Lanie's Choice: Survivors of Paradise Book 1

by Kimberlyn Day

  Acknowledgements

  I write under a pen name and keep my quirky career choice to myself. Only a handful of people know about this venture, about how much I absolutely LOVE writing sexy sci-fi. My husband, my biggest supporter (and fan!), deserves an endless supply of tacos and margaritas for his steadfast belief…and patience. I’ve stayed up late, grouched over bickering characters, and added a few unusual sites to our computer’s search history in the pursuit of good story. Thank you, my Bonded.

  To my talented friend Kalen O’Donnell, who worked hard to bring my vision to life: thank you! I know I probably drove you nuts with the gazillion details I lobbed your way, but you’ve somehow turned it all into a beautiful cover. You’re amazing!

  To my editor, the genius behind MistressEditing.com: you exceeded my sky-high expectations. Thank you so much, Jen! My writing had heart, but you helped me polish it. The emails, messaging, and skype sessions were above and beyond and I’ll love you forever for them!

  Copyright

  Lanie’s Choice: Survivors of Paradise Book 1 by Kimberlyn Day by Sexy Scifi, LLC 1093 A1A Beach BLVD, PMB 249, St. Augustine Beach, FL 32080

  https://kimberlyndayblog.wordpress.com/

  © 2016 Kimberlyn Day.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permissions contact:

  KimberlynDaywrites@hotmail.com

  All characters, places, and events in this book are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations are strictly coincidental.

  Cover Design by Kalen O’Donnell

  Editing Service by MistressEditing.com

  Synopsis

  Finding big, strong aliens isn’t all that hard once you start looking for them. Motivating said aliens to protect your species from plague-infested space pirates? Ehhh...that takes a bit of bargaining.

  For a warrior race on the brink of extinction, the price is an old-fashioned marriage alliance.

  Which is how Lanie ends up speed-dating on a moon in the middle of nowhere—with no liquid courage in sight. Horns. Tails. Fangs. Claws. How was a girl to choose? With mix-and-match monsters as potential mates, Lanie thinks she’s pretty much offering herself up as a not-so-virgin sacrifice.

  …and then she gets to know Delloruin, with his endearing protective streak and raw sexuality. Fen, who thinks deep and considers all sides while melting her with his soulful eyes. Hilom, who’s as sweet as he is deadly, a cocky fighter with a heart of gold.

  It would be easy to love each of them…and hard to choose just one of them.

  Thankfully, some aliens come in variety packs.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  About Kimberlyn Day

  Sneak Peek

  Bonus Scene

  Lanie’s Choice

  Survivors of Paradise Book 1

  By Kimberlyn Day

  Chapter 1

  Lanie assessed the little white moon through the view screen. It was beautiful. Sand swept the surface in tides, brushed along by windstorms comparable to Earthen hurricanes. A single speck of the glittery, diamond-like sand could pierce the hull of whatever craft landed in the midst of those winds. Landing between gusts would take patience. Taking off again would take luck.

  “There’s no way they survived here,” Lanie said, internally cursing the undeveloped blip in the far-flung solar system that had taken way too long to find. “This was a waste of time.”

  “Actually,” Brandon corrected, “our surveys found an expansive cave system beneath the surface. It’s possible they took refuge down there. Worth checking out, at least.”

  Lanie nodded. If the aliens had any sense of self-preservation, it was possible. And she knew no one on board their ship would abandon this last hope without giving it their all. “Are the teams ready?”

  “Yep. All but Carol’s.” Brandon snorted out a laugh. “The transpo is acting up. Who would have guessed, huh?”

  While true, the sentiment wasn’t as funny to Lanie. Carol had a knack for attracting trouble—mostly through no fault of her own—and it meant extra work for everyone else. The hard part about it, though, was that Carol was a genius. A bona fide savant who happened to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Having her along seemed both a blessing and a curse.

  Lanie sighed. As the unofficial co-ruler of their little band of survivors, she knew what had to be done, time constraints be damned. Brandon would deal with strategy; Lanie would deal with humanity. She was the go-to for any and all complaints, concerns, and questions. “I’ll sort out the problem.”

  “Good luck,” Brandon called after her.

  She waved and stepped into the ship’s teleporter. She had only long enough to let out an exhausted sigh before she was zapped, nearly instantaneously, to the flight deck. The whole damn process gave her the willies, but it was fast and efficient. And escaped slaves on the run for their lives couldn’t be choosers.

  “Lanie! Oh, Lanie, thank God.” Paul rushed over, his arms waving around in true diva fashion. “We should just get it over with and call her Jinx! We’re never going to get the tub to fly!” Paul’s voice carried in the big metal dome housing the small transpo ships.

  Lanie saw Carol’s head dip in embarrassment. The woman, despite being freakishly smart, was rather shy. It annoyed Lanie that people teased Carol, singling her out in the midst of their situation—like they didn’t have enough to occupy their minds?

  “Enough, Paul. Keep your mind on what needs to happen and maybe, when we’re all a little farther away from becoming slaves again, we’ll vote on nicknames. Just pray yours doesn’t become Drama Queen or Gossip.”

  The entire hanger was silent as Lanie walked toward the misbehaving transpo. Dee passed her the tablet connected to the malfunctioning “tub”, and it took only minutes for Lanie to see the problem. Before the invasion, she’d apprenticed to a bioengineer before switching to environmental engineering; on Paradise, that wouldn’t have been helpful with a transpo. The alien tech, however, ran like an eco-dome. Her years working the colony’s water and nutrient systems were invaluable to maintaining their stolen equipment.

  “Crowd around, everyone. It might happen again at some point with this transpo. We’ll look at permanently fixing the problem if we survive our mission.”

  Paul, Carol, and Dee all shouldered up to Lanie. “See this? It’s tracking humidity. We’re not in the red zone, which is why you missed it, but there’s too much water in the air. One of the valves near the sunbulb must be leaking. Find it. Fix it. A little of the paste-tape will hold for now.”

  Dee, the hardest worker of all the survivors on board, jogged away.

  Paul put his hands on his thin hips. “You’re a life-saver, sweetie.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Carol said. “All of this is so outside my experience…plant-based ships. I still can’t wrap my mind around it.”

  Lanie shrugged. “When you think about it, plants are just organic machines. Animals, too. We function—physically—in logical ways. We’re incredibly complex, but no stranger than th
e computer-based clunkers from Earth.”

  Carol nodded. “I never thought about it that way…but, yes. I see what you mean.”

  “Glad I could help. Good luck.” Lanie handed off the tablet to Paul and then turned to go.

  “Wait! Please, can I have a moment of your time?” Carol bit her lip and stepped close to Lanie, lowering her voice so it wouldn’t carry around the hanger. “Would you consider taking my place? I know it’s really late to be asking you this…but I’m useless with bio-tech, Lanie. I was a computer science nerd, not a biologist.”

  “Yes!” Paul hopped from foot to foot like an excited toddler, obviously having eavesdropped. “That is such a great idea!”

  Carol flushed. “I think my crewmates will all agree.”

  Lanie rubbed at her temples. “I know this is all new, guys, but I can’t do everything. I’m in charge of monitoring the ship, not the little transpos. I’m needed here.”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “If we don’t make it to the moon, or if we can’t make it off the moon, what’s the point of having a big ship floating perfectly in space? We need to get down there. We need you to get us down there.”

  “That’s why we’re sending three teams, Paul.”

  “All the more reason for you to go—three teams means it’s three times more likely someone will have problems.”

  “Let’s take a vote,” Carol suggested. “It’s a big decision.”

  After surviving the virus brought to their colony by invading aliens, they had developed certain talents. One of which was the ability to connect themselves in hivemind. It took concentration and a lot of energy, but everyone could be present during discussions, could contribute to the decisions. It was how they’d escaped their attackers.

  There were no excuses for skipping a vote when it could be done in your own head.

  “Fine, delve in.” Lanie closed her eyes and summoned the image of an amphitheater. They all had different ways of imagining the hivemind, but the visual didn’t matter as much as the connection. The bonds between their minds were strong enough to withstand everything but death. And, unlike with phones, it was an instantaneous link.

  Within the span of two heartbeats, every survivor was connected. No matter who called up hivemind, it was a switch that flipped for every human with mutated genes; it was creepy, but also very useful.

  We need a vote. Should Lanie replace Carol, traveling with the transpo to help secure our mission, or stay aboard the ship to safeguard our future? Paul and Carol’s hivemind voices were joined, echoing each other. The tinny effect was normal when two minds were on the same wavelength.

  The hivemind buzzed.

  I vote she goes with the transpo, Paul told them.

  I vote she goes, Carol agreed. The mission comes first.

  Indistinct thoughts hummed as the other survivors took their time coming to a decision. Lanie stayed silent. She wasn’t opposed to going down to the moon, but she did worry about the ship. It was huge, and the alien design required constant attention.

  The buzz of many voices finally receded until there was one, unified voice as the survivors decided on what to ask. Lanie, what do you suggest? Can the ship survive without you? Would the transpos make it to the moon and back without you?

  Lanie mentally shrugged, knowing the gesture would somehow translate into the collective. The ship is stable for now. I can’t promise an emergency won’t come up—it needs a full crew manning it. The transpos are also stable, but they’re older models, without the upgrades in the ship. It is more likely that the transpos will have difficulties than the ship.

  The mission comes first.

  Getting down to the moon was their last recourse to save the survivors of Paradise Colony, to save all of Utopia Colony, and, most importantly, to save Earth. Truly, the mission came first.

  Yes, Lanie agreed. I’ll go.

  After that, there wasn’t time to stop and think. The hivemind disconnected, and the rush to get the transpos geared up resumed. All three of them were stocked with a week of rations for the three-man crews, basic camping gear, and a medkit.

  Lanie ran a last scan on all three of transpos and then gave the all-clear to buckle in.

  “Set!” Dee called as she snapped her safety vest on. The seats were puffy and swallowed her small frame, the better to protect her in case of a crash. It looked like the damn thing was eating her.

  “Set!” Paul echoed.

  The drills they’d run in case of emergency had been time well spent, providing the civilians-turned-slaves into true survivors. Each little transpo was manned by former academics, or simple farmers, and yet they all knew the launch sequences and how to prepare for missions. Lanie looked back at them, proud of all they’d accomplished, and snapped her own vest on.

  “Set!” she yelled, signaling the tranpo’s computer that the crew was flight-ready.

  While the main ship didn’t control the internal functions of the transpos, it could navigate for the small vessels. Seeing as how they were still trying to figure out most of the controls in their stolen alien spacecraft, autopilot seemed wisest when possible. The sensor checking that all seats were occupied and secured blinked twice, and then a warning signal beeped.

  Lanie braced as their transpo shuddered. Lift off.

  Since the invasion of Paradise Colony, spaceflight had become necessary. Before that, she’d always preferred the ground. With her love of horticulture and environmental engineering, spaceflight had barely been a blip on her radar. Now she was in a rust-bucket on her way to a dangerous, inhospitable moon.

  Fucking aliens, she thought—and not for the first time.

  Lanie closed her eyes and focused on breathing. In and out. Slow and steady. There wasn’t a vast, empty, sucking vacuum waiting to flash-freeze her ass just beyond the rickety transpo. Nope. She was on a beach—there was sand between her toes and the waves were making that god-awful rattling noise.

  Clank…clank-clank-clank.

  “Fuck!” Paul moaned. “We’re gonna die!”

  Clank!

  Lanie squeezed her eyes closed until tears dribbled from the corners. They weren’t going to die. They couldn’t. The mission came first. Not only that, but Lanie hadn’t survived an alien invasion, a plague, genetic mutation from said plague, slavery, and six months in space just to die now, right above solid ground. No sir, no ma’am.

  The transpo shuddered and metal squealed all around them. She could hear flames crackling, trying to sneak on board for a taste of flesh as they hit the atmosphere. The transpo shuddered harder. Lanie kept her eyes closed.

  “I don’t want to die!” Paul yelled.

  “Then shut up!” Lanie yelled back, even though she was thinking the same. They could not afford to fall apart figuratively even if it was happening literally. “We’re almost down—keep your shit together, Drama Queen!” The transpo shuddered harder, jerking them violently, and Lanie couldn’t resist peeking around.

  The dash was lit up, red lights flashing urgently, and Brandon’s voice soon followed through the comm. “Your vessel is…ssst-sst-ssst…damage, Lanie…sst-sssst…off course!...ssssst-sst-sssst-sst…run for…sst-ssssst-sst…windstorm.” Brandon’s voice cut out, and an alarm followed. The transpo shuddered again, but no one inside said a word.

  The viewscreen powered up once they were through the atmosphere, and the moon was right.fucking.there. They were crashing. They really were going to die. Lanie clenched her hands on the chest plate of her vest, her knuckles popping from the force of her grip.

  The rear thrusters jolted, tipping the transpo so it wasn’t nose-diving. The fall/glide evened out, but the damn thing was still going too fast. Paul whimpered, his keening loud enough to be heard over the deep grind of the transpo as it rocketed down.

  The console chirped, the mechanical voice pleasant as it warned, “Impact imminent. Brace for impact. Impact imminent. Brace fo—”

  Metal bending is deafening. Horrifying. Lanie knew she’d have nightmares about
those sounds for years to come if she survived the crash. And that was a big if—because they were still crashing. The initial impact threw her forward against her safety vest, knocking the wind from her, but their momentum didn’t wane for several long minutes. Luckily, the puffy seat kept her from being tossed around too badly; her neck and back were fully cushioned and protected from whiplash.

  By the time the transpo shuddered for the last time, Lanie could feel fresh air. The hull had been breached—their ride back to the ship was toast. She wanted to cry and panic, but they didn’t have time. Not if the garbled message from Brandon meant what she thought it did.

  Off course, run, and windstorm didn’t leave a lot of room for hope, but it did kick her survival instinct into gear. They were stranded on a strange, deadly moon with aliens who may or may not be just as deadly. Waiting for a rescue was not an option, but running out into a windstorm was suicide.

  “Hivemind,” she snapped at her two crewmates.

  Lanie closed her eyes, an amphitheater already fully formed in her mind. In seconds, she was linked. What happened? Her voice was mingled with Paul and Dee’s thoughts, and their tinny echoes were soothing.

  No time, Lanie, your crew is in danger. We’ll explain once you’re safe, Brandon’s voice was loudest; he was at the ship’s main console, so it made sense he’d know the most relevant information. There are caves to the west—I’ve sent a map to the transpo tablet, but the damn thing won’t work if you’re more than a hundred feet away from the wreck. Get your bearings, quickly, and then run. All other crews: your mission remains unchanged.

  Lanie didn’t need to be told twice. She disconnected and unsnapped her vest. “Paul! Where’s the tablet?” She heard him fumbling around as they wiggled out of the puffy seats. He grunted and then started digging through a bag.

  Dee yelled, “Got it!” from somewhere near the back. “I’m looking it over.”

  Lanie didn’t waste breath trying to micromanage. She grabbed the medkit and flung the single strap across her body like a messenger bag. Paul was hauling some of the camping gear onto his back, and she went to help. They’d have to leave some of it behind since it was bulky and they hadn’t landed next to the cave entrance like planned, but she made damn sure to grab all the food and water.