Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets: The Official Movie Novelization

CHAPTER TWO

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.

But for the present moment, all was well in his world. Laureline made no move to change her position, continuing to sip her drink and peruse him with blue eyes bright with humor.

“They say memory blanks are the first sign that you’re getting old,” she said. Her eyes narrowed, focusing in on something. “After gray hairs,” she corrected. With the comment, she reached out to stroke his hair—and plucked one.

“Ouch!” he yelped.

She brandished it toward him like a weapon, with a triumphant, “See?”

His hair was dark brown. The treasonous hair she showed him was most definitely not. He stared at it for a moment, then his gaze slid to Laureline, dark with suspicion.

“You dyed it while I was sleeping!” Valerian said.

Laureline laughed. “Right,” she said, still grinning. “Like I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Gray hairs. He was getting old at twenty-seven. It was not a happy thought. He returned his focus to the gorgeous woman in front of him, her own hair shining in the sun, glorious and most definitely not gray.

He reached up and brushed a small, rebellious strand from her face, lingering on her skin. “I feel horrible that I forgot,” he said. Then, with a slightly lascivious smile, he asked, “What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Beginning descent in three minutes,” came a clipped, polished voice. Next to them, a small black pod started to flash a red light. Valerian closed his eyes in misery. Talk about bad timing, he thought.

“Nothing that you can get done in three minutes,” quipped Laureline, her grin broad as she slipped out of his grasp.

Valerian reached out, both playful and pleading. “C’mon…” he wheedled, under no illusion that she would acquiesce but, apparently, incapable of not trying anyway.

Laureline scolded him, pretending to be serious, though her slight smile betrayed her. “Now, now, don’t start something you can’t finish!”

“Who taught you a dumb saying like that?”

“My mother.”

“Oh… sorry.” He was batting a thousand today, wasn’t he? Gray hairs, forgetting her birthday—how the hell had that happened?—accidentally insulting her mom…

Laureline pressed the flashing red light, and reality intruded upon their private paradise.

The languidly waving palms and the ocean itself ceased their motion instantly. Clouds paused and the seagulls that had been wheeling froze in mid-flight. The blue sky that arched above splintered, like ice that had been struck, melting away swiftly to reveal the familiar black metallic interior of their spaceship, the Intruder XB982—or, as Valerian liked to quip, “Alex’s House.”

Still in their swimsuits, the two agents padded barefoot along the Intruder’s hallways, Laureline striding briskly, ready to get to work, and Valerian tagging along after her like a still-hopeful puppy.

“Come on, Laureline,” he wheedled as they passed rows of monitors, empty space suits, and various pieces of equipment. “I know you’re attracted to me. Why deny the obvious?”

She shot him a look that was both scathing and mirthful. He never knew how she managed it. “It’s obvious?” The acidic sarcasm that dripped from the words could have eaten its way through the bulkhead.

But Valerian was uncowed. “Sure,” he continued. He was joking, of course. Well, a little, at any rate. “Don’t feel too bad. It’s only natural. Little goody two shoes with an Ivy League education are always attracted to galaxy-hopping bad boys like me.”

“My Ivy League education taught me to steer clear of bad boys like you,” Laureline retorted, having no visible problem sticking to what she had allegedly learned.

But Valerian continued like a used shuttle salesman who knows he has about thirty seconds left to make his pitch. “You won’t find better than me on the market,” he promised. “Straight up. Take a good look.”

He darted in front of her, but as she refused to slow, he had to walk backward while he tried to interest the potential customer. He spread his arms, indicating his regulation-fit physique. “Handsome, smart—”

“Modest!” exclaimed Laureline. He noticed that she was smiling despite herself. This was a game they played… well, almost constantly. Valerian always enjoyed it—even if it never ended with what he wanted—and he knew she did, too. Laureline was no pushover. If she disliked the game, she’d have put an end to it the first time he’d started flirting. With, say, a right hook that left no question as to her sentiments.

So he continued. “Brave,” Valerian reminded her in a serious voice, striking a heroic pose—which, damn it, was impressive considering that he was walking, backwards, fast.

“Suicidal,” Laureline corrected.

“Determined.” She could not possibly argue that one, given what he was doing this precise moment.

“Pigheaded.”

Yeah, okay, he supposed he had to admit that one.

“Faithful,” he said.

The word was there, lobbed out by some impulse Valerian was now utterly flummoxed by. It hadn’t been what he had intended to say. It had come out, unbidden… real. For a moment, they both dropped the act and stared at each other, their eyes wide.

Then Laureline lowered her eyes and pushed past him, muttering under her breath, “To yourself.”

Valerian was annoyed, and angry. He wasn’t sure why. With her? With himself?

“Why don’t you speak with your heart not your head for once?” he asked.

She threw him a cold look over her shoulder. “Because I don’t feel like being just another name on your list of conquests.”

“Who are you talking about? What list?”

“Alex? Can we see the playlist?”

Dozens of images flashed up on one of the many screens: pictures of attractive humanoid females, one after another. Slightly panicked, Valerian stared at the images, as if the women were about to attack him.

One attractive woman who was standing right in front of him just might. Laureline advanced past him, her jaw set. Valerian felt his face grow hot. How the hell had she known about this?

“Hey!” he protested. “Most of them are coworkers, that’s it!” It was true.

Well, mostly.

Laureline turned, arching a brow. “Really? Coworkers?”

He nodded.

“Well, in that case, where’s my picture?”

Valerian had no answer for that, and so simply stared at her like a woodland creature in a beam of bright light.

“Yeah,” she said, and it seemed to him that there was genuine emotion in her words, “that’s what I thought.”

Valerian grasped her arm. “Laureline, those girls mean nothing to me. Okay, I admit it, I took a few… detours… when I was younger, but so what?”

The sergeant pointed to one of the pictures. It was of a stunning young woman with dark skin and laughing eyes. “Your last ‘detour’ was one week ago.”

Valerian was a superlative pilot. But even the best pilots didn’t always bring their vessels in without taking damage. He knew when a ship was about to crash and, likely, burn. He was experiencing that realization at this moment and, desperate to divert the course of his vessel of romance, he turned up the charm full throttle.

“With you, it’s different. You know it. My heart is yours and nobody else’s!”

Laureline was unmoved by his plea. “My heart will belong to the man who will have only my name on his playlist.”

“That’s what I’m saying! I’m that man!”

Laureline smiled, her face softening. The anger in her blue eyes was gone. But her words were no less devastating for being spoken gently.

“Your illogic is adorable. You know, you’re quite the lady-killer,” she admitted, and for a glorious second he thought the prize won. Her next words proved him wrong. “But how come you lose interest in a girl as soon as you win her heart?”

“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?”

“Will you stop complaining about my driving?” she retorted.

“Yes, I’m sorry. You’re a great driver. You’re the best driver in the entire universe!” Valerian wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince—himself or Laureline. Probably both.

She beamed at him, but her eyes were sly. “Aww, thanks!” She’d won this round and they both knew it.

But at least she’d grabbed the joystick again and had gained control of the ship.