Alien's Challenge

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

AliceToday’s outlook: it’s gonna suck.

In all fairness, all the days had sucked since Alice went camping and subsequently got abducted by aliens. Nothing about today was remarkable on the suckage meter. Same old, same old, sitting on an ornate cushion on the floor, wearing a collar attached to a leash.

There were certain unexpected events that Alice had mentally prepared for. Sinking in quicksand? She had a plan. Need to send a message to her past self to save the future? She already picked out a password. Zombies? Aim for the head and destroy the brains.

Alien a*******n while camping? Not so much. It was ironic because that was how it always happened in the movies. Okay, maybe one movie, but it made an impression on her.

That she was even camping was bullshit. Yeah. She wasn’t a fan of camping, even if that had more to do with the alien a*******n than actually struggling to pitch a tent.

Long story short, bright light, floating off the ground, little green— gray? —men, and she woke up here.

Well, not here, here. At a warehouse was her best guess. The building had that cold, industrial look with concrete floors and harsh lighting.

A fog lingered in her head, making her sluggish and slow to respond. She was forgetting something important, but it kept slipping from her mind, like trying to hold water in her hands.

People—alien people? —kept talking. Alice tried to ask where she was and all the other typical questions about what the hell was going on, but her words slurred. They injected her with something. She tried to struggle but moved like she was stuck in mud.

He was there. Tall, red scales, watching her with reptilian eyes. His name was Randevere, as far as she could tell. Someone jabbed her behind the ear, and she could understand them. When she tried to speak, they patted her on the head and called her a “cute, little, squishy thing.”

They treated her like a child. Worse, a pet. Randevere’s cute, squishy human pet.

Before she could protest that she was a person, not a cat, they shoved her into a crate. The days that followed were hazy. Sleep in the crate. Come out of the crate and sit on a pillow. Be quiet.

Alice suspected that her food or water had been drugged. Exhaustion never seemed to leave her.

Today was different. Today, they were on a train. For the last few hours—how many she couldn’t say, but it felt like five or six—the train zipped along through an urban maze into a rolling prairie, and now the tracks wound their way through a mountain pass.

Alice watched the landscape, the fog in her head slowly lifting. She marveled at how the alien landscape all felt so similar, despite two suns in the sky. The larger sun looked like the regular old sun. The second was tucked up alongside it, diminutive in appearance, and cast a bluish light.

This was definitely an alien planet.

Surrounded by aliens.

Who put a collar on her.

Sitting on a cushion and being treated as a pet wasn’t the worst outcome. No one tried to eat or f**k her. Randevere largely ignored her, which was fine and dandy. She had food and water, even if it was drugged. Clothing that covered a bit more would have been nice, though.

The current snow-covered mountain view outside suggested that Alice would freeze when they got to wherever they were going. Fluffy white flakes sped past the window. Hopefully, someone would realize she needed shoes, pants, and a coat.

Alice rubbed a hand up her arm to warm her bare skin.

“What is it doing?”

A tug at the leash attached to her collar forced her to turn at Randevere’s question.

“I’m cold. I need clothing.” After chipping her, they gave her a piece of gauzy cloth and a blanket. She wrapped the gauze around herself like a sarong, even though the cloth didn’t hide anything, and huddled under the blanket.

Randevere watched her, the vertical pupils in his eyes narrowing, and the frills at the side of his neck fluttered. “She’s trying to speak. How charming.”

“I’m not trying, I am speaking, you giant red jackass. Give me shoes.” She pointed to her foot. “Shoes! I need shoes.”

“You do have tiny feet, yes you do.” He patted her on the head.

“No, I’m cold! I need shoes and a coat. Look at my goosebumps!” She shoved her arm in his face. The thin hairs stood on end.

Her antics no longer amused Randevere. He pushed her away, forcing her back down onto her cushion. “You will be quiet, or you will be put in your cage. Do you understand?”

“I understand you’re a dick.”

He tilted his head, watching her.

“I understand,” she muttered. She curled up on the cushion, tucking her feet under herself, and resumed watching the world glide by.

She didn’t know where they were going, but she guessed it wouldn’t be her idea of fun.

The train entered a tunnel. With the outside view nothing but blackness, Alice had nothing to distract herself from her misery and resentment.

Randevere had staff, or maybe henchmen. Three aliens, the same reptilian variety as him, came in and out of the carriage. When he wasn’t issuing orders, Randevere busied himself with a handheld device that reminded her of a phone, not that she could get a good look at the screen. Not that she could read anything on the screen.

Ugh, a*******n problems.

Maybe he was Googling “how to take care of your new human.” At least she knew that he knew her species name. She heard someone say human and Earth, so all he had to do was look up her basic human needs. The internet made this problem, so now it could fix it for her.

Alice rose to her knees on her cushion. The floor of the train swayed.

“Human,” she said, tapping her chest. “Alice.”

“Not now,” Randevere grumbled.

“I’m human, from Earth.”

“I said be quiet.”

The collar issued a mild shock, nothing more than the pop of static electricity on a cold day. Regardless, Alice’s eyes went wide and she gasped, clutching the collar.

That fucker.

“Be quiet like a good pet, or I’ll use the collar.”

Alice sat back down, an ugly loathing brewing in her guts.

I’ll smother him in his sleep the first chance I get.

The lights flickered, and she heard shouting outside.

Men with guns burst into the carriage.

FarisOnly the strong survived on Reazus Prime.

Old hands at the saloon slapped each other on the back, congratulating themselves on another day of survival. They celebrated with lukewarm beer that tasted like piss, liquor that would taste better if it were piss, and food bland enough that you wished it tasted like piss.

Trust was for fools. Trust got you a knife in the back. Faris had learned that lesson the hard way.

Survival.

Faris wanted to do more than merely survive. He’d stubbornly clung to life on this hellhole of a planet out of pure spite. He craved revenge.

Today, he would take the knife his former partner left planted in his back and return the favor.

Twenty-three years ago, nearly half his life ago, Faris killed a male and was dumped on Reazus Prime by the Overlords to serve a life sentence. He’d killed since then but found he couldn’t regret a single one. The first killing had been necessary. As the fourth son with a four-syllable name, he did the unpalatable work his family required and paid the price.

Since then, he tried to avoid taking a life, but sometimes a slithering bastard wouldn’t take no for an answer and more drastic measures had to be taken.

He didn’t like it, but that was the cost of survival on this planet.

If the goal of imprisonment there was to make a person think about their life choices and repent, then mission accomplished. Faris had plenty of long, solitary nights under the stars to think and even more frigid nights huddled under a thin blanket. He questioned every damn life choice he ever made that led to this place but he was here now.

And the Overlords weren’t. Two decades ago, the mines dried up and they left everything behind, including the prisoners.

Only the strong survived.

Faris shifted, his boots sinking into the snow. The cold seeped in through his gloves and coat. The hovercycle between his thighs rumbled and purred, wanting to lunge forward. The snowstorm created enough cover that he was not concerned about being spotted.

The train snaked through the mountain pass, a black streak oozing through the gray stone and snow.

“Now?” Perrigaul’s hovercycle rocked forward.

“Wait.” Their timing had to be perfect.

“Now,” Perrigaul said. He wanted revenge as much as Faris. Randevere planted a lot of knives the day he betrayed his business partners and left them for dead.

Faris clamped a hand on his companion’s shoulder, keeping the impetuous youth in place. Faris had been twenty-five when he was transported to Reazus Prime. Perrigaul had been eight.

Eight.

Faris knew what he had done but couldn’t imagine what crime a child, little more than a hatchling, could have committed that warranted a life sentence on an inhospitable rock. The child wouldn’t have survived on his own for more than a day, and Faris distrusted the male who proclaimed himself the hatchlings’ protector. Impulsively, Faris made a trade for the child. They’d been like brothers ever since.

Perrigaul hadn’t liked Rand when he joined the crew, which should have been Faris’ warning. The youth had an uncanny ability to sense trouble that saved their tails more than once.

“Come on, I’m freezing my frills off,” Perrigaul grumbled.

Faris ignored him. Perrigaul was soft, too soft for this world, and that was partly Faris’ fault.

The train sped forward, gliding on the mag levitation track. Their timing had to be perfect. They only got one shot at this.

“Now,” Faris said.

He pushed off, his hovercycle speeding down the steep slope toward the maglev tracks. Snow flew past him, thick in the air.

The bikes wanted to connect to the tracks. Internal sensors were drawn forward, ready to dock and zip along at ludicrous speeds.

With a jolt, his bike hit the track. The machine hurtled forward, the last car of the train growing closer. They had moments to connect before the train entered the tunnel; a force field would shut out any stragglers hoping to hitch a ride.

Reazus Prime was a dangerous place, full of criminals and miscreants. Ne’er-do-wells would take a hovercycle down a mountainside just to rob a train.

Faris would know.

The bike inched closer to the train. Faris deployed the leash. Power zipped down the tether, forcing a connection between his bike and the train’s security system.

The display on Faris’ control blinked. Success.

A glance to the side showed Perrigaul struggling to make the tether connect. He smashed buttons, his mouth moving in shouted curses that the wind swept away.

The tunnel grew closer.

Faris told Perrigaul his bike was a pile of expensive junk, all flash and no substance, but the youth wouldn’t hear it.

“Now or never,” Faris said, knowing that Perrigaul would not be able to hear him.

Power crackled and fizzed along the tether.

The train entered the tunnel, plunging into darkness. The security field slammed down on the other side of his bike, close enough to shave off the tip of his tail.

The bikes docked along the back of the caboose.

Now came the tricky part.

Faris climbed aboard, a plasma blaster strapped to his back while a small arsenal of various weapons of destruction decorated his person. Using an iron lever, he pried open the back door.

The male guarding the door jerked in surprise but never shouted his warning. He crumpled to the floor after a blow from the pry bar.

“No style,” Perrigaul teased, stepping over the fallen guard.

“Brute force is a style.”

Perrigaul removed his blaster from his holster, the weapon humming to life. “Setting to stun?”

“Yes. I’d prefer not to make any corpses today.” He stepped over the stunned male. “It’s not this poor bastard’s fault he works for Randevere.”

Randevere, though…

The mere thought of the male left a sour taste on Faris’ tongue. If he had the chance to make Randevere a corpse, he just might.

They advanced through the train cars. Faris had the guards stunned and bound before they knew what was happening. Most did not require extra attention, but a few hardier males needed to stay unconscious.

Brute force was a style. His commanding officers from the Imperial Forces would not find the description flattering, even if it was accurate.

Perrigaul worked on unlocking doors and bypassing alarms.

“I’m appalled at the security, really,” Perrigaul said, stepping over a male who lay on his side.

“Don’t get sloppy. There’s five more cars to go,” Faris said.

“How many carriages on a train does one male need?”

“One for him and the rest for his ego, plus baggage,” Faris said, his tone dry.

Perrigaul laughed, his frills rippling along his neck. “The others think you just grunt and stab people to communicate. No one believes me when I say you have a sense of humor.”

Faris preferred it that way, honestly. He worked hard to hone a reputation that encouraged people to leave him the rotza alone.

Finally, they reached the luxury compartment near the front of the train. The guards there were no more competent than those at the back of the train. Once bound and no longer a threat, Faris opened the last door.

He tried hard not to think strategically about what waited on the other side, about the number of guards, their weapons, and how to extract their target without damage.

The surprise on Randevere’s face, however, was worth all the weeks of planning and the fortune spent on bribes.

The barely clothed human female he pulled in front of himself to shield his body with, however, was a complication.