Page 5 of Rebel Fates

As the stars become more abundant and vivid than I’ve ever seen, I realize we’re officially in space. Something that seems more out of a sci-fi show than reality.

I turn to say as much to Lynn, and suddenly I feel strangely sleepy. I don’t understand why, since adrenaline is still coursing through me. “Do you feel weird?” I ask Lynn, but she’s slumping in her chair, falling unconscious.

Everyone is.

I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.

This can’t be good. Either we have lost our oxygen supply in the cabin or some other gas is poisoning us.

I’m afraid I won’t survive to find out which it is.

3

CAGED

GEMMA

Acollar around my neck buzzes with a sharp electric shock.

I flinch.

Looking down at my body, I find myself completely naked.

Lynn is next to me and just opening her eyes too.

We’re in a cage.

Shit, the old man was right. People don’t come back from their moon trip.

My first clue that aliens are indeed real comes when a furry creature enters the room. Thankfully, the bars of my cage keep the alien from coming closer.

He…it… whatever it is, is short, not much taller than my five-foot-three height. But it is wide and dangerous looking. It’s covered in a dark greenish-blue fur from what I can see of its exposed body parts, arms that are longer than a human’s, and an overly round face.

Not quite the little green men as advertised, but who am I going to complain to about the misrepresentation?

Plus, the archetypical-looking alien could be hiding in the control room for all I know.

Just as I have this thought, another identical creature enters, watching Lynn and me with unwavering interest. A chill runs up my spine.

Governments have been denying life beyond our stars for years. Now, I believe the nut jobs… the people in power have known all along and haven’t shared the news. I should have believed the old guy’s conspiracy theories.

Our captors stare at us and mumble to each other. They look like they are inspecting a herd of cattle. After a minute of this, the furballs throw stale biscuits at us.

What am I? A freaking dog?

Reacting without much thought, I toss mine back at them, regretting it almost immediately when they zap my collar and I’m knocked out.

Who knows how much time later, I awake to our captors coming to check on us again, perhaps to throw more stale food into our cage. I could use some water. My throat is a desert landscape and my fingertips are wrinkled from dehydration.

Lynn nudges me to get my attention. “Don’t piss them off,” she hisses.

“This is going to be as bad as it’s going to be,” I point out. “I don’t think being a good slave is going to help my future.”

“Do it for me then?” she pleads.

Furball tosses us moldy bread-like food this time. Horrible upgrade. That’s what complaining to the manager gets me. The smell of the offered sustenance makes my stomach roil.

At this point, I start to re-examine my life choices.

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