Lin's Challenge

by Mara Jaye

  Lin’s Challenge

  Intergalactic Officers

  Mara Jaye

  Copyright © 2019 Stapleton Enterprises

  Cover by Cheeky Covers

  All Rights Reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author or publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Lin

  This joke stopped being funny the moment it started.

  I woke up several minutes ago, I guess, in a dark grey warehouse type of room. Fluorescent lights hurt my eyes when I opened them, so I just listened for a while to get my bearings. Considering the yelling men and a couple of crying women in a crowded room, I didn’t have a choice. Then it hit me where I was and of course. I was either dreaming or was passed out in a club at closing time. People lose their shit at 3am when floodlights ruin their alcohol haze.

  Once I propped up on my elbows and opened my eyes a little, I saw people lined up against the walls, banging on metal and screaming. Smoke wasn’t lingering in the air, so the panic seemed way off even for a dream. I also don’t go clubbing in my favorite cotton pajamas. Had I passed out at a costume party, maybe? I didn’t know and couldn’t make my brain work to remember, either.

  Several others lay around me, as unconscious as I had just been. A few moaned, but most were snoozing during the ruckus. Nice for them because now that I was awake, the noise was deafening. Since this is real, obviously, I suspect my boyfriend’s at the bottom of it. Rick is just the type of guy to slip me a sleeping pill and coax his buddies into playing a prank on me. I love and hate him sometimes.

  Time to end this little stunt, so I stand, or try to with way too weak legs. My last workout didn’t seem so intense to leave my legs mush like this. My calves and quads ache as if I’ve been hit with a baseball bat. I look down, even lifting my Capri-length pajama bottoms to check out my knees and calves. No bruises there or on my upper arms when I raise the sleeves, but still. If those assholes tripped and dropped me on the way here, I’ll kill all of them. Or fix a choco-laxative batch of brownies served with a smile.

  My legs wobble again. I really need coffee right now and blink a few times to clear the sleep from my eyes. After a closer look, all of the people here are either bulky men or gym-buffed women. Most of them are taller than most pro basketball players, too. Weird. We’ve lived together long enough. You’d think I’d know Rick had so many beefcake friends.

  I make my way by stepping around some of the sleepers to where most of the others are banging on a wall. After tapping one of the men on the shoulder, I smile as he turns around. His cat eyes take me by surprise at first. He’s a little overly furry in the face. Kind of like his testosterone went haywire. But, working at a grocery store during the graveyard shift, I’ve seen all kinds.

  He’s actually clean cut compared to some of the heavily pierced types I work with. So, I give him my best smile. “Hello, we’ve not met. I’m Rick’s girlfriend, Linsey. Lin for short. Who are you?”

  He shook his head and said something foreign with purrs or rumbles. Turning away from me, he stepped between a couple of other guys and joins in banging on the wall with his furry fist. The noise hurts my ears and makes a hangover seem mild. I’m not putting up with any more of Rick’s shit. Especially not from some person pretending to be a cat. “Hey! Come back here and tell me what’s going on.”

  Someone pushes me out of the way to get closer to the wall. Assholes. I’m this close to moving out and telling Rick he can shove our relationship.

  I turn to look for anyone who isn’t doing his or her best freaking out act. A couple of Amazon gals are standing in a corner, hugging and crying. Ug. Not going there for the fake tears. A couple of the formerly unconscious ones are sitting up and looking around. They’re doing a good job of acting. I’d be impressed if this weren’t a huge pain in the ass.

  A loud whistle like the one people do at ball games rings out. As if the usual cacophony wasn’t enough, right? But it works. Everyone stops cold, and then a calm female voice begins speaking over an intercom I can’t see.

  And…I have no idea what she’s saying. I’m fluent in English and have a tourist level of German. This doesn’t even sound like Cat Boy’s chatter. She stops talking.

  The room is silent for about three seconds and the protests begin again. I could join in but don’t. The voice’s tone sounded a little too familiar. Like my Mom’s just before she dished out a beating or slap at the least. I back up to one of the empty areas and press against a hard surface. The metal feels wet but when I check, my hands are dry.

  My new friends are focused on that one wall and before I can think about why, the whistle blares again. The even female voice talks and again, it’s shades of my Mom the morning after a bender.

  I release my pent up breath when the protests resume. Maybe they understood the message more than I did. Maybe the message isn’t to sit down and shut up as much as it seems to be.

  Before I can focus on how this wet not-wet surface is freaking me out, the whistle begins for the third time. The sound is much longer than before and I have to cover my ears until it stops.

  When blessed silence finally returns, everyone looks up at the click from above. A CCTV camera looking device drops down with a whir. The lens points at the group of people causing the most of the fuss. They stare back. My vision is getting better with every blink, and the differences among them are striking. Everyone might be buff and tall, but that’s the limit of what they have in common. Cat Boy is there, and I think he has a tiger friend. A few have all black eyes as if they’ve tattooed the whites out completely. Not only that but they’re bald, and a little bit gray skinned. Roswell landing wanna-bes, I hope, because anything else is just too weird.

  The announcement begins, and now I recognize sounds similar to what’s been said before. I have no idea what they mean but have a suspicion. With their attention diverted from the wall, the crowd steps forward to the dropped camera. A few begin yelling and shaking their fists in the air. Others join in.

  Laser beams are all I can think to call them as they come out of the camera and mow down the front row of men. Unlike in films, the weapon has no sound. I can’t breathe but slide down the wall behind me, in case the thing swivels for the few of us not causing a problem.

  I stare while the camera-turned-ray-gun stops moving and slides up into the ceiling. A final announcement is given over the screaming and dying people. My guess is it’s saying something like, “You were warned.”

  The temperature didn’t change, but I shiver anyway. The ground doesn’t have the false damp like the walls. I focus on touch and don’t want to think about what would have happened if I’d continued to pester Cat Boy, now dead, to talk to me.

  I know where I am now and am certain Rick wasn’t involved. The irrational part of me thinks Cat and his friend Tiger are from one planet. Then the Gray Skin with Tattooed Eyed twins are from another. Not true because space aliens don’t exist. Yet, the blood is real. The
shooting was real. Normal red blood is pooling under the dead. I take a deep breath and can smell the iron. Plus, I’m pretty sure someone peed when the shots began, and it’s a strong odor. Deep holes are gouged out wherever the beams hit. I see someone missing half of his face, and I can’t help but shudder.

  The saner part of me, the one I’m trying to hold on to, knows this is some sort of crazy mass kidnapping. Because no one looks ordinary, the abductors chose unusual looking people with muscles. You’d think they’d want wealthy people for the ransom, but okay. No excuse I’ve invented so far explains why I’m locked up with a bunch of Halloween costumed beefcakes. Overwhelmed and just wanting the headache to stop, I hug my knees and rest my head against them.

  Time passes, but I don’t know in what increments. After a while, I let go of my legs, and the friends let go of their dead. The lights stay bright, the bodies are left in place, and the sleeping are all awake. Beings who look similar coagulate into groups around the room. Conversations are barely hissed between huddled people who understand each other. I assume it’s to avoid another lesson in what quiet time means to whoever is controlling the ray gun. I listen for English or German with no luck.

  The people around me look like walking animals. I’m trying to justify why by thinking that’s their kink or they’re Halloween fans. Everyone seems like something out of a fairy tale gone wrong. The dog wants to be a man but is stuck halfway. Same with the cat people. Sort of human, but not quite enough. I’ve noticed how the fishy looking beings cluster on whatever side of the room is opposite from both furry types. Can’t say I blame them if the rest of the universe is anything like Earth and its circle of life.

  The similarity of the two-legged creatures in here to our animals leaves me worried. I’m not fond of finding out if there are spider or snake people, or, worse, a rat man. It’s real. No prank and this one time? I wish Rick were playing me in all this.

  I feel like puking, but where?

  Even my cushy butt has its limits, though, and I stand. My legs feel better, but I’m starving and need a toilet. I look around for a door with a sign but nothing. There isn’t even a bucket or hole in the floor. Just as I wish for a bathroom, I hear water running. I search for the source, hoping for even a lukewarm drink only to see someone peeing against the wall. No. Not the type of liquid I was hoping for, not even close.

  The sound is making my bladder ache, and I can’t blame him for just going. I glance over when the flow stops and am a little surprised at how the shake is universal. And, at how his dick matches his greenish gray skin. He reminds me of a toad or maybe a frog. He’s built like one, anyway, muscular legs with a beer belly and three chins. Mr. Froggy. A half-crazed laugh breaks out of me, and the guy glares. His huge liquidy eyes narrow and his wide, thin-lipped mouth turns down. I wave a hand as if to say no and pointed to myself. His scowl fades a little before he shrugs and turns away to rejoin his other toad friends. I sigh and slump against the wall. The last thing I need is a bunch of angry amphibians croaking at me.

  After stifling another hysterical giggle, I glance over when a metal against metal grinding begins. The part of the room people protested the most is moving as a bin slides out like an ordinary drawer at home. There’s a rustle, and from where I can see, pellets fall down. Everyone makes a grab for as many as they can carry. I get to my feet and hurry over as another batch falls to fill the bin. I and the other stragglers also take as many as we can carry.

  When I go back to my claimed space, the floor where Mr. Froggy took a leak is gone. As in, there’s nothing but a square hole now. The stench is overwhelming as I walk closer so I back away. I try to not dissect the scents, but death, urine, and feces are unmistakable. The pellets don’t seem so appealing even if they’re like hardened gummi blocks. I need a new seat away from the sewer and dead bodies.

  I’m making my way further from the cesspool of death while the men crowd around it. When I glance back, they’re eating the gummies while peeing. Gag. I find a part of the wet-dry wall to sit against with five or so other women. I still want a restroom but have food and what passes for privacy here.

  After a lick and a crunchy bite, the gummi isn’t half-bad. It’s red but doesn’t taste like anything but sweet. Wherever we are, my guess is our captors want to keep the better behaved of us alive. I’m starving, so I eat without really tasting anything but the oddly tangy sugar. Like the walls, the food is wet but not wet.

  I watch to see what people do now their bellies are full and their housekeeping doesn’t disappoint me. Four or five of them drag the several dead men over to the waste trap door and drop them in. I wrap my arms around my knees. A practical part of me thinks they should have frisked the pockets for anything useful for when we’re let go. Maybe they know where we’re going better than I do.

  My bladder is still full, but there’s no way I’m squatting in front of everyone. The bin recedes into the wall, and the sewer door slides shut, so I’ve lost my chance anyway. At least the stench should fade.

  A sharp crack, skin against skin, catches my attention. I look along with everyone else, to see a woman struggling out of a man’s arms. He’s less like Mr. Froggy and a lot more like a Mr. Lizard. His profile is slightly elongated, no lips, solid black eyes. I can see a faint shimmer of scales, and he’s a pale green.

  The woman he’s manhandling, or lizardhandling, is a cousin to the Cat Boys. They’re nearby, snickering as she scratches against Mr. Lizard’s scales and growling. If all she’s managing to do is tickle him with her talons, I’m in serious trouble when they notice me.

  The whistle sounds, and I’m the only one who looks up for the false camera. Another voice, male and agitated begins speaking, but the fuss increases. My stomach clenches because I’m pretty sure I know what’s going to happen. The camera type thing slides down and begins firing at the couple. Both fall dead along with several of the bystanders who were cheering him on. People scatter, but the shots stay contained to the small area.

  I duck my head, pressing my forehead to my knees in my go-to safe pose. With any luck, the weapon system might keep me unmolested by anyone here. The few females are crying while the men are talking among themselves. I glance up, and the victims’ friends are clustered around them.

  One of Mr. Froggy’s cousins looks at me, pointing, and another of his type taps his arm while shaking his head. I suppose I’m not worth the trouble. For the first time in my life, I’m glad to be considered worthless. That’s right, buddy. Sex with me is not worth a hell of a lot.

  Wherever we’re going, at least this group seems to have learned a lesson.

  Chapter Two

  Lin

  If food drops and bathroom breaks are signs of time passage, we’ve been in here nine Earth days. How long has it been exactly is a question I’d love to ask anyone in here until I realize my fingernails could tell me. I glance down to see how far my latest manicure has grown. The significant gap tells me I’ve passed my usual three-week retouch. Not by much but enough I’d not flash my hands around in public. I ball my fists up more from fear than vanity. I know Rick is probably looking for me. My boss has already fired me. And my Mom? I doubt she even knows I’m gone.

  Two trap doors open and we’re allowed one gummi brick a day unless their hours are super long. We could be eating three times in one of their days. I have no idea what their measurement of time is. From what I remember about our solar system, Earth and Mars even have different day and year lengths.

  What’s been nice is how boring the place has been so far. No one is attacking anyone else and getting killed anymore. The protests aren’t happening. Even peeing guy waits for the hole in the floor. One of the cat ladies motioned me over a few days ago and guarded while I went. I was terrified of falling in and grateful even if a little leery of befriending a lioness on two feet.

  The room, as large as it is, has become hot and stuffy. The smell is worse, too. Nine days of furry or slimy people without water is as foul as anyone can imagine.
I both dread and need to escape.

  A familiar grinding sounds. Or, I think it’s familiar until the pitch deepens. I stand up and look around in case I need to be ready. How the trap door for waste just opened without a sound continues to unnerve me. Some of the passengers with hearing keener than mine stare down at the floor. The smooth metal begins to vibrate underneath, almost tickling the bottoms of my feet until the shaking increases. Those who are standing ease down into sitting. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear we were in a plane while the landing gear is being lowered.

  The shuddering turns Mr. Frog‘s face green, or greener than usual. A few are clinging to each other. I wish I weren’t the only Earthling in the group. I close my eyes to keep from throwing up and breathe through the nausea.

  Just when I’m convinced the place will bust apart, everything stops. No movement, no noise. Not until a real landing gear sound begins do I open my eyes. Everyone is staring at each other, all of us too stunned to talk. Various sounds come and go, most of them are whirrs or low hums all around us.

  The wall I’m backed up against slides up to the ceiling with a whoosh. I scurry away from the influx of cold air.

  And….

  I don’t know where I am. The entire ship is in a clear dome. Mars has two moons, too, right? Only, this place is far more spikey and gray than I’ve ever seen in Martian images. My smartphone has been long gone, or I’d look up other planets in our solar system with two moons. Which is stupid, considering who my co-hostages are. I don’t think Mr. Froggy and Ms. Lion are from Venus or Saturn.

  A couple of guards appear at the open doorway. They’re two mashed faced men, one wiry, one bulky, and both have gray uniforms. Practical, considering the soil outside. Like the canines among us have a snout of a nose, the guards’ flat noses flare their nostrils. They wear eye cover so of course, I’m curious. But not too much, considering the weapons in their hands. I ease back behind everyone else, not wanting to be anything near an example for the others.