Page 66 of Alien Jeopardy

My stomach grumbles, and I shade my eyes against the sun now peeking out from the clouds.

I cut the engine, afraid that if I keep driving while I’m this tired we’ll end up rammed into a tree or worse. Who knows what Ken is capable of?

We don’t have Barbie here to tell us.

Tears threaten, and even though having a nice cry would be totally warranted right now, I know it will both give me a migraine and probably make my work enemies happy.

“Fuck you, frenemies,” I mutter. “May this show find you distinctly unwell.”

Ah yes, pettiness, my fine feathered friend. I glance around and try to get a grip.

“We made it,” I say out loud, sinking to one of the benches. We made it past the first AI challenge.

And damn, did it suck.

I stretch my leg out, my feet wet and waterlogged from standing so long, and my toes brush up against the tacklebox.

Food.

I need calories, and I need rest, and I need to make a new plan.

Of its own accord, my hand reaches up and pats me on the back.

“Good job on the last plan, me,” I say out loud.

Rex stirs but keeps sleeping.

The sight of him, alive, asleep, makes me smile, warmth from it helping my teeth finally stop chattering.

I lower my voice. “Okay. Next plan: Tacklebox supply catalog. Eat food, take care of Rex, take care of my hand. Dry out shoes.” I glance at where they’re hanging in the water, the knot in the laces still holding up.

Thunder rumbles overhead, but it sounds so quiet and far-off now that I don’t even bother looking up.

The tacklebox is what I need to focus on.

I hadn’t bothered refastening the latches, so when I open it up again, there’s a fair amount of water in the first tray holding what I sure as shit hope are rations. The first silver foil pack glints in the watery sunlight, and I eye it with increasing suspicion. I don’t know what’s written on it, and my translator isn’t providing any sort of feedback on what could be in the packets.

I decide to ignore my hunger for now.

Definitely not worth trying to eat something that might poison me.

Water droplets spray as I pull up the first level, revealing the second tray where I’d found my knife. The knife I forgot about in my rush to get away from the weird-ass monster cage fight. A glance tells me it’s fine, on the bench directly in front of the motor-thing I’d somehow managed to get working and steered all the way to where we are now.

I mentally add “figure out where we are” to the to-do list.

The tray holds a few smaller knives, and I eye them suspiciously without one clue as to what they could be for. I have my big bad knife, and I’m happy enough with him that I don’t feel like even looking at these smaller ones.

They creep me out a little.

Sighing, I lift the third tray, and I can’t contain my cry of joy at what I find inside it. Of all the things, this is something I definitely know how to use.

“A comms pad,” I say reverently, pulling out the brand-new piece of tech and hugging it to my chest like it’s an old friend. Hopefully Big Bad Knife doesn’t get jealous.

Finally, I stop hugging it and stare down at it. It’s not far off from the tablet I used on Earth, and this model is one I’d been drooling over for a few months. It takes me a couple seconds to turn it on and program it to my biometrics, and I squeal in renewed delight as the contacts app pops up, revealing the names I wanted to see most in the world.

“Thank you, Ken,” I say reverently.

Poppy. Lily. Lucy. Selene.