Christie Golden: Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

“Really?” Valerian grinned. “Aggressive because there’s competition for females, or aggressive because they don’t have to deal with them?”

“You know,” Laureline said in a conversational tone, “another thing I learned in school is that planets where women are in charge are usually eighty-seven percent more likely to be peaceful, prosperous worlds where art and education flourish, and the males think before saying really stupid things.”

Laureline patted his thigh, then, to his disappointment, rose to settle into another seat by herself. Valerian shrugged and made the best of it by stretching out more fully in his seat, fishing out a pair of sunglasses he settled over his eyes, and grabbing a catnap.

He hoped he wouldn’t dream.

Valerian blinked awake as the bus arrived outside a long, high wall of red stone that marked the parameter of Big Market. As it chugged along, Valerian could see a gargantuan ornate gate soaring into the air, covered with what looked like gold. This gate marked the main entrance to Big Market.

Valerian sat up, yawning and stretching, and watched as they pulled up beside hundreds of other tourist buses. The vast majority were similar to the decrepit workhorse of a vehicle that had ferried the two spatio-temporal agents through what looked like an empty spot in the desert. A few buses, though, were of radically different design, meant to accommodate aliens of equally radical design.

Valerian had never been to Big Market, but had heard about it, of course. Few sentient beings in the known universe hadn’t.

Nearly every civilized world had its tourist clusters, and where there were tourists, there was money to be made. And there were few better ways to make money from tourists than by providing shopping opportunities. Judging from his experience, Valerian had formed a theory that the desire to shop was the driving force in the universe. Even more important than another certain driving force that most species in the galaxy shared. Not everyone procreated in pleasurable ways, but everyone did seem to enjoy returning home after traveling laden with souvenirs that were often outrageously priced and wholly unnecessary.

“So,” Valerian said to his partner as they hopped off the bus, “think you can survive twenty minutes without me?”

Laureline rolled her eyes. “Could anyone?” she replied, melodramatically. Then she sobered and touched his arm gently. “Go. Be careful. I wasn’t kidding when I said this species was aggressive.”

Valerian nodded and walked away toward the gathering crowd of tourists. He slowed and came to a stop, considering something very intently. The decision made, he whirled and briskly trotted back to a perplexed Laureline.

“You’re right,” he said. “I must be getting old.”

Her eyes sparkled. “I agree, but what makes you admit it now?”

He squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye. “I completely forgot that I have a question for you.”

She eyed him. “Okay,” she said, curious.

“Will you marry me?”

The expression on Laureline’s beautiful face shifted, darkening with a thunderous frown.

“Not funny!” she snapped, turning, but Valerian grabbed her arm.

“Laureline, I’m serious,” he said. “I was thinking about what you said earlier and—” he swallowed hard. “You’re right. I need to move onward and upward.” Then the words: “I need to commit.”

Laureline blinked in confusion, caught utterly off guard. She looked around, at the overheated crowds, red dust clinging to them, at the guards who were too far away to hear the words but were definitely watching with curiosity. At the rickety old bus and the soldiers in and around it.

“Here?” she said. “Just like that?”

“Why not?” He grinned suddenly. “They sell a zillion things here. I’m sure we can pick up a priest who’ll be happy to oblige.”

His grin faded at her expression.

“Marriage is no laughing matter, okay?” she stated flatly. Coldly. “Not for me , at least.”

Oh, shit . She assumed he was kidding. His throat constricted with the sudden awful thought: I just blew this .

“I’m not joking,” he protested.

Laureline continued with her flinty stare for a long moment, searching his eyes, then she softened ever so slightly.

“Valerian,” she said, not angry this time, “you and I get on just great. The best team ever, you’ve said. And I agree. We get along. You flirt, I smile. It’s light and it’s fine. Why reconfigure what we’ve got?”

Words tumbled out of him, erupting from some place deep inside, nearly as surprising to himself as he uttered them as Laureline seemed to be at hearing them: “Because I’ve been working nonstop since I was seventeen. I’ve fought in battle, and I’ve killed and I’ve protected. I’ve spent my whole life going on missions where I’ve saved entire worlds and peoples. But when I think about it, all I’ve got is the mission. I don’t have a world of my own. No home. No family.”

“You have coworkers,” Laureline deadpanned.

That zinger stung, and he twitched slightly. “I don’t want coworkers,” he said, honestly and intently. “I want you to be my world.”

Laureline smiled at him. His words seemed genuine, but they were almost impossible to read. She further confounded him when she leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Her lips were warm and soft, and Valerian trembled inside, just a little. Gently, he again caught her arm as she turned to leave.

“Hey,” he said, “a kiss is not an answer.”

Her inscrutable smile suddenly turned impish. “You’ll get your answer at the end of our mission.”

For a second, Valerian wanted to tear his hair out in frustration, and then he realized: She was not saying no.

Oh .

All at once, everything in the universe seemed possible, and he smiled back at her. “Works for me.”

A large uniformed Siirt, bulkier than was usual for the spindly-bodied species native to Kirian, came up to them. Valerian didn’t understand the words, but his hat that bore the word POLIZ, a red and black decorated baton, and a variety of gestures toward them, the bus, and the horizon made his request very clear. Laureline threw Valerian a last smile, then climbed back on the bus.

Valerian watched the ancient transport cough and chug on its way for a moment, then turned back toward the throng of tourists.

He was going to get this mission done in record time.

Valerian threaded his way through the crowd, moving toward Big Market’s main gate. It really was pretty impressive—tall, wide, with gold stones on one side and a sturdy metal door open in the center. Valerian wondered how many people thronged through it daily.

He ambled amiably toward a group of tourists, nonchalantly attaching himself to the edges of the cluster. The slender Siirt employees of the tourist trap were handing out the equipment necessary to fully appreciate “the premiere place for galaxy-sized bargains,” as Big Market brazenly advertised itself. Valerian accepted his own set of shopping gear: a lightweight yellow and black helmet with a large visor, gloves equipped with sensors, and a bulky belt. The employees were loaded down with sets designed for humans, as his species was among the most avid tourists and, apparently, extremely fond of tchotchkes.

The herd of eager shoppers that Valerian had joined tramped through the gate, and it closed behind them. They were within the market’s walls, along with other clusters of shoppers, but the four walls that enclosed several square miles contained absolutely nothing else.

“Welcome, everybody!” came a cheerful voice. Valerian turned to behold one of the most outlandish things it had been his honor—or misfortune—to witness… and it was a human. A thin, tall, lively man with an enormous smile, wide eyes, scrawny beard, and an outfit straight out of a third-rate theater troupe, lifted his arms expansively. His robes were long and flowing, striped in orange, yellow and red… because, you know, desert . Huge hoop earrings dangled from his ears.