Christie Golden: Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

There was a pounding on the hatch. The emperor went cold. He did not want to see who it was. He did not want to look into the frightened eyes of one of his beloved people who was a bitterly tragic few moments too late. Nonetheless, these were his people. He owed them what comfort he could, in this, their last moments.

He went to the porthole.

He had thought he could bear no more pain.

He had been wrong.

The frightened face of his sweet, beloved daughter stared back at him, her glorious blue eyes huge. Her face had been dark with fear, but now it receded as she gazed at her father, a soft pink suffusing her cheeks.

Was there time, even now? It would be but the work of a few seconds—

But her death, the death of the world, was approaching with vicious speed. A gargantuan fireball was on his daughter’s heels, a cruel yellow-orange wave of incineration. If he opened the hatch now—if he let her in, saved her life—he would put everyone else inside at risk if he could not get the door closed in time. The fireball would scamper greedily through the faintest crack, and then everyone on board would join the burned, motionless shapes of the vessel’s original crew.

She saw it in his eyes, and hers flew open wider. She struck the portal window with her small fists. All he could do was look with profound grief at her, his first-born, the embodiment of all the goodness he saw daily in the world.

After a few seconds, the pounding slowed, stopped. Tears poured down her face, but there was no longer terror in her expression. Only understanding, and sorrow.

Oh, my little girl…

Shaking, she pressed her forehead to the circular window.

“Lïho!” he cried, brokenly.

“Dadda!”

They wept, father and daughter, a few inches apart, a universe apart. Though a benevolent ruler, Haban-Limaï had a staggering amount of power at his disposal. There was very little he could not do.

But he could not save his precious child.

Unused to utter helplessness, the emperor pressed his hand to the porthole. The princess gulped and lifted her own hand. It was not real contact, a loving connection of flesh to flesh, but it was all he could give her. Even so, the feeble gesture seemed to calm her. She blinked back the crystal tears and swallowed hard, straightening. Haban’s heart, so battered this day, shattered into pieces at the expression of resolve on Lïho’s exquisite face.

The wave was coming, an orange, hungry beast, ready to devour anything in its path. Ready to turn her to blackened bones and charred flesh, or worse.

Lïho gave her father one last smile. Not tremulous, not fragile. It was strong, and peaceful, and certain, and he thought he had never admired anyone more in all his long years.

She turned from him, to face her death. She would make it count.

Lïho-Minaa spread her arms and tilted her head back, opening herself to the fiery embrace. Her father did not want to watch, but he could not avert his gaze. He needed to honor her courage. He needed to bear witness to what would come.

And in the instant before the flames engulfed her slender form, before they rendered her into ash and memory, a powerful blue wave emanated from Lïho-Minaa’s body.

The wave raced at staggering speed, whirling up from the beleaguered planet Mül, sweeping up into the stars, soaring across the immensity of space, luminous as the girl whose death had birthed it, rushing straight into—

The young man bolted upright, his heart slamming against his chest, gasping for breath. He blinked, rubbing his eyes with one hand as the welcome realization penetrated his brain: A nightmare. Just a bad dream. Not real.

He forced his breathing to slow as he took in his surroundings—perhaps not as ethereally, magically beautiful as the ocean and seashore of the nightmare, but a good deal less… well… terrifying.

He looked out at the rolling, peaceful waters of a turquoise sea as the waves lapped gently against a pristine white sand beach. The sound was calming, and Valerian took a deep breath and let out the last bit of tension that still lingered in the knot of his muscles and watched the slow sway of green-fronded palm trees.

His mood brightened as he watched the slowly swaying hips of a young, fair-haired woman who was, in his opinion, even more gorgeous than the lovely princess of his dreams.

Like him, this vision was dressed for the beach in a swimsuit. But he was pretty sure his swimming trunks used up more fabric than the young woman’s black bikini—top and bottom—did.

She had studied ballet when she was a child, developing an interest in martial arts as she grew older. As she moved, her grace and the sleek strength promised by her slender but athletic form announced that biographical fact to anyone with eyes. And he definitely had eyes—eyes that were very appreciative at this particular moment.

Her long legs halted their gliding stride in front of him. One hand held a sweating glass of something bright orange and topped with a straw and a tiny, flower-patterned umbrella.

“You okay?” Laureline asked, lips curved in a frown of slight concern. She lifted the glass and pursed her lips around the straw, her high brow furrowed in worry as she stood in front of him as he lay on the lounger.

“Yeah. Just a bad dream.” Valerian grinned, now that he was in her proximity. “I feel better now.”

“Well, good. Maybe now you’ll be up for running through our assignment.” She took a long pull on the straw, regarding him seriously.

It seemed to Valerian that Laureline never let her hair down. Well, not figuratively, at least. But even literally, she presently had it pulled back in an efficient, sleek ponytail. He imagined it unfettered, blowing softly around her perfect face and practically begging for him to tangle his fingers in the soft length.

“That’s the last thing I feel like doing,” he said in reply to her statement.

“We really should prepare,” she insisted.

Valerian pretended to consider the prospect. “Well…” he mused, “that’s thirsty work, you know.”

Quick as a thought, Valerian seized her drink in his right hand, grabbed her left hand with his own, and tugged her around and down, flipping Laureline so she lay beside him while he propped himself up on his elbow and grinned down at her. He took a sip of the too-sweet beverage and said, “Ah, that’s better.”

Laureline eyed him as one might eye a toddler whom one found particularly trying. “Not very professional, Major,” she said, her voice heavy with mock disappointment.

“Don’t worry, Sergeant, I scored a perfect two hundred on my memory test.”

“When was that? Ten years ago?”

“Yesterday!” Valerian said, defensively.

“Impressive. But the major still forgot something today.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Valerian replied airily. Then, as doubt flickered in his expression, he asked with careful casualness, “What?”

“My birthday.”

Worst. Thing. Ever.

“Oh, no!” Valerian sagged, mortified and kicking himself from here all the way back to Earth.

Laureline took advantage of his distressed state to link one long, lovely, and deceptively strong leg around his waist, used Valerian’s own weight against him, and to his surprise flipped him as neatly as he had her a few moments ago. Smirking slightly, she relieved him of the cool beverage.

He gazed up at her as she took a sip, not at all unhappy with the moment. Laureline was at once both completely dependable and highly mercurial—a neat trick, one he’d never seen anyone other than her master. They had worked together for two years, and in that time, she had blown all his previous partners out of the water. There was quite literally nothing he didn’t admire or respect about her. Even as he had the thought he amended it; Laureline appeared to be completely immune to Valerian’s charms, which were considerable, even if he did say so himself.