by Beva John
PRECIOUS CARGO
A Forgotten Cargo Romance
Beva John
Copyright 2019 Beva John
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical without permission in writing from the author.
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Cover image by mjth/depositphotos.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
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
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHAPTER ONE
SYLVIA
I am dreaming. Drowning. Can’t breathe.
I am surrounded by a dark sticky liquid, as if I am at the bottom of a swimming pool filled with maple syrup. Although I try to swim to the surface, my hands and legs are fastened somehow. I feel weighed down.
I panic, struggling against my restraints, but then miraculously, suddenly the liquid recedes, and I can see dim light.
I gasp and gag, coughing up bile and who knows what else.
Someone unfastens straps that hold my arms to my sides.
“Thank God,” a woman says. “Are you all right?”
I wipe my eyes with my hands and take a better look at her. She is young, in her early twenties like me, with pretty brown skin and a pixie haircut – hair shorter than Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby. She is taller than I am and wears a baggy yellow jumpsuit.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. I am standing in some sort of glass tube with a drain at the bottom and a door that has swung open. There are blinking lights in a ring around the base of my container. I am wearing my favorite fringed halter top and a mini skirt – both dripping now – and only one of my sandals. My other foot is bare.
What in the hell happened?
Where I am?
The woman offers her arm and I hold it as I take a shaky step out onto a cement floor. The walls around us are corrugated metal. The room is small, no bigger than fifteen by twenty feet with some overhead lighting.
I shiver and wish I had a coat or a blanket.
I see that there are ten tubes. One is empty like mine and the rest are occupied with other women. Five have rings of lights around the base, but three are dark. When I look closer, I see that the liquid in the dark tubes is gone and the bodies inside look like unwrapped mummies.
I shudder and the other woman says, “Yes, they’re dead. I don’t know if the pod malfunctioned or what, but they’re dead.”
“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“You were abducted by aliens. We’re in some kind of storage unit.”
I laugh. That’s ridiculous. “No, seriously. What is going on?”
The other woman sighs. “I wish this was a joke, but it’s not. We were abducted and sold to a brokerage house that sells humans.” She points to a metal choker around her neck. “Red Sands Company.”
I realize that I am wearing a similar necklace with some odd symbols on it.
She says, “I was sold to a Penko but that didn’t work out, so I was returned for a refund. I’m Lindsey, by the way.”
“And I’m Sylvia. Nice to meet you,” I say automatically, but I feel like Alice, suddenly stepping into Wonderland. Did someone slip a drug into my drink at a party and is this an acid trip? And what in the world is a Penko?
Lindsey continues. “I don’t know long we’ve been stored here. It could have been years. Decades.”
“Decades?”
“From what I understand, they keep us in stasis until someone wants us.” She looks at my clothes. “Unless that skirt is retro, you look like you might have been here since the nineteen sixties.”
I frown because my head hurts from her confusing words. “The last time I remember was August 1969.”
Lindsey says, “Wow. You could be my grandmother.” She points at the other tubes. “And two of them look like they were picked up during the Civil War.”
I still can’t believe what I am hearing, but the other women’s dresses do look like something out of Gone with the Wind. I say, “So what can we do? Is there a way to escape?”
“None that I’ve found, and I’ve been out for a few hours now.”
I take off my one sandal and walk around the room barefoot, getting the lay of the land, so to speak. There are no windows and what looks like a door has no handle. After a few futile moments of poking at the metal seams, breaking one of my fingernails, and finally banging on the door, I sink down, sitting on the floor, feeling defeated. I turn my face towards Lindsey. “Now what?”
Lindsey shrugs. “We wait.”
“To be sold?”
“Or starve to death.”
I’m not sure which is worse. “There’s no food?”
“No food. No water.”
I close my eyes and lean my head back against the metal wall, wishing that this was a dream or a drug induced hallucination. Both would be easier to deal with.
Lindsey says, “I’m just glad your pod opened. I was afraid I was going to be here all by myself. At least now we’ve both got someone to talk to.”
I smile. “I agree. It would be worse to be alone.”
I am reminded of a Twilight Zone episode where people find themselves in a circular room with no idea why they are there. In the end, the viewer learns that they are dolls at the bottom of a round trash barrel. I let my breath out in a long sigh. “What a bummer.”
Lindsey snickers.
I glance at her, side eyed. “What is so funny? I could use a laugh.”
“No one says bummer anymore.”
“Okay. What would you say?”
“This sucks.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Sucks what?”
“Just sucks. Originally, I think it meant ‘sucks dick’ and my mom would have washed my mouth out with soap if I ever said it in front of her, but now it just means a shitty situation.”
Which definitely applies to us. I ask her, “When were you abducted?”
“2017. I have no idea what year it is now. The Penko calendar is different than ours and no one was eager to answer my questions.”
“Wow.” I still can’t get my head around the idea that fifty years or more have passed. I say, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“The Beatles broke up.”
“I kinda guessed that it would happen, but that sucks.”
She flashes me a bright smile. “You’re learning.”
Lindsey is not as dark as my black roommate Roni, so I assume that she has a biracial ancestry. I’m interested in her history and wonder what race relations were like
in 2017, but I won’t pry, and I assume that if we are locked up long enough, we’ll eventually share our secrets. I say, “Somehow I hoped that in the future mankind wouldn’t be selling each other.”
“Sorry. I guess every civilization has a percentage of assholes.”
Just my luck.
She asks, “Were you one of those peace and love hippie chicks?”
“No. Just a typist trying to get a job at a law firm. What were you?”
“Waitress. Preparing for my first marathon.”
“Wow. That’s cool.” Back in my day, it was rare for a woman to run long distances and there was some stink when a woman completed the Boston Marathon. I couldn’t do it myself, but Lindsey has the look of an athlete – she is long and lean and has a confident air.
She says, “Yeah, thanks, but it doesn’t matter now.”
She is right. It doesn’t matter what we’ve left behind, we need to focus on the present situation and try to survive. My stomach growls.
Trying to make light of the situation, I say, “If I die first, I give you permission to eat me.”
“No, thanks,” Lindsey says dryly. “My last name isn’t Donner.”
I smile. I think if we had met at another time, Lindsey and I would still have become friends.
After a while, I say, “I never thought Star Trek would be real.”
Lindsey is surprised. “You know Star Trek?”
I nod. “I have a crush on Spock.”
Lindsey says, “You and me both. But I guess you only know the original series. Not Next Generation or Voyager or the reboot.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. “No, but that all sounds groovy.”
“Groovy,” she repeats with an amused snort.
I guess that’s another word nobody uses anymore.
She says, “This is like Star Trek, but it’s worse. It’s not just mankind we’re dealing with. It’s dozens of other species. At least the aliens on Star Trek looked humanish. The guy that bought me was more like a slug. He was a Penko. No arms or legs and a penis that came out from the side of his head.”
I shudder. “And I take it he didn’t buy you to clean his house?”
“No.”
“Are we sex slaves?”
“Basically. Earth is considered a primitive planet. Humans are no better than barbarians, second-class citizens. But not even that. We don’t get to vote or anything. We’re more like pets. And apparently Earth girls are in high demand.”
“But why us?”
“We’re small, we’re soft, and we’re responsive.”
“Yuck.”
“I know. There’s an entire black market for porn with Earth girls. We’re super sexy, exotic creatures.”
I say, “Then the joke’s on them. At least for me.”
“Why?”
“My last boyfriend said I was a dud. And the one before that said I was frigid.” I hate saying that word and I blush with embarrassment, glad that the light isn’t so good in our cell.
“Sounds like it was their problem, not yours. Unless you’re a lesbian.”
“No, I like guys. I just can’t –” I struggle to find the right word. “Relax. Sex doesn’t work for me.”
“That’s too bad. Maybe you should get a vibrator.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t think I’d have the guts to buy one even if I knew where to find one.
Lindsey says, “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Personally, I think it’s better than the real thing. No fuss, no having to put up with the fragile male ego, no games.”
I can see her point. “Maybe it’s all for the best. The aliens will decide I’m a dud, too, and send me back to Earth.”
“I doubt it. We’re hot property.”
I pat my stomach that is feeling empty. “Starvation is sounding better all the time.”
Lindsey nods. “I just hope my next guy isn’t as repulsive.”
“How did you get away from the Slug man?”
“I ripped off one of his eyes. Penkos have three eyes on little antennae things on top of their heads.”
I say “yuck” again, but I am impressed by her self-defense. “I don’t know if I could do that.”
Lindsey shrugs. “It’s amazing what you can do when you have to. I thought I’d be killed right away, but then they decided to send me back for a refund. Thank God they didn’t balk at the restocking fee.”
I laugh. That sounds like such a mundane concern in a horrible situation. “How do you know all this? I mean, I can’t believe they’re speaking English.”
She taps behind her ear. “Translation device.” She tips her head so I can see a slightly raised circle the size of a pencil eraser behind her ear, under the skin. I feel behind my ears and find a similar disc behind my left ear. “I guess that’s efficient.”
“Yeah, so we can tell what they’re saying when they fuck us.”
There really doesn’t seem to be anything else to say after that, so I just sit there, hugging my knees, trying not to cry. This really is a crappy situation – kidnapped from Earth, maybe starving to death, maybe getting raped by gross aliens. I just wish I could go home. I sniff.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“No.”
“Sorry. Stupid question.”
I say, “I keep thinking about my mom, and what she’s going to think when I don’t come home.”
“She’s already dead,” Lindsey says quietly.
“I know, I know, but it’s all so terrible.” My mom is everything to me – my best friend, really. She is – was – a single mom, raising me by herself after my Dad died in WWII. I hate to think that she lost me, never knowing what happened to me.
Suddenly there is a loud buzzing noise, which makes me startle and I scramble to my feet, looking around, ready to fight. “What’s that?”
Lindsey says, “Another one of the pods is opening.” The light above us flickers.
The pod that is draining holds a young woman in a mid-calf cotton dress with an apron tied over it. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Pale skin. “Merciful heaven,” she says with a thick southern accent. “Please tell me I’m dreaming.”
“It’s a nightmare all right,” Lindsey says. “But unfortunately, it’s real.”
The new woman immediately drops to her knees and starts praying out loud.
Lindsey and I look at each other wide-eyed, not wanting to interrupt her, but not knowing what to say.
After she finishes, we talk and learn that her name is Martha and she is from Baltimore in the 1930’s. She is the soft-spoken daughter of a minister and she takes God seriously. She says fervently, “I know everything’s going to be all right. I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but I know that God loves us, and he won’t leave us comfortless.”
I hope she’s right, but I’m not going to hold my breath. I know Jesus is supposed to be Lord of heaven and earth, but does that apply to outer space?
Over the next few hours, another pod opens, leaving three women still encased. Our latest arrival is Iris, a large, voluptuous woman with rich red curls, too bright to be natural, wearing a heavy cotton maxi dress. She is a little older than the rest of us, possibly thirty, and she is from California during the Gold Rush.
When she learns that we’ve been abducted and might be sold as sex slaves, she doesn’t seem overly concerned.
As Martha muffles a whimper, Iris says, “Sweetheart, don’t cry. It’s just a little prick. And as long as it’s clean, I won’t be complaining.”
It turns out that Iris worked in one of the local boarding houses in Placerville. “I’m a seamstress,” she says with a saucy wink. “But I’m always willing to take in work on the side.”
I can guess what that side work is. Iris seems the kind of woman who would take anything in stride.
As I watch, Iris closes her mouth and looks as if she is licking her teeth. “I’ll be damned,” she says. “I’ve got new teeth.” She smiles and opens wide to show us her teeth, which are
remarkably clean and white, considering no one had toothpaste back then. “I was missing two of the ones in the back –” She points to her molars. “And now I’ve got new ones.”
I shift the fringe on my top to see my appendix scar, which is gone now. “Good heavens.”
“Seems like they’ve done some repairs on us,” Lindsey says. She twists her arm. “I broke my arm earlier trying to get away from the Penkos, but everything seems good now. Too bad I didn’t get a boob job.”
I laugh.
Martha says, “That’s a good sign, isn’t it? That they want to take care of us.”
“Or sell us at a better price. It’s like those guys who flip houses.”
We look at Lindsey with incomprehension.
Lindsey explains. “You know, slap a little paint on, plant some flowers in the front yard and cover up the cracks in the foundation. Sell a house for twice what it’s worth.”
“But that’s dishonest,” Martha says.
Iris says, “Where did you say you were from, sweetheart?”
At that moment, the floor beneath us lurches to one side and then there is a feeling of the room being lifted.
“What’s happening?” I ask Lindsey because she is our resident alien expert.
She says, “I don’t know.”
CHAPTER TWO
RAAN
I’m not expecting much from the abandoned storage unit that Captain Delk bought, but as the ship’s merchandising expert, I am required to observe the opening of the unit so I can categorize the items and determine where they can be sold. The scanners said the unit contains seven life forms, four breathing, three in stasis. Time is running out on the life forms, hence the ridiculously cheap price.
Captain Delk is always looking for a bargain, but his judgment, and consequently his luck, is not consistent. Out of his last five impulsive buys, only three have made a profit, and that only because I lost sleep finding buyers.
“What do you think they are?” one of the technicians asks as the metal container is brought up into the loading bay.
“Who knows?” Abandoned storage is always a gamble. Theoretically, one could find the Rigo crown jewels, but it is more likely to be some fools’ teylar collection. The enclosed life forms could be anything from exotic pets to cattle. Personally, I prefer selling inanimate objects. Life forms are messy – always needing food, defecating, and dying. The sooner I find buyers for the contents, whatever it is, the better.
