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Book: Chosen by the Alien Above Part 2: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance Serial by Nora Lane
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Authors: Nora Lane
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Station. It looked like another level of technology.
Like you saw in movies.
Like you never believed you’d see in real life. Only I was. Right this second. I had the feeling my life was changing. Like vast currents pushed me toward horizons I’d never seen, much less imagined.
For starters, I wasn't one of those kids that always dreamed of being an astronaut. And yet here I was.
Technically, I was a reporter. One whose story happened to be in outer space. Maybe that was a stretch too because I was more accurately an aspiring reporter. I had my own website and tracked stories from around the world that I felt needed more exposure.
Not that my site succeeded in doing that.
I didn't get much traffic, but I didn't have any better options. Apparently no one was looking to hire a girl with no work experience. And, oh yeah, one who was not likely to live out the month either.
Orbital One grew noticeably bigger in the window. From a distance, it looked as smooth as snakeskin. But getting closer I could see that there were bumps and corners and crannies. Still, it made the ISS look like a 1978 Buick.
Flat gray metal stood in stark contrast to the bright gold panels that lined the axles. I guessed those were the solar arrays. They resembled the ones that dotted roofs back home, except for the flashing gold.
It was all so strange. So different.
Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to be back home. I wanted to be back in something familiar. My heart ached for the scorching sidewalks of a Florida summer.
I shut the longing away. Locked it up and threw away the key. Of course, in this environment, the key would just float around my head, tempting me to take another look.
There was nothing left for me back home. My familiar was a death sentence. At least up here, everything was an unknown.
Especially Noah Sinclair.
Getting there was taking forever. I wished Noah had invented a teleporter beam already. The one that dissolved your body and then reassembled it somewhere else. I always wondered how often a teleporter got it a little bit wrong. Like maybe every one in a million times it might attach your ear to your butt.
I didn’t like those odds.
My sickness proved I could get hit by even longer ones. So maybe it was a good thing my particles weren't dissolving. Who knew what would end up on my butt.
“Mr. Sinclair,” I said, “how much longer until I get there?”
“Cosmo please respond,” he said.
Cosmo's voice echoed in my suit's comms.
“There is a 98.2163—“
“Round to the nearest integer,” Noah barked.
“98% chance that she will arrive in eight minutes and thirty-one seconds.”
“Thirty-one seconds, huh?” I said.
Noah laughed. “Cosmo loves precision. And I'm thankful he does. It's saved me on more than one occasion.”
Saved him?
I didn't like the sound of that. Were space emergencies something that happened all the time? Like every week? Like you nearly died, but squeaked by, but then next week was right around the corner?
My life for the last month felt like one, long space emergency.
Whatever. At least I'd be out of this closet that passed for a cockpit soon.
CHAPTER THREE
The docking procedure took forever. I sat locked in my chair, sweating through the cool air circulating in my suit. I couldn't wait to get out of this thing. I never thought I had a problem with small places. Never thought I was claustrophobic. But stuck in this suit, restrained to the seat, isolated in this tiny cockpit was making me rethink that notion.
The cabin moved.
CLANG .
I slammed my eyes shut.
It was the eighth metallic crash to send my spine shivering. Every gong-like bong made me tremble, wonder if the cabin was about to split apart and jettison me into frozen space.
A rush of air hissed through the tight space. My hands gripped the arms of the chair, certain at least that if I was going to drift through space forever, I’d at least have this chair to sit comfortably in.
The cabin
Like you saw in movies.
Like you never believed you’d see in real life. Only I was. Right this second. I had the feeling my life was changing. Like vast currents pushed me toward horizons I’d never seen, much less imagined.
For starters, I wasn't one of those kids that always dreamed of being an astronaut. And yet here I was.
Technically, I was a reporter. One whose story happened to be in outer space. Maybe that was a stretch too because I was more accurately an aspiring reporter. I had my own website and tracked stories from around the world that I felt needed more exposure.
Not that my site succeeded in doing that.
I didn't get much traffic, but I didn't have any better options. Apparently no one was looking to hire a girl with no work experience. And, oh yeah, one who was not likely to live out the month either.
Orbital One grew noticeably bigger in the window. From a distance, it looked as smooth as snakeskin. But getting closer I could see that there were bumps and corners and crannies. Still, it made the ISS look like a 1978 Buick.
Flat gray metal stood in stark contrast to the bright gold panels that lined the axles. I guessed those were the solar arrays. They resembled the ones that dotted roofs back home, except for the flashing gold.
It was all so strange. So different.
Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to be back home. I wanted to be back in something familiar. My heart ached for the scorching sidewalks of a Florida summer.
I shut the longing away. Locked it up and threw away the key. Of course, in this environment, the key would just float around my head, tempting me to take another look.
There was nothing left for me back home. My familiar was a death sentence. At least up here, everything was an unknown.
Especially Noah Sinclair.
Getting there was taking forever. I wished Noah had invented a teleporter beam already. The one that dissolved your body and then reassembled it somewhere else. I always wondered how often a teleporter got it a little bit wrong. Like maybe every one in a million times it might attach your ear to your butt.
I didn’t like those odds.
My sickness proved I could get hit by even longer ones. So maybe it was a good thing my particles weren't dissolving. Who knew what would end up on my butt.
“Mr. Sinclair,” I said, “how much longer until I get there?”
“Cosmo please respond,” he said.
Cosmo's voice echoed in my suit's comms.
“There is a 98.2163—“
“Round to the nearest integer,” Noah barked.
“98% chance that she will arrive in eight minutes and thirty-one seconds.”
“Thirty-one seconds, huh?” I said.
Noah laughed. “Cosmo loves precision. And I'm thankful he does. It's saved me on more than one occasion.”
Saved him?
I didn't like the sound of that. Were space emergencies something that happened all the time? Like every week? Like you nearly died, but squeaked by, but then next week was right around the corner?
My life for the last month felt like one, long space emergency.
Whatever. At least I'd be out of this closet that passed for a cockpit soon.
CHAPTER THREE
The docking procedure took forever. I sat locked in my chair, sweating through the cool air circulating in my suit. I couldn't wait to get out of this thing. I never thought I had a problem with small places. Never thought I was claustrophobic. But stuck in this suit, restrained to the seat, isolated in this tiny cockpit was making me rethink that notion.
The cabin moved.
CLANG .
I slammed my eyes shut.
It was the eighth metallic crash to send my spine shivering. Every gong-like bong made me tremble, wonder if the cabin was about to split apart and jettison me into frozen space.
A rush of air hissed through the tight space. My hands gripped the arms of the chair, certain at least that if I was going to drift through space forever, I’d at least have this chair to sit comfortably in.
The cabin
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