Alien Romance: Fall for a Cyborg (Sci-Fi Futuristic Alien Abduction Fantasy Space Warrior Romance) (Science Fiction Mystery Paranormal Urban Short Stories) (86 page)

“Here I am,” Rosy said, knowing that at any moment she could wake up in an insane asylum, staring a white wall, tied into a straitjacket.

Elion smiled at her: an oddly pinched, tight expression on his face, but an oddly comforting one, too.
Wait a second, Rosy
, she thought,
you’re not starting to
trust
this random red-skinned eight-foot white-haired man, are you? Because that would be very, very bad. You don’t know who or what he is.
Elion turned toward the plain gray house and said over his shoulder: “Follow me. I’ll take you to your quarters.” He walked into the house without waiting for a response.

Rosy stood outside for a moment, in the red-orange glare, and then followed him.

***

Her bed was a rollout plain gray (surprise) mattress that was surprisingly okay to lie on considering it looked like a block of cement. There was nothing else in her room apart from the bed, and a sort of en-suite toilet. The toilet itself was a perplexing contraption which you had to retrieve from the wall, do your business, and then press a button and it somehow folded back in upon itself. There was a desk upon which sat boxes and boxes of unwrapped cereal-bar-looking things. She tried one. It was bland, tasteless, but it filled her aching belly (hunger had returned as the spaceship left). There was a hose-like thing on the wall which shot out clean-tasting water. Thirst quenched, hunger quelled, bathroom taken care of, she decided to wonder around the house.

After all, what was the worse they could do? Kill her? The way she was feeling right now – like she’d been punched in the head and woken up in Narnia – she didn’t think she’d mind that.
Liar,
an inner voice said.
You’re too strong for that. You wouldn’t let that happen to yourself. You would never let that happen to yourself. You need to live, Rosy, because that’s who
you are.
She knew what she was doing: taking credit for the basic human instinct of self-preservation. But that didn’t matter. She wouldn’t die. She would survive.

She was about to leave her room when Elion walked into the doorway. “Hello,” he said, staring down into her eyes. She came up to his lower chest, and had to crane her neck to look at him. “I was wondering how you are feeling. Are you feeling okay?”

“What do you think?” she said.

“I do not know,” he said. “That is why I asked.”

“Well, I’m not telling you,” she said, trying to reclaim what little power she had. He could transport her to this strange land, fine, but he wouldn’t pry into her mind. “You’ll just have to figure it out for yourself.”

His mouth became tight and pinched, and he regarded her in silence for a half-minute. “My father will be home in a day,” he said. “I must warn you about him. He is not a nice man. He will not strike you – that is not who he is – but he will make your life difficult here.” He shook his head. “He is a bad man.”

“Then why don’t you leave?” Rosy burst out.

Elion nodded. “That is a valid question.”

He regarded her for a moment longer, and then spun and paced from the room. Rosy was about to venture out again when he returned with a pair of goggles. “I asked the ship’s crew to download some books and movies for you. You just put these on.” He handed her the goggles. “And these.” He handed her some gloves. “And you should be able to read or watch mostly anything your species has created.”

He left without saying anything. The equipment was easy to use: easier than any Earth technology.

And then Rosy didn’t want to explore anymore. She was reading
The Great Gatsby
, imagining that she was in 1920s America instead of here.

He is not a nice man.

*****

That night, Rosy woke, startled, to see Elion standing at her door.

She jumped out of bed and stood back against her wall. After all, a strange alien was about to invade her room after transporting her God-knew-where in the universe. “Don’t hurt me,” she mumbled. Even to herself she sounded small and timid. “Just—don’t hurt me.”

Elion stepped into the room. Three moons beamed down bluish light through a small rectangular window at the top of the room. He stepped into the light and smiled at her: a kind, safe smile. “I am not going to hurt you,” he said. “Why would you think that?”

“Um, because you’re sneaking around,” she said, heart pounding. “And because I don’t know what’s happening, and because I might be crazy, and because nothing is making any sense.” She had told herself that she wouldn’t cry, but now she couldn’t help it. She began to think about all the people she had left behind: her friends and family. She thought about never seeing them again, and thought about the craziness into which she had been thrust barely a day ago. The tears rolled down her cheeks and then racking sobs seized her. “I don’t—this isn’t—I
don’t
—” She gave herself to the sobs, collapsing on the bed.

She looked up and saw Elion standing over her, his hand outstretched awkwardly. “Would it comfort you if I put my hand on your shoulder? I have heard humans appreciate that kind of gesture.”

“No,” Rosy said, wiping her eyes. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

She sat up in bed and watched as Elion stood before her, staring down at her.

“Why are you here, anyway?” she said, after a pause.

“I wish to know about human culture,” he said. “We were told that you are a
book editor
. I wish to know what that entails, and what kind of books your species has.”

Rosy’s mouth fell open, and she couldn’t say anything for a few moments.
They take me from my home – my
planet
– and now he wants to know about my
job
. I swear, please, just wake me up. This is too strange.
“Okay,” Rosy said, slowly. “What exactly is it you want to know?”

“What were you reading when I left you earlier?”

She told him it was
The Great Gatsby
.

“And what is that about?” he said.

She told him it was about America in the 1920s and lost hope and all that. He didn’t understand most of it, until she told him about the drinking the characters did at the parties. “Oh,” he said. “Like
g’luf
.”

“Gluf?”

“It is our
champagne
,” he said. “It makes your head feel funny; you have trouble walking and it makes you laugh and be happy. Would you like some?”

Rosy said she would – why the hell not? – and Elion returned with two jug-like things filled with a blue liquid. He sipped his and then tapped his lips. Rosy looked down at the liquid, and then took a tentative sip. The
g’luf
burnt down her throat, and then, almost immediately, she was filled with a warm glow. The moonlight seemed brighter, starker, more
real
.

She took another sip, filling her chest with more warmness. “Do not drink so much at once,” Elion said, and sat next to her on the bed, his legs stretching out almost to the other wall. “It is very strong.”

Perhaps it was the
g’luf
that made her say: “I am scared, Elion. I am scared of what tomorrow will bring. I am scared of never seeing my family. I am just—scared. That is all.”

“Yes,” Elion said. “I imagine you would be scared. You are in a strange place doing something you do not wish to do. It is a scary experience. But I am not scared. I am angry.” A hint of bitterness came into his high voice; his white eyebrows lowered. “Our species long ago ascended to the stars; and yet my father wishes to return to the land and live like our ancestors, with slaves and crops, and all so he can travel around the cities and brag about what a cultured man he is.” He clapped his three fingers on his knee. “May the stars bind him.”

Rosy watched this utterly strange cultural sign with almost impassivity. It was nothing to her if this alien hated his daddy. She hated him, she told herself, and took another sip. Yes, she
hated
him.
You hate him, Rosy, so don’t talk to him anymore. Throw the g’luf or whatever the hell it is right in his face and run and run and run until you can’t run anymore.

But she didn’t do that. She just sat there and continued to sip on her
g’luf
. She found herself watching Elion, looking over his body. His ears were pointed, she saw, and his muscles were toned and hard. He wore a short purple robe that showed strong, muscled legs. They had dressed Rosy in a similar robe. When he bent down to place his
g’luf
on the floor, she saw his shoulder muscles working, powerful and man-like.

She found herself wondering… No, but she couldn’t think like that. She was too scared to think like that.

He lay back on the bed. “Tell me more about your books,” he said, staring up at the ceiling.

She told him about her favorite books:
The Grapes of Wrath, The Mill on the Floss, Far From the Madding Crowd.
Rosy could have talked about them for hours to a human; to explain them to an alien was an exhilarating and stimulating task.

But then Elion left, taking the
g’luf
with him, and she was alone. Before he left, he touched her hand, and she let him. “It will be fine,” Elion said.

“Do you believe that?” she said.

“I do not know,” Elion said. “But I have heard humans like to be lied to when they are scared. But I know one thing: I am glad we spoke tonight.”

“Me, too,” Rosy said, and she meant it.

*****

The next morning – days lasted thirty-two Earth hours on this planet – Raben Ka’la’tek was due to arrive. Rosy was terrified of this man – this
alien
– that she had never seen before. She wished Elion was the master of the house; at least he didn’t seem sadistic or malicious in any way, just a little socially awkward. But Raben could be anything. He could be a monster. Rosy hoped this wasn’t true: hoped that he was a nice, kind alien; hoped that he understood how difficult this adjustment would be for her; hoped that he knew she couldn’t simply
adapt
to it like it was the norm.

Raben was around seven feet with shocks of white hair on the sides of his red-skinned head. He had a big, bushy white moustache and walked with slow confidence. Rosy was in her bedroom when Elion came to the door and stood there, silently, for a few moments. Then he stepped further through the door and stood before her bed. “My father is here,” he said, quietly. “He wishes to see you.”

Rosy, with shaking legs and trembling hands, walked from the bedroom and followed Elion through the gray house. She knew that whatever was about to come, she had to be strong. She had to be strong and resist the urge to run or scream. As she saw it, she was in prison now. And if prison movies had taught her anything, it was that you had to make yourself tough to survive. So that was what she’d do. She’d make herself as tough as possible.

Raben sat in a gray chair in a gray room drinking
g’luf
from a gray container. Elion stood in the corner of the room, quietly, and then aliens were all around her. She was told one of them, a shorter alien woman, was Raben’s wife but not Elion’s mother, and the others were Elion’s half-siblings, all young enough to look almost cute. Raben leaned forward as all his family, apart from Elion, gathered around him. He touched his neck, fiddled, and then said: “You understand me, yes?”

Rosy nodded. But he didn’t seem to know what nodding meant. So she muttered: “Yes.”

“Excellent,” he said. “We are the Ka’la’tek family. We are a proud, old, noble family. We have returned to the land, like our forefathers before the singularity. You are to be our house slave. I asked for a human slave because it is a great honor in our society to have a human slave. Your species is most interesting: much like ours was thousands of years ago, when we knew little of the universe. Now,” he went on, and leaned forward. “I need to make sure that you function properly.”

A slight grin lifted his lips, and his eyes twinkled. Then he drained his
g’luf
and threw the container at the wall, where it bounced and then landed on the floor. “Pick that up, slave,” he said.

Rosy felt anger rise within her, but the anger was counteracted by a profound fear. She had no recourse here, to anything. She couldn’t fight, she couldn’t run. She turned to Elion for help, but he just stood in the corner, eyes downcast, silent. Rosy sighed and then walked towards the container. “Quickly!” Raben snapped. “Quickly, slave!”

Rosy walked quicker, and then knelt and picked up the container. She looked at him, and he gestured with his hands to come to her. She walked to him and he held out his hand. She placed the container in his hand and then walked back to the center of the room. He smiled at her, and then threw the container again.

He threw it fifty-eight times in total. And each time Rosy was forced to retrieve it and place it in his hands. She thought about denying him, but there was nothing she could do. She blushed fiercely as the children bawled with semi-human laughter. Elion didn’t do anything, but around the seventh or eighth time he walked from the room, shaking his head. Raben didn’t even look at his son; his eyes were trained on Rosy like a predator.