by Eve Langlais
Accidental Abduction
Alien Abduction One
Eve Langlais
Copyright © May 2011, Eve Langlais
Cover Art by Amanda Kelsey © October 2017
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais
http://www.EveLanglais.com
Accidental Abduction is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
ISBN: 978-0-9869154-2-0
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
Epilogue
Also by Eve Langlais
One
Maybe drowning won’t be so bad. Megan’s numb arms and legs agreed. Yet, despite the fact her whole body wanted her to stop moving—screamed it actually—she kept fluttering, moving her hands and feet just enough to keep her face above the waves. Every now and then she got a mouthful of salty water that made her choke and did nothing to cure her thirst. At least she didn’t have to contend with the burning sun. Chances were she’d succumb to fatigue before the dawn arrived with its warming rays. Her sarcastic side—which was begging for a slap—piped in that she should also show thanks that she’d stopped shivering a while ago, her body acclimatizing itself to the Pacific waters she floated in.
Megan never intended to go for a swim when she set out for an evening cruise. She had her boyfriend—stupid, freaking jerk—to thank for her situation. And to think, she’d thought Cameron was “the one.” He’d certainly said and done the right things in his wooing of her, and she’d enjoyed his company well enough, most of the time anyway, a rarity for her where men were concerned. She should have smelled something fishy when he’d immediately pushed for them to make everything joint soon after they moved in together—the whole cohabiting thing, again, his idea. His claimed, “Don’t you trust me?” should have rung warning bells.
There was nothing as foolish as a woman in love, though, or, in her case, like. She’d fallen into the trap he laid, and not just the trap of a con man, but a death trap. I wonder if my gravestone will say “Here lies Megan, screwed by a man, yet again.”
In her defense, no woman ever expected the man she loved—or liked—to betray them, even if, in her case, her track record with men should have provided a clue. She’d blithely agreed to go on a nocturnal jaunt with him, the moonlight cruise a celebration of sorts, the anniversary of their six month dating mark. A record for her. It would now also mark the date of her death. At least the bastard had toasted her with champagne before hip checking her off the boat with an exaggerated “oops.” Then, he’d had the nerve to laugh when she’d asked him for help as she treaded water, incredulity not making her see the obvious at first.
It didn’t take her long to clue in, and then she unleashed a litany of curses that would have made most seamen blush. Of course, the way she screamed in glaring detail the way she’d maim him when she got her hands on him might have factored in Cameron’s decision to go through with his deadly plan—or precipitated it? She should have probably left off the gruesome details about how she’d emasculate him. But still, what other reaction did he expect given his action?
Megan heard his derisive laughter for a long time after he steered the yacht away in the dark with only the stars to guide him. Hours later—or so she assumed given the numerous scenarios she’d had time to run through her mind where she survived and got her revenge—she floated at the ends of her endurance and strength, fighting to live, even though she knew she had no hope of surviving.
A large wave rolled over her head, and she floundered under the water for a moment, almost giving up, too tired to care. Then she saw it.
A light!
Disbelief made her stare under the water at the bright beacon hovering just above her head. Rescue? She didn’t question the improbability of it, just strained toward the brilliance using her last ounce of strength. Her head broke the surface of the ocean, and she blinked in the bright glare then blinked again as her body began to rise out of the water. Did I die? Is this how my journey to heaven begins? Sopping wet and pissed? Not to mention she’d always expected a much, much warmer reception when she finally did kick it. A poster child for pure living she wasn’t.
A flopping fish lifted from the water in front of her and rose rapidly, slapping her in the face with its thrashing tail in passing.
What the hell?
Hell had nothing to do with it, though, she surmised. She peered around in slack-jawed disbelief as she and a football field of fish, along with other denizens of the ocean, rose out of the water, caught in some weird anti-gravitational field. And, no, she wasn’t some kind of science geek for thinking that. She’d recently watched a marathon of Star Trek films because of Cameron, a true Star Trek fan. She’d never expected the inane fiction of the screen to ever relate to her life, but how else could explain why she and thousands of sea critters were floating as if weightless, drawn toward an illuminated maw whose edges she could barely make out?
It occurred to her to scream for help, but seriously, she wasn’t an idiot even if she sucked in her choice of boyfriends. Besides, exactly whom did she expect to save her from an obvious alien extraction? In her current situation, abduction sure beat drowning any day.
Excitement replaced her exhaustion and resignation of her fate. She was about to meet extra-terrestrial life. Would they be green? Short or tall? Would they appear like a wrinkled E.T. or humanoid like her?
On top of these curious inner musings, doubt suddenly piled on. What if they were violent? Ate humans as a delicacy? Or—gasp—sold human females as sex slaves? Megan looked down at her plump frame, and her lips twisted ruefully. I’m more likely to end up someone’s main course than a sex slave. While she didn’t mind her plentiful curves, they didn’t appeal to everyone, although she’d had more than one boyfriend claim it wasn’t her body that turned them off, but her mouth. She didn’t believe in keeping her opinions and criticisms to herself.
The slow aerial ascent took forever it seemed to reach the gaping hole in the bottom of the craft and about time, too, because, out of the water, she shivered with cold, her damp sundress clinging to her. She hugged her arms around her body, but it didn’t help her chattering teeth.
What are the chances I’ll be greeted with a towel? Looking around at the wide-eyed fish with their mouths gaping open and then shut soundlessly, she didn’t count on it.
The bright light she’d mistaken for Heaven’s doorway didn’t diminish until she and her fellow aquatic abductees went past the lip of the ship. Then she goggled in astonishment because ringing the area on all sides were huge vats filled with liquid, oversized fish tanks if she wasn’t mistaken—and not all of them from Earth. A purplish fluid in one certainly didn’t resemble anything she’d ever seen and displayed the occasional black tentacle. Cool, although she wouldn’t plan on going for a swim with whatever resided inside.
As the beam she found herself caught in angled up over the li
p of an open vat, she noted something disturbing. All the other tanks were sealed shut. Her mind quickly came to an unwelcome conclusion. If she allowed herself to get dropped into the approaching aquarium, she’d find herself right back in the same spot, drowning.
“Not again,” she muttered. She twisted herself to look around and noted a network of beams holding narrow walkways running above and around the vats. She needed to get onto one of those. Using her arms and legs, she kicked and pulled, much like she would if she were in water, if water were a thick molasses that fought her every inch of the way. Sweat beaded on her brow as she struggled against the beam’s inertia, her progress slow, slower than the tractor beams implacable movement.
She brushed against other captives, their wet, slimy skin icky against hers, their lidless eyes watching her passage—and I swear they’re praying I don’t make it. Revenge for her regular Friday night sushi she’d bet. She almost didn’t make it in time, the plopping sound of tumbling fish hitting water taunting her before her fingers grasped a cold edge of metal. She wrapped her hands tight around the beam and heaved herself over, cursing the fact she owned a gym membership she never used. Muscles straining, she brought her legs up to wrap around the metal support, the sudden loss of the anti-gravitational field’s support making her almost fall as she suddenly held her full weight. Her aching muscles screamed in protest, but she held on for dear life.
The raining plop of objects hitting water made her turn her head to watch as the fish and other sea populations caught in the tractor beam were deposited in the huge tank. As soon as the last one hit the liquid surface, the beam shut off, and she blinked her eyes at the sudden loss of light. She could still see, albeit not as clearly, as dim circular lights surrounding the chamber provided only faint illumination. Dim vision didn’t prevent her from hearing the whirring sound of machinery and the soft snick of the aquarium sealing shut, followed by a larger thunk, which she assumed meant the bottom portal had also closed.
Then it was silent except for a distant hum and her panting breath. Her arms trembled with the strain of holding herself, and it occurred to her that her first order of business should involve getting her feet onto firm ground.
Exhaustion brought her close to the point of hysteria at her inadvertent pun, and she giggled. Okay, maybe not firm ground but at least a surface she could stand upright on. Hanging like a monkey, she looked around and saw a walkway not far away, if she could only make her way over to it.
“Just like monkey bars,” she reminded herself as she swung her body toward the next strut. Her hands caught the beam, and she let her legs go so her body could follow. She hadn’t counted on the fatigue in her arms or how heavy her body would drag. Not to mention, she’d assumed a lack of or lesser gravity in space.
Wrong!
Her hands slipped from the beam, and she plummeted, her short scream of fright cut off as she landed in an ungraceful heap on something unforgivingly hard and blacked out.
Two
Tren, his feet propped on his main console, cursed as an alarm went off.
“What the frukx is going on now?” he mumbled under his breath. He punched in a sequence of keystrokes on the armrest of his seat, forcing the screen in front of him to bring up the video for the transport bay. More than likely, one of his specimens had gotten free of the tractor beam, not a huge worry with this latest batch. The planet Earth wasn’t known for its deadly denizens. On the contrary, their creatures tended toward the docile side, especially the liquid-faring variety.
The bay, with its huge vats, appeared in his view screen, and he scanned the room, panning the camera in several directions. He didn’t see anything, but then again, some of the critters he’d captured were quite small. Not like the knovakians with their forty astrometric-long tentacles. Those he’d had to sedate before capturing them for transport.
With a sigh of annoyance, he stood from his chair and stretched his bulky frame before stomping to the elevator that would take him to the lower level. He stopped just before entering and barked a command. “Proceed to the seventh planet in the quadrant and then drop into hyperspeed. Heading, the Jifnarian galaxy, third planet.”
“Course locked.” The smooth voice of his computer confirmed his orders. He grunted as he swung into the elevator and jabbed the button for the transport bay.
Going to wrestle a fish. The thought made him sigh. He’d come a long way from his career as a mercenary. His new life as a wrangler and transporter for rare species from undeveloped galaxies might bore the frukx out of him, but it sure beat getting his ass shot off every time he turned around. Of course, nothing could compare to the rush of a mission where he outsmarted security systems, pitted his skills against deadly guards, and came out ahead. But the life of a warrior for hire wasn’t a long one, hence his career change.
However, no one had warned him that retirement would mean he’d end up bored out of his mind. He’d tried the life of leisure for a while, he’d certainly amassed enough credits to do so, but a male could only get drunk so many times and plow so many females before everything turned stagnant. So he bought a ship and started a new career—acquisitions specialist.
At least with his new business, he got to travel, fight the occasional reticent species, and kill off pirates. Those still stupid enough to engage him that was. His reputation preceded him, and now even the scum of the universe avoided him.
Time to change ships perhaps and fool them into thinking I’m new. He chuckled at the thought and made a mental note to have his business manager look into it. He could use the sport, and it always paid to keep one’s skills sharp.
The door to the elevator slid open, disrupting his mental plan to fool pirates into playing, and he strode into the large transport bay.
“Lights,” he barked.
The dim cavern immediately illuminated, and he strode through the tanks, heading toward the newest one to see what caused his alarm to still ring shrilly. He didn’t bother masking the sound of his arrival, the heavy thump of his combat boots loud in the cargo bay. It wasn’t like the specimens he’d caught could grow legs and run away. What a shame. He wouldn’t have minded some form of entertainment.
Arriving at the recently filled vat, he peered around on the floor but found nothing around the base of the tank. He clambered up a ladder to reach the catwalks. He no sooner set foot on the metal grate than he saw a prone, wet lump.
“What the frukx is that?” It didn’t look like the illustrations he’d seen of Earth’s aquatic species. He wrinkled his nose at the stench, a briny, wet fish odor. Toeing the pale creature, he whipped his pistol out when it grunted.
What he’d mistaken for seaweed moved and then lifted until he found himself face to face with a face, a pale humanoid one. Big, brown eyes shot with red streaks blinked at him, and blue lips parted on a gasp.
“Holy shit. You’re like Han Solo on crack,” croaked the human. And with those strange words, the Earthling he’d accidentally abducted, slumped forward again. Its eyes rolled back in its head and its forehead smacked into the grated flooring.
“Ah, frukxn’ crap.” Tren braced his hands on his hips and grimaced down at the sodden mess. Kill the Earthling or keep it? He got the impression it was female, although given its contorted position and bedraggled state, it could have also been an effeminate male. Either way, he didn’t want it. There wasn’t a large market for Earthlings, not given their temperament. The females especially tended to cry all the time and descend into hysterics, especially when introduced to their new masters. Apparently, they took issue with the whole sold-as-a-sex-slave thing. It was why Tren stuck to creatures. They couldn’t talk back.
I wonder if I can just drop her off somewhere on her planet. He discounted that idea almost immediately. One, he couldn’t be bothered. And two, medical expeditions had learned their lesson after the Earthlings who came back after an abduction freaked, telling all who would listen about probes and needles. Like we’d use such archaic forms of technology. It
made him sneer. Most of the civilized worlds considered Earth a barbarian planet, one bent on destroying its natural resources. It was why he’d made a trip to pick up specimens. At the rate they currently destroyed their oceans, he figured it wouldn’t be long now before the whole planet expired, making what he’d grabbed a possible rarity.
Not that he cared about their fate. The galaxy had more than enough viable planets and sentient races. They wouldn’t miss the loss of one backwards planet out in the far reaches.
But what to do about the Earthling? He raised his pistol to end the human’s life, but hesitated. What had it meant when it called him Han Solo on crack? His translator didn’t know what to make of it and, dammit, now he found himself curious.
I’ll kill it after I find out. Decided, he holstered his gun and then crouched to grab the limp body. He rolled the human onto its back, and that’s when he noticed the damage done to the female. And female she certainly was with her plentiful bosom spilling from the top of a soaking rag—only two breasts, though, instead of a lush four or five. He ignored her feminine attributes as he took in her twisted leg, broken in at least three places he’d wager.
I’m surprised she didn’t scream her head off when she woke there for a moment. Probably shock kept her from noticing her injury. She’d certainly have plenty to say when she woke again—blubbering and gushing tears he couldn’t abide. For a moment, he again debated just shooting her now before he had to put up with lunatic raving but stopped at the sight of her looking so utterly helpless. He cursed as he holstered his gun. He, the coldest killer in the known galaxies, couldn’t kill her. That’s it. I need to go on a mission before I turn into a complete frukxning softy. He’d let his contacts know he was back in business as soon as he got rid of his cargo, including one sure-to-be-annoying female.