Gyft (Rescued by the Alien)

Prologue

EARTH, 2099:

“PLEASE!” I FEEL MYSELF blanch. “I can’t possibly go to some strange planet. Another whole galaxy. No. Just no.”

My father sighs. “Olivia, we discussed this.”

Next to him, his second in command and long-time business partner—my best friend Yvette’s father—stands just as tall and unyielding, his dark hair silvered at the temples.

“I don’t want to go! And I don’t want to get married .” Married. I’m in the prime of my youth, the famous daughter of Alexander Nash, the height of fashion and maybe at twenty-six, pushing it a little. But I’ve got a couple good years to go before my twenties morph into my thirties and surely there’s time to consider settling down then? Until that happens, I have millions of followers on Impreffilide, and I pride myself on showing my true self, a real time hologram, as unfiltered as possible, my movements smooth and graceful for others to imitate. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Of course, it also helps when you have access to the finest, richest fabrics money can buy. The cleverest of designers. Vitamin creams and exfoliating wraps.

“There are tons of willing women who want—”

“Gyft chose you,” Father says flatly.

I roll my eyes. “Of course he did.” Many men already have... should I be surprised that the alien who regularly vids with Father wouldn’t become besotted by the very brief glimpses of me in the background? “But I’d be willing to train a replacement. ”

“He doesn’t want a replacement,” my father snaps. “He wants a daughter of the company. That means he was shown you and Yvette in images, and he chose you.”

My darling Yvette came that close to being chosen? She’s too delicate for such a horrendous fate. I’m too delicate for such—

“Would you rather have millions of people—”

“All of those followers ,” Richard Dickeson adds.

“Millions of followers,” Father agrees, “die?”

“Die?” My hands flutter wildly. “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. Besides, what about Christmas?”

Every year, Yvette and I put on a charity event to gift—no pun intended toward my alien admirer—needy children with their wants and desires. We play Santa and pay for a stand-in Claus, basically. We’re two admittedly sexy elves.

“There will be no Christmas. No planet. No people. No nothing,” Father snaps. “Do you want to be responsible for the destruction of our people, Olivia? Or do you want to be the hero who sacrifices herself so many can live?”

Here’s the thing. I may be pretty, but I’m also smart. Smart enough not to show that I realize we’re in this predicament because Father—mine and Yvette’s—chose to jump ahead and contact aliens as soon as they developed the capability.

Without thinking of the consequence. Now their daughters are the ones to pay the price.

“But... but... what’s the use of being a sacrifice if no one knows I’m willing to”— I take a deep gulp— “die for them?”

Richard Dickeson loses patience. I feel for Yvette, I do. Hers is the crankier of our parents.

“Forget it. I’ll just tell Yvette she’ll have to do it. She won’t have a choice.” I can almost hear the sneer in his voice, see Father hang his head a little in shame .

“No,” I whisper softly. “Don’t make Yvette do it. It’ll break her little heart.” I sigh. “I’ll go.”