Page 18 of Alien Spare (Cosmic Mates #9)
“The flight to planet Earth will be launching soon. Passengers, please strap in,” said a realistic female computer voice.
Click. Click. Click. Click. The passengers attached their harnesses, but Karma didn’t bother.
On the flight to Kaldor, she’d been able to walk around the Cosmic Mates vessel freely.
How long ago that seemed. She and Kismet had arrived with such high hopes, but love and romance had panned out for only one of them.
“Passenger number seventeen, please fasten your harness.”
Everyone turned to stare at her.
I’m passenger seventeen? Her face flamed with embarrassment. The flight seats must have a sensor in them. She belted herself in before she drew any more censure and held up the flight.
“Thank you, passenger seventeen. Safety is our priority. You will experience G-forces and weightlessness. Be sure to remain in your seats and keep your harnesses on at all times. We will be traveling through an asteroid belt, necessitating sudden maneuvers. But, fear not. You’re in good hands with our AI pilot.
“The flight time is thirty minutes and forty-two seconds.”
Thirty minutes? Was that all? It was scarcely more than the time it had taken for her marriage to fall apart—the length of one fake holovid. After five long days of hoping, she’d accepted the painful truth that as long as she stayed at the palace, Falkor wouldn’t come home.
“The ship operates with the latest faster-than-light technology.”
The twenty-four Kaldorans aboard chattered excitedly, eager to see Earth, but homecoming brought no joy for her. She was grateful the flight would be short. She wanted to crawl into her own bed, pull the covers over her head, and pretend none of this had happening.
After another restless night, she’d gotten up, and, still clinging to a gossamer thread of hope, carried her comm device onto the balcony to log on and check for messages.
Unfortunately, she’d dropped it. It skittered across smooth balcony floor tiles, slipped through the spindle barrier, fell to the ground, and shattered on the grotto flagstone path.
An omen for her marriage. Unsalvageable. Over. Done. A tick mark in the column of broken relationships.
After five days, even her sister’s optimism had wavered, with Kismet conceding that maybe the marriage had been a mistake.
Jaryk was pissed on her behalf. “My brother has always been irresponsible and unreliable, but this is a new low even for him. The only acceptable excuse is if he’s unconscious in a hospital.”
“Don’t say that!” she’d cried. “I would never wish for him to be hurt.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure he’s all right! There’s not a person on Kaldor who doesn’t know who he is. If he got injured, the palace would have been notified. No news is good news—with respect to his life and well-being, anyway. I’m just sorry he’s such an ass.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It’s my fault.” The queen had sought her out to apologize. “I’m the one who insisted on showing him the holovid before fully vetting it.”
The investigation had proven the holovid had been faked.
The original footage shot at the café proved Karma had told the truth.
Threatened with revocation of their operating license, Kaldor Celebrity News had apologized, aired a retraction, and fired Bynti, but remediation came too little, too late. Irreparable damage had been done.
“It’s Falkor’s fault.” She reassured the queen she didn’t blame her.
“He should have believed in me—or given me a fair hearing.” She could prove her innocence now, but she shouldn’t have to.
Trust, fidelity, and respect formed the foundation of a solid, enduring, loving marriage.
Without any one of them, the marriage would collapse. Love would wither and die.
The computer spoke again. “Prepare for launch in ten, nine, eight…”
A rumble of engines filled the cabin, and the floor vibrated under her feet. Then, with a powerful surge, the ship lifted off. As it gained altitude and speed, the G-forces kicked in, plastering her to the seat.
Passengers broke out in nervous titters, but she couldn’t turn her head to look at them. She couldn’t get out of her seat—couldn’t so much as raise her arm off the rest. Just when she feared the gravity would crush her or she’d pass out, the enormous pressure lifted.
Breaking free of Kaldor’s gravity and atmosphere, the ship entered outer space. Suddenly, she was light as a feather, her hair floating straight up. Her skirt tried to follow. She grabbed it to avoid exposing her underwear to strangers. People were laughing and pointing at each other.
On the view screen, the planet shrank, becoming smaller and smaller until it disappeared into the vastness of space. Gone. Just like Falkor. She bit back a sob.
A harness clicked , and a young boy floated out of his seat. “ Wheee ! I can fly!” He somersaulted.
On any other day, she might have flouted the rules and joined him in the joyful, forbidden fun, but not today.
“Passenger five—return to your seat immediately,” the computer scolded.
The boy’s father grabbed his foot and yanked him into his seat. “Behave—or we’re going home.”
She’d believed Kaldor was her home. But it wasn’t. Nor was Earth. Without Falkor, she didn’t have a home. Like a body in zero gravity, she was untethered with only the weight of grief to prevent her from drifting away.
The father had no sooner buckled in his son when gravity returned. Her hair collapsed onto her shoulders.
“See!” the boy’s mother chided. “You would have fallen and cracked your head open.”
A monstrous asteroid belt appeared on the screen, and the ship seemed to dive into the middle of the rocky field.
If safety is a priority, maybe we shouldn’t be careening through an asteroid belt.
A few people emitted small screams of surprise as the ship lurched sideways to avoid a space rock the size of a hovercar.
If not for her harness, she would have been tossed out of her seat. And then they lurched the other way like they rode some crazy carnival ride. The little boy laughed—his unrestrained merriment tugging a reluctant smile to her face.
They cleared the asteroid belt and once again cruised through the vast, dark emptiness. Another metaphor for her marriage. She’d hoped to forget for a while, but everything reminded her of what she’d lost.
People maintained nonstop chatter until Earth appeared, a tiny blue orb growing larger and larger as they approached. For a moment, there was only awed silence. “Your planet is beautiful!” a passenger said, and heads turned to look at her.
“Yes, it is,” she replied, and hurriedly dashed away a tear of sadness, regret, and failure. Hopefully the passengers would attribute her emotional display to joy at seeing her own world. She prayed to the Goddess she could hold it together and wouldn’t break down.
Home existed in the heart. Earth would never be home without Falkor, and she wasn’t wanted on Kaldor.
“We have arrived at Earth. Prepare for landing,” the computer said.