Christie Golden: Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

But what was most arresting about him was his turban. It was about three times the size of one that was usually utilized in hot climates, and presently it perched atop his head like a brightly colored beehive. He was now waving for silence, and the excited murmuring of the throng died down.

“Welcome, everybody!” His voice could not be any more cheerful. “I am Thaziit, and I have the honor of being your guide for today.” He bowed, hand on his heart. “So, whose first time is this at Big Market?”

Half the tourists raised their hands, tentacles, or other appendages, but not Valerian. He listened with half an ear as he frantically examined the market’s map, prominently displayed on a nearby wall, trying to locate Section 4, Aisle 122.

“Wonderful!” Thaziit exclaimed. “Let me remind you that there are nearly one million stores in Big Market, so, I’m so sorry—we won’t be visiting them all!”

He feigned sorrow and a chorus of awwwwww went up. Then he brightened.

“But! But, but. But we will try to get to the most interesting ones! But before we go, just a few reminders so you can stay safe and shop happy! Remember that for each section, you will pass under a portal.”

Valerian saw no portals. The living giant turban continued. “Important safety tip! Watch the letters on the top and verify that the ‘U’ for human is full green. That’s for your own security. Big Market cannot be held liable for any mishaps humans encounter if the U is not green. Now!”

He clapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly, his eyes so wide open the pupils were completely encircled by white.

“There are seventy-eight sections and more than five hundred streets . We’re going to see amazing sights! Find incredible bargains! But above all, we’re going to try not to get lost!”

Knowing laughter rippled through the crowd and Thaziit laughed the loudest. Valerian, still perusing the map, felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, as if he were being watched. He spun around, staring through the visor of his helmet, but he saw nothing.

“So!” the ebullient guide was saying. “Everybody needs to keep together right behind their guide, whose name is…?” He spread an arm expectantly and held his other hand to an ear completely enveloped by the brightly striped turban.

“Thaziit!” the tourists replied in unison, exchanging smiles and chuckles.

“Glad to see that some of you are paying attention,” Thaziit approved, glancing around meaningfully at others whose eyes were fixed on their gauntlets or busy reading the map—like Valerian. Again, there came the friendly ripple of laughter that conveyed that this was a group of happy people filled with anticipation.

“You can activate your systems… now !”

Valerian, along with everyone else, hit the button in the middle of his belt buckle. Light streaked and sparkled across his field of vision as he observed Thaziit, the tourists, and the walls that enclosed the empty Big Market compound.

Then, suddenly, the guide, the tourists, and Valerian appeared to be surrounded by a staggering variety of stalls, run by vendors who seemed to represent every alien species Valerian knew.

A murmur of delighted amazement rippled through the crowd of bargain-hungry tourists.

“Welcome to Big Market!” announced Thaziit, and grinned.

Laureline sat with her cheek pressed to the grimy window of Major Gibson’s bus. The view was of the massive red wall that delineated the space of Big Market, but she didn’t see the stone barrier, and she wasn’t thinking about shopping.

She wasn’t even thinking of the mission right at this moment, which was completely out of character for her.

She was thinking instead about what Valerian had said, and wondering if her next step after this mission would be to kiss him on the lips, or kick him… elsewhere.

If you’re joking, Valerian …

The smart money would be on that, she mused. Laureline knew, after serving beside him for two years, that there was much more to the young major than met the eye. She was well aware that despite his antics, he took his position very seriously and with a great deal of respect. He was courageous, dedicated to his job, and more intelligent than his frequent goofiness would let on to those who didn’t know him well.

But there were also things that he didn’t take seriously or with respect, and the sort of traditions and rituals that Laureline valued deeply were among that number. Relationships for him were so fleeting and insubstantial that Laureline didn’t think she could even grace them with that name. Flings , she thought, would be a better word .

Not that Valerian was cruel or manipulative; despite his nigh-constant wheedling, he never had—and never would—try to force himself on or bully any woman. Most girls were more than pleased with his attention. As for the sergeant and the major, their flirting was established, familiar, and Laureline had to admit, she always enjoyed it as much as he did.

Until today.

His proposal, if it truly was such, had come absolutely out of the blue, and she had no idea how to respond to it. He knew she was old-fashioned and that, despite her occasional aloofness, a false proposal would wound her deeply. Not to mention she’d find a way to show him in no uncertain terms what a terribly bad idea that would be.

So that meant…

Laureline lowered her face into her palm for a moment. A fake proposal would be awful, but a serious one just might be worse.

She sighed and looked out on the desert once more. They had almost reached the eastern gate of the empty Big Market compound, and ahead she could glimpse the shape of a water tower—their initial objective. With the ability to seemingly effortlessly compartmentalize things that so often exasperated her partner, Laureline folded the whole married-to-Valerian idea into a tidy little box, closed the flaps on it, tied it up neatly, and put it into a distant corner of her brain.

Time enough for that later, as she had told Valerian. Right now, her part of their mission was about to begin.

The bus lurched to a halt at the base of the tower. Laureline smoothed her dress, fluffed her hair, put on a vacuous smile, and flounced out of the bus. She walked toward the tower, shielding her eyes with one hand as she waved cheerily with the other.

There was a single figure standing guard at the watchtower: a Siirt who peered down at them anxiously, its gaze flitting from Laureline to a few of Gibson’s people, draped in ponchos, as they too climbed off the bus.

The half-humanoid, half-reptilian Siirts were a gentle people, if rather low on the intelligence scale. They were employed by the Big Market Corporation as guards and police, but generally were too easily distracted and too friendly to be terribly effective. Laureline knew that many of the merchants who wanted reliable security simply hired their own—like Igon Siruss. Siirts loved meeting new people, and their culture was based on a philosophy called Unbugalia , which essentially meant: “The more happy people there are, the greater the happiness.” The throngs coming to Big Market, Laureline mused, doubtless made these rather kooky beings ecstatic. They didn’t see any of the profit, though. Their species had nothing resembling “currency.” As a result, it was difficult to keep them employed.

On the tower, a yellow-skinned Siirt guard watched Laureline getting out of the bus. His gaze moved to the men in ponchos following her. He lifted a three-fingered hand—to wave, Laureline thought. He did precisely that, but then a thought seemed to occur to him, and he placed his hands down on the very impressive rapid-fire weapon standing beside him and moved it in their direction.