Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’m not sure whether I should be grateful or insulted.
On the one hand, being sedated at some point between listening to aliens haggle over me, eavesdropping on those aliens while hurtling through space, and waking up here? Missing the part where I must have plummeted through the atmosphere of a new planet???
Likely kind.
On the other, being dragged from the space pod to… wherever I am? And left alone? Still in this absurd, life-ending T-shirt?
Likely a snub.
At least, it would be, if I were considered a person on this planet. Not just “a pale, gelatinous bag of breeding organs.”
I suppose, given that distinction, I should be grateful I’m not in another cage or wearing a collar. My hands fly to my neck, just in case. There’s nothing there, and my wrists and ankles aren’t tethered to the soft surface beneath me, either.
It’s… a bed.
An enormous one, with… flaps? Extra cushioning protrudes from the sides, turning it into an upside-down trapezoid instead of a rectangle.
The headboard shimmers, unfamiliarly lovely. Is it crystal? Or silver? My eyelids flutter as I try to place the material—some icy, glimmering substance that has the look of diamonds, but less stone-like and more metallic.
Where am I?
My entire situation roars back in a screaming lurch, banishing my last bit of grogginess. I shove upright, whipping my head as gross, gunk-dried hair swings around my shoulders.
I don’t know what I expected.
Surely not this.
Holy shit.
It’s glorious.
There’s really no other word for it: pure, mesmerizing glory. Textures, colors, shimmer, and shine. My jaw drops as I blink, struggling to take in the sheer beauty.
The bed is on an oblong platform, raised against the enormous room’s farthest reaches.
Across from it, the entire wall is a giant open window.
I barely see the stone floor or the thin, billowing curtains.
It all fades away, paling against the vista sprawled beyond the room and up in the lavender sky.
Three suns, my mind murmurs, frozen in awe.
They’re really there. Three enormous spheres of light, hanging low in the horizon.
They’re not as bright, and they feel much nearer than I’m used to. I suppose that makes sense, since there are three of them. They’re clearly closer to this planet than the Sun is to Earth—yet I’m not burning to a crisp, and I don’t find it painful to look directly at them.
The largest is the lowest, already partly behind the horizon. It’s also blue—a soft periwinkle-white version at its center, surrounded by a striking indigo band where it blurs into the sky.
Above it, to the left, there’s another big orb, glowing rosy pink. Though it’s not as huge as the blue one, the ring of magenta around it is just as striking.
And there on the right, halfway between the two? A sun that looks the most like the one I’m familiar with, only dimmer and closer, burning amber-gold.
The effect of all three is breathtaking. I gape for so long, my eyes start to sting. Blinking, I drop my gaze and refocus. Finding… a silver sea. Winking in the distance.
Pink hills roll in front of it, sprawling across the right-hand side of the vista. But there, in the middle and to the left? Filling the deep valley under my window?
A city.
Gleaming metallic blue and crystal, with buildings arranged in shapes and patterns I’ve never seen. The tallest ones look like twisted cylinders. The shorter structures are almost the opposite—circular domes squatting close to the ground.
Meandering rows of small, sparkling stone dwellings dot the landscape, stretching as far as my eyes can see. Into the low, pink hills. Through the narrow gap between them leading to the ocean. And up against whatever mountain I’m currently cleaving to the side of.
I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere in the midst of absorbing the view, I abandoned the bed and stumbled to the short, rounded wall along the bottom of the window. My knees ache as I drop to the cold, ice-blue stone. I ignore the pain, leaning closer to peer below.
Oh fuck, I am up high. In a—in a—
Castle?
No, my brain supplies. A palace.
True, it’s hard to tell, since I’m peering out from what I think might be the top floor. But still. A girl knows a palace—alien or not—when she sees one.
This room is a dead giveaway, too. It may feel odd to me—full of materials I don’t recognize in proportions that don’t suit me—but it’s obviously opulent. From the milky azure floor and silver-streaked walls to the gossamer linens.
My lungs pinch as I inhale, my earlier panic rearing again. I close my eyes, refusing to get worked up when I need my wits about me.
Just breathe. You can breathe. The air here is fine. I’m sure the water will be, too.
After all, I don’t think anyone wants to kill me.
They just want to rent my uterus to spawn aliens.
Not to mention my other parts.
NBD.
I don’t even know which planet this is, damn it. Or what these people call themselves. Or, you know, anything.
Like, for example, what the hell an “omega” is and why they think I am one.
Also, do aliens shower? Because I am rank.
The manic chuckle that snorts out of me should probably be concerning. But if dark humor is my only tether to stave off another panic attack, so be it.
I’m here now. In extremely foreign territory. On a planet full of giant pink men so insane, they had to buy a woman to fuck.
Sorry. Breed.
Either way, I need to stay in control. The fact that I lost time between entering this planet’s atmosphere and waking up is the sort of weakness I can’t indulge in. I missed any opportunity to see where they took me or get a sense of the landscape.
Is this a government facility? An embassy? Or am I actually in a royal residence of some sort?
Is that a good sign or bad sign? Would it be better to be taken by humble aliens or important ones?
With a frantic stab of anxiety, I realize it’s been a long time since I’ve gone to the bathroom. And since I assume they must have at least, like, a hole to pee in, I whirl to the wall where the bed is, hunting for a door.
There isn’t one, only a missing portion of the cotton-candy-blue stone. Like an arch… but without an arch. My brows knit as I wander toward it, feet slapping on the cool, polished surface beneath me.
Blessedly, it is a bathroom. Kind of.
Instead of a toilet, there’s a latrine? A fancy one, carved out of the same smooth, swirled stone as the walls and the floor. But still. It’s basically a chair with a hole in the bottom.
I use it anyway, whining in distress when I have to peel my disgusting, stasis-goo-covered jeans down my legs. It takes all my willpower not to gag as I kick them off.
I might have to keep this underwear for now, but there’s no way I’m putting those crusty pants back—
Wait.
Is that a robe?!
A relieved sob tears from my sore throat as I finish peeing and lunge up from the not-toilet. I miss my chance to see what the whoosh in the latrine means, but I don’t care. Because draped over the low stone slab that quarters the back fourth of the room, there is a robe.
Ish.
Close enough.
I scurry around the short wall, but the second I do, warm spray falls from the ceiling. I shriek, jumping backward.
Until I realize it’s… water?
Oh my God, yes.
Water.
Clear—if not slightly bluer and a bit thicker, perhaps. But still refreshing as it spills over my skin. When I bring a wet hand to my face to sniff the liquid, it has a very slight scent.
Rock, I realize. Their water must also come from the ground, like the fresh water on Earth does.
The aroma is oddly comforting. Something at least vaguely familiar. There’s no soap, but at this point? Running water is a luxury.
And who the hell cares if I lose this fucking shirt forever?
It doesn’t sound like keeping my disgusting clothing on will be a deterrent for—what did the Bloops call them? “Alphas”?
I stand under the water as long as I can, closing my eyes and chanting to myself. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
And when that doesn’t work, I finally cry.
My life on Earth wasn’t much, but it was mine. My favorite fuzzy socks. The twinkle lights in my bedroom. Grey’s Anatomy reruns. The Great Dane in the apartment across from mine who always made me smile.
And my friends.
I doubt anyone from Cubicle Hell will miss me, apart from the headache of having to make their own spreadsheets. And, God knows, my parents never wanted me.
But Capri and Addy…
They’re my family.
And now that I’m either dead—and in some sort of weird purgatory—or actually abducted…
They’ll be sick with worry. Losing work and sleep and time, trying to find out what happened to me.
Could I send them a message? A note? Or a… sign?
Every idea feels more hopeless than the last. I sob harder, hiding my tears in my wet palms.
Until I hear… shouting?
“Omega!”
Which is all the warning I get before a huge purple alien tackles me.