Page 4 of Kidnapped from the Paradise Resort

“Oh, thank you.” Kara followed her through the docking tunnel into the shuttle itself. They went through the first class section which was incredibly plush. Everything was decorated in dove gray with pearl accents and the seats looked big enough for two people. There were wide, glowing holographic screens that popped up when you pressed a button and from the glimpse she got, Kara saw there were plenty of choices for in-flight entertainment. Nice.

Of course, she couldn’t have afforded the first-class tickets even if she hadn’t booked last minute. The Kindred paid really well, but she wasn’t a millionaire. But as they passed through a curtained doorway, she saw the second class section was nice too. The seats were a little smaller and there were more of them, but there was still plenty of legroom and smaller glowing screens to watch a movie or a show on. Kara wondered what kind of shows the Paradisians had—she was interested to learn about their culture.

The flight attendant kept on moving to the back of the shuttle and they passed through another curtained doorway into the third class accommodations. These were much more crowded and the seats were considerably smaller. Kara wondered uneasily which seat was hers and if the seatbelt harness would fit over her ample hips.

But the flight attendant kept on walking, not stopping until she reached yet another curtained doorway.

“Your seat is through here, Miss,” she said to Kara. “You’re in 521 B.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Kara nodded and went through the dove-gray curtain since the attendant was gesturing for her to do so.

To her surprise, the fourth-class accommodations looked like first class all over again with large, cushy seats and plenty of legroom. But there was something strange about these seats—some of them appeared to be occupied by two people at once.

Kara passed a large alien male who had blue skin and a forked beard. There was a pink-skinned woman who didn’t look like the same species as him perched on his knees. A little further on she saw a Paradisian male with shiny gold skin with a woman who looked like she might be his wife sitting between his legs. What was going on here? Had the shuttle service sold some of these seats twice?

With growing apprehension, Kara made her way down the aisle. At last, she came to the very last row—521. There, sitting in the seat closest to the aisle was a tall, lumpy alien who looked like he was made from oozing, olive green oatmeal. He wasn’t wearing any clothing except a kind of bright pink Speedo that barely contained his bumpy privates.

Sitting beside him in the window seat was a big male wearing a black long-sleeved shirt. Kara couldn’t see his face because he was looking out of the shuttle window and there was some kind of semi-transparent divider between the seats which was already raised.

“Er…” Kara looked up at the numbers above the seats. They read “521 A and B” and “522 A and B” but there were only two seats.

Hoping there was some mistake, she looked at the seats on the other side of the aisle. But they were labeled as “523 A and B” and “524 A and B” and both were occupied.

A horrible suspicion began growing in her mind. Was she supposed to sit on Mr. Oatmeal alien’s lap? Surely not…

“Hey, sweet thing—are you lost?” It was Mr. Oatmeal, speaking in a thick, burbling voice.

“Oh, uh…” Kara looked down at him uncertainly. “I’m supposed to be in 521 B, but I’m not sure where it is.”

“It’s right here, sugar.” Mr. Oatmeal patted his lap invitingly. But when he lifted his hands from his bare legs, long strings of sticky greenish mucus stretched like snot between them.

Kara had to fight not to gag.

“What—you mean I’m supposed to…to sit on your lap?” she asked faintly, still hoping there was a mistake.

“Of course you are! You know, I booked this seathopingI’d have a sweet little seatmate like you, but you’re even prettier than I imagined,” Mr. Oatmeal burbled. “Sit right down and make yourself comfortable, darlin’.”

Somehow the Translation Bacteria in her system was making the oatmeal alien sound like a Texas oil baron but itwasn’tfunny. He was looking her up and down in such a lascivious way that Kara felt like the plain black, stretchy dress she’d chosen to travel in was see-through! And the lump in his pink speedo was growing alarmingly.Ugh!

“Excuse me, Miss—why haven’t you taken your seat yet?” The flight attendant was suddenly at her shoulder, a frown on her shiny gold face.

“I, uh…this, er, man says I’m supposed to sit on his lap,” Kara said uncertainly. “But thatcan’tbe right—can it?”

“I’m afraid it is. Look—see here? Our Ultra Express Economy seats are always sold with the understanding that you might have a seatmate.” The flight attendant waved the silver foil ticket and pointed to the tiny alien script near the bottom that Kara hadn’t been able to decipher earlier. “That’s why these seats are so cheap.”

Kara began to feel sick. There was no way she could sit on the horny, slimy oatmeal alien’s lap for the four-hour flight to Paradise Prime! She would have to eat the cost of this vacation and just stay home in her suite aboard the Mother Ship for a few days instead.

“I’m sorry,” she said faintly. “But I didn’t know that. I’m afraid I can’t take this flight—I need to get off the shuttle.”

“I’m afraid that’s going to be impossible—we’ve already undocked from the Kindred Mother Ship. In fact, the pilot is just waiting for all the passengers to be seated and strapped in before we enter the first wormhole,” the attendant said, frowning sternly. “So if you’d please take your seat, I’ll let him know we’re all ready to go.”

“But…but Ican’t,”Kara exclaimed. The more she looked at the alien in 521 A, the more he looked like he was made out of boogers rather than oatmeal. She just couldn’t sit in a snot-monster’s lap for four hours—shecouldn’t.

“Why not, darlin’?” the alien demanded, his lumpy features turning down into a frown. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.Mostly.” He leered at her.

Oh God, this was getting worse and worse! Kara groped for an excuse.

“My dress!” she said, pulling at the stretchy black fabric. “It’s dry-clean only. And I don’t think I’d be able to get your, er…excretions off of it.”

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