Alien Encounter, page 1
ALIEN ENCOUNTER
LIVE ALIEN CONTACT
BOOK 3
LEAH R CUTTER
KNOTTED ROAD PRESS
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
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About the Author
Also by Leah R Cutter
About Knotted Road Press
ONE
Rosey sat in the pilot’s chair of her starship The Roadrunner as they crossed the distance between where starships were allowed to pop in and out of hyperspace and the space station Lorenzo.
It wasn’t that she was avoiding her sole remaining passenger, Jamaal Akintola. The others—Princess Jun Ogawa, Moe, and Atilio—had taken Moe’s starship Aisha back to the planet Ishiman to drop off the alien papers and artifacts that they’d stolen—ahem, reclaimed—from the Allied Worlds’ warlord Constantine. The two groups had agreed to meet up again in a month or so.
Rosey was going to be working on the exotic materials that had made up the original alien wreck, trying to figure out if the strange properties of the metal had been part of the shielding for the ship.
Humanity had discovered that the only way to survive in hyperspace was by using specific shielding on their starships. However, this shielding meant not only larger ships, but also larger engines.
Rosey would swear that the tiny alien wreck they’d found had gone into hyperspace on its own. The metal had shown evidence of shredding, the phenomenon that occurred when a ship tried to run too long in hyperspace. Though only the fuselage had survived, Rosey would bet that the ship hadn’t been much bigger than a speedship, one of the racers that she built.
She had far too many questions, and not enough answers.
Particularly since some idiot had blown up the original alien wreck.
If she ever learned the identity of said idiot, she was really going to give them a piece of her mind.
But speaking of idiots…Jamaal was there, standing in the doorway leading to the helm. Jamaal was a merchant. If you had a need, he always knew someone who could help you out.
For a price, of course.
After he stood there for a while, Rosey finally sighed and said, “Don’t just stand there lurking. You can come in.” She patted the co-pilot’s chair beside her.
Rosey didn’t need a co-pilot. She had Dennis, the AI who ran her ship (and quite frankly, most of her life). However, she also believed in redundancy. If something went wrong with the pilot’s controls, the co-pilot’s would act as a backup.
“Nice to feel so welcome,” Jamaal said dryly, though he did walk into the helm and strap into the co-pilot’s chair.
All right, so maybe she sounded a little resentful. Who could blame her? She was so used to spending most of her time alone. She’d had more people contact in the last few weeks than she’d had in the last year. Maybe two.
She was really looking forward to being on Lorenzo, back in her shop. She also had a contract for another speedship that she needed to start.
Jamaal was wearing one of his usual exuberant robes, this particular version done in shades of orange with fancy black trim around the collar, hem, and cuffs that occasionally gave her a headache to look at. Rosey was in her usual stretchsuit, her normal attire when on any sort of ship. It was one of her own special ones, that fit perfectly over her muscles, tinted a light shade of red with her initials stitched over her left breast.
“Looking forward to being home?” Rosey asked.
“Yes,” Jamaal said, his smile soft. “And seeing Harkeen.”
Rosey nodded but didn’t pry. When Rosey had first met Jamaal, over five years ago, he’d been much more of a playboy, and appeared to be dating a different man every time she saw him.
Over the last two years, the others had gone on their way and the only person in Jamaal’s life was Harkeen. Rosey approved of the tall, steady man. He balanced out Jamaal’s extravagance, kept him grounded.
“I’m looking forward to seeing what progress Lloyd has made on the exotic materials challenge,” Rosey said. He was a chemist who’d agreed to do some experiments, mixing different combinations of the alien metals to try to invent a new type of ship shielding.
“I’m not,” Dennis said sourly.
Rosey rolled her eyes.
“I don’t trust Lloyd the Lounge Lizard,” Dennis continued.
Jamaal perked up at that. “Why not?”
Rosey held up her hand, trying to stop Jamaal from asking Dennis about Lloyd, but it was too late. Dennis was already off on a tear about how he’d caught Lloyd trying other doors on the starship once.
“But he’s easily distractable,” Rosey pointed out. Again. “And he wouldn’t send me a note about his progress. Said that wasn’t secure enough, and that we had to meet in person.”
“He just wants you to ‘distract’ him again,” Dennis sneered.
Rosey couldn’t help but grin. “And I may have to.”
The sigh Dennis gave was impressively expressive, especially considering that he was an AI with no lungs to fill up, no air that he could expel so noisily.
Jamaal was looking worried, though.
“It’s fine,” Rosey assured him. “I can handle Lloyd.”
“If you’re sure,” Jamaal said. “You know that Duri is going to be coming after us now.”
Rosey gave her own impressive sigh. Duri Chung was a Director in the Kollective, one of the three large governments that each managed about a third of the three hundred or so planets that Humanity occupied. Duri was in charge of the Search for Live Contact (SLC) office, and had been the one careless enough to allow the alien wreck to be destroyed on her watch. (Honestly, Rosey kind of wanted to meet this woman, just so she could give her a piece of her mind about her security being so lax as to get the find of the millennium destroyed.)
“Yeah, yeah, I know. And Duri is supposedly kind of scary. But what is she going to do with me way out here?” Rosey asked, indicating the space around them.
Rosey lived on the space station Lorenzo, which was in space controlled by the Empire. The Kollective occupied most of the planets closest to Earth, where Humanity had first come from. The Empire held the allegiance of the next wave of planets out from there, while the Alliance of Allied Worlds, generally just called the Allied Worlds, had a smattering of planets on the outskirts.
“The Kollective has a longer reach than you realize,” Jamaal told her earnestly.
Huh.
Serious Jamaal was back.
Normally, Jamaal was a goofball, exuberant and flamboyant. Every once in a while, Serious Jamaal peeked out. He had a stillness to him that reminded Rosey of a predator, waiting in his corner, ready to strike.
Rosey felt herself more than equal to whatever Serious Jamaal might throw at her. She still replied to him with equal gravity.
“I know that the Kollective is pissed off at us. Particularly since we sent fake alien artifacts back to them along with the littlest pirate.” Rosey and the others had been prepared for Ronald “Ajax” Jackson, their supposed ally, to double-cross them, and so when the inevitable had happened, they’d fooled him, giving him replicas of the alien artifacts instead of the real things.
“However, the Kollective military didn’t want to set off an inter-governmental incident or cross the princess at that time. You’ve said Duri Chung is smart. She still won’t want something like that to happen,” Rosey pointed out. “And while I’m not a princess, I still have a certain level of fame. I don’t think she can blatantly come at me.”
Rosey De Vries had originally made her name as a speedship racer. When she’d left the racing circuit, she’d kept her hand in the game by building speedships for other racers.
A speedship built by Rosey De Vries didn’t guarantee wins to a pilot. There was still the pilot’s skill involved. However, her speedships did give a good racer an edge, and frequently, that was all they needed.
“Just be careful,” Jamaal warned. Then he grinned at her, goofy Jamaal returning. “I wouldn’t want to have to break in new friends.”
“Please,” Rosey said, giving that statement the eyeroll that it deserved. “As if you could replace me. No one else is going to bring you such delight. Am I right, Dennis?”
“Sure,” Dennis said.
Really, did she deserve such a dry tone in that reply?
She did not.
However, they were just about there, and Rosey began the docking maneuvers to connect The Roadrunner to Lorenzo.
Sure, Dennis could have handled them. And if she’d been by herself, she might have let him. However, she had an audience, and she wanted to impress upon Jamaal one more time just how good she still was.
She still had it.
And it would be enough to handle whatever Duri Chung, or the rest of the Kollective, threw at her.
TWO
Princess Jun Ogawa stood primly at the entrance to the court, waiting to make her presentation of the recovered papers and artifacts from the dig at Niani. As alien finds were covered under inter-governmental treaties, they didn’t belong to the Empire, but to all people. They would be sent (in very secure ships) to one of the nearby university planets. In addition, the Emperor was personally seeing to additional security at all of the locations where alien artifacts were currently stored.
The important parts of the situation had been handled ahead of time, of course. This was just a formality.
Jun stood with her “princess paint” on—her skin looking pale and flawless instead of tanned from her time outside. She had dabs of bright color on her lips and cheeks. Her black hair had been piled artfully up on her head, held strictly in place with elaborate, jeweled hairpins. She wore demure formal robes, designed to be more form-fitting, to take up less space when she stepped in front of the Emperor. The bright yellow and peach colors reminded her of the Atoylee, the “sunflower people” whom she was representing—an alien race who’d destroyed themselves long ago.
Moe stood beside her, wearing the clothes that Dennis had originally whipped up for him, his “prince” outfit. He hadn’t wanted to wear it—Jun had had to bribe him to do it. However, only something that fancy would impress the court.
And Jun needed Moe to impress the court at this point, as she was still in negotiations to have Moe’s ship Aisha registered as an official royal embassy ship. (She didn’t dare tell Dennis about that. He’d pout for days. She would have to get the same status for The Roadrunner someday. Now wasn’t the time, though.)
The turban gave Moe’s six foot plus height a few extra inches. It was made from wound layers of silver cloth with gold embroidery. It made Jun feel even smaller standing next to him, as she was barely five foot tall.
His jacket—a traditional sherwani—was made from similar material. It emphasized Moe’s shoulders and was pulled in tightly at the waist, falling down to mid-thigh. (And honestly, Jun really liked how Moe looked in that jacket. All his clothes needed to be tailored that way, showing off his chest. Except that Moe, like Jun, preferred looser, comfy shirts. He wore those with shorts, and frequently, with black socks and sandals, a “fashion” statement if there ever were one.)
The pants underneath were made from a sparkling white material with a band of gold running down the outside seams. The shoes really made the outfit, at least as far as Jun was concerned: black velvet slippers with a pointed toe that curved upward.
Finally, the doors opened and Jun and Moe were ushered into the secondary throne room.
Emperor Ogawa only used the formal throne room for special occasions of state. This was the workspace, where more of the important governing occurred.
The ceiling still rose three stories up above her head, held in place by what looked like rough black crystals, growing like stalagmites up to the ceiling. Despite their organic appearance, they contained sophisticated equipment that not only preserved visual recordings, but also measured temperature, heart rate, and so on. A corridor ran between the pillars, with the Emperor on his throne at the far end.
It was a long walk from the doors to the throne. Jun suspected that was by design, to make petitioners feel smaller by the time they reached the end of the long corridor.
The symbol of the Emperor—a pink lotus blossom sitting on top of a pair of black crossed katanas—hung proudly over the throne at the far end of the room. That was clearly visible long before Jun could clearly make out the face of the Emperor.
Princess Jun Ogawa wasn’t in the direct line to inherit the throne. Her father was the brother of the Empress Consort. Crown Princess Yumi Ogawa was the next in line. About nineteen people would have to die before Jun would inherit, something she’d really prefer not to have happen, thank you very much.
She didn’t want to be tied to one planet, working at the court. No, she wanted to be in the field, working on an alien dig.
Or even, maybe, perhaps, working with live aliens.
Emperor Ogawa sat on a throne that looked as organically grown as the crystal pillars Jun walked through, but was just as manufactured. It glowed with a faint green color, like an emerald. The oddly shaped, off-white formations that stuck out from it—like barnacles on a ship’s keel—would generate a shield to protect the Emperor as well as shoot out deadly lasers if he were attacked.
He wore bright red robes that day, decorated with gold and black embroidery, showing dragons and phoenixes cavorting among lucky clouds. No crown—that was only for the most formal of occasions.
A few members of the court were in attendance, gathered at the foot of the dais. Itsuki was there. Though he was officially the head priest for the God of Fire that the royal family was required to pay tribute to, his actual job was spy master for the Emperor.
He shot her a glare before his face smoothed out to its usual inscrutable expression.
Was Itsuki upset that she’d stolen the papers back from Constantine? Surely the warlord couldn’t actually cause problems for the Empire. He lived in Allied Worlds territory, too far to have much reach.
Right?
Or perhaps Itsuki didn’t approve of Moe. He, too, was from the Allied Worlds, a broke ship’s captain who’d been the one to originally steal the paper and alien artifacts from the dig on Niani.
But Moe had given up his home and his soul, his ship Aisha, to save her from Constantine. She still didn’t completely trust him, not after he’d drugged her. She was well on her way, though.
Plus, Sano, her AI governess, inexplicably seemed to like him.
Jun gave a practiced, very low bow to the Emperor. Moe copied her perfectly.
She didn’t bow like a member of the royal family, but like the petitioner she was.
“Greetings, Emperor Ogawa!” Jun called out in a sing-songy voice, speaking as she’d been taught so long ago. “I bring you good news, of recovered precious alien artifacts!”
Never mind that while the artifacts were important, Jun considered the papers written by her colleagues to be equally important. The scanner had broken just a couple weeks before the end of the dig, so a lot of their work would have been lost forever if she hadn’t recovered it.
And some day, she’d be bringing him news of live aliens. She just knew it.
“Welcome, kinswoman of the Empress Consort,” the Emperor said in reply. “Tell me your news.”
He sounded happy, but a little tired. Jun snuck a glance at his face. It was unreadable, of course. And his makeup was also perfect.
His shoulders, though, told the story of long hours and the heavy burden of the crown.
So Jun told the official story of how the dastardly warlord Constantine had stolen the goods from the dig (completely glossing over Moe’s role in that). Instead, she sang Moe’s praises in his part of the rescue of said artifacts (never mind that he hadn’t been part of that at all, that Jun and Rosey had been the ones to steal the papers back).
Moe inclined his head and bowed again to the Emperor at the appropriate times, as they’d rehearsed.
Once her part was done, Jun stepped back, feeling pleased with her performance.
However, Emperor Ogawa wore a frown.
“We are pleased, relative of Our Consort, that you have returned with such precious items,” the Emperor said. “The pursuit of such knowledge belongs to all people, and should not suffer in isolation in the hands of a few.”
Jun nodded, still wary. That part had been expected.
“However, we are not pleased that you put yourself at such risk, recovering them,” the Emperor continued.
This was…unexpected. Who’d bent the Emperor’s ear about this? Had her father gotten more worries than usual?
