The Million Miles High Club (Scifi Alien Romance) (Celestial Mates) Read online

  The Million Miles High Club

  Scifi Alien Romance

  Suki Selborne

  Contents

  1. Kalia

  2. Scorvan

  3. Kalia

  4. Kalia

  5. Scorvan

  6. Kalia

  7. Scorvan

  8. Kalia

  9. Scorvan

  10. Kalia

  11. Scorvan

  12. Kalia

  13. Scorvan

  14. Kalia

  15. Scorvan

  16. Kalia

  About the Author

  More from Celestial Mates

  Copyright © 2016 Suki Selborne

  Cover by Yocla Designs

  All rights reserved worldwide

  No part of this book may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without permission from the author. The author respectfully asks that you please support artistic expression and help promote anti-piracy efforts by purchasing a copy of this book at the authorized online outlets.

  This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences only. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  sukiselborne . com

  1 Kalia

  “Eat my laser jets, buddy.”

  I slam my hand on the launch button. Laser beams shoot out of my ship’s side guns and hit the Joadah ship square on the windshield.

  Damn it. Missed.

  The Joadah ship dodges and loops, avoiding any serious damage. Its windshield is made of something super tough, because my lasers don’t damage it at all. Not at all. There’s not a scratch on it.

  I need to aim for the engines, and fast.

  “You can do this,” I mutter to myself, as I prepare to blast my jets again.

  I line up the tracking pointer and fire.

  This time, my jets hit the target. Right on the engine flank. Strike!

  The Joadah ship’s propulsion beam sputters and fades. Its guns fire back at me, but its shooting angle is already all wrong. It’s losing stability. The entire ship twists and turns in the wrong direction.

  My breath is shallow and fast as I watch.

  Am I safe yet? Or will I need to fire again?

  With one last flash of its guns, the Joadah ship goes dark. It spins around slowly as it floats out into deep space.

  Another one bites the dust.

  I allow myself a moment of triumph at a battle won. That was a pretty close call.

  But it won’t be long before an official Alliance rescue squad comes for the Joadah crew. The Joadah are reptilian shapeshifters, so they’ll survive even if their ship crash-lands somewhere. Those bastards are hardier than cockroaches, and twice as ugly. Above all, they’re super valuable to the Alliance. I can be sure an elite crew will be sent to hunt down the missing big scaly assholes, because Alliance officers always take care of their own.

  Time to get the hell out of Dodge. It would not look good if a rebel ship was found in this zone of the galaxy, with no permit to fly here.

  I hit the autopilot button on my control panel, and call out the navigation command.

  “Lola, return to base on Triffgor.”

  “Okey-dokey, Captain,” comes the reply.

  I like the voice my ship’s onboard computer system uses. It talks like something out of a twentieth-century television sitcom. I mean, sure, it’s just doing that to entertain me on my long missions alone. It’s learned what makes me laugh, over the hours of flying we’ve done together. But I kind of love it for that. I named it Lola, after a dog I owned as a young child on Earth.

  Is it really enough to love your onboard computer like it’s a family member? Does that mean I’m living a good human life? I have a feeling it probably doesn’t.

  The truth is, sometimes I do feel a little isolated out here in space. My mission has another three months left to run, and that means three months without a single soul to hug, or chat with, or complain to, or share good news with. It’s tough.

  And once my mission is complete? Well— I guess I don’t know. Sign up for another mission? Two? Maybe more?

  I sure as hell don’t plan to settle down on Earth with the boy next door and have a bunch of kids. Not my scene. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. No point daydreaming about a life I can never have.

  But I could use a little male company once in a while. In fact, damn it, I could really use some male company. It’s been way too long since I was even looked at by a man, let alone touched by one. I can hardly remember what it feels like to lie next to a guy, or be held by one. I can’t even imagine feeling his bare skin against mine. Pretty sure my lady parts have given up all hope and decided to retire.

  All of that is irrelevant right now, because I’m here to do a job. I’m not here to have a good time. It’s the only way, truly. Good times are few and far between out here in space.

  My eyes flick to my Wixer. That’s the small touchscreen device strapped to my wrist that provides all information and communications while I’m in space.

  No new messages.

  Then I notice the blue download indicator symbol flashing. Huh? A new app was installed?

  That’s weird. I didn’t authorise any downloads today. What could it be?

  I stare at the blue dot, flashing on and off.

  It must be a comet update service, or some meteor schedule app, sent by my colleagues in the rebel movement. Boring. Those guys were way more into useless data than me. But I’ll be expected to acknowledge its arrival when I next check in with headquarters, so I’d better look at it sometime soon.

  I sit back and sigh. Maybe I’ll just cast my eye over it while my ship lands itself.

  I tap the Wixer lightly with my index finger to wake the device. It must’ve gone into sleep mode during the battle. The tiny coward.

  “Open the new app,” I say. “Whatever just downloaded. That one.”

  The Wixer flashes a sequence of blurred images as it hunts through the billions of bytes of information in its drive. Then it gives a whistle.

  “Found Celestial Mates,” it says in a saccharine pixie voice. “Open app?”

  I glance at the Wixer’s screen. “Celestial Mates? What the hell is that?”

  “Celestial Mates—Romancing the Galaxy!” squeaks the Wixer. “It appears to be a dating app, Captain.”

  I frown. My team just sent me a dating app? Doesn’t seem very likely.

  Then again, nobody else has authorization to remotely transmit software to my Wixer. It has to be from them.

  Aw, heck. I still have a whole hour until the ship lands itself on Triffgor. Why not just check out the stupid dating app?

  “Yeah, okay. Open it.” I rest my feet on the dash and lace my fingers together behind my head. “Open Celestial Mates.”

  The Wixer obeys.

  Right in front of me, a hologram appears.

  There by the air purifier vent stands a cherub in a bow tie, holding a red flower that’s almost as tall as him. The flower is shaped a little like an Earth rose, except that it’s about ten times the size. More like the flowers on Quinta 5, really.

  “Are you unlucky in love?” the cherub says, blinking his baby-like eyes at me.

  It’s a hell of an opener.

  And he’s speaking English, which is weird. I mostly interact with beings from other planets these days. My LingoKnow® brain implant means I can instantly understand and spe
ak any language in the local galaxies, so that’s never a problem. But English? Wow. I haven’t heard my own language in months. It’s kind of nice.

  “I repeat: are you unlucky in love?”

  The holographic short dude is pretty nosy.

  “Uh, I guess. Yeah. You could say that.”

  “Then Celestial Mates will fix that for you!”

  It takes me a couple of seconds to realize the hologram is suddenly no longer a hologram. The cherub is now solid, and actually standing in front of me.

  “Holy shit!” I leap up, almost tripping over my own boots. “Whuh—? What just happened? How’d you get in here?”

  The cherub extends his hand up to me. He’s only about two feet tall, so he has to wave it high in the air to reach me.

  “I’m Reginald Dollond-Waters,” he says. “I’m your agent, and I’ll be taking care of your mating.”

  I shake his hand, slightly dazed. “My what?”

  “Now, you’ll meet your mate shortly. I know you’re probably eager to move to that part.” He beams at me, looking delighted. “But I just have a little administration to clear up first.”

  “Administration?” I have been reduced to just repeating key phrases. Mainly, it’s because I can’t think of anything else to say. I’m too taken aback.

  He unfurls one white wing and pulls out a clipboard from under it. “Okay. First and last names? No, hold it, we have those. Don’t mind me.” He peels up the first sheet and smooths it over the back of the clipboard. “Okay. Middle name?”

  Irritation takes over from confusion. I fold my arms accusingly. “Back up a little, Mr. uh—”

  “Dollond-Waters.”

  “Mr Dollond-Waters. Look, I don’t know how you got in here, or why you’re here. But you’ve come to the wrong place. I’m not looking for a mate.”

  Mr Dollond-Waters chuckles and wipes his eyes, as though I’m being hilarious. Being a cherub, he has the joyful giggle of a baby, as well as the eyes. Against my will, I can’t help but smile too.

  “Oh no, my dear. That’s not how this works.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Do you remember completing a survey with a…” He unfurls a wing so he can read the bottom of his clipboard, then flaps it back down again. “With a Miss Cresta Raybond? You were on Earth at the time. It was the beginning of January when you completed the survey together. Do you remember?”

  I thought back to January. My last vacation week on Earth. That seemed like a long time ago.

  Then it hit me. “Wait, you mean that New Years social media thing that was going around? I thought that was just a personality quiz.”

  He chortles again, sounding like a six-month-old playing with a jack-in-the-box. “It was! We matched you perfectly, right away. We didn’t even need to proceed to the blood test stage.”

  I stand up to stretch my legs. This was beyond confusing.

  “Is this a practical joke? Did Cresta arrange this? I’m going to prank her back so bad when I get back to Earth, I swear.”

  “Oh no, Miss Cresta Raybond is not responsible for your match. But she has been assessed too, just as you have. She’ll be receiving her own visit from our agents in due course.”

  “Huh?” I stare down at the tiny dude in front of me. “Assessed? You assessed us for a mate, on the basis of some dumb stuff we wrote on social media while we were bored? This is nuts.”

  The cherub just smiles all the more. “Love always finds a way. Isn’t it just too marvelous?”

  He’s kind of funny, in a hugely annoying way. I give in. “So what exactly am I being asked to do then? You’re sending me on a date?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “What kind of a date?”

  “Well, I’m not sure if you’d call it a date.”

  “Oh my God, can you start making sense please?”

  Lola’s computer voice cuts in, calm as ever. “Unexpected obstacle in our trajectory, Captain.” She pauses, for effect. “Harsh moment, bro.”

  “What?” I peer at the navigation screen.

  An unbelievably huge spaceship is crossing our path, way too close for comfort. It must have been traveling so fast, it snuck up on us while I was distracted. Even Lola’s tracking didn’t pick up on it before now. Maybe it had some kind of stealth cloaking on? Who knows.

  “We are on a collision course,” Lola says in a deadpan tone. “Holy guacamole.”

  “Shit shit shit. Wait just a second, Mr Dondy-whatever-your-name-is.”

  I drop into my pilot seat and take back manual control of the ship. The other ship looms ahead of us on the navigation screen. It’s a massive Alliance military craft, thousands of times the size of my little Hummingbird ship. Even if I slam on my reverse engines and turn a sharp corner, I still can’t avoid hitting it at this velocity.

  “Oh my God,” I mutter, jabbing at the screen maximise button.

  “This is an important moment for you,” the cherub says. He still sounds as cheerful as ever, even though we’re about to smash into tiny pieces against the side of some hulking megaship.

  “No kidding,” I yell. “Look, I need to concentrate. This is pretty bad. You might want to magically disappear again, if you have that option.”

  I watch helplessly as the immense spacecraft soars toward us at thousands of miles an hour.

  “One minute to impact,” Lola says neutrally, as though she’s reading aloud a weather report that predicts light rain.

  “Yes, of course,” says the cherub. “I’ll leave you alone to deal with your new situation for a while. But we shall remain in touch. The very best of luck to you and your mate!”

  He claps his hands and vanishes. Lucky him.

  I don’t look up to see where he goes. I’m transfixed by the giant gray spacecraft filling the viewing screen.

  How many twinkling lights are scattered all over it? It must be millions. The ship almost looks like a sky full of stars, all by itself.

  I brace myself for impact. Gritting my teeth, I click my safety belt on and clutch the sides of my seat.

  There’s an almighty crash, and a blinding flash of light.

  After that, there is just silence.

  2 Scorvan

  My jaw clenches as I stand before my captain. He is callous and cruel, and I am angry.

  “You are a young, impetuous soldier, Scorvan. And I am your superior. It’s time you remembered that.” Captain Plinaro speaks sternly, and I note the danger flashing in his eyes.

  “Yes sir.” I answer as my duty requires me to. But keeping my irritation concealed is difficult.

  “You do not speak when you are on duty, unless I address you directly. And you do not have the right to question my decisions.”

  “I do not question your decisions, Captain Plinaro.” I pat both my hearts, to show I am sincere. “But we just passed a planet on the point of destruction. I spoke only to ask if we could stop to search for refugees. Perhaps we could have helped some of them. Not all, perhaps, but—”

  “Silence!”

  Plinaro’s voice is extremely loud. Several of his henchmen step forward, with one hand on their ray guns. The captain holds them all back with an imperious wave.

  I clench my fists so hard, I wonder if my fingernails might actually puncture the skin of my palms. It is all I can do to control my temper.

  “Scorvan Zi’Draalcay, if you do not learn to keep your ideas to yourself, you will be compelled to do so by force. We are not a rescue ship. We are men of war.”

  My face burns with indignation. How could this mighty captain refuse to help the needy, when we could easily have stopped to help? We have plenty of room on our ship, and Yolcadia has a great need for an increased population. Our planet is too vast for us to populate alone. We have resources for trillions more.

  I do not want to let Captain Plinaro speak to me like this. I would love to show him exactly what I think of his attitude.

  But I also do not want him to order the instant destruct
ion of that planet out of power-crazed spite. That is the kind of thing he does. I cannot allow that to happen.

  On top of this, I do not want to be executed.

  Reluctantly, I stop talking.

  Plinaro grants me an icy smile. “That’s better. But you should have hushed immediately, Scorvan. Perhaps a spell of monitoring the loading bay will concentrate your mind on your conduct? Descend to the loading bay at once, and remain there for the rest of this sun-turn.”

  There is no more to say. Captain Plinaro has made himself clear, and I have sworn an oath to obey my superior officer’s orders.

  We Yolcadians never rebel against our superiors. It is unheard of. That is why the consequences for doing so would be so grave. I am lucky to get away with this minor punishment, I know. My perfect military record must have counted in my favor today.

  Captain Plinaro stomps across the deck and out through the portal, trailed by his attendants. I glare after him, still smarting at his brutal indifference to lives in danger.

  The loading bay is always cold and empty. It is extremely boring to spend time in. All the soldiers hate to be sent down there. Of course, that is the whole point.

  Soldiers want action. We want a challenge. We cannot stand to sit around, doing nothing. So the job of monitoring the loading bay is usually given to soldiers as a punishment. It is the dullest job on the entire ship.

  What are we monitoring it for, anyway? Nothing ever happens down there. The only time something changes is when we are taking on cargo. Then it is abuzz with workers. I am quite sure the job of monitoring it only exists to bore the spacesuit off a disobedient Yolcadian soldier.

  But the ship is cruising in deep space right now, and our schedule does not include a stop-off to load or unload anything. We are not scheduled to land on any of the planets in this galaxy. I must spend the whole sun-turn down there, with nothing to do but a million push-ups.

  Luckily, I am pretty happy doing a million push-ups. It gets my hearts pumping, and leaves me precious time to daydream. But it is a terrible waste of this sun-turn. Along with my fellow soldiers, I could have spent that time helping those poor unfortunates in the war zone.