Page 30 of Oh No, I Shot A Spaceship And Kissed An Alien Cyberchef

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 grumpypresence.

“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 asingle 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 inher 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.

Chapter

Eleven

LAURA

Ibalance the tray in my hands, careful not to spill the contents. A chef does one thing best: cook. And there is one thing in this universe that can heal practically any injury: chicken soup. Just ask any mother; they swear by it. Maybe it’s less about the soup and more about the placebo effect. Either way, I’m banking on its magical properties today.

The old fears resurface, whispering in my ex’s voice. “You’re defective, Laura. You’ll only make everything worse.” I squeeze my eyes shut, silencing the thoughts. I’m stronger than this. So what if I’m not perfect? Neither is anyone else. I’m still worth more than he ever gave me credit for.

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