Guardian Alien: a sci-fi alien romance (OtherWorldly Men Book 1)

by Susan Grant

“Magical friends can eat whatever they like. Not just what other people expect them to eat. I love ice cream too. Phish Food is my favorite flavor. Have you and Max tried it?”

  The girl shook her head and giggled.

  “Ms. Jasper—we’re ready to start.” The owner of the fish farm walked up to the microphone to begin the festivities.

  Jana stood and shook Chelsea’s hand. “It was very nice meeting you, Chelsea. Never stop believing in magic.” No matter how futile it may seem when suddenly you’re over thirty and everyone thinks you need to stop.

  Oddly unsettled for the second time that day, she watched the pair walk away.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome to Senator Jana Jasper, a wonderful supporter of ours who will lead us in our ceremonies today.”

  Jana smiled and waved at the small crowd—employees of the fish farm, restauranteurs, and foodie-focused business owners. Her gaze tripped over a six-foot-five-plus man dressed in black leather who stood near the entrance to the parking lot. Sunglasses with gold reflective lenses covered his eyes.

  She muttered out the corner of her mouth to Steve. “Whoa—who is that wall of muscle?”

  “Security detail is my guess.”

  At a fish farm? He resembled a SWAT team officer or a motorcycle gang member more than he did typical event security. Yet she felt somehow safer with him on duty.

  She stepped up to the podium to the sound of polite applause. “It’s opening day at Good Egg Sea Farm, and that’s truly a reason to celebrate. Caspian Sea beluga sturgeon hover on the brink of extinction, wiped out by habitat degradation, commercial fishing, and black-market poaching. In California, we face similar threats. Aqua-farms like Good Egg discourage poaching and illegal importation. This keeps hard-won budget money where it belongs—funding crucial programs that help protect California’s environment and the hiring and training of more fish and game wardens. With stricter enforcement and steeper fines, we will put the poachers out of business and keep hardworking entrepreneurs like you in business. Together, we will turn this small section of our state’s Central Valley into the legal caviar-farming capital of the world.” She waved her hand in a sweeping motion at the circular tanks. “Congratulations, Good Egg. Not only are you good for California’s taste buds, you are good for California’s future.”

  As the crowd applauded, one of the aqua-farm staff members handed her a pair of scissors. To cheers and whistles, Jana cut through a bright purple ribbon draped across the footbridge.

  The towering man in black continued to observe her, a silent sentinel. Then a splash sprayed across her butter-yellow suit. She sucked in a breath as a rivulet of cold water found its way down her cleavage. A prehistoric-looking fish fell back into the holding tank. Its whiskery head bounced off the edge of the bridge with a rubbery thunk.

  She plucked at her silk blouse. Nice shot.

  The aqua farm’s owners escorted her to a buffet line from the heavens: bowls of minced hardboiled eggs—the whites separate from the yolks—diced onion, lemon slices, sour cream, and toast. All went with a rainbow of caviars, from inexpensive but tasty bright-orange salmon eggs to the much more expensive rich, nutty, and creamy sturgeon roe. Jana inhaled their aroma, her mouth watering. She’d inherited her Russian mother’s taste in fine Slavic cuisine, and caviar was a favorite. It tasted best with iced vodka, but when Good Egg’s sales and marketing director offered her a flute of champagne to go with the feast, she happily took a small sip. She sidled closer to one of the outdoor heaters, shivering a little, hoping her clothing would dry quickly.

  “A question, Ms. Jasper!” A silver-haired reporter called out to her. Jeff Golden had covered the California political scene—and her family—for years. “If true, today’s allegations that Senator John Jasper misused campaign funds could spell the end of your family’s spotless, eighty-five-year-old record in the political arena. Are you prepared to open your own records to public scrutiny?”

  Allegations? Misuse of campaign funds? The sudden roar in Jana’s head almost drowned out the nearby gasps but not the startled looks in people’s eyes. Freeze your emotions. Appear calm. All her life, she’d been trained to be in the public eye; her reaction to the unexpected question was almost instinctive.

  “I thank you for your interest in my family, Mr. Golden. I have no comment on that at this time. Let’s talk about the positive effect aqua farms such as Good Egg will have on our local economy.” Steve joined her in smoothly pivoting back to the topic, offering facts and figures.

  As soon there was a break in the action, Jana took Steve by the elbow and walked away from where too many curious bystanders listened in. Her heartbeat was all over the place, but no one could tell from looking at her. “We’ve got a mud-fest to deal with by the sound of it.”

  Her phone rang. It was her mother.

  “Mama, what’s going on?” Jana asked. “I heard—”

  “Come home, Janushka.” The phone went dead.

  Only to light up immediately again. Her brother this time. “Drop what you’re doing and meet me at the ranch. I’m on my way there.”

  “For the love of God, Jared, tell me—”

  He hung up.

  “—what’s going on,” she finished. She stood there, staring at the phone. Her father’s integrity was beyond question. An unblemished public record was a source of Jasper pride. Now this—a dirty smear campaign.

  She turned to Steve. “Reschedule the meeting with the lumber lobbyists.”

  “Don’t worry about anything this afternoon. I’ll cover it or reschedule it.” Having someone like Steve on her team was invaluable. He and Nona, her chief of staff, could empty her day as fast as they could fill it. “I’ll wrap things up here. Go.”

  She walked briskly to the parking lot. The hulking security guard was still on duty. At closer inspection, his black outfit seemed to be made of high-tech fabric, not leather. No badge. No insignia. A sort of body armor. He removed his gold glasses as she approached. Brown hair cut short framed a smooth brow and greenish gray eyes. His classic cleft chin needed a shave. Early thirties. Prior or current military service, she’d wager. Even dressed like a superhero, he radiated the kind of guy-next-door look that caused her stop to wonder if they actually had been neighbors at some point in her life.

  He was that familiar.

  No, she would have remembered him.

  She realized she was staring, and he was staring back.

  Don’t engage. Out of self preservation, she pretended to check her phone. She didn’t want to be tempted into another mistake.

  She pulled out her key fob and unlocked her truck, code name: Beast. Big, battered, and silver, the repurposed ranch vehicle had a tow hitch shaped like a buffalo head and a massive light rack on the roof. Beast was her vehicular soul mate. They’d been high-school sweethearts—middle school actually, but as far as the DMV knew, no pre-permit driving had happened.

  Nothing beat the sensation of riding high above the road and most other cars, safely encased in Beast’s protective armor. She was glad for it now. Beast would get her the hell out of here before anything else could go wrong.

  The crunch of heavy boots grinding against the gravel approached. “Senator.”

  The man in black had followed her.

  She groaned on the inside. He stood with his arms at his sides, his chin tucked low in a completely non-threatening stance. But she had a canister of mace in her purse and some rusty skills from a kickboxing class she’d taken in college—just in case. “I have traveled a very long way to find you,” he said in an accent she didn’t recognize. “I hope that we may speak. Planet Earth is in danger. There is time to prepare, but no time to waste.”

  Oh dear. She flashed a bright smile. “As a lifelong conservationist, I couldn’t agree more. If only there were more concerned citizens like you who cared about saving the planet and all its creatures. On my website, you’ll find links to ways you can stay involved.” She reached for the truck door. “I
do have to go.”

  “Wait. Jana.”

  The way he said her name—Jah-nah—reverberated to her toes. Her coral-painted toes. The ones the sturgeon liked. Sturgeon and now guys dressed like action figures. Note to self: never wear coral nail polish out in public again.

  He lifted his palms. “It’s me—Cavin.”

  Surprise shot through her, her key fob dangling from her rigid fingers. She’d met plenty of Kevins over the years. And Gavins.

  But no Cavins.

  “I know it is unreasonable to expect you to recognize me. It has been a very long time. We were only youngsters. But perhaps you might remember this.” He patted the middle of his chest then pointed to her. She’d heard the expression about wearing your heart on your sleeve, but this man wore his heart in his eyes. His slow, hopeful smile amplified the effect.

  Shields up.

  “We climbed trees with my bot-cable,” he continued. “From there we would observe animals. I have studied your language, but I still cannot pronounce squeh . . . squar . . .”

  “Squirrel,” she supplied in a whisper.

  “Yes.” He searched her face as he continued. “The last time I saw you was in your treehouse. Your elder—your grandfather—was very angry when he could not find you.”

  In an instant, the memory of that night returned: the moon, so huge and full. Her, placing the wooden frog in the center of Cavin’s palm. A real promise given to someone who wasn’t. And then the kiss. The memory was so clear, as if it had really happened.

  Weird that she never found where she’d lost that frog.

  What’s wrong with you, Jana? Her father’s reputation was being shredded by political jackals, and she was daydreaming about a made-up boy.

  “Do you remember when you gave me this?” He shoved his fingers under his collar band, rooting around, then pulled out a necklace. Attached to a narrow black chain was a charm. Egg-shaped. About the size of the tip of her thumb. Worn down at the top, chipped near the bottom, and revealing raw wood beneath the glossy paint—a spotted green frog.

  The missing piece from the matryoshka doll.

  Her gaze flew to meet his. His earnest features coalesced into the face she hadn’t seen since she was nine. It was Cavin. Her first friend, her best friend. Her boy from the stars.

  All grown up.

  Against all odds, one in a million odds, he’d come back.

  Chapter Three

  For one wrenching instant, Jana was speechless, thrust back to the days when her words would get stuck inside her. Could this grown man really be her childhood imaginary friend? Using a mental version of the age progression from the photos on the backs of milk cartons, she tried to imagine what he’d look like now—and came up with a man who looked jarringly close to this one. She met his eyes—Cavin’s eyes—ready to believe and wanting to throw her arms around him.

  “Wait,” she said. “Is this a prank?” She narrowed her eyes. “Did Jared put you up to this?”

  “No prank. No trick.”

  Which made sense. Of all the papers and articles she’d written, the interviews she’d given, she’d never mentioned Cavin’s name. Not once. Not to family, not to friends. It had remained her secret—her cherished, private memory. The product of her imagination.

  Or was it her imagination? Was he?

  It had to be him. He’d just offered her indisputable proof: the frog, the timeline, his inability to say “squirrel,” the secret hand signal, and his resemblance to the boy she once knew.

  The boy from the stars.

  Now a man from the stars.

  It meant he was an alien.

  Where’s your tin foil hat, Jana? Next stop: Roswell, New Mexico.

  Cavin’s gaze shifted to somewhere behind her. Steve was zooming toward the parking lot, toward Beast, his phone pressed to his ear.

  “That’s my communications director—Steve Marks,” she said.

  “Your staff member.”

  “Yes.”

  Cavin knew her current position. He’d called her “Senator” and tracked her down to this event. It was public information posted on social media, but still, it was a little disconcerting. Was he an alien, or was he a foreign agent?

  Was Earth really in danger? She owed it to Cavin to listen to his explanation. She owed it to Earth. “Wait here.” She wanted her communications director in the loop, but not until she determined if the warning was valid. One crisis at a time.

  She hurried around the front of Beast to intercept Steve, piecing together what to say. How to say it. When to say it.

  “I saw you were still here,” Steve said. “Truck trouble?”

  “An old friend of mine showed up. Cavin was an exchange student back when we were kids.” She prided herself on her creativity. “I’ll introduce you.”

  “Awesome. I’m sorry I missed him.”

  Missed him? She wheeled around. Cavin was gone.

  Vanished.

  He was literally nowhere to be seen.

  Because he’s not real. She dragged a hand over her face. She hadn’t managed more than five hours of sleep a night all week, living on protein bars, carrot sticks, and ice cream. She had a to-do list ten miles long, committee deadlines now piled on top of the damage control they’d have to deploy to counter this new crisis.

  No wonder she was delusional.

  She exhaled and turned back to Steve. Her shoes were damp, and her bun was listing to the right. She smelled like fish water.

  “It’s a shitstorm on Twitter right now,” he said. “Have you heard from your father?”

  She rallied, fixing her hair. “Not yet. I’m heading home now. I’ll call you.”

  He had a white-knuckle grip on his phone. “Please.”

  She climbed into Beast. The rumble of the engine and diesel fumes were a reassuring, mechanical hug. Jamming her soggy shoe against the gas pedal, she sped out of the parking lot.

  That went poorly, Cavin thought as he trailed Jana’s vehicle at a safe distance in his borrowed car. Driverless cars were everywhere for the taking, and easily summoned for his needs. The viewer-bot he’d deployed hovered overhead. Undetectable to the Terrans, its live feed served as a backup in case he lost her. He’d viewed her photos when preparing for this mission, and he knew what she looked like, but Goddess, after seeing her in person, her expression of joy and wonder, he could hardly form whole sentences. He’d blathered on like an idiot! His mind had emptied of everything he’d rehearsed, and he lost the chance to share his warning, his mission to save her world.

  He was a Coalition Marine, for Goddess’ sake. He was supposed to be better than this. Yet one look in Jana’s big blue eyes had dismantled his higher brain function. Then the staff member had appeared at the worst possible moment.

  Terrans could be impulsive and hotheaded—they’d proved it at Roswell. His mission depended on finding a way to communicate with Jana—alone, and quickly.

  Or you’ll have put your career on the line for nothing.

  He’d watched Earth’s acquisition status for years. At his rank, he was privy to such information. DISAPPROVED had been annotated some years after his original visit with his father. He’d thought perhaps the government had bypassed Earth because it was too densely inhabited, unlike nearly all the planets that they chose. Then it happened—STATUS: PENDING. Soon after, Earth was approved for acquisition.

  Earth is next.

  Jana is next.

  Less than two freepin’ months to go before Jana and her family were loaded on massive transports along with the rest of the Terrans to be resettled elsewhere. The idea angered him now as much as it did when he was eleven cycles old—people as pawns, game pieces, to be moved around at will and disposed of on a whim.

  His duties were many. His future was all but set. He could choose to ignore the takeover of Earth, or he could choose to help Jana and her people.

  Staring at the report, he’d felt the talisman resting against his breastbone. The weight of his conscience . . .
>
  The power of a promise.

  “Sir?”

  Cavin jerked his gaze away the screen. His executive officer stood in the hatchway to his office.

  “Everything all right, sir? It’s got to be tough, losing your father.”

  Little did the XO know he’d lost his father long ago. Cavin dragged a hand over his cropped hair. “I’ve arranged to donate his ship to the Ministry of Science. They’d like to display it in their museum.”

  “It’s definitely vintage, sir. An antique.”

  “It was an antique when I lived on it as a boy. A lot of memories. I’ll fly it there myself—for old time’s sake.”

  His XO’s brows shot up. “I would have thought with the matter of the palace and the summons, you would want to . . .”

  “Get it over with?” They both knew the queen’s reputation. “I’m owed two weeks bereavement leave. I might as well make a vacation of it. I’ll take the old bird for one last spin before handing it over to the ministry . . .”

  The perfect ruse.

  An act of treason.

  Jana’s mother and grandfather waited for her in the cozy, wood-paneled library. The room smelled of wood smoke and orange oil. The crackling fire added a false atmosphere of tranquility; one step in the room and the tension hit Jana like a brick wall.

  Grandpa sat in his wheelchair with shoulders hunched. He looks ancient. Her mother was dressed elegantly in a silk shirt and slim, tan pants, but blond strands had slipped from her chignon: a telltale sign of trouble in a beautiful woman whose appearance was always immaculate.

  Jana pulled the heavy wooden doors closed. “Okay, what happened?”

  “The Coalition for Higher Ethics came forward with figures that bring into question your father’s campaign funds,” her mother said.

  Jana could smell fish as she strategically placed herself closer to the fireplace to dry off. “C.H.E.’s a political action group—from the other side. They’re lying.”

  “Of course they’re goddamn lying.” Grandpa’s voice sounded raspy. “But that never matters, does it? Guilty until proven innocent in the court of public opinion.”