Alien Tribute
Coming soon! Bogdan & Pareena’s standalone romance. Golden Angel and I both had babies in 2018, so our writing schedule got off. We are targeting fall for this release.
In the meantime, enjoy this excerpt. <3
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Pareena
Beep. Beep. Beep. I never thought the hum of hospital machines would become the soundtrack to my life. But the sound, along with the rattle of breath in my chest, tells me l’m alive. The sound is sweet because I won’t hear it for much longer.
Hospitals are never quiet. A never ending stream of doctors, nurses, and food service workers, coming in, checking charts, dropping off food trays and picking them up. The doctors frown. The nurses murmur “how ya doing, honey” and force smiles as they plump my pillows and check my vitals. The food service people don’t comment as they pick up the food trays with most of my meal uneaten. I can only manage a few bites a day, another sign that I can measure the rest of my life in minutes and hours versus weeks and years.
I used to be so busy. Used to be one of the white-coat workers hustling past patient’s doors. I used to hate being late, hate waiting, hate making small talk. I had so much time, I had the luxury of complaining that I had none.
Now I savor each second as it flows by like the drip, drip, drip of my IV. I have nothing to do but doze or watch silly sitcoms on the tiny TV suspended in the corner of my room. Both early and late to my death, I am happy to wait. I have nothing left to do but die.
My fingers crawl to the edge of the bed and find the smooth surface of my new best friend–a glossy black e-reader. I don’t know who left it on my hospital bed but it’s full of stories I’d never let myself read before. The ones I’d avoided at the library–the ones with strong-jawed, shirtless guys on the cover, with bulging muscles and another bulge straining the front of their tight pants. I was always tempted to read them, but too embarrassed. I was such an elitist coward. I missed so much.
The Tribute rises from the Jabolian pod. Her body is lithe and strong, all scars her skin glows tan and healthy. Her hair falls in shining waves past her waist.
Now that’s a fantasy. I haven’t had hair in a long time. The chemo took everything, including my eyebrows.
Her Tsenturion master stands on the receiving deck to greet her. His suit molds his strong frame, a glittering grey color that reflects his impatience. As his female tribute approaches, the suit glimmers with a silvery sheen. By the time she has walked the long path to stand before him, the silver has turned to gold.
She is a worthy Tribute.
I finish the story and sigh. Becoming a Tsenturion bride sounds great right about now. Fix all my imperfections and heal my disease. Replace the cancer cells with healthy ones. Throw in a pair of eyebrows, and it’d be worth getting abducted.
I click back to the beginning of the story, ready to read it again, but as I swipe to the first chapter, the e-reader blinks a few times. A new screen appears.
Initiate questioning phase.
New words form onscreen: Are you Doctor Pareena Singh?
I jolt awake and glance around the empty hospital room. How did the device learn my name?
The e-reader gives a little chirp as if reminding me to answer the question. Are you Doctor Pareena Singh?
I click “Affirm identity” and type in my full name and title as prompted. I haven’t referred to myself by my title since I stopped working as a psychologist, after the first round of chemo failed. The staff around here don’t know I have my doctorate.
It feels good to be recognized. I turn the e-reader over, checking for signs that someone has tampered with it. Whoever sent it to me must have programmed it with my name.
Another question appears on screen. Do you have children?
What the hell? That’s invasive. I should throw the thing aside in protest. Instead, I hit “No” in a huff. I must be really bored.
Another question pops on screen. It keeps chirping, so I keep answering.
Over an hour later, I lay back on the pillows, exhausted. I’ve answered over a hundred questions. They just kept coming–asking about my family, my career, even whether or not I had a cat. It reminded me of a dating site one of my friends got me to join–answer all these questions and they’d match you with your true love. After my diagnosis, I stopped dating. I didn’t want to find my true love only to tell him I had a few years to live.
I close my eyes for a moment until the device beeps impatiently. New words swim across the screen.
<Swipe right for abduction>
That’s new. The text blinks at me, green.
<Swipe right for abduction>
This has got to be the weirdest computer game ever invented.
<Swipe right for abduction>
Well, what can it hurt? I touch the screen with a finger, pressing lightly to steady it. My hands are bony with veins standing out. They look like they belong to a much older woman.
<Doctor Pareena Singh> My name scrolls across the screen once again. <Swipe right for abduction>
What the hell. I’m stuck in this hospital bed, dying of Stage IV cancer. My e-reader wants me to swipe right to play a stupid game?
I got nothing to lose.
I place a trembling finger on the screen. The e-reader gives an encouraging chirp as I slowly slide my finger to the right…
