a good living, although you would never guess from the way the old lady lived. Her house was broken and run down, just like the rest in the street. Carlo thought she had a fortune squirreled away in her mattress somewhere. However, no one would ever dare break in to steal it, because the rumour was, among the kids, that she was also a witch. However, Celia just thought she was an eccentric old woman who spent her money on books. “Here.”

“Shall I open it now?”

“If you want,” she said and then turned back to the oven from where a delicious smell escaped. It tickled Celia’s nostrils and made her mouth water, she wished now she had tasted the bread earlier.

To keep her mind off the delicious smell, Celia very carefully undid the string and took the paper off without it tearing—waste not, want not, but they were always wanting. “Are you sure?” she asked when she saw what the old lady had given her.

“Perfectly. I don’t expect those stinking aliens know what a book is.”

Celia looked down at the old battered copy of
Pride and Prejudice
; she had been reading it to Mrs. Wells, but they were only halfway through. “It’s worth a small fortune.”

“Take it and finish it. Now, I have to bake.” And with that, she ushered Celia out of the back door, only pausing to say, “Tell your sister if she wants to take up your job, I’ll also try to find the time to teach her what I know. Give her a reason not to put her name into a dumb lottery. Don’t think your mother could cope with losing both her daughters.”

Before Celia could answer, the door slammed in her face and she was left looking at the worn book, feeling totally confused. In all the time, she had been reading to Mrs. Wells, she had never offered to teach Celia to bake. Celia knew what a huge relief it would be to her family that Micha was going to learn a proper trade, without it costing her family a penny.

Good things were already happening. Now all she had to do was buy that dress.

He woke feeling unrefreshed. The Earth’s air did that to him. It made his chest heavy, and he longed to be back home with fresh air and fresh food. Trying to make himself more alert, he washed and dressed in clean clothes. To blend in, he chose jeans and a hoodie, faded and grey. Then he made breakfast with fruits and cereal he had brought with him from Karal. As he ate, there was a sound outside; he let his senses explore the area, and was not surprised when Okil appeared.

“What a night, I don’t know how these Earthlings find the energy to party like they do. Not when the air is so foul.”

“You have been awake all night?” Torac asked.

“Yes, now I am going to sleep.” Okil made himself some food too, then sat and studied Torac. “You know, Commander, you might find the people here are not so bad if you give them a chance.”

“I don’t want to give them a chance; we need breeding females, not mothers for our children or wives to keep our beds warm.”

“Oh, I don’t know. There are a few females I wouldn’t mind keeping my bed warm.”

Torac paused; he placed his bowl on the small table and asked Okil, “You know that to mate with a woman on Earth is forbidden?”

“Yes. I would never do that. But there are females I would bring back to Karal who will never have a chance of winning the lottery.”