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Alien Victory

Alien Victory

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Alien Victory

409 Seiten
5 Stunden
Jan 25, 2017


The conclusion to the great gay sci-fi epic.

In the concluding volume of the Alien Danger series the perils and dangers of the universe converge on the lovers, Mike from Earth, and Joe from Hrrrm an unlikely pair to have fallen in love. Together they struggle to build a world safe for gay people and keep the dangers and prejudices of the world at bay. All leading to the final titanic battle between prejudice and all that is good and kind.

Jan 25, 2017

Über den Autor

Mark Zubro is the author of thirty-four novels and five short stories. His book A Simple Suburban Murder won the Lambda Literary Award for Best Gay Men’s mystery. His latest young adult mystery, Gentle, is just out. His science fiction trilogy, Alien Danger, continues to outperform expectations. He spends his time reading, writing, napping, and eating chocolate.


Alien Victory - Mark Zubro

Table of Contents



Copyright Acknowledgement

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Chapter Fifty-six

Chapter Fifty-seven

Chapter Fifty-eight

Chapter Fifty-nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-one

Chapter Sixty-two

Chapter Sixty-three

Chapter Sixty-four

Chapter Sixty-five

Chapter Sixty-six

Chapter Sixty-seven

Chapter Sixty-eight

Chapter Sixty-nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-one

Chapter Seventy-two

Chapter Seventy-three

Chapter Sevnty-four

Chapter Seventy-five

About the Author





In the concluding volume of the Alien Danger series the perils and dangers of the universe converge on the lovers, Mike from Earth, and Joe from Hrrrm an unlikely pair to have fallen in love. Together they struggle to build a world safe for gay people and keep the dangers and prejudices of the world at bay. All leading to the final titanic battle between prejudice and all that is good and kind.

Copyright Acknowledgement

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2015 by Mark Zubro

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Published by

MLR Press, LLC

3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.

Albion, NY 14411

Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet:

Cover Art by Deana Jamroz

Editing by Neil Plakcy

Print ISBN #978-1-60820-987-3

ebook format

Issued 2015

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.


This ship is going to be attacked.

Mike Carlson and Girn huddled in the cargo hold of Prison Ship 437 headed to planet 6743-OA, an uninhabited world their jailers hoped would be worse than living in the most lurid vision of hell.

They’d taken refuge in the darkest corner of the gloomiest aisle. Innumerable boxes in a wide variety of sizes surrounded them. It was one of the few areas in the vessel Mike knew had no surveillance system. Guards patrolled only once a night. Mike realized the lack of precautions taken was because their guards didn’t care if all the goods being transported were stolen or ruined. Mike figured the guards would prefer them all to just die. Mike was determined not to let that happen.

It was early morning, although the amount of light on the grim, gray walls of the prison never varied, no matter what time it was.

Are you sure? Mike asked.

Girn had arrived with a delegation from the Senate, the ruling body in the star systems of Hrrrm. The Senate had decreed that all gay people were to be exiled to a prison planet. Billions were to be rounded up.

Girn was a spy for this first group of exiles. His eyes peered into each shadow of darkness. Even though their communicators said they were the only two in this room, Girn spasmed like an amphetamine addict, seconds away from collapsing into a twitching heap on the floor.

He said, I shouldn’t be here. If they catch me, they’ll execute me on the spot. Even I didn’t know about this surprise inspection. We were lucky to find a way to meet.

How else were you going to let me know about the decree?

I don’t know. I didn’t think I could. Then this came up. I should go. It’s too dangerous.

Visits by official delegations or plain old harassment inspections happened at random intervals. Their prison ship was one of the slowest of interstellar vehicles. Almost any inter-planetary vessel, no matter the size, could catch up to it. It was a prison transport, not a battleship. It was in need of repairs, and given to cranky behavior that Mike compared to glitches in the simplest electronic devices on Earth. He’d thought these people, advanced as they were, would have been able to solve electronic anomalies. They hadn’t. Mike wasn’t sure whether or not he was comforted by the universal ability of technology to fuck with its owners.

Each delegation that stopped at the ship was required to have representatives from all the major factions in the Senate. Mike figured they didn’t want anyone horning in on their possible profits.

Or risk any other faction capturing him.

Grin said, Yes, I’m sure. You know how you were attacked on the way to Hrrrm?


Same thing here.

I thought we had better protections on this trip.

And the people who want to kill or kidnap you are more prepared as well.

Kidnap or kill?

If they can’t get you, this ship is to be blown to smithereens. You will be in space eternal, maybe protected for a few seconds by that aura you have, but then you will die, from lack of oxygen if nothing else.

Mike knew he was one of the most prized possessions in the galaxy. Or rather the chip implanted behind his left ear was. He and it were kind of a package deal. A frontal attack on Mike couldn’t work. This was due to a serendipitous fluke of a combination of his physiology along with a device created by Vov, the greatest mad scientist/weapons maker in Hrrrm’s part of the galaxy. Vov had taken refuge on Earth, where Joe, Mike’s husband, had managed to defeat and kill him, but the technology the scientist created was now desired by all the factions of Hrrrm.

At least Vov had created a technological device that had no glitches. The factions wanted the device, and they wanted the technology, and they wanted Mike, and if all else failed, they wanted him dead.

Mike glanced around at the shadow-infested interior. Boxes and crates were stacked to the vast ceiling and stretched to the far distance. He checked his communicator, which again told him there was no one else in this room.

Mike asked, When’s the attack supposed to happen?

I’m not sure.

Who’s attacking?

The Sky Pirates of Msssk.

Mike muttered, Them again.

Girn was part of a spy network that Mike and Joe had developed. Mike knew there were factions on their side, but they hadn’t been enough to stop the Religionists, who wanted to exterminate all gay people but had settled on exile as a compromise.

They’d been on their way on Prison Ship 437 for over a month. Joe had explained to Mike that they were going in the exact opposite direction from Earth, perhaps fifty thousand light years from home.

In the dark nights when Joe was asleep next to him, and Mike lay worrying, mostly he wished, as Bilbo so often did in The Hobbit, that he was home, in Mike’s case in his warm, cozy apartment with the man he loved next to him.

Should we report it to Captain Zmond? Mike asked.

If we tell anybody, they’ll know the information most likely came from someone in the delegation. He drew a deep breath. His hands twitched. Zmond is an incompetent blowhard especially chosen for this mission. He was the one most likely to screw it up. The guard ships around you will have to be enough.

If we told someone else, could they send help?

Who else?

The question stumped Mike. He had no answer. He also had no idea if being taken by the Sky Pirates would be better or worse than being shipped to this prison. He did know that the Sky Pirates had tried to capture and kill him before. He assumed the pirates would have fewer restraints on their treatment of him than the central government. At least on the ship, by law, there were ways they had to be treated.

Girn interrupted his thoughts. They’ve waited until you’re more than halfway there. So even if you know someone to contact, any help wouldn’t get here in time.

Maybe several factions planned this?

Possibly. Unfortunately, your only savior is likely to be Bex. He’s with this delegation that Girn arrived with.

Bex, the second richest man in the galaxy, was Mike’s evil nemesis. Bex was quite capable of sending someone out into space eternal on a whim. Mike had learned to fear even Bex’s whims.

Why is he here?

I don’t know.

Is he part of the attack?

Not that I know of.

They both looked at their communicators, which were about half the size of an iPod. The language was that of Hrrrm, which Mike could both speak and read. Mike no longer found it difficult to hear the speech of Hrrrm translated in his mind into English idioms. He had spent hours learning the language with Joe before he left Earth, and on the months-long journey from Earth to Hrrrm.

Mike had also gotten used to the mostly monosyllabic names. Actually they were nicknames, as the real names were strings of numbers and designations, and had little to do with warmth and babies and naming newborns. Joe’s whole official name was Police Detective Joe from the Seventh Directorate of Violence Control, sub-category twenty-six, unmated, reared in concept house 152-86, Implanted with series G through R anti-crime, series A to XX intelligence. That is, until they returned from Earth when his career as a cop was over and most of his implants were removed.

Girn wrung his hands. Don’t trust any of these people. Bex may be the direct face of your enemy, but this Dyn who showed up with Bex scares me more.

Girn’s communicator beeped.

Is that the attack? Mike asked.

Girn checked the readout and gave a sigh of relief. They’re calling the delegates to breakfast. He looked from his screen to Mike. Don’t try to contact me anymore this trip. I’ll bring news or try to send someone. The last time I met with Bex, I saw suspicion in his eyes.

Mike nodded. He didn’t like to think about what would happen to his spies. Him, they couldn’t hurt. People working with and for him could suffer and die.

Girn turned without another word and hurried away.

Mike wanted to find Joe and tell him the news, but his own communicator gave a soft beep. It was a summons to meet with Bex.


Mike entered the conference room. Bex sat at the head of the table with Dyn, whom Mike had met once before. Mike knew Dyn was a representative of the Senate, and that he was an assistant to Mulk, the richest person for light years around.

Upon seeing Bex, Mike’s annoyance level soared as much as his anxiety level. He didn’t doubt that this would be another dance of death with his sworn enemy.

For a villain, Mike thought Bex left a lot to be desired. Instead of being all Darth-Vaderish—dark, menacing, and metallic—Bex was a tubby little toad of a man with gray hair, a ruddy complexion, wrinkled neck, and small nose. Maybe Mike’s imagination was a little too stuck in Star Wars, but he thought if Jabba the Hutt had been human, he’d be Bex.

Dyn, on the other hand, was dark-haired, middle-aged, and thin. He had the ascetic villain, Professor Snape look, down pat.

When Bex was present, every meeting felt to Mike like he was facing a firing squad. Bex had long since known the futility of a direct frontal attack on Mike. However, if Bex was displeased with Mike in the slightest, Bex was quite willing to order any number of gay people killed, and would order it so in Mike’s presence. It was like being at a firing squad where the person next to you would be killed for your behavior.

The décor on the rest of the ship was the flat gray similar to what Mike had become familiar with on the ship from Earth to Hrrrm. But this was an official room, and as such was one of the few decorated on the ship. One of the walls had scenes replicated from various parts of the mural in the Senate chamber on the planet Hrrrm. Mike recognized scenes with Kluth, considered to be the greatest High Judge of the Ruling Council.

The paintings here also showed a battle scene, with fleets of ships blasting away at each other against a backdrop of soaring planets, moons, and stars. Mike’s only point of comparison was a Star Trek movie with phasers, lasers, or photon torpedoes firing into space. In this painting the firing beams of energy looked like lethal rainbows filling the interplanetary space with death.

As Mike took the few steps to a bare and plain, cement-like chair, Bex glared at him from his throne-like seat. As soon as Mike sat, Bex slammed his fist onto the top of the table. His gaze focused on Dyn. We’re getting beaten by a goddamn alien. Bang went the fist again. How the fuck is he doing that? Both hands slammed. I want him stopped. His voice lowered to a dramatic menace. Each word was now being followed by its own separate smash. I. Want. Him. Dead. I. Want. This. Fixed. The banging stopped, and he began waving both fists in the air. And if he can’t be dead, he pointed at Dyn, maybe you can be. Now get the hell out and fix this.

I’m sitting right here. Mike called from mere feet away. The table was made of perfillian wood. Mike had been told this was the most valuable building material in this sector of the galaxy.

Mike was the alien in question, being as he was thousands of light years from his home planet, Earth.

Bex ignored Mike and continued to shout, point, and bang. Dyn took the display with what Mike thought was remarkable aplomb. Mike wasn’t sure what Bex was upset about. From past experiences he knew he might or might not find out what the problem was at this meeting. Bex seemed to like to hear himself rant. The only political system Mike could compare this one to would be if all of Earth was a complete oligarchy mixed with a shred of libertarianism whenever it suited the rich to deign to pay attention to that which was not their own needs. The one thousand wealthiest people had seats in the Senate. Mike and Joe had been on trial in front of them only a few months before. Mike had learned that over the millennia the accountants who kept track of who was richest had been raised to the level of sainthood.

Mike wondered why Bex always began their meetings with hysteria. Did he think people were more likely to obey his dictates if he behaved irrationally? Or that they’d be hooked into believing his idiotic proclamations as he got louder and redder? Or that his over-the-top behavior would in any way convince those listening to his blather, delivered at a level of constant screech, to believe or obey what he said? Or that they’d countenance him for the slightest fraction of a second if he wasn’t one of the most powerful men in this part of the galaxy?

Mike also wondered why Bex’s unimaginable wealth didn’t preclude him from making such wild displays. If Bex was a first grader on Earth, Mike would guess he had self-esteem issues.

One of the first times Bex began to carry on, Mike had tried looking bored and disinterested.

People had died.

Mike didn’t want to risk people dying for his intemperance or his ill-manners whether real or imagined by Bex. Mike had no way to stop the man’s brutish insanity. He had learned to keep a half smile of fatuous attention on his face. Mike wished someday he could get revenge on this asshole.

That wasn’t going to be today.

Both of the other men continued to ignore Mike. Dyn, who had been ordered to move, didn’t. He neither carried on nor argued.

Mike wasn’t exactly sure of the nature of the relationship between Bex and Dyn. Few things were explained to Mike, and even fewer of his questions were ever answered.

Better them going after each other than going after him. Of course, their argument wouldn’t last long, or at least not long enough to have any real effect on Mike’s status as prisoner and Earth exile.

Whatever his screeching might portend about Bex’s psychological state, it also gave the message to Mike that Bex was not all-powerful. Mike wished he could take more comfort in that thought than he did.

As near as Mike could tell, Bex was a combination of the equivalent in the United States of head of the CIA, the NSA, the FBI, and commander in chief of all the armed forces, but with a personal wealth far beyond all those combined.

When Bex finally ran down, Dyn pointed his finger at Bex and slashed back with sarcasm and disdain. You’re telling me what to do? You’re telling me to get done what you couldn’t do? You’re supposed to be the most powerful person in this part of the galaxy. And you lost to him, this Earthling, this alien.

Mike didn’t think it would be possible to add more contempt or condescension to Dyn’s tone at these last two words. Even if all the haughtiest drag queens on the planet Earth were gathered together in a ‘disdain-a-thon’ Olympic style competition, they couldn’t match the disdain-dripping scorn.

Bex and Dyn glared at each other.

And, Mike thought, it was obvious that Bex didn’t care if the whole galaxy saw his irrational behavior. Undoubtedly their current meeting was being broadcast to the members of the Senate. Was he playing to the Religionists? Some other faction? Mike thought he was most like the kind of NFL coach who didn’t mind millions of people seeing him go nuts on the sidelines. Mike always thought that level of immaturity was something people didn’t want broadcast. Well, if he behaved so inappropriately, he hoped no one would see him do so.

When the two of them finally paused, Mike asked, How can I help you gentlemen today? Deferential and not hostile. Mike wasn’t taking chances with innocent people’s lives.

Bex went back to screaming and pounding. Are you people all really that incompetent?

Dyn said, Excellency, we are all trying our best. If our best is not good enough, feel free to replace us.

And start all over again? Are you trying to be funny?

No, Excellency, Dyn replied, uncowed by the head-of-security’s anger. Just trying to figure out what you think your screaming, fist banging, and arm waving is going to accomplish that all of our hard work for all these months hasn’t.

More glaring between the other two.

Mike could no longer count how many such meetings he’d been at with or without Bex. Pretty much the same thing happened at all of them. Bureaucratic nightmare piled on bureaucratic nightmare.

Mike Carlson attended the meetings because Bex and Captain Zmond commanded it. He suspected the head of security thought they would make him miserable.

At their first meeting after the vote in the Senate, Bex had in fact said, My goal in life is to make you miserable. I’m not in the Religionist faction. I don’t care if all the gay people in the universe live or die, but you I hate.

Mike had said, But you must be making money out of this.

Of course, Bex had replied. I’m in charge of security. You know how many new hires, new jobs, new everything those idiots in the Religionist factions have created? Millions, possibly billions. Rounding up people, feeding them, guarding them all takes personnel. Even with our technology, it is not easy.

Not my fault, Mike had said.

Bex had replied to that with one of his most violent tirades. Mike wondered how the guy survived it without having a stroke or a heart attack. Then again the medical profession in this part of the galaxy was far advanced from that of Earth. Bex had screamed, You are the reason all the gay people in this part of the galaxy are going to die. Bex had continued to remind him of this on numerous occasions. The man had proved to be as vicious an enemy as he had promised to be.

At that first meeting, Mike had said, No, prejudice and ignorance are the reason we are being sent to prison with you as the military muscle behind it. I was an excuse.

You were the flashpoint. Fear of you caused all this, and I’m glad.

I was an excuse to make yourself richer. As head of the military-spy complex, you’re in charge of making all this happen. So if it’s not happening, it’s your fault.

At one of these arguments, Bex had finally had the grace to grin and say, You don’t think I’m in this for the religious conviction?

I think, like all these people, you’re in it for the cash. The Religionists, the ones who aren’t deluded, know they’re going to reap a fortune from confiscating all the property and goods of all the gay people. They just don’t want to spend any of the new found fortune on actually getting their plan carried out. They want it both ways. They can lower taxes for years and live off the fat of their theft from all that gay people own and possess. I fear the day when they realize getting rid of them to a prison planet costs too much.

Bex had said, It already has. Don’t you get it? The rich like me, the suppliers and takers, will be even richer. The poor schlubs who believe all that crap will bankrupt themselves. Either way the money will flow to us. We win no matter what the zealots try to do. If a few million or even billions die while I get richer, I don’t mind.

Mike still had moments of blinding anger like he’d had at that moment, but he’d learned, no matter what his emotion, he could not affect the outcome. He was stuck in a colossal intergalactic shit-storm.

Mike boiled down the gist of today’s rant to ‘things had better happen sooner’. Dyn left.

A man entered who wore the red tunic of the guards. He placed a small plastic-like cube next to Bex and left.

Mike wasn’t sure what to do. He got up to leave. As he took a step toward the door, Bex raised his voice. He said, We know you have spies.

Mike turned to face him. His heart raced.

Bex pointed to the clear plastic box within which was a red glob of goo about the size of a mushed softball. Here’s all that’s left of the most recent one we caught. We’ll catch them all.

With an intense effort, Mike kept a bland look on his face. It took even more effort not to lash out at Bex. He knew with little more than a thought and a few taps on his communicator, he could kill this asshole. If Mike thought killing Bex would stop the deportations, he wouldn’t have had a second thought about blasting him into obliteration. Bex was the face of evil, but he wasn’t the cause of it. If Bex was dead, someone else would be in charge. Revenge taken on the innocent as a result of Mike killing Bex was not to be countenanced. Killing wasn’t the answer.

Was Bex trying to get him to break down and confess? To what? That he and Joe did have a spy network? What good would it do for Mike to confess to something Bex already claimed he knew? Bex was a nut-case extraordinaire, and Mike tried not to guess what was in his head.

Mike and Joe had taken every precaution when they set up their spy network. They needed information. They were determined to do anything they could to try and defeat what was happening to them.

Mike had gotten reports of torture, which hadn’t resulted in any deaths Mike knew of, until he’d seen Bex’s red blob just now. If it was real. Mike felt sick as he tried to look normal.

When Mike remained silent, Bex leapt to his feet. He rushed toward Mike but stopped four feet away when Mike’s aura began to glow. As Bex spoke, he stabbed his fist at Mike. He was screaming again. Do something. Try something. I beg of you. I want an excuse to kill a million of you.

Mike did the only thing he could do. He turned and left.


Mike was shaken. Had he just seen the remnants of Girn or another spy? Or was it a bluff? Bex wasn’t averse to lying to frighten his captives. No spy had been reported captured. Mike didn’t know if the time between his meeting with Girn and the confrontation with Bex was enough for Girn to be reduced to what Mike had been shown. He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t sure so.

In the incipient intergalactic gay spy conspiracy, many were willing to take risks. Not a good time for that. With his communicator, he located Joe who was in a meeting with the sewage people.

Mike never referred to himself and his fellow exiles as prisoners. He preferred to call the first hundred of them on the ship as colonists, who were to begin to prepare the planet for the influx of vast numbers of other gay men.

Mike had no idea how most of them were chosen. He and Joe were placed as leaders even though they had no training whatsoever in colonization, prisons, or prisoners. There would be no guards on 6743-0A. The universe didn’t care what happened to them on the planet. If they died, many in the galaxy would be that much happier. There was no way for them to leave the planet once placed there. Even if they managed to steal a ship, there was nowhere for them to go. Every ship in the home fleet and the various factions’ fleets would pursue them.

The sight of the red blob had given Mike a queasy feeling. Not for the first time, he felt like simply sitting down and dying. Or unleashing all his power and blasting them all to space eternal. He’d never have to face these horrors again. It was either die or endure.

But he still had Joe. He would endure.

At the moment Mike was half an hour late for a scheduled meeting with Snek, the only top-grade scientist/weapons specialist among the one hundred. Mike sent him a message that he was on his way. Mike didn’t mind Snek. He seemed to have a grasp on reality that Mike found refreshing. He saw facts and reported them as such.

He was about Mike and Joe’s age, late twenties to early thirties. He sported a scruffy goatee and hair that hung about his head in complex ringlets.

After pleasantries, Mike began with, Once we arrive, is there going to be any way to protect ourselves, defend ourselves, arm ourselves?

Except you, not much.

Are there things we could make?

What do we need weapons for? Do you think we need protection from each other? If there’s an invasion from the rest of this end of the galaxy, the fight will be very short. Except for you.

I’d feel better if we had something. Is there anything you can do with communicators to make them into weapons?

I can do basic modifications that any low-grade scientist could do.

Maybe something more powerful.

Snek said, It’s kind of hopeless, but I can see what previous expeditions left behind. You never know. People abandon colony planets and often leave tons of useless junk behind.

Mike said, Please give it a try.

They were interrupted by the ship’s Klaxon sounding. On his communicator and on the ship’s intercom, Mike saw the message and heard the command, Battle stations.

He felt the ship rock like a gently swaying baby’s cradle.

They were under attack.


Captain Zmond screamed at Mike. This is all your fault.

They were on a viewing deck in ship’s command center. A semi-circle of plexi-perma-impervious-to-space glass

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