Julia Huni's Blog, page 3

First Contract

Part the final

Here's the ending of my short story. If you missed part three, click here.

Part two.

The beginning

When I wake a few hours later, I take a quick shower and put my creased clothes back on. Next time I get abducted by aliens, I need to remember to bring a change of underwear.

I open the door to find Alt sitting at one of several small tables in a large room. Sunlight streams in from translucent skylights. A buffet covers a long table near the far wall, and a dozen other people are filling and emptying their plates. “They even have a waffle maker,” Alt says, gesturing with his white coffee mug. “It’s like that time we stayed at the Marriott when we were kids.”

“Looks like every corporate hotel, ever.” I leave Alt at the table as I serve myself some scrambled eggs, a fruit-filled Danish and a cup of coffee with cream. “I don’t suppose you can really call this a Danish, though,” I tell Alt as I sit down. “I wonder what they call it.”

“It’s a Danish,” Rogers says, plopping a mountain of food down on the table and sliding into another chair. “This is all Earth food. It’s one of the things we hope to export. The rest of the universe doesn’t have anything like this.” He starts shoveling in the grub.

In fact, everyone around us is eating as if there’s no tomorrow. “It’s a wonder you folks aren’t all four hundred pounds,” Alt says. “If you eat like this every day, Earth will run out of food in no time.”

“We have very fast metabolisms,” Rogers says. “Gotta keep stoking the machine. I think that’s why the food in the rest of the galaxy is so bland—it’s more about refueling than enjoying.”

“If Earth could import that, you’d make a fortune,” I mutter. “The fast metabolism, I mean.”

Alt raises his coffee cup. “I’ll drink to that.”

When we finish our meal, Rogers takes us back to the conference room. “I think they want your input on something,” he says, his voice wondering. “In all the years I’ve worked for GRC, I’ve never heard of them asking the natives for advice.”

A larger group of suits has gathered at the conference table, but Carol, wearing a pink ensemble today, remains in charge. “Thank you for coming,” she says in a mechanical voice.

Not like we had a choice. I attempt a regal nod, but it probably just looks surly.

“Thanks to, er, Steve,” Carol gestures to Rogers, “we have a bit of a situation. As he’s told you, we are attempting to bring Earth to market. The assessments show that Earth, as a whole, isn’t ready for the larger galaxy yet. Normally, we’d set a few more cultivation programs in place and let the planet grow for another decade. However, our competitors are making a concerted effort to not only undermine our programs, but also to force a premature revelation which would result in our organization being banned from cultivation in the future.”

“GRC,” Rogers says.

“What?” Carol gives Rogers a confused look.

“We’re calling our organization GRC. Galactic Research Corporation. And we’re calling our opposition The Other Guys. TOG.” Rogers smiles.

Carol narrows her eyes. “How very, er, helpful. Thank you, Steve.” She doesn’t sound very appreciative. Rogers pales and bows his head.

“Maybe we want TOG to scare you guys away.” I cross my arms over my chest, repeating the argument that got them all riled up last night.

“Ah, yes, thank you for that lead in,” Carol says, a polite smile pasted on her face. “We’ve prepared a presentation. Bruce, could you get the lights?”

Carol launches into a thirty-minute slide show entitled Project Earth: Cultivation and Curation of Pre-Galactic Planets. When she starts throwing five-star reviews from the indigent populations of other planets onto the screen, I hold up my hands in surrender.

“All right. Fine. Let’s say I agree with you.” As the lights come up, I narrow my eyes at Carol as if to imply I’m not convinced. But actually, I kind of am. “Can’t you just expose TOG’s activities and get them banned or something?”

“We can, if we can get proof of their perfidy.” She uses the melodramatic phrase with a complete lack of self-consciousness.

Alt sits up in his seat. “Maybe Rina and I can help. Like a sting operation.” He rubs his hands together. “We’ll just hang around that building where Steve was, uh, cultivating me,” he throws a weak grin at Steve, “and we’ll let the TOG guy catch us. Then we can record him making inappropriate suggestions. Or something.”

“Hey!” I protest. “I don’t want to get caught by aliens. Again. No offense,” I add when Rogers looks distressed.

“None taken,” he replies, and his sunny smile snaps back in place. “Don’t worry, Tony won’t hurt you. That would get TOG in real trouble.”

“Tony?” Alt asks. “Please tell me his last name is Stark.”

Carol gives him a quelling look, but Rogers smiles.

* * *

I sit on a counter, swinging my legs, bored out of my mind. “It’s Saturday,” I whine. “We’ve been here all morning and no aliens have shown up. I want to go home.”

Across the room, Alt types furiously on his laptop, refining his data sifting program. Apparently, coding is really Zen—or so he told me. I suppose I could log in to the Simmons and Blake VPN, but I don’t feel like working. Acting as bait for evil aliens isn’t conducive to creative endeavor, if you ask me. Besides, it’s Saturday.

The real janitorial crew cleaned up the spilled popcorn and emptied the recycling bin, but Alt has managed to spread chip bags and empty soda cans all over the room in the few hours we’ve been here. I sip my coffee and wrap a blanket more tightly around my shoulders. The room is frigid. I’m wearing three of Alt’s sweatshirts over my jeans and sweater, and I’m still freezing.

When the doorknob rattles, Alt looks up. He must have been pretending to work—I’ve never seen him respond that quickly when he’s in the zone. The door opens, and short woman with a pale blond bob walks in. She’s wearing yoga pants and a long, red sweatshirt with a ripped neckline that slips down off one shoulder. Very eighties.

“Can we help you?” I ask.

“I’m Toni Stark,” she says, closing the door behind her.

Alt and I blink at each other.

“I’d like to talk to you about Steve Rogers,” she says, not commenting on our stunned expressions. Maybe she just doesn’t notice. “I understand you have been in contact with him?”

“The suit from Multi-Tech?” I ask, sitting up straighter. “What about him?”

“He’s not who he claims to be.” She’s standing just inside the door, watching us.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” I start swinging my feet again. “Who is he?”

“He’s the representative of an evil organization intent on taking over the world.” She delivers the words in a flat tone.

Alt’s eyes widen. “Really? An evil organization?”

I bitie my lip, trying not to snicker.

She moves a few more steps into the room and sits down. “Can I have some of those chips?” She reaches toward Alt’s desk.

“Sorry, they’re all gone.” He swipes the bag off the desk and into a trash can. A few chips fall out, but he picks them up and throws them into the bin. “Tell me about this evil organization.”

“They’re evil. Why is it so cold in here?” She hikes the sweater up on her shoulders and wraps her arms around her torso.

“What are they doing?” Alt asks. “I mean, how are they taking over the world?”

The woman blinks at Alt. She opens and closes her mouth then licks her blue tinged lips. “I—do you have any coffee? Or anything sweet?”

“Look, lady,” I say, throwing off my blanket as I leap to my feet and looming over her. “You barged in here making accusations. We didn’t invite you for a coffee klatch. Say what you came to say or get out. Where does this evil organization come from?”

“Outer space,” she whispers, her teeth chattering so loudly we almost can’t hear her. “They come from outer space.”

“Okay, we got her!” The door flies open, and Rogers bursts in wearing a knit hat, a thick parka, and ski gloves. He snags my blanket off the counter and throws it over Stark, who wraps it tightly around her shoulders. “Turn up the heat, would you?”

Alt gives him a thumbs up and taps on his phone. The cold air blowing in through the vents changes to warm.

Stark stares up at Rogers. “You! You tricked me!”

Rogers smiles and hands her a huge coffee cup. “And we got it on tape. TOG is screwed.”

“TOG?” She wrinkles her nose. She snakes a hand out of the blanket, snatches the cup and chugs her triple caramel mocha supreme.

* * *

“Weird how stupid they get when they’re cold, isn’t it?” Alt says as we amble out into the sunlight.

“I dunno.” I squint up at him. “You aren’t too bright when you’re hungry. The cold just multiplies the effect for them.”

Carol waits for us in the parking lot. “We’ll fly you back to Portland, and you’ll talk to your colleague?”

I nod. “I already texted her. She’s stoked.” With Toni’s blunder, TOG is out of the picture, and GRC has all the time in the world. Carol and I came up with a plan last night. GRC will send their employees to Sonia’s client, the culinary school. GRC will export trained chefs, without exposing Earth to the rest of the galaxy. They’ll be able to make a little credit, and the galaxy will get delicious food without depleting Earth’s resources. Meanwhile, GRC will continue their program of planetary development. After twenty or thirty more years of careful indoctrination, Earth will be ready.

I hope.

I hope you enjoyed this story. Check out the anthology for more amazing tales. Beyond the Stars: Rocking Space

The post First Contract appeared first on Julia Huni, Author.

First Contract

Part the third

If you missed the second part of the story, click here.

As they discuss pop culture, we careen down a hill into a deep canyon. The car skids on the gravel road, twisting through the turns, throwing me against my seatbelt. I grip the handle above the door and make deals with God. When we start back up the other side, Rogers mashes down the gas pedal. The tires spin in the gravel and we tear up the hill. Behind us, the flashes of headlights get closer. We fly through several more hairpin turns and onto a narrower road. This one is riddled with potholes. I bite my tongue, twice.

Finally, we skid to a stop in the shadow of a low outcropping of rock. “Come on, we have to go on foot,” Rogers says.

“You go ahead,” I say, not moving from my seat. “Alt and I will just drive back to town. Your frenemy back there will probably follow us, and you can get away.”

“No, you have to come with me. If they get ahold of you, they’ll use you to blow this job. Come on.” Both men are already out of the car, and Rogers has yanked one of the back doors open. He reaches in and grabs my arm, pulling me out of the car as easily as I remove a bag of groceries.

“I don’t get it,” I say as we run across the rough ground, our way lit only by a thin sliver of moon. “What’s to stop them from just planting stories?”

“If GRC can show they made things up, TOG will be fined. They need to make it look like one of us screwed up and blew our cover.” Rogers leads the way up a rough track, and I increase my pace to keep up. Alt huffs and puffs behind me.

“But you kind of did, right? I mean, Alt found your signal.” I glance back, but the other car is still in the ravine.

“Way to rub it in,” Rogers complains. “We miscalculated. By our estimates, the kind of computing Alt did should have been three to five years in the future.”

“Ahead of my time,” Alt pants, plodding up the hill behind me.

We get to the top of the hill and it’s as if we’ve climbed on top of a massive table. The flat expanse of the prairie stretches away for miles. “There’s nowhere to hide up here,” I cry. The dry air rasps through my throat.

“We don’t have to hide. There’s the ship.” Rogers stops and points up at the sky. I don’t see anything, but I feel a deep rumbling in my teeth. Alt stumbles up next to me, leaning over with his hands on his knees, chest heaving.

“I don’t want to go on the ship!” I say. “What part of that conversation do you not remember?”

Rogers shakes his head. “No time for argument. Come on.”

The rumbling slides up into an ear slipping whine and something grabs my shoulders, lifting me. As my toes leave the earth, I open my mouth to scream, but I can’t pull any air into my lungs. Pressure builds in my chest, and my vision starts to grow dark around the edges.

From far away, I hear a voice yell, “Damn it, Rogers, you won’t get away with this! I’ll see you in small claims court!”

* * *

When the gray recedes, I’m seated at a table in a conference room. Heavy curtains cover one wall, and a screen hangs from the ceiling at the far end. Three women and two men in business suits sit at the far end, arguing in furious whispers. Alt slumps in a chair next to me.

“Alt, are you ok?” I grab his arm and shake it.

He blinks a few times and looks around groggily. “I need a drink.” His voice is raspy, and he coughs a few times.

Across the table, Rogers pours water into a glass and slides it over to Alt without a word. He pours a second one for me and gives us a weak smile.

I gulp down the water and slide my glass back for a refill. “What’s going on?” I ask, jerking my head toward the suits.

“They’re deciding what to do about this whole mess.” Rogers rubs a hand over his face. “You two shouldn’t be here. I’m in really big trouble.”

“Oh, come on,” Alt says. “You aliens abduct people all the time. You aren’t going to probe us, are you?”

Rogers shakes his head. “That’s propaganda spread by TOG. They’ve been trying to ruin our operations on this planet for decades.”

“Wait a minute!” My voice ratchets up and the suits all turn to stare at me. I stare back for a minute, then smile and wave. They go back to their angry conversation.

Leaning toward Rogers, I whisper. “Where are we?”

“We’re on the mothership,” Rogers says, as if it were obvious.

I look around the room again. “This looks like every client conference room I’ve ever been in. I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t you remember getting sucked up out of the desert?” Alt asks, coughing again. His voice is hoarse, but his eyes sparkle. “It was like a scene from a Close Encounters or ET. Tractor beam people hauler.” He turns to Rogers. “Is there a window?”

Rogers stands and beckons us to follow him. We cross the room, to the thick floor-to-ceiling curtains. He gives me a concerned look. “You aren’t afraid of heights, are you?”

I roll my eyes. “Just show me.”

Dramatically, he yanks the curtain aside.

Fog.

I look at him. “Am I supposed to be seeing something?”

He looks out the window. “Well, crap, we must be in the clouds. Yeah, look! Down there.” He points.

I lean forward, nose against the glass and look down. Far below, there’s a break in the clouds, and I can see a small patch of fields and roads, like the view from an airplane. I nod. “Ok, then, we’re in the mothership.” I return to my seat and gulp another glass of water. “I don’t suppose you have any whiskey?”

Throat clearing from the other end of the room ends our discussion. Rogers ducks his head, but Alt and I stare at the suits.

“They don’t look like aliens,” I whisper to Alt.

“Neither does he,” Alt replies, nodding at Rogers.

Rogers makes a shushing noise. I glare at him.

One of the suits stands up. She looks like a woman in her late fifties—salt and pepper hair styled in a short, conservative helmet. She wears a pale blue suit with a straight skirt, matching jacket and a string of pearls over a white scoop-necked shirt. “I am—” she stops, with her mouth open, then closes it. After a moment she tries again. “You may call me Carol. My real name is not easy for Terrans to pronounce. I am the program director for the Terran Development project, also known by its code name, which translates roughly to—” She stop again and looks at her colleagues. “I’ve never said it to a Terran before, and now it just sounds silly,” she mutters. The others make “go ahead” noises, and she turns back to us. “Well, it’s Project Hot Dog Eaters.”

Alt and I gawk at her.

“Because you Terrans eat hot dogs. We’ve never met another species who—” She stops again and takes a moment to fiddle with a tablet device on the table. With a nod to herself, she tries again. “Let’s just call it Project Earth. Our job,” she gestures to the other suits and Rogers, “is to develop civilization on this planet to the point where it will benefit the rest of the galactic economy. Then we’ll bring you into the marketplace.”

I jump up. “Yeah, we’ve heard all this already. If TOG blows your cover, their planet will get approved first and you’ll get bupkus. Yada yada. What happens to us in that case? Does the universe just forget about little ole Earth? That might be the best possible outcome for us. I mean, think about the colonization of Africa and America.” I look at Alt. “None of that worked out too well for the natives. Maybe we want TOG to win.”

The suits erupt into speech, arguing in their ear-splitting language. I turn to Rogers. I’m tired, and this kind of thing is way above my paygrade. Maybe I can get Sonia to help me pass this off to someone from the United Nations or CNN. She has lots of high-powered connections.  “Can I go home now? I have to work tomorrow.” I glance at my watch. “I mean today.”

“Actually, Simmons said you could have today off, remember?” Rogers smiles. He scoots his chair back from the table and leads us out of the room. The suits hardly notice and make no effort to stop us. “I’ll find you two a place to sleep, while we take you home.”

He drops me off in what looks like a normal hotel suite. Even the bathroom looks like it was lifted from a Holiday Inn, with the sink in the main room and a shower and toilet in a tiny enclosed area. “Get a few hours’ sleep,” Rogers says before closing the door.

Somehow, my body takes this as a command, not a suggestion. I barely make it to the bed before I’m out.

Stay tuned for the last bit.

The post First Contract appeared first on Julia Huni, Author.

First Contract

Part the second

Here's part two of the story that's going to the moon. If you missed part, one, click here.

Six hours later, we land in Denver. I’m not sure why Rogers convinced Eddie to send me. But I still have my mace. And a credit card. A single girl’s two best friends.

When we get to his car, I hold out my hand. “I’ll drive.”

He looks at me, and any arguments die. I grab the keys, and we get in. Following the signs, I exit the airport and head toward Colorado Springs.

“It’s after work hours.” I say. “Let’s start at Alt’s apartment.”

“Uh, sure. Okay.” Rogers says.

We drive in silence for a long time, but curiosity finally gets the better of me. “Why is this data so important? Is it really proof of alien life? What would happen if, say, the Chinese government got it?”

Rogers glances at me, then looks out the window again. He’s been staring out the entire drive. “It wouldn’t matter too much.”

“What? Then why all this trouble?” I turn the car into Alt’s apartment complex. The parking lot lights have come on, illuminating the pavement and sidewalks. I’ve been here several times—most recently last Christmas—so I know where to park.

He shrugs. “It’s not the Chinese we’re worried about.”

“So, who? The Russians? The North Koreans?” I park in Alt’s empty spot and glance at the clock. “It’s after seven. He should be home by now.” I text him for the ten-millionth time as I hurry to his apartment.

Rogers grabs my arm, yanking me to a stop.

I fumble for my mace. “What?”

He gestures. “You almost ran into that light pole, and I didn't have my camera ready.” He grins his crooked grin.

I roll my eyes, step around the light pole and sprint up the stairs, pulling Alt’s spare key out of my pocket. When I open the apartment door, it’s obvious Alt is not there. His beloved plants are wilting, so he hasn’t been here in a few days. I hand Rogers a watering can. “Take care of the plants while I check the bedroom.”

“Maybe he’s just at work,” Rogers suggests as he waters a violet. “Is anything missing?”

 “I don’t think so, but it’s been a while since I was here.” I exit the bedroom. “Aside from the plants, the place looks normal. Let’s go to Artcor. Do you know where it is?”

As we walk back to the car, I pull up my social media apps, and sift through Alt’s posts, looking for clues. I’m so distracted by the time we get to the car, I let Rogers drive. At least, I think that’s why I let him drive. Besides, if he’s gone to this much trouble to abduct me, I don’t have much chance, do I? We park in the back of a Target parking lot.

“What are we doing here?” I ask as Rogers slides out of the car.

“Stealth.” He pulls on a dark hoodie and tosses one at me.

“I am not breaking into Artcor!” My voice ratchets up and a couple people near the store look our direction.

“Hush!” Rogers says. “We aren’t going to break in.” He gestures to his chest where I can just make out a Mountain View Janitorial Services logo. I am starting to believe this is a very elaborate prank. Maybe some new reality TV show that shows how stupid people can be? Exhibit A: me.

I slide my hands into the pockets and find a badge. It has MVJS and a picture of a complete stranger. With a shrug, I clip it to the front of the sweatshirt and follow Rogers across the street. If we get arrested, I am demanding a huge raise from Eddie. If it weren’t for him, I’d be safe at home, binging Netflix.

We enter through the back of the building and the guy at the security desk barely glances up. He buzzes us into the service elevator and I tromp in behind Rogers.

“Shouldn’t we have cleaning gear?” I ask as the elevator begins to rise.

Rogers shakes his head. “Cleaning carts are down in the basement. Cleaning staff go down to get them first then head upstairs.”

“You sure know a lot about this building.”

Rogers shrugs. “I worked here a couple years ago.”

We get out on the seventh floor and Rogers turns right without hesitation. He leads the way through a set of double doors. The dingy linoleum-lined hall gives way to a slightly brighter linoleum-lined hall. Numbered white doors line both sides of the hall. “Do you know where Alt’s office is? I’ve never been here before.”

Rogers nods and continues down the hall. He opens door 742 and steps aside, gesturing for me to enter. I guess we’re not worried about stealth anymore. I walk in and stop, barely noticing as Rogers closes and locks the door behind us.

“Rina! What are you doing here?” Alt leaps up from his chair, knocking a torn popcorn bag off the desk. Fluffy white kernels fly everywhere.

“Why aren’t you answering my texts?” I demand, hands on hips.

“They won’t let me,” he whispers. His eyes dart around the room and he looks deranged. His brown hair is greasy and lank. The dark circles under his eyes and pasty skin give him a zombie apocalypse survivor vibe.

“Who won’t let you? Artcor?” I look around the room, but there’s no evidence of anyone else.

“No, them.” He jerks his chin at Rogers.

I spin around. “What is he talking about? You said you couldn’t find him.” Which, now that I think about it, is pretty suspicious. He didn’t have any trouble finding him tonight. I whip out my mace. “Spill it, Mr. Neighborhood.”

Rogers gives me a confused look. “Mr. Neighborhood? Oh, the kids’ show. Funny.” He laughs, too hard, and stops abruptly. “That mace isn’t going to do you any good, so you might as well put it away. It doesn’t hurt me.” He steps forward, his hand outstretched.

I shoot him with the mace.

Rogers smiles and sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “See, no effect.” He licks his lips. “Delicious.”

“He’s an alien,” Alt says.

I blink at Rogers, the overspray from the mace stinging my eyes.

“Right,” I finally say, turning to Alt. “And he’s locked you up here to keep you from reporting his data signal to SETI.”

“Well, it’s not my signal,” Rogers says. “It’s the mothership’s signal to me. But, close enough.”

I sit down, hard. And miss the chair, banging my head against the seat and my butt against the floor. “Ouch!”

Rogers reached out a hand, but Alt lunges forward, batting it away. “Keep your tentacles off her!” My brother pulls me up and into the chair.

Holding up his hands, Rogers back away. “Hands, not tentacles. But, fair enough. I won’t touch either of you. Beverage?” He turns to a stack of soda cases along the wall and picks out a can.

“No, I don’t want a beverage! I want to know what the frak is going on here! Why is my brother locked in a break room? And why did you bring me here?” I rub the back of my head. “Come to think of it, how did you get me here? I’m not usually this compliant.”

The alien shrugs, popping open a can of ginger ale. “We have minor powers of suggestion. As to why, I need the two of you keep my existence a secret.” He drops into a chair and chugs half the can. “I’m here on a scouting mission for the—” he makes some ear-splitting noises.

Alt and I clap our hands over our ears.

“Sorry. Let’s just call it the Galactic Research Corporation.” He swings the chair back and forth as he talks. “We investigate planets whose dominant life form is nearing the—” He breaks off and starts again. “Basically, the human race is close to reaching what you might call ‘pre-school age’ and we’re checking to see if it’s time to enroll you in galactic education.”

“You’re doing a galaxy-ready assessment on the planet?” I ask.

“That’s a much better way to phrase it.” He nods enthusiastically. “There’s a whole team of us here, and that signal you found was basically the pick-up reminder from our Uber.”

“So, if we report that signal to SETI—” Alt leaves the statement hanging.

“They’d know we are watching, media frenzy, martial law, planet-wide panic.” Rogers hangs his head. “Plus, I’d lose my job. I have three wives and a dozen larvae to feed.”

“Ew.” My stomach churns.

“Just kidding. No tentacles, no larvae. No wives.” He smiles winningly.

“So, what do you look like?” Alt cuts me off to ask. “You look human. Is that some kind of disguise or costume?”

“No, humanoids are pretty common in the galaxy. We look just like you. Well, except for the extra digits.” He clasps his hands in his lap.

“Extra digits?” Alt asks.

Rogers fiddles with his fingers, and I hear a soft pop. He holds up what appears to be a plastic pinky in his right hand. “We only have three fingers and a thumb.” He waves his weirdly truncated left hand and shrugs. Then he snaps the finger back on. “It’s not like you use your pinky for anything. Except drinking tea.”

“And pinky swearing,” Alt says, holding up his own pinky.

“Can we get back to the SETI thing?” I demand. The fake finger is kind of freaking me out. “You were talking about martial law and panic.” “

“Yeah, we’ve seen it happen. And I would lose my job. Look, GRC has been doing planetary assessments for millennia. We’ve been here four times in the last century. Once a planet is deemed ready, there’s a carefully orchestrated launch process that introduces the planet to the existence of other intelligent life forms with minimal civil unrest. We’ve screwed it up enough times to get the process down to a science.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Ceti Alpha Six was a nightmare. Took decades to calm them down.”

“And locking anyone who discovers you into a break room to subsist on ginger ale and popcorn is part of this process?” I gesture to the overflowing trash can and the mess on the table.

“That was a bit of an ad-lib. I’m not good at improvising.” He smiles. “Why don’t we go have a nice dinner, and forget all about this ET stuff?”

“Your Jedi mind tricks aren’t going to work on me anymore,” I say, fighting off the urge to drive him to Applebee’s. “But maybe we can just agree to ignore the data, and you can go home?” I raise my eyebrows at Alt, who nods emphatically.

* * *

After cleaning up the popcorn and bagging the trash, we troop down to the car. “Are you guys hungry?” Rogers asks. “We can stop for takeout, then I need to get out to the pickup site.”

“You mean your ride is coming right now?” Alt asks. “But I have so many questions! I want to know more about your planet.”

Rogers shakes his head. “I can’t tell you any of that. And, no, I can’t take you with me.”

We both shake our heads. “You’ve seen too many movies. We weren’t going to ask.” I say. “But can you tell us if we passed the assessment?”

Rogers starts the car and drives out of the parking lot. “It’s not my call, but based on my findings, you need another twenty to twenty-five years.”

“Well, at least I’ll still be alive when you come back,” Alt says. “Look me up when you get here.”

After a stop at Applebee’s, we head east. I fall asleep after we get onto I-70.

* * *

The transition from smooth highway to gravel road wakes me. I lay in the dark on the back seat, listening to Alt and Rogers talking about television.

“We wrote that one,” Rogers is saying.

“What? You mean Roddenberry was one of you?” Alt sounds star struck.

“I can neither confirm nor deny his planet of origin,” Rogers says, “but I can tell you a friendly introduction to the idea of peaceful, space-faring civilizations is one of the key components of our program. Of course, the Prime Directive is pure fiction. We step in to influence development as soon as a species shows begins to industrialize. But the widespread popularity of science fiction is an excellent indication of galactic readiness.”

I stare up through the back window, marveling at the blanket of stars that covers the night sky. A shooting star streaks across space. I stretch and sit up, twisting around to stare back the way we came. In the dim moonlight, I can see rocks and not a lot more. A brief flicker of light illuminates a boulder. “Is someone following us?” I ask.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rogers glance over his shoulder. “I hope not, but it’s possible.”

“Turn off the headlights, and don’t use the brakes,” Alt says as we speed down a hill.

“Maybe not the best idea,” I start to say, but the headlights go out and we pick up speed. “I’d like to survive this trip, if you don’t mind!”

“Alt, you drive,” Rogers says.

“What?!” I screech, scrabbling for my seatbelt.

Alton leans across the center console and grabs the wheel. From my place behind him, I can see that Rogers has closed his eyes.

“What are you doing?!” I cry. It takes me three tries to yank the seatbelt across my lap and click it into place.

“Sssh!” Alt says, twisting around to look at me. “I think he’s doing his Jedi mind thing on the driver behind us.” Our car veers to the right.

“Watch the road!” I scream.

“Not going to work,” Rogers grabs the wheel and yanks the car back onto the road. “That’s one of us back there. Probably from—” he stops and glances at us. “Let’s call them TOG—The Other Guys. They’re GRC’s competition.”

“You mean the Earth is in the middle of some kind of corporate war?” Alt asks.

“Exactly. They’re trying to prevent us from bringing your planet into the galactic economy. They have another planet with similar resources. Whichever company gets their planet approved first will have the advantage, economically. That’s kind of simplified, but close enough.”

“How can they stop you?” I ask, watching out the back for another glimpse of our pursuers.

“If they blow our cover, then GRC gets blamed for the negative publicity, and we’ll be banned from continuing the project. Of course, we’re probably doing the same thing on their planet.” He shrugs. “It’s a bug-eat-bug universe out there. Kidding. We aren’t bugs. That is one of the weirdest things about this planet—your conviction that aliens are bug-like.”

“We don’t think that,” Alt protests. “That’s just old sixties sci-fi. Oh, and Men in Black. There are a lot of non-bug aliens, like the Thermians and Superman. He’s technically an alien. And the Ewoks. They’re cute and cuddly.”

“Who do you think invented Ewoks?”

Check back next week for part three!

The post First Contract appeared first on Julia Huni, Author.

First Contract

Last week, I discovered, two of my short stories are “stowaways” on the Writers on the Moon project.

My stories are going in two different anthologies. Hellcats, The Anthology, is still in Kindle Unlimted, so I can't share Sashelle's Quest. But First Contract was in book 6 of the Beyond the Stars anthology. There are some amazing stories in that book, so it's well worth the purchase price.

However, since it's no longer in Kindle Unlimited, the rights to my story have reverted to me, and I want to share it with you. It's a crazy little story about Earth, aliens, and good Portland coffee. Kind of. 

Chin in hand, I stifle a yawn and try to look fascinated by what the man across the table is saying. As he drones on, he taps on the table, driving home some arcane point. My mind wanders, and I wonder if his eyes are naturally green, or if he’s wearing contacts. Good thing he’s attractive, because he certainly isn’t interesting. My phone, lying on the table, vibrates in the unmistakable SOS pattern. I grab it and look at the screen.

“Sorry,” I say, when Eddie finally stops talking. I push my chair away from the table. “Family emergency. I’ll be back.” Without waiting for a reply, I hurry across the room and out the door. Leaning against a wall, I press the call-back button.

“Oh, good, Sarina, I was afraid you’d be at work.” My brother Alton answers on the first ring. “Wait, why aren’t you at work?”

“I am,” I reply. “Most boring staff meeting, ever. Thanks for the excuse. Now, what’s up?”

“Okay, Rina, listen. Remember when I told you about the data guardalumph I was working on?” He sounds so intense—I can’t bear to tell him I don’t understand the gibberish he’s spouting. Alton works for a company that handles information for big data companies. They contract with the social media giants, insurance companies, and the FAA. I don’t understand most of his work.

“Let’s say I don’t.” I walk to the lobby of Simmons and Blake, the PR firm where I work. Floor to ceiling windows give me a fantastic view of the pouring rain. If I stand on my tippy toes, I can catch a glimpse of the Willamette River. Far below, bikes, pedestrians and scooters dart through the street between busses, cars and MAX trains.

Alt continues as if I’d said yes. “I needed a huge amount of data for my tests, so I spent a few days downloading a bunch of stuff from the public SETI sites. You know, Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence. They collect masses of data.”

I nod. He can’t see it but he won’t give me a chance to respond, anyway.

“I loaded all this noise onto my test server and added my own data. I needed to make sure the system would identify patterns in the noise.” He pauses.

When he doesn’t continue, I prompt him. “Sure, that makes sense. So, what’s the problem?”

“I found a pattern.” His voice cracks.

“That’s great,” I say, always the supportive little sister. “That means your program worked, right?”

“Yeah, it worked. But it didn’t just find the pattern I loaded. It found another one.”

“Okay,” I say. “Why is that a problem?”

“Rina, this is data from distant stars, and I found another pattern. I think I’ve found proof of extra-terrestrial life.”

For long seconds, the words ring in my ears.

Then I laugh. “Good one, Alt! You really had me going!”

“No.” Alt’s voice sounds strangled. “Seriously. I think I’ve discovered aliens.”

* * *

When I return to the conference room, the meeting is breaking up. My coworkers stream out, giving me inquisitive looks, but no one stops to chat. Sonia rolls her eyes, and I grin.

“Sarina, is everything all right?” Eddie, my boss, asks. He disconnects his laptop from the projection system and closes it.

“Oh, yeah, it was just Alt,” I reply. Alt has become a bit of a legend in my office. Sarina’s crazy brother. “I had to talk him down, but he’s fine.”

Eddie nods. “Great. We can’t really afford for you to take any time off this month. That project isn’t going to finish itself.” He laughs on his way out.

“It might if you actually did some work,” I mutter under my breath. I grab my notepad and follow Eddie.

* * *

“Sarina, this is Steve Rogers, from MultiTech,” Eddie says a few days later. “He’s here for an update on the project.”

I shake hands with Rogers, resisting the urge to introduce myself as Natasha Romanoff. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers. Could you excuse us for just a minute? I need to consult Mr. Simmons on another project. We’ll be right back.” Without waiting for a reply, I grab Eddie’s arm and hustle him out of the room.

“What the heck, Eddie?” I whisper as soon as the door shuts. “The project update isn’t scheduled until next week! And it’s supposed to be online, not in person. I’m not ready for this.”

“Pull it together, Sarina,” Eddie says. “Rogers just showed up this morning, asking for an update. You need to show him we’re on schedule.”

I narrow my eyes. “If he ‘just showed up,’ why are you wearing a tie?” Normal attire in our office is jeans and t-shirts. Maybe the occasional sweater. We only dress up for client presentations.

Eddie fiddles with his tie pin. “I have another appointment today.”

“Really?” I fold my arms across my chest. “An appointment that requires a tie? Did someone die?”

“Okay, look. He called yesterday and said he was in town and wanted to come in and see what we’re up to. I couldn’t say no.” He gives me his blindingly white, perfectly even smile.

I’m unimpressed. “Yes, you could have. You could have told him we’re on schedule and will be ready to present next week. Or you could have called me and given me a heads up. Now I have to fix this.”

I tug on the hem of my pink polo, but the wrinkles defy me. At least my jeans are clean. I open the door and stride in. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Rogers.” I smile and sit down across the table from him.

Rogers smiles back. His teeth are even, but not blue-white like Eddie’s, and his smile is crooked. “Call me Steve.”

I nod. “I wish I’d known you were coming today, Steve,” I glare at Eddie, “but I must have missed the memo. We’re on schedule— “

Rogers hold up a hand. “I’m not here for an update. I’m new to this project, and since I was in Portland, I wanted to stop by and meet you. Just a friendly hello.”

“Hello,” I say, watching him carefully. Most of our work is done remotely—this is the first time I’ve had a client drop in unannounced.

He smiles at me and turns to Eddie. “I’d like to borrow Sarina for a couple hours, if you don’t mind. I like to get to know my project managers. Let’s go for a walk, shall we? I think best when I’m moving.”

“I’ve got some things scheduled for this morning,” I say, hedging.

Eddie smiles and shoos me with his hands. “You can reschedule them, Sarina. Take all the time you need.”

I glare at Eddie again, but he makes another shooing motion. “Give me a few minutes to make some calls,” I say.

Rogers nods and settles back in his chair. “I’ll be here.”

I scurry to my desk, open my calendar, and send an email to reschedule my team meeting. I don’t know why Eddie is so anxious to have me schmooze this guy, but MultiTech is one of our biggest clients, so I’ll do what’s necessary. I grab my jacket and stick my head in Sonia’s door. “I might have to blow off lunch today. A client showed up out of the blue.”

She points to her ear—she’s on a call. “I really think recruiting should be our top priority. A culinary school with no students is just a big kitchen.” She digs through a drawer and tosses something to me.

I catch it. Breath mints. I roll my eyes. “Very funny.”

She grins and gives me a thumbs up.

***

When we reach the street, the sun is shining, glinting off the wet sidewalks. I lead the way to the Park blocks—a block wide strip of trees and grass running between Portland State University and the heart of downtown. It’s frequently crowded with students, protestors, or the homeless, but today it’s quiet.

He scans the street around us then says, “I’m not from MultiTech.” He’s shivering, even though it’s fifty-five degrees.

 “What?” I pull my mace from my jacket pocket. “I’m not afraid to use this.”

 “I’m not going to hurt you.” He holds up his hands. “Look, I’ll buy you coffee. And we’ll sit down and talk.”

“Mr. Rogers, or whatever your name is, I have work to do. If this discussion isn’t work related, then I need to get back to my office. You have five seconds to tell me what you want before I go.” I hold the mace up. “Or, I could give you a snootful of this.”

“Look, this is about your brother, Alton James. I’m from SETI.”

“What?”

He hands me a card. It reads SETI INSTITUTE, complete with his name, a phone number, email address and website. “We’ve been trying to reach him, but he isn’t responding. One of our, er, people went out to Colorado, but he wasn’t there.”

“What do you mean, he wasn’t there?” I yank my phone out of my pocket and text Alt.

“He’s not replying,” I tell Rogers. I knew I should have put that tracking app on Alt’s phone.

“He wasn’t at work this morning. Hasn’t been to his apartment since Monday.” Rogers says. “I’m freezing. Can we please go get a cup of coffee?” His lips are blue and his teeth are chattering.

“Okay, but I pick the seats.” We get our coffee and sit at a table by the windows.

“I haven’t decided if I believe you, Mr. Rogers, but suppose you really are from SETI. Why are you looking for my brother?”

Rogers chugs his ultra-creamy, half-caf mochachito, or whatever it is, and the color starts to return to his face. “Your brother contacted you last week, right? About the data?”

“Yes, he called me. Said he’d used some SETI data to test his newest program and swore up and down that he’d discovered aliens.” I try to laugh, but it gets stuck in my throat. “Don’t tell me he actually discovered aliens.”

Rogers laughs, too. It sounds brittle and forced. “Don’t be ridiculous. Aliens don’t really exist.”

“You work for SETI. Isn’t that a conflict of interest or a self-proving conviction?”

He ignores me.

I give him the stinkeye. “Stop stalling and tell me what’s going on.”

His blue eyes bore into my own and I am unable to look away. “I need to talk to Alton. The data he discovered can’t fall into the wrong hands. All will be lost!”

His theatrics do the trick. “Really, Mr. Rogers? Did Alt put you up to this prank? Is he here?”

“I don’t know where your brother is,” Rogers says. “And please, call me Steve. I need your help to find him. He won’t respond to my texts or calls.”

“Let me try again.” I tap in the message, but there’s no response. I hold it up for Rogers to see. “Sorry.”

“Could you come to Colorado with me? Help me locate him?

“Sure, I’ll just let Eddie know I’m taking the rest of the week off, shall I?” I roll my eyes and take another sip of my coffee. “Thanks for the drink, but I think it’s time I head back to work.”

But Rogers isn’t listening—he’s got his own phone to his ear. “Mr. Simmons, please. This is Steve Rogers from Multi-tech. Yes, I’ll hold.”

“What are you doing?” I reach for his phone, but he turns away from me.

“I’ve just spoken to the head office, and we’d like to have Ms. James come out to headquarters and give a presentation. Today, if possible. We’ll take care of the arrangements. Great. Sure, just a minute.” He turns to me. “He wants to talk to you.”

 “I don’t think—”

But Eddie cuts me off. “I don’t want to hear it, Sarina. This is obviously important to Multi-tech, so get going.”

“But Rogers isn’t—”

“You can have tomorrow off. Just keep the client happy.”

Watch this blog for the next installment!

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The Rings of Grissom

The Rings of Grissom went live on Jan 31, 2021!

If you've been waiting for more Triana Moore, she's back.

Grab the book here.

Triana Moore lost her job as a maintenance technician when her boss discovered her true identity. But decluttering the galaxy isn’t just for janitors. When she visits the ringed planet Grissom with security agent Ty O’Neill for his sister’s wedding, Triana discovers just how messy life can get. 

Deported before she can finish her coffee, Triana barely misses an exploding shuttle. But in true space janitor fashion, she decides to investigate. With the help of a pair of mischievous twins, a hard-drinking grandma, and her old frenemy Vanti, will Triana save the wedding?

Of course she will. But how crazy will it get along the way? Open the book and find out!

The Rings of Grissom tells the continuing story of Triana Moore, (former) Space Janitor, but can be enjoyed by new readers as well. If you want to avoid spoilers, read Triana Moore, Space Janitor first. 

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Audiobook!

I created a Kickstarter back in October, to help fund the production of the Space Janitor audiobooks. We brought in enough pledges to reach the first stretch goal, which means both The Vacuum of Space and The Dust of Kaku will be done in audio.

Now, audio is expensive, and the $2019 we raised isn't enough to cover the costs of all the rewards plus both books, but it will get me a good way there. The rest I'm covering, because I think these books will be amazing in audio. No, I know they're amazing–I've listened to the first one. Fingers crossed the audiobook listeners will agree.

My narrator, Kaitlin Bellamy, has done a superb job, and Vacuum is now working its way through the retailer systems to come to an audiobook seller near you. Or at least an internet page you can reach. It's scheduled to go live on Dec 26–everywhere but Audible. The approval process on Audible is slower, and they're really backed up these days, so I'm not sure when they'll get it through. I'll post links as soon as they're available.

The Kickstarter backers who opted for the audiobook reward tier will see their copy as soon as BookFunnel can get it out there. I'll send the codes to my backers the moment I have them.

I also have contracted with Kaitlin to start working on book two, The Dust of Kaku. The manuscript is going through a quick proofing cycle, just to clean up any lingering typos, and then it will go to Kaitlyn in January. Now that she has the main voices nailed down, the creation process will be fast.

Here's the first few minutes. Take a listen and tell me what you think!

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Cover Reveal

I'm very excited to share with you the cover for my newest novel, The Earth Concurrence. I worked with Jennifer Wilson from JL Wilson Designs. She did a fantastic job of capturing my main character and the background is beautiful. I can't wait to do the next one! If only I had a title figured out.

This book will launch in late November or early December. I'm spending a bit more time editing it than I expected. However the pre-order will go up as soon as I get my act together. I'll add a link here when that happens.

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The Earth Concurrence

Last week I finished the first draft of the first book in a new series: The Earth Concurrence.

I'll spend some time over the next few weeks re-reading and editing it, then it will go to my new editor, Paula Lester. Paula is one of my sprinting partners. We meet (virtually) every morning to write together. We write (sprint) for 25 minutes, then chat for 5 minutes. Paula writes cozy mysteries, but she's also a talented editor.

The cover for this book is almost done. I've gone with a new cover designer as well–I'm changing it up all the way around! Jennifer Wilson does amazing work with painted 3-d figures. They look very realistic but can be posed and clothed in a million different ways, which makes them invaluable for cover design. I'll post a cover-reveal as soon as Jennifer is finished. I've seen the work in progress, and it's beautiful.

The story is about Serenity “Siti” Kassis, the 18-year-old daughter of the “hero of Darenti Four.” Her dad is commander of a mission to return to Earth five hundred years after mankind abandoned the planet. Siti gets to come along for the ride, and of course, all kinds of trouble ensues.

If you've read my Recycled World series, some of this might sound familiar–there's a bit of cross-over. But if you haven't read that series, you won't be lost–this new book covers all the backstory.

The series is also set in the same universe as Space Janitor–although it's a touch more serious. There's still plenty of humor and heart. I'm really excited to see how readers receive this new novel.

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Hellcats

At the beginning of the month, my friend, writer and editor extraordinaire Kate Pickford (she writes under pen names so you won't find much on Amazon) posted on her Facebook page that her brother's 79-year-old mother-in-law was being kicked out of her home by an unscrupulous cousin who owns 2/3 of the house. Her nephews (16-year-old twins) had started a GoFundMe page to help Grandma Erada buy out the cousin. 

Kate was looking for ways to help raise funds. She offered editing services–which are totally worth the ticket price! But most authors are closer to the “barely scraping by” end of the financial spectrum. However, one thing we can do is write. Kate saw a book cover that spoke to her, and Hellcats was born.

I'll give you more details as they become available. We plan to publish on September 1, which is incredibly fast for a group of writers to get their act together! In the meantime, here's a snippet from my story Sashelle's Quest.

(If you haven't read Krimson Empire Three: Krimson Surge, there are some spoilers. )

What does a camp cook do? Sashelle asked.

The female–Sashelle was sure now–wrinkled her eyebrows. “I cook for the camp, of course.”

Cook? Sashelle asked. She could sense the meaning of some of the female’s thoughts. You mean the burned meat?

“I don’t burn the meat!” Lisbeth replied indignantly. “If meat was burned, it was that oaf Jarent. My food is good.”

We do not cook our food, Sashelle explained. Heating is a waste of time and good nutrition.

“Agree to disagree,” Lisbeth replied. “What are you doing here?”

I want you to leave our lands, Sashelle replied. This land is under the protection of the Lerrr Pride and you are ruining it.

“You mean the tree removal?” Lisbeth asked. “You’re right, they’re ruining it. But they want to plant more potatoes.”

Why are you here if you agree with me?

“A job’s a job,” Lisbeth answered with a shrug. “But I’m ready to go back to civilization. These loggers are animals.” Her eyes widened. “No offense.”

Sashelle’s eyes narrowed to slits. That is very offensive. They are humans, not animals. We are civilized.

“Fair enough.” Lisbeth held up both hands in surrender. “Do you have a plan?”

Why must I come up with all the plans? Sashelle grumbled. My plan was to tell you to leave and you would go.

“It’s not going to be that easy.” 

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Krimson Flare

I've finished writing Krimson Flare, the fourth book and finale of the Krimson Empire series. It's with Craig now, and he'll read it, run it through our editor and our beta readers then send it back to me. I'll fix whatever needs to be fixed, and send it back to him for publishing.

In the meantime, Ryan Schwarz is hard at work on our last book cover. I'll share it with you as soon as I get it!

All your favorite characters will be back: Quinn and Tony, of course. Liz, Maerk, Dareen and End. Francine, Leo and Dusica. Plus Marielle, Aleksei, and even Tiffany will make a cameo.

Some new friends will show up as well. And how can we forget Sashelle? She'll be there in all her feline glory.

We're hoping it will publish a bit early–perhaps before the end of July. I'll let you know as soon as I do!

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