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

Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

LAURA

M ost of the staff have gathered in the kitchen. Despite the fact that we have actual meeting rooms, and a whole entire hall that can act as a gathering point, or even a ballroom given its size, we meet here. In my domain; the kitchen. Because apparently, when the heat is on, everyone flocks to where the actual heat is. Go figure.

“Good news or bad news first?” Rist asks, gazing around at all of us. Volscian males line the edges of the room, more than I recognize. The human women are squished into any space we can find; some of us are sitting on countertops, and I’m pretty sure one girl’s standing on the small coffee table in the corner. She is not normally that tall. Given how rickety and old that thing is, I really hope it doesn’t break beneath her. But I ain’t about to be the one to call her out—who wants to start an “am I calling you fat” drama, especially right now?

“Good, please,” I beg him. I feel like if I have some hope, then I can deal with the other things that are to come. I really need to hear that Nelan’s okay. Major Zoreth refused to let me in to see him after he was dragged away, and the General was more focused on trying to breathe at the time. Apparently, fine dining isn’t supposed to be a life-or-death experience. Who knew?

“The General is going to recover. We got him in the med chamber in time,” Rist tells us. “We just need to isolate the poison and synthesize an antidote for full recovery.”

Shoulders slump as relief passes through all of us. At least we haven’t killed the guy... somehow. I still don’t understand why he collapsed. Was he allergic to something I put in the food? And why was Nelan arrested instead of me? The Major just jumped at the chance, like they knew each other before...

“The bad news is about Nelan, right?” I ask. That pit in my stomach is growing more and more with each moment that passes. Nelan’s always been a bit standoffish, but what if there was a reason for that?

“It is.”

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. No need to panic. Panicking right now won’t help any of us. Though if anyone has a paper bag, I wouldn’t say no to some controlled hyperventilation.

“Our chef, Nelan, has been arrested, accused of poisoning the General,” Rist announces to the group. The room erupts in noise, each person more upset than the last. It’s relieving to know that I’m not alone in this, that I have friends and family who will support us.

I’m not alone, not anymore. It’s weird how back on Earth, I felt so lost and vulnerable. I’d truly been alone, with not a single soul to help me in my time of need. And yet, here in the vast reaches of space, when I should be the most afraid, I am surrounded by friends. Turns out, getting abducted by aliens was the best thing to ever happen to my social life.

“It’s not looking good for him,” Rist continues.

“Why?” I ask, frustration leaking into my voice. “I was the one who cooked the food. Even Major Zoreth saw that! So why is Nelan the one under arrest?”

Rist sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He grips his horn for a moment, giving it a squeeze. If he was a human, I’d describe the action as pulling at hair. He’s as frustrated as I am at least. We are in this situation together, supporting each other as best as we can.

“I’m sure some of you are aware now that... well...” Rist hesitates. It’s the first time I’ve ever truly seen him uncertain to speak. I’ve seen him frustrated and confused plenty of times... but never hesitant.

“You should tell them,” Sutek announces from the back of the room. He’s leaning against the wall, his red arm around his mate, Zoe. “Only some of them know. They deserve to know.”

Despite the high tension of the room, Sutek looks utterly relaxed. He lounges against the wall, playing with a strand of Zoe’s hair, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Maybe it’s because his mate is beside him... Or maybe it’s all a trick. His eyes shift around the room, studying everyone. Even in his downtime, he’s wearing weapons. I know he’s even got ones we can’t see—hidden in places I don’t even want to know about—because Zoe went on and on one night about how she kept finding them. Despite his relaxed attitude, this male is a trained warrior. No, he’s more than that; he’s an assassin. His entire past, the very fiber of his soul, involves death.

I’m glad Zoe found him and is happy. But I realize with certainty that I don’t want that sort of tension in my life. I like the cozy vibe of chilling out in the kitchen with Nelan, and looking forward to the little things each and every day. I don’t want to have to worry about Nelan coming home or getting injured. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer my relationships without a side of potential homicide.

I choke up when I realize I didn’t get a chance to tell Nelan how I felt. He was asking. It was so obvious! So why did I stall? Why did the words get caught in my throat?

Because I was still scared. I am still scared of getting hurt.

And yet, here I am, about to cry over a guy anyway. All my attempts to keep myself safe, to keep my heart safe, mean nothing. Not when the guy I love is about to be taken from me.

“Everyone here at this hotel hasn’t had the best of luck,” Rist begins. His hollow voice draws my attention. He sounds so defeated right now. “You females all were abducted from your homes. And I’m glad that you found your way here, where you can be safe and find yourselves again. Really, I am...”

Rist stares down at the floor, opening and closing his mouth. Every time he looks like he’s about to talk, he stalls. Jeez, dude, spit it out already! We’re not getting any younger here, and some of us have a wrongfully accused chef to save.

I huff. I’m sick of waiting around, waiting for others to solve my problems. I did that in the past too, when my ex got worse and worse. I was always too scared to stand up for myself back then. I know what it’s like to be abandoned and have no one. I refuse to let Nelan suffer the same fate.

I climb up on top of the kitchen countertop. Shoes on my clean counters! I’m going to have to scrub. I could scream from how frustrated, how pent up I am right now. But hey, at least I’m getting my cardio in for the day. Who needs a Stairmaster when you have kitchen drama?

“We all know what you’re about to say, Rist,” I say, cutting to the chase. “Sutek’s an assassin. Zoe’s sweet but has a salty, violent side if let loose. And Taruk’s used to working with some pretty crazy animals, which rumors may or may not prove to be dragons.”

“Wait, dragons? Are you for real?” Elana gasps. “Seriously, I missed out on a pet yum-yum and now you’re telling me dragons exist?! Can I have one? I want one!”

“Guys, focus!” I shout. “And no, Elana, you’ll set fire to the hotel.”

Rist looks utterly taken aback. He’s gazing up at me with wide eyes, mouth hanging open.

“You know, for a prince we’d expect you to have better manners. You’ll catch flies if you’re not careful,” Charlotte says, leaning over and pushing his lower jaw closed.

“It’s okay,” I reassure Rist. “Us girls gossip. Seriously, it’s like the thing us human women are best at. And we know all about your pasts, about how you led a coup against your brother and failed, and you had to leave the planet and come here.”

Everyone’s nodding along. It’s really common knowledge at this point. I mean, I think only Rist has been keeping quiet about it all, to be honest. Probably some emotional hangups or something. Or maybe he’s just shy about his failed political career. Not everyone can be a successful revolutionary, after all.

“That’s not quite right...” Rist replies. “We didn’t try to lead a coup.”

“Oh, right,” I reply. I was on a bit of a roll, and him correcting me like this is sort of throwing my vibe out of whack. “Whatever you want to call it, we understand. We still love you.”

Rist laughs, looking around at our found family with a mixture of relief and pleasure.

“Thanks, I guess? But I didn’t lead a coup. As you’ve likely noticed, most Volscians become fighters. Our species is kind of known for it. You’re either a warrior in the army or a mercenary,” Rist explains. “We value strength above all. And so, when my father died, it came down to which of his two sons would become the next king. As tradition dictates, our forces battled it out... and I lost. I lost the battles, the war, and many good friends.”

There’s a silence in the room, no one wanting to speak. Rist hangs his head, like he indeed lost something valuable to him that day. I guess he did. His friends died. People he loved.

“As a further insult,” Rist continues, “Rather than kill myself and my closest allies with honor, my brother banished us. We left Latium territory for Galactic Federation space. We were taken in like refugees.”

His lips curl in derision, just for a moment. Not for one moment do I think he’s looking down on us. No, this guy’s got some serious self-hate going on, if I’m not mistaken. He needs a therapist. But then again, who doesn’t?

“Some of us got away clean, like Sutek and me. Taruk... well, he was captured and... yeah...” Rist says. “Plenty more of my men disappeared. Volan and Jen are out there searching for any traces of them as we speak. Better to come here and have some hope of a life, than to be hunted down by your own people for simply being weak.”

“Your people hunted you down?!” Someone gasps.

Rist shrugs. “We value strength. Who wouldn’t want to prove themselves against the once great and mighty prince and his elite forces?”

“Oh, Rist...” I say, sitting on the counter and awkwardly wiggling off of it. I’ve never been one of those athletic girls to jump off things this high - that’s just begging for a broken ankle.

“I don’t need your pity, Laura,” Rist says.

“It’s not pity,” I tell him sharply. “Being strong isn’t about how big your muscles are.”

Rist raises an eyebrow, looking down at me with an expression of someone talking to a child. He probably thinks I’ve gone insane. Maybe I have.

“True strength is about doing the right thing in the right moment. Even when all hope is lost. You might have lost that battle, but not the war. You came here in the hopes to rebuild a new life. You never stopped searching for your missing friends. You took us in when we needed a home. These are not the actions of someone who is weak.”

Why do I sound like I’m telling him to go back to war? I wanted to avoid that, didn’t I? I want that quiet life where my next concern is having enough eggs for pancakes and whether I have to really whack the NutriSynth to make me a cup of not-coffee.

“This is all great and all,” Charlotte says. “But it doesn’t explain why Nelan’s arrested right now. Or what we are going to do about it.”

Oh, right. You know... that should be my biggest concern right now. Not whether or not we go off and start a war. Priorities.

“My father died... because of poisoning,” Rist explains. “Its source was tracked back to the kitchens, to Nelan. Given his history…”

I recoil. The thought of Nelan poisoning someone... He’s grumpy, but he’s not a killer... is he? I mean, sure, his food could be described as “killer” sometimes, but I always thought that was just a figure of speech.

“He didn’t do it,” I state fiercely. I refuse to believe it. Beneath the grumpy attitude, he’s a teddy bear. He’s sweet and goes out of his way to make me and others happy. He’s never hurt me, and I refuse to believe he’s hurt someone else.

“Of course he didn’t!” Rist laughs, squeezing my arm reassuringly. “He was accused, but even during the... interrogation... he maintained his innocence. No, I truly believe my brother was at fault, not that I could ever prove it. And unfortunately, that meant that Nelan and others suffered. Some more than most.”

Rist’s eyes dart to Taruk the Beastmaster. Scarred Taruk. The one everyone jokingly calls ‘the beast.’ One particularly brutal scar running across his face, all because he was captured...

“Is Nelan going to be okay?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself. I’m not a fighter. There’s no way I can just storm in and rescue him, like some damsel-not-in-distress. I mean, the best I can do is drug the food!

Damn... maybe I am more vicious than I first thought I was.

Rist’s expression darkens. “I’ve sent an emergency request for a Galactic Federation detective to investigate. Given we are in Federation territory, Major Zoreth will have to comply. But given Nelan’s history, it’s still likely he’ll be automatically charged with the crime without a thorough investigation.”

The room erupts in outrage.

“They can’t do that!” Zoe shouts, her fists clenched at her sides.

“It’s not fair!” another girl cries out.

“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?” Elana demands, her hand already reaching for one of her many concealed weapons.

I feel my heart sink. This can’t be happening. Not to Nelan. Not when we’ve just... when I’ve just...

“I’m not a fighter,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. The room falls silent, all eyes turning to me. “I’m not like Elana or Sutek. I can’t just storm in and save the day. I’m just... I’m just a chef.”

A chef who can’t even save her own soufflé from falling, let alone save a wrongly accused alien. My ex was right about me; I’m a failure.

Charlotte steps forward, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Laura, you’re not just anything. You’re smart, resourceful, and you know Nelan better than anyone here.”

I look up at her, tears threatening to spill. “But what can I do? I feel so... helpless.”

Charlotte’s eyes light up behind her thick glasses. She looks far too happy for this situation. It’s like she’s just cracked the case in one of her mystery novels. “Well, if this were one of my mystery novels, what would the protagonist do?”

I blink back the tears, considering her words. What would a plucky heroine in one of Charlotte’s books do? She wouldn’t sit around feeling sorry for herself, that’s for sure. She’d probably whip up some elaborate plan involving disguises, secret codes, and inexplicably convenient coincidences.

“She’d... she’d find the real culprit,” I guess, the gears in my mind starting to turn. “She’d gather evidence to prove Nelan’s innocence. ”

Charlotte grins. “Exactly. And she wouldn’t do it alone, would she?”

I look around the room, taking in the determined faces of my friends. My chosen family. For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel a spark of hope.

“No,” I say, straightening my spine. “No, she wouldn’t.”

I take a deep breath, pushing down the fear and doubt that’s been plaguing me. It’s time to step up. It’s time to fight for what matters. I’m a chef, and it’s time for me to serve up some justice.

For a moment, the old insecurities threaten to overwhelm me. “You’re defective,” the voice in my head sneers. “You can’t save anyone. Not even yourself.”

I swallow hard, pushing back against the familiar words. I’m not defective. I’m not. And I’ll prove it, not just to everyone else, but to myself. Maybe I am broken in some ways, but that doesn’t make me worthless. I can still fight. I can still make a difference. After all, some of the best recipes come from happy accidents and broken rules. My abuela taught me that.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I announce, my voice stronger than I feel. “We’re going to find out who really poisoned the General, and we’re going to do it before that Federation detective gets here. It’s time to turn up the heat on this investigation.”

Elana grins, cracking her knuckles. “Now you’re talking. What’s the plan, boss?”

I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. It’s like watching a puppy get excited about going for a walk, if that puppy was armed to the teeth and had a penchant for explosions. “First, we need to identify the source of the poison. Right now, there’s no real proof it came from the cooking. ”

“I can help with that,” Charlotte offers. “I’ve read enough forensic science books to know a thing or two about toxicology.”

“Perfect,” I nod. “Zoe, we need you to check the security cameras over the past few days for any suspicious activities. You know, like how we used them to round up all those yum-yums. If we can’t find any other source of poison, then focus on the one’s in the kitchen, even if it’s just to prove Nelan’s whereabouts. His alibi.”

Zoe’s eyes light up. “Ooh, detective work! I’m on it!”

“Elana, Sutek,” I turn to the deadly duo. “We need a way to reach Nelan discreetly. Maybe you can find a way to sneak onto the Volscian spaceship? At least let him know that he’s not alone in this.”

Sutek’s lips curl into a predatory smile. “Infiltration and penetration of enemy forces are my specialty. It’ll be like a romantic date night for us, right Elana?”

Elana nudges him playfully. “And I’ll make sure he doesn’t get carried away and assassinate anyone.”

“Good,” I say, trying not to think too hard about what “getting carried away” might entail for an ex-assassin. Their idea of a fun date night probably involves more weapons than most small countries. “Charlotte, I want you to stay here in the kitchen. Question the staff, construct timelines, do whatever it is detectives do in those books of yours.”

Charlotte nods solemnly. “The kitchen is the heart of the home. It’s where everyone meets. Just another reason we need Nelan back.”

I feel a lump form in my throat at her words. She’s right. This kitchen, with all its chaos and warmth, isn’t the same without Nelan’s grumpy presence.

“What about me?” Rist asks, looking a bit lost amidst all the planning.

I consider for a moment. “See if you can keep Major Zoreth distracted, maybe delay any decisions about Nelan’s fate. And... if you can find out anything about the poison they think was used, that could be helpful.”

Rist nods, a determined glint in his eye. “Consider it done.”

I look around at my friends, my chest swelling with a mix of gratitude and determination. “Alright, team. We’ve got until sunset to prove Nelan’s innocence. Let’s move!”

The room bursts into action, everyone hurrying to their assigned tasks. As they file out, I catch Rist’s arm.

“Rist, wait,” I say, lowering my voice. “There’s one more thing. If... if we can’t prove Nelan’s innocence in time, is there any way we can, I don’t know, claim diplomatic immunity or something?”

Rist grimaces. “Technically the Federation only granted diplomatic immunity to me, given my position as prince. Everyone else… let’s say someone decided to overlook their presence here. Most are still fugitives, at least in the Volscian Empire. It’s only my presence here that stops my brother from outright invading really. But I’ll do everything in my power to protect Nelan, Laura. You have my word.”

I nod, fighting back tears. “Thank you.”

As Rist leaves, I turn to survey the kitchen. My domain. The place where, just hours ago, Nelan and I were bickering over proper cooking techniques. Now it feels empty, despite the bustle of activity around me.

“Alright, Nelan,” I mutter to myself, rolling up my sleeves. There’s not much I can do, but it’s also relieving to know I don’t have to do it all either. I’m not going to leave a single stone unturned. If the General was poisoned in my kitchen, I’ll find out by what. And then I’ll make whoever did it eat their own cooking for a month. That’ll teach them.

I retrace our steps from earlier, examining every ingredient we used in the General’s meal. Nothing seems out of place, but then again, I’m no expert in alien cuisine. For all I know, the Grokian blood fruit is supposed to smell like sweaty gym socks.

“Charlotte,” I call out. “Can you come take a look at this?”

She hurries over, adjusting her glasses. “What is it?”

I hold up the half-used Grokian blood fruit. “Does this smell off to you?”

Charlotte takes a tentative sniff, then recoils. “Ugh, that’s potent. But I’m not sure if it’s supposed to smell like that or not.”

I sigh, setting it aside. “Yeah, me neither. For all we know, this could be the alien equivalent of durian.”

There has to be something we’re missing,” I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper. The words taste bitter in my mouth. “Everything looks normal, smells normal... well, as normal as alien food can be. Which, let’s face it, isn’t very normal at all.”

The door flies open with a bang, making me jump. Zoe bursts into the kitchen, her chest heaving as if she’s run a marathon. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated with a mix of fear and excitement that sends a chill down my spine.

“You’re gonna want to see this,” she gasps, gripping the doorframe for support. Her knuckles turn white from the force of her grip, and I can see a faint tremor in her hands. “Now.”

The urgency in her voice makes my heart race. Whatever she’s found, it’s big. As I follow her out of the kitchen, I can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change.