Oh No, I Shot A Spaceship And Kissed An Alien Cyberchef (At The Alien Hotel #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

LAURA

I glare at the sleek, silvery NutriSynth machine, resisting the urge to give it a good whack. It might work on Earth appliances, but knowing my luck, hitting this alien tech would probably cause it to explode—or turn me into a frog or something.

“Come on, you glorified microwave,” I mutter, jabbing at the control panel. “All I want is a cup of coffee, or in this case not-coffee. Is that too much to ask?”

Apparently, it is. The screen flashes, then goes dark. Great. I’ve broken the stupid thing. Add “Destroyer of Alien Tech” to my ever-growing resume of failure.

I whack it for good measure because what is there to lose? I’m pretty sure all I achieve for my efforts is a stinging hand and an empty cup. At this rate, I’ll have better luck trying to brew coffee by harnessing the heat of my frustration.

I run a hand through my brown, tangled hair, wincing as my fingers catch on knots. Everyone comments on my long waves, but very few seem to realize how much effort it takes to keep them looking sightly. No shaggy mountain lady or frizz monster here, thank you very much. At least I can control a calm exterior, despite the turmoil inside.

The other human women will be waking up soon, expecting their morning caffeine fix. Or whatever passes for caffeine in this corner of the galaxy. If I can’t figure out how to work this machine, I’ll have a riot on my hands. After everything we’ve been through—the abductions, the fear, the uncertainty—the least I can do is make sure they have a decent start to their day. It’s not like I can offer them a trip back to Earth or a “Get Out of Alien Abduction Free” card.

It isn’t much, but it’s something I can control in this crazy new life. If only we had real coffee beans and not this stupid machine that squirts out what I suspect are plastic-infused flavors made from who-knows-what goop. I don’t trust it at all. For all I know, it’s recycling our tears of homesickness into this mockery of a beverage.

“Having trouble?”

I stiffen at the deep, rumbling voice behind me. Nelan. Just what I need to make this morning complete.

I turn to face the Volscian, crossing my arms over my chest. Given his ruby-red skin, long black hair, and sharp horns that sprout from his hairline, everyone has been quick to associate his species with devils and demons. Yeah, whenever this guy is around I’m in my own personal hell. Though, to be fair, he does make the flames look good. Not that he’ll ever catch me admitting it.

“Everything’s under control,” I lie. “I’m just... familiarizing myself with the equipment.”

I focus on how his pointy-tipped tail flicks behind him whenever I speak, much like a cat’s, rather than look up into his pitch-black eyes. There’s no way I’m looking into those depths… The last time I did, I got caught being sucked in, like the faint wrinkles around his eyes were cracks in his fa cade, and that I could see deep into his soul to who he really was.

As if!

A romantic, I am not. I’ve long since learned to be a realist in this harsh life. I can rely on no one but me, and I have no time at all for relationships. Not when I have coffee and breakfast to make. Love is a luxury I can’t afford, especially when I can barely afford to keep my sanity intact.

“Indeed,” Nelan says. He raises an eyebrow, his dark eyes scanning the kitchen. They linger on the blinking NutriSynth, the scattered utensils and dough-filled bowls, and what I am pretty sure is a scorch mark on the ceiling. How did that even get up there? I think I’d remember starting a fire… Then again, maybe I’ve repressed the memory along with my desire to scream into the void.

“And how is that... familiarization going?” His lips twitch, almost smirking, before settling into his usual disapproving frown.

Is he laughing at me? I grind my teeth as I glare at him, imagining tiny daggers shooting from my eyes. Pity my newfound alien life didn’t come with superpowers.

“Just fine, thanks. I don’t need any help,” I snap, turning my back to him. It puts the now functioning NutriSynth at my mercy. Maybe another whack might just solve all my problems—I certainly feel like hitting something. Or someone.

My frustration turns into despair as I stare at the control panel. The symbols might as well be hieroglyphics. Every human at the hotel has received a translator implant, but it doesn’t mean we can read written words. I shrug and stab a few buttons, hoping for the best. It’s a time-honored human tradition: when in doubt, push random buttons and pray.

The output of the damn machine spurts sparks, rather than squirting out hot liquid. I yelp, jumping backward in my haste to avoid being zapped. I’d rather not die if I had the choice, and I’d also rather not have to go to the medical bay for electrical burns or shock… I still don’t trust these alien devices, if I have to admit it. For all I know, their idea of “healing” involves probes and tentacles.

“Clearly you don’t need any help at all,” Nelan says, his voice dripping with sarcasm as his warm breath ghosts over the shell of my ear. I catch a whiff of something spicy and alien. It isn’t an unpleasant scent. I suppress the shiver that rocks through me. He’s entirely too close, crowding me in. My heart beats fast… and I absolutely hate that thrill of excitement that goes through me every time our skin brushes. I have no interest in romance whatsoever, I remind myself.

Do I…?

“I suppose the smoke is a new feature you’ve unlocked?” His voice is entirely too smug.

I’ve definitely got zero interest in romance. Especially with him.

Still, I don’t move away when his chest brushes against my back as he reaches around me to input commands into the machine. I try to focus on his hands, but my eyes are drawn to his cybernetic arm, the metal gleaming under the bright kitchen lights. Despite all their alien technology, or maybe because of it, he’s the only one I’ve ever seen with a prosthetic. I wonder how he lost it? What kind of life did he lead before coming to the hotel? Was he an assassin like Sutek, or a pirate like Valtair? The thought of the pain he must have endured makes something twinge in my chest, an uncomfortable mix of sympathy and curiosity.

“Look,” I say, trying to keep my voice level, refusing to acknowledge him and how he makes me want to squirm, “I appreciate your concern, but I can handle making a simple cup of not-coffee. I’m not completely helpless, you know. I’ve mastered the art of burning toast and overcooking pasta. This is simply just the next step in my culinary journey.”

I laugh, though there’s no real humor behind it. I’m just grateful that my voice doesn’t crack on that last statement. I’ve been helpless more times than anyone should. I’m determined to never, ever, let it happen again. I just have to keep pushing; that’s all. Fake it ’til you make it, right? Even if “making it” in this case means not electrocuting myself with alien kitchenware.

When I glance over my shoulder, Nelan’s expression has hardened into his usual scowl. This guy does not know how to smile, at all.

“I never suggested you were helpless. Merely... incompetent with our technology.”

“Oh, because that’s so much better,” I snap. “Well, maybe if someone had bothered to give me a proper tutorial instead of just expecting me to figure it out on my own?—”

“You seemed quite insistent on doing things your way,” Nelan interrupts, his tone icy. “I believe your exact words were ‘Back off, spaceboy. I’ve got this.’”

I feel heat rising in my cheeks. Okay, so maybe I had been a bit stubborn about learning to use the alien tech. But after years of being told what to do and how to do it, I’ve developed a bit of an independent streak. Sue me. Or don’t. I can’t even figure out how to make coffee, let alone the intricacies of planetary law.

“Fine,” I said, stepping aside and waving my hand at the offensive device. “Since you’re clearly the expert, why don’t you show me how it’s done? Dazzle me with your alien barista skills.”

Nelan nods curtly, moving to stand beside me. His fingers fly over the control panel, inputting commands with practiced ease. Show-off.

“The key,” Nelan says, his tone clipped and professional, “is to input the correct molecular structure for your desired beverage. Simply asking for ‘coffee’ will confuse the system, as it has no frame of reference for Earth drinks.”

“We call it not-coffee, thank you very much,” I retort. My cheeks flare with embarrassment at how I’m acting like a stubborn child. Of course it isn’t coffee; we are out in the middle of who-knows-where in space. This not-coffee is the best we abducted girls have been able to come up with. It’s our little slice of home, even if it tastes more like a slice of despair and wet socks. At least it has caffeine in it, or something close to it. In all honesty, not that far off from some well-established coffee chains on Earth.

I watch, grudgingly impressed, as he manipulates the holographic display with practiced ease. It probably helps that he can read the damn language, rather than simply guess at the meanings. The whole molecular structure thing… yeah, that’s beyond me. Big words don’t make things taste good, though. Last I checked, “delicious” isn’t part of the periodic table.

“I’ve sampled this ‘not-coffee’ you all seem to crave,” Nelan continues, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Perhaps this variation will be more to your liking.”

A steaming stream emerges from the machine’s nozzle, filling my cup with a dark liquid that smells tantalizingly like coffee, but with subtle notes of something... different. Exotic. Like a vacation in a mug, if your idea of a vacation involves being kidnapped by aliens .

“There,” Nelan says. “I’ve adjusted the formula slightly based on my understanding of human taste preferences. I’ve saved it to the system’s memory, so even you should be able to replicate it in the future.”

I reach for the cup, my fingers brushing against his as he hands it to me. A jolt of... something shoots through me at the contact. Probably just static electricity. These alien fabrics are hell on my hair. Definitely not something that implies I’m attracted to him. Nope. Not at all. And if my heart skips a beat, it’s clearly just a minor cardiac arrhythmia. Nothing to see here, folks.

“Thanks,” I mumble, cheeks heating as I take a sip. It still isn’t quite coffee, but it’s close enough to satisfy my craving. Better than the sludge we were making previously. It’s like... if coffee had a one-night stand with a spice rack and this was their love child.

Nelan just stares at me as I sip… unrepentant. It’s a bit unnerving, being scrutinized so much… and yet a small part of me whispers that I love the attention.

Despite all my complaints, and my admittedly poor behavior, the guy still helped me get this life-saving drink. Maybe he’s not so bad. Maybe we can find a way to get along and share the space…

“Maybe…” The kitchen door bursts open, cutting off my offer of a truce.

Zoe stumbles in, her hair a wild mess and her eyes barely open. She looks like she had a rough night. Or morning. Her mate, Taruk, waves at us as he walks past the door, a wide grin on his scarred face. No guessing there then.

“Coffee,” she groans. “Need coffee.”

I can’t help but laugh at my friend’s zombified state. “Coming right up, Sleeping Beauty. Though I think you need a gallon of it, not just a cup.”

Within moments, the breakfast rush begins with the other girls filing into the room and finding their usual seats. When it rains, it pours, and these girls are thirsty. Literally.

Zoe collapses over the kitchen counter, looking ready to sleep there if given the chance. I flash a smile at Elana as she grabs the stool beside her, looking equally tired.

A couple of the girls have recently found their mates. It’s no surprise that they haven’t had much sleep lately. If only all of us were that lucky. Or unlucky, depending on how you look at it. I’m still on the fence about whether alien romance is a dream come true or a cosmic joke.

I steal a glance at Nelan from the corner of my eye. The guy’s arrogant, rude, infuriating and… yep, definitely cosmic joke level.

“Try this,” Nelan replies, serving Zoe. I grit my teeth. Is it because he’s serving her, or is it because it’s made by that damn machine? I’m not entirely sure what this mix of emotions I’m feeling is.

I don’t like it.

“How about breakfast?” I ask, eager to regain control of the situation. “I’ve prepped pancakes. Who’s up for pancakes?”

A chorus of half-hearted cheers rings out… if those moans and grumbles can even be considered cheers. We aren’t all morning people apparently. More like morning zombies, shuffling towards the promise of carbs and caffeine.

I smirk as I crack eggs into a bowl, heaped with the closest thing to flour I’ve been able to find. Some sort of grain that puffs up and thickens when exposed to liquid. At least, I think it’s a grain. Please, for the love of God, don’t be some sort of bug or something… I’ve already had enough protein in my diet from swallowing my pride this morning .

To be honest, I enjoy this; cooking for my friends and family as they banter and prod each other. It feels like… well, it feels like home. Before the abduction. A slice of normalcy in our decidedly abnormal lives.

“So what are you girls up to today?” I ask, flipping a pancake with a flourish. I revel in the moment, embracing the one thing I’ve ever been good at. And enjoyed. Cooking for me… it’s like coming home after a really long day. I need this in my life.

“Well, actually…” Zoe looks up at me, a smile spreading across her lips.

“Please tell me it’s not another alien petting zoo on our hands!” I exclaim. I’m still finding fur in places fur should never be.”

The last time anyone burst into my kitchen with news, we’d ended up chasing escaped Yum-Yums through the air vents for three days straight. My hands still bear the tiny teeth marks from that particular adventure. I didn’t even participate in rounding them up, so why am I the only one with bite marks? Oh, that’s right, I didn’t go to the med bay to get the little wounds healed in seconds. Unnatural. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer my healing to take place over time, not in the blink of an eye.

A book snapping closed draws my attention to the other end of the table. Charlotte, with her thick, owlish glasses, watches us intently.

“A top-tier, fancy-pants, VIP guest is about to arrive,” she states, voice ominous.

My eyebrows shoot up as I turn to include Charlotte in the conversation. It’s rare for her to talk to us and not be absorbed in reading her book. “A VIP? Here? Did Rist finally convince that alien boy band to do a concert?”

Elana’s eyes light up. “Ooh, now there’s an idea! But no, even better. We’ve got ourselves a genuine Volscian military general incoming.”

“What I don’t get is why someone so important would want to visit our run-down, out-of-the-way, little hotel?” Charlotte asks. “I know that Rathdalia’s review helped, but enough to get some real bigwig here?”

“Ask the General,” I tell her simply, pouring batter into the fry pan. All I need to know is how many guests I’ll be serving. And whether they have any dietary restrictions. Knowing our luck, the General is probably allergic to oxygen or something equally inconvenient.

“He should be landing any time now,” Charlotte tells us, nodding to herself like she plans to accost the General with questions. Will I be apologizing to this poor guy later today?

“Do you have any ideas why he’s visiting, Nelan?” She asks my hunk of a… co-worker. “Or why Rist is so on edge?”

Nelan shakes his head, turning back to the NutriSynth to process some more not-coffee. Like always, he’s more interested in that machine than me… us. I’m starting to think he and that contraption might need to get a room.

“Not everything is a mystery to be solved, Charlotte,” I tell the owlish woman as I place the first plate of pancakes before her, redirecting her attention. Trust Charlotte to immediately start piecing together some mystery; she’s obsessed with them. Even the one item she clings to daily, reading constantly, is some crime story. Sometimes I wonder if she sees our daily lives as one big case to be solved.

“All I know is I’ve been up all night preparing for the arrival of the ship. So many guests…,” Zoe laments.

Charlotte and I both snort. She was probably up all night long with her mate, Taruk .

“Let’s just consider this a chance to impress someone important,” I tell them, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. “Who knows? Maybe if we play our cards right, we’ll get a five-star review on Yelp: Intergalactic Edition.”

Zoe eagerly reaches for the plate that I hand to her. I beam down at my creation. It’s not quite a pancake, but it’s good enough. I’m proud of what I’ve achieved, given I lack any traditional ingredients. Gordon Ramsay might have a conniption if he saw these, but hey, in space, no one can hear you critique.

“You know,” Nelan says, his voice dripping with disdain as he stares down his nose at my creation, “the NutriSynth can produce a nutritionally perfect meal in seconds. It’ll be much easier to serve everyone that instead of going to all this effort.” He waves a hand dismissively at the plates of home-cooked fare.

“Excuse me?” I declare, hands on hips. This guy needs a serious attitude adjustment. Just because he was some hotshot chef back on his home planet didn’t give him the right to look down on my cooking skills. “Just because it wasn’t made by your precious machine doesn’t mean it’s not real food.”

Nelan’s eyes narrow. “True meals are manufactured, not cooked. It’s the only way to ensure consistent quality and nutritional balance.”

“Right,” I drawl. “Because nothing says ‘quality’ like food that tastes like cardboard and sadness.”

Nelan stands before me, his cybernetic hand opening and closing. I take a step back, heart suddenly hammering.

It’s happening again. I’ve pushed someone too far. My hand grips the kitchen counter, grounding me and hiding my shaking. I won’t stand down. I won’t submit, even if the world is closing in on me.

Nelan stares at me for a long moment, tension strong between us. Then he simply spins on his heel and marches towards the walk-in freezer.

“I’ll fetch extra nutrient packs for the NutriSynth,” he states over his shoulder, his voice dripping with seniority. “Perhaps seeing a true chef at work will enlighten you all on the superiority of modern culinary techniques.”

As the freezer door slams behind him, I remember the other girls in the room, watching. I roll my eyes dramatically. “Well, that’s Nelan in a nutshell. All machine, no soul.”

I turn back to my pancakes, determined to ignore the lingering tension in the air. Who needs romance when you’ve got a kitchen to run and mouths to feed? Certainly not me. I’ve got more important things to worry about than some uptight alien chef with a chip on his shoulder. Like figuring out how to make these pancakes fluffier without real milk or eggs. That’s a challenge worthy of my time – unlike trying to soften Nelan’s hard edges. Though I have to admit, those edges are rather... aesthetically pleasing.

As I’m flipping the next batch of pancakes, Sutek saunters into the kitchen, door banging closed behind him. He waves a greeting to everyone present but quickly makes a beeline for his mate.

“Elana, feast your eyes on this beauty,” he says, proudly holding up what looks like a remote control. “The latest in perimeter defense technology.”

Elana’s eyes sparkle as she turns to her mate. “Ooh, is that the new model you wanted? The one with the targeting system? ”

“The very same,” Sutek grins. “Want to take it for a spin later?”

I shake my head, amused by their enthusiasm for weaponry. Those two are certainly soul mates. Nothing says “true love” quite like a shared passion for things that go boom.

Sutek tosses the device in the air, likely trying to impress Elana. Only, he doesn’t catch it with the flourish he was clearly expecting. The remote slips from his grasp, skittering across the floor and stopping right at my feet. So much for alien grace and agility.

“I got it,” I say, bending down to pick it up. Thankfully this isn’t some laser gun that shoots randomly at the first bump. If it was, I’d be one of the first people backing up; I deter violence. Being turned into Swiss cheese isn’t on my to-do list today.

As my fingers close around the device, I feel something give under my thumb. A soft beep emanates from the remote, followed by a series of clicks.

A low rumble shakes the kitchen. Pots and pans rattle ominously on their hooks.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, looking around at the others. “Please tell me that was just everyone’s stomachs growling in unison for my delicious cooking.”

Sutek’s face has gone pale, his eyes wide. “Laura, what did you press?”

Before I can answer, a series of loud whirs echo through the building.

“I didn’t… I… You were joking about it controlling defenses, right?” My voice climbs an octave with each word.

It’s an ongoing joke that Sutek’s got turrets hidden on the hotel’s roof. That’s a joke, right? Please, universe, let it be a joke.

“Where’s the safety on this thing?” I cry out, waving the remote in Sutek’s direction.

“What safety?” He cries back, equally alarmed. “It’s just a remote! Why would it need safety? It’s the thing that keeps us safe!”

“It’s clearly not safe,” I cry as I shove the remote into his hands. “This thing needs a child lock, and for you to not throw it about like a toy!”

A deafening boom cuts me off, the force of it nearly knocking me off my feet. Nelan bursts out of the freezer, looking around wildly.

“Oh no,” I breathe. “Please tell me those aren’t-“

“What’s happening?” Nelan demands, eyes zeroing in on me. Like I’m the one that started this mess. Which, okay, technically I did, but it’s not like I woke up this morning thinking, “You know what would be fun? Starting an interplanetary conflict!”

“I think... I think I just shot a spaceship,” I admit, my voice small.

Nelan’s eyes widen in horror. “The only ship we are expecting today is the General’s…”

As if on cue, alarms begin to blare throughout the hotel. Sutek’s frantically pressing buttons.

“It’s not responding!” he growls.

“What do you mean it’s not responding?” I exclaim. “Can’t you just turn it off and on again or something? That works for computers, doesn’t it?”

I’m pretty sure that’s the extent of my IT knowledge, and apparently, it doesn’t translate well to alien weaponry.

Another boom shakes the building, and I can hear the faint sound of something large whooshing through the air outside .

“Brilliant idea!” Charlotte calls out. “We need to cut the main power.”

This is not how I imagined my morning going. All I wanted was to make some pancakes, maybe exchange a few barbs with Nelan, and get on with my day. Instead, I’m about to plunge an entire hotel into darkness to prevent an intergalactic incident.

“The control room’s in the basement!” Nelan shouts, dashing out the door. We all follow, somehow no one smacking into the swinging door. A small miracle. Given my luck, I’m surprised I didn’t get smacked in the face. Then again, the day is still young.

Nelan leads the way to a massive control panel covered in blinking lights and switches.

“Which one is it? Which one?” I shout, my eyes jumping between what has to be hundreds of buttons. Why doesn’t anyone make technology easy to use? What happened to the big red “do not press” button? Or better yet, a simple “Oops, I accidentally started a war” switch?

Nelan’s metal fingers slam a sequence into the machine.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then, with a series of clicks and whirs, the lights flicker and die. The constant hum of machinery that I’ve grown so accustomed to fades into silence.

We stand in the dark, breathing heavily, waiting.

“Did it work?” I whisper. “Or are we all about to be fucked?”

As we wait for an answer, I can’t help but think that this whole situation would make for one hell of a Yelp review. “Great pancakes, nice atmosphere, staff accidentally shot down a general’s spaceship. Three stars.”