Rescued By An Alien Rogue (Help! I Went To Space and All I Got Was… #1)

Chapter 1

Banjo

“Are you seriously tellin’ me Banjo has to record an album before he gets his money? After y’all gone and done paraded him around here, there, and yonder, he can’t even get none of the money y’all promised him?”

Mamaw’s voice is escalating in a way it normally only does when the University of Alabama men’s basketball team is losing.

I sit next to her, staring vacantly at the shiny surface of the conference table we’re all grouped around for this conversation.

It doesn’t seem real. None of this seems real.

It hasn’t since this morning when I got a letter in the mail saying I’m going to space.

That one letter sent the last six months of my life crashing to the ground.

No, not just months. Years. Years of practice that led to being whisked around the country and performing in countless auditions in front of countless audiences.

I can’t remember the last time I slept for more than a few hours, let alone in my own bed, but it was worth it.

I won America’s Voice. I got what I’d been dreaming of since I first found Papaw’s old guitar: my big break.

I had one night to enjoy doing the impossible.

Musicians rarely go on to have a successful career, and I was going to be one of them.

I was finally going to have enough money to take care of my family.

My sister Viola wants to go to college and medical school, and she’s actually smart enough to do it.

And Mamaw needs at least one of her knees replaced.

Plus, the double-wide needs new everything, or maybe it should just be scrapped.

I could move Mamaw into a nice house with that money.

Maybe not a huge house, since she’s getting up there, but I could still get her into something nice enough with the two-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollars in prize money.

Now all of those dreams are gone. In less than a week, I’ll be heading back to New York City to go through some sort of test before being sent off to an alien planet. Apparently, sending humans to space was the only way the people in charge could keep robots from destroying the world…or something.

Learning humans weren’t alone in the universe wasn’t actually that exciting (no robot uprising, disappointingly), but it had been bad enough to shut down the entire world.

No power, no internet, no nothing. Total blackout for three months.

Fun way to find out aliens exist, right?

Once the higher ups gave into the aliens’ demands—providing humans in exchange for protection—everything came back on like a switch had been flipped.

Or at least, that’s what I was told. The whole thing happened almost fifteen years ago, back when I was a kid, so I don’t really remember any of it.

I never gave it much thought, to be honest. Sure, I’m aware people get randomly drafted and are sent off to who knows where, but no one from my small town in the bootheel of Missouri ever got picked.

Stuff like that only happens to people who live in big cities and have more than forty-five people in their high school graduating class.

Except now, it’s happening to me.

“Ma’am, if you look at the contract—” one of the fancily dressed bigwigs across the table begins, but Mamaw interrupts him.

“He’s bein’ taken by aliens! That should override your stupid contract!” She yells, slamming her fist down on the table. I wince at the noise, glancing over at my sister, Viola, who sits on my other side.

She doesn’t look at me. Instead, her gaze is fixed intently on the man who’s speaking.

I wouldn’t know she’s nervous at all if it wasn’t for the way she fidgets with the stand attached to the back of her phone.

Pop. Click. Pop. Click. Pop. Click. The urge to hum a melody over the beat she’s making is almost too strong to resist, but even I know this isn’t the time for an impromptu jam session.

Plus, the last thing I want is Mamaw’s rage directed at me.

“Actually, ma’am, there’s a clause right here that states what will happen if the contestant is selected for the Human Relocation Program.

” The man flips through a couple of pages from a thick stack.

I vaguely remember signing them months ago when I made it through the initial auditions for the show.

I’d been so excited that the whole thing went right over my head.

I’d initialed everywhere they told me and signed on the dotted line without even reading it. Whoops.

“If the winning contestant is selected for the Human Relocation Program, they have one year from the day after the finale to complete the album. Once the album has been delivered, the two hundred fifty thousand dollars will be transferred as an advance against future record sales. If the album isn’t completed in that time period, the contestant forfeits the prize, and we have the right to offer it to the second-place contestant. ”

My head is spinning from all the legal language.

Mamaw is yelling something about how I wouldn’t be on Earth, so how was I supposed to record an album.

The man tells her she needs to calm down, and now she’s really hollering at him.

Viola slides her hand into mine, giving it a brief squeeze that draws my attention to her.

“You don’t have to look so worried,” she whispers. As usual, I get caught by those big green eyes she got from our mama. I’d always been jealous she’d ended up with them while my eyes were a plain, muddy brown like our dad’s. “We’re gonna be alright. And hey, space could be fun.”

She sounds confident. I’m not so sure. Ever since I barely graduated from high school, I’ve helped pay the bills with a part-time job.

Anything to keep Viola from having to work during her last two years of high school.

But it isn’t enough. It’s never enough to cover everything, even with Mamaw’s Social Security checks.

At least the trailer is paid off. They’ll have a roof over their heads, even if it leaks.

Viola studies me for a long moment, her gaze then flicking over to one of the lawyers arguing with Mamaw. “I did some searchin’ online, and sometimes, people come back,” she tells me. “And when they get back, the aliens ain’t allowed to take ‘em again. They’re back for good.”

I nod slowly. She’s right. People do come back.

It’s rare, but it happens. Who knows how they manage it.

It’s like they just suddenly reappear out of nowhere, according to the news.

“I’ll do everything I can,” I promise and squeeze her hand back, offering her some small bit of comfort.

“Meanwhile, you need to keep doin’ good at school so you can get one of those fancy scholarships.

And you probably gotta stop saying words like “ain’t.

” You think they’re gon’ let you talk like that at Harvard? ”

Viola rolls her eyes, the smallest bit of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Banjo, there ain’t no way I’m gettin’ into Harvard,” she huffs.

“And if somehow pigs start flyin’ and I do get in, I think they’ll be okay with the way I talk.

It ain’t what's most important, right? What matters is what’s in here.

” She lets go of my hand to tap her temple, and I frown at her.

“No, Vi, what matters is in here,” I remind her, placing my hand over her heart. We grin at each other, enjoying a cheesy sibling moment while we can.

We weren’t always close like this. The six-year gap between us led to a lot of hostility when we were younger, especially after what happened to our parents.

Now we’re like two peas in a pod, and I couldn’t be more grateful for her love and support.

I just hope I get to pay her back the way she deserves.

I open my mouth to tell her that, but security comes in before I can get the words out to escort us—mainly Mamaw—out of the building.

She’s still swearing up a storm, promising she’s going to sue them or, worse, call their mamas.

I know she doesn’t have the money for a lawyer, so the latter is unfortunately the only threat with legs to stand on. At least, it normally would be.

“I don’t think that’s as big of a threat up here as it is back home, Mamaw,” I say as I slide my arm through hers for extra support down the few steps to the taxi.

“Pish posh,” Mamaw says, shaking her head.

“You wait. I’ll call ‘em, and then they’ll really be sorry.

” I open my mouth to reply, but she dismisses me with the wave of her hand.

“Don’t you even think about arguin’ with me, boy.

You may be twenty-two and some kinda big shot celebrity or whatever, but you ain’t too old for me to take you over my knee, you hear me? ”

It takes everything in me to hold back my grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

Six days and many intrusive tests later, I’m sitting in a real-life spaceship the size of a shopping mall.

There are lots of humans on board the ship, some from the U.S.

, and some from other countries who made similar deals with the alien overlords.

Things are… quiet. Honestly, I expected this trip to be a little more exciting.

On top of that, they won’t tell any of us where we’re going, only that we’ll go places where we can best “utilize our skills.” Luckily, they’d agreed my skill was music, to the point where they bent the rules and let me bring Papaw’s old guitar along with my backpack.

Unfortunately, my bunkmate Remington didn’t get as lucky with his skill evaluation.

“Are you sure they said ‘bed warmer’ and not somethin’ else?” I ask Remington as I lounge in his lower bunk. He sits on the edge, bouncing his leg and wringing his hands together.

The conversation is a nice distraction from the itch behind my ear. Some kind of tiny chip thing was put there this morning, right under my skin. A translator, they said. I have no idea how it works, but suddenly the gibberish the aliens speak turned magically into English.