Christie Golden: Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

“Because I’m looking for the perfect woman.”

She rolled her eyes. “Since I know who you really are, you’d better just keep on looking!”

“That’s not a crime!”

“Your crime is to be scared of commitment!”

Valerian laughed. “Me? Scared of commitment? With seven medals of honor?”

Laureline stopped. “Medals of honor aren’t for sticking with something day in and day out. They’re for moments of outstanding courage. Recklessness, maybe. Running in and saving the day and then getting out before you pay the price for that courage. You do running well, Valerian— into and out of things. That just might be all you know how to do. How old were you when your mom passed away? Six?”

A volley of unfamiliar emotions surged through Valerian. “Oh, please!” he said, his voice almost— almost—cold. “Spare me the pop psychology. This has nothing to do with my mom, okay?”

The day that he had received the news was permanently seared into his memory. He’d been Valentin Twain then, and his mother, Sarah, was a part of a diplomatic entourage visiting the Boulan-Bathor world. The giant, lumbering species was becoming increasingly hostile toward the idea of expanding Alpha Space Station, and Sarah had been aboard a diplomatic vessel when it had been bombed. Valerian’s world had been upended. He’d gone to live with his grandmother, while his father—

He swallowed and licked his lips. “I was five, if you must know. Five years and three months, to be exact.”

There was no humor or playfulness in his response. Laureline’s face softened and she looked slightly guilty. She shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sincerely. “I didn’t mean to dredge it all back up.”

Valerian gave her an awkward smile, and tucked those uncomfortable, unfamiliar emotions of vulnerability and old sorrow away deep inside, where they belonged.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I forgive you. In return for a kiss.”

Laureline smiled. He did, too. The flash of discomfort between them was gone, replaced by their congenially familiar, if fruitless, chase. She reached out a hand and touched his cheek gently, with affection, and a small electric thrill went through Valerian.

“We’re going to be late,” she reminded him, and turned to enter the Intruder ’s bridge.

As with every other area of the vessel, the bridge was a study in blue lighting and black metal. Oval in shape, it was large enough to house a slightly sunken, two-person cockpit, a large table that provided a map of everything from a single street to the entire known galaxy, and two small, individual transports known as Sky Jets. The pair had spent countless hours here, working as a team, and it felt more like home than their quarters.

Valerian heaved a sigh and dutifully followed, feeling like a schoolboy who’s just heard the bell announcing the end of recess. As he eased himself into his chair, he spoke to Alex, the ship’s onboard computer.

“Hey, Alex,” he said.

“Hello, Major, Sergeant,” Alex replied, her voice warm and deep. “I trust you enjoyed your relaxation time?”

“We did, thanks,” Laureline said.

“Yes,” Valerian said, adding, “although it was a bit… frustrating.”

“Was there something wrong with the environmental simulation?”

“It was fine,” Valerian dodged, and changed the subject. “Have you entered the coordinates?”

“I did take that liberty, so you could both enjoy the beach a while longer.”

“Aw, thanks,” said Laureline.

“You are welcome, Sergeant,” Alex replied politely. “We will be leaving exospace in thirty seconds.”

The two agents buckled themselves into their harnesses. Valerian found his thoughts wandering from the beauty beside him, vivacious and most definitely human, to the luminous, languid, tragic beauty in his nightmare, who most definitely was not.

It had felt so real. The sense of peace, then the fear and horror. It didn’t feel like an ordinary dream. Valerian made a decision. To Laureline, he offered, “You want to take us down?”

“Yes, sir,” Laureline responded at once.

Valerian nodded to himself. “Alex,” he asked the computer, “pull up my brain charts for the last ten minutes, please. I had a weird dream.” Yeah… that doesn’t begin to cover it.

“My pleasure.”

A flurry of diagrams appeared at once on the monitor, flashing past in rapid succession. Though they were incomprehensible to Valerian, Alex absorbed the information at lightning speed.

“See anything abnormal?” Valerian asked, shifting slightly in his seat. He was more worried than he’d thought.

“Your cerebral activity is a little more intense than usual,” Alex confirmed, adding almost blandly, “You received external waves.”

What the hell was that?

“Explain.”

“These waves don’t come from your memory. Somebody is sending you the images.”

Valerian went a little cold inside. “Do you know who? And where they came from?”

“Negative,” Alex replied, her voice holding regret. She wasn’t a person, but she had a personality, and she disliked being unable to answer any question the agents threw at her. “They could come from the present or the past, and from anywhere in the universe.”

“Leaving exospace,” Laureline called over to Valerian. The young major did not respond. He was too busy pondering Alex’s unsettling analysis. Why would someone want to direct images into his sleeping brain? Specifically, those images?

“Three…” Alex counted down, “two… one. Exit!”

The cockpit shuddered. The black expanse of space visible on the enormous view screen exploded into thousands of filaments, out of which emerged the image of the planet Kirian.

It was smaller than Earth, and no clouds softened the red, rocky image it presented. It took a stretch of the imagination to think that such a place could support life, let alone give birth to it. But it had, and Valerian and Laureline would be interacting with it soon. The place was certainly uninviting, but on its desert surface was where their next assignment lay.

Laureline swiveled in her chair and grasped the joystick.

“Manual,” she instructed the computer.

“Affirmative,” replied Alex. “You now have command, Sergeant. Rendezvous coordinates are shown on B4.”

“Thanks.”

The spaceship hurtled through Kirian’s atmosphere, approaching the desolate, bleak, and very hard surface with unsettling rapidity. They hit turbulence and the ship began to buck. The two agents bounced wildly about in their seats. Valerian was almost ninety-two percent certain his teeth were rattling, but Laureline didn’t seem to care. She looked forward with those intent blue eyes, totally focused, both hands gripping the joystick as if trying to arm-wrestle it into submission.

“Easy,” Valerian cautioned. The bouncing made his voice waver.

“We’re running late,” Laureline retorted, her own voice somehow managing to stay steely even though it, too, was wobbly from the ship’s erratic motion.

Valerian muttered under his breath, “Better late than dead.” Of course, as soon as he said it, he realized that “late” could also mean “dead,” but he shoved the thought aside, preferring to focus on the speed with which Kirian was approaching and the hope that he’d survive the next few minutes.

Exasperated, Laureline released the joystick and threw her hands up in the air. “You want to drive?”

“Keep your hands on the wheel, please!” Valerian tried not to yelp the words.

Laureline, stony-faced, appeared not to have heard.

Sweat broke out on Valerian’s brow. With the utmost politeness, he said in a calm voice, “Laureline, will you please put your hands back on the wheel?”