Chapter Four
Elizabeth
Iclutch the information packet I was mailed last week to my chest tightly as I tug the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder. I press the buzzer.
I can do this. I take a deep breath, fear singing through me.
“Hello, do you have an appointment?” the tinny voice from the speaker asks.
“Uh, yes, hello. I have an eleven o’clock. I’m Elizabeth Hudson.”
I can’t do this.
The door clicks as it unlocks and I tug the heavy thing open. I step in and it swings shut behind me, and the lock engages. Ominous, I think sourly.
I walk down the sterile hallway as the fluorescent lights hum. Not very welcoming. When I get to the end of the hall, the door swings open on its own. It looks like a hospital waiting room. I guess that’s better than the bare entry.
An older woman behind the desk presses her glasses up her nose and smiles at me. “Come sit,” she says. It’s the woman from the phone call.
“I’m Courtney. I’ll be doing your intake today. First, can I see your identification?”
I nod and dig it out of my purse.
“Hi Courtney,” I greet her, “I have some concerns.”
She laughs as she takes my ID, “Most people do.” She turns to her computer and types something in. “What are you worried about?” She asks in a kind voice, eyes still on the screen.
“Uh...” I start, suddenly tongue tied. I put the packet down and open it, re-reading my frantically scribbled notes.
“Hand me your bag please,” she directs.
“Excuse me?”
“Your bag. I have to be sure you followed the rules about disallowed items. Bringing plants or animals could destroy the alien ecosystem.”
“Oh, right,” I mutter, handing it over as she stands and places it on a side desk. She starts to dig through my stuff, like the world’s sweetest TSA agent. “So, uh, I think my main concern is what if I don’t... like them?”
“That’s what most people ask,” she peers at me over her glasses as she paws around my underwear. “And what I always say is this: the matching program is incredibly accurate. Between the blood work, the brain scans and biometry—”
“Wait, what brain scans?” I ask, now even more worried.
“Oh, the ones you had done on your return visit.”
“Those were brain scans?!” I blurt, my memory blurry, probably due to the copious drugs I did to work up the nerve to go back to the testing center.
But if you didn’t go willingly, the police would have shown up to drag you there. And then you were put in confinement until a match was made. Human authorities were pretty keen to avoid the aliens taking over the planet.
“Indeed. And today we’ll implant the language transmitters.”
“Yeah, really excited about that,” I mutter. I had had a minor panic attack when I read through the procedure basics in the paperwork. My eyes land on another of my notes. “Um, what does...”
I can’t ask Grandma Merriweather this, I think, blushing.
She pauses repacking things into my bag to look at me.
“What does it mean... that the alphas of the Celnoe expect to be ‘served’ by their omega?” I rush out the last of it.
I mean, I know I, totally accidentally—by the way, signed up to have sex with a pack of aliens, but the word ‘serviced’ makes me concerned.
She smiles kindly and sits down, pulling out a form. “Look here, Elizabeth. This is the oath both you and your new pack will sign and be bound by.”
My eyes flick over the short document. “They take care of me? My ‘life and body’?” I ask. “Oh fuck, I’m a pet?”
“Goodness no, dear. You’re more like a wife. More than a wife. A beloved partner. Or...” she hesitates.
“What?” I demand.
“Well, to be perfectly honest, you’re the first human going to a Celnoe pack. We have many omegas matched and now living happily among the other two planets of the Concord agreement. But you’ll be the first on Celnoe. But I’m sure they are just as lovely. Each planet’s oath is a bit different.”
Great, just fucking great.
“Sign here,” she prompts, handing me a pen.
I sign my name, stomach in my ass.
“Have you met any of the aliens?” I ask.
“Me? Goodness, no dear.”
I give her the stink eye. She stands, “Come on now,” she chirps as she opens a panel and pushes my bag in. A bright blue light surrounds it before the door gets fully shut. I follow her, too stunned to even object, down a hallway.
“Our doctor will get your implants and get you on the transport pad, ready to go to your new home!” Courntey says cheerily.
“Wait!” I demand, snapping out of it, “What if I hate it? What if I want to come back to Earth? How do I contact you? Or someone?”
She looks at me askance. “Your pack will provide you with communications devices, don’t fret.” She opens the door, her warm hand on my shoulder as she propels me forward, “But no one comes back, my dear.”