Page 5 of Oh No, I Shot A Spaceship And Kissed An Alien Cyberchef

“Which one is it? Which one?” I shout, my eyes jumping between what has to be hundreds of buttons. Why doesn’t anyone make technology easy to use? What happened to the big red “do not press” button? Or better yet, a simple “Oops, I accidentally started a war” switch?

Nelan’s metal fingers slam a sequence into the machine.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then, with a series of clicks and whirs, the lights flicker and die. The constant hum of machinery that I’ve grown so accustomed to fades into silence.

We stand in the dark, breathing heavily, waiting.

“Did it work?” I whisper. “Or are we all about to be fucked?”

As we wait for an answer, I can’t help but think that this whole situation would make for one hell of a Yelp review. “Great pancakes, nice atmosphere, staff accidentally shot down a general’s spaceship. Three stars.”

Chapter

Two

LAURA

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I resist the urge to throw myself at the General’s feet, but not by much. I nearly killed the guy. Note to self: missile launchers and hospitality don’t mix.

“I nearly killed you,” I gasp as the realization of what’s just transpired washes over me. The General, and a dozen members of his crew. I nearly killed all of them. I almost single-handedly started a political incident. Talk about employee of the month material.

“No one died,” the General states calmly, his voice monotone.

Sure, no one’s dead… but the guy is pissed. If looks could kill, I’d be a pile of dust right now.

“Please, it was my mistake. Don’t blame the hotel! Don’t blame Rist!” I cry, wringing my hands as I glance up at the guy.

He’s massive, bigger than any other Volscian alien I’ve met so far. Just like Earth military, his dark blue suit is utterly pristine. His black hair is almost as shiny as his eyes,which are currently shooting death rays at me, and are only outdone by the shiny metal caps he’s got on his two horns.

The guy is positively terrifying. I desperately want to run away and hide, but I refuse to let my fear best me. I did this, and so it’s my mistake to fix.

The General steps closer, his eyes narrowing in on me. My breathing pitches as spots dance across my vision. Is this it? Is this the end of me? Will my epitaph read, “Here lies an idiot who thought ‘launch’ meant ‘lunch’”?

“You smell,” he states.

“I… what?”

I smell?

I stumble back a few steps to get a better view of him. I smell? Here I am apologizing to the guy, shaking and nervous and totally freaking out… and he’s critiquing my personal hygiene?

“Did you hit your head?” I ask. It’s the only logical conclusion. That, or the guy’s insane. I’ve started to expect aliens are a bit different, a special kind of insane, but this one takes the cake. And apparently, he doesn’t like how it smells.

“No,” the General remarks in his flat tone. “My crew are well-versed at destroying enemy missiles. It was unexpected but good practice for them.”

He leans towards me as I quake in my apron. And gives a big sniff.

“You smell.”

“Ummm, excuse me then? I’ve admittedly been a bit sweaty and…” Am I really apologizing for my current state of dress? I work in a hot kitchen, for crying out loud! Not to mention that I’ve just spent the last hour or so running around like a headless chicken reassuring guests and freaking out about whether the General was going to attack us back. Eau de Panic is not a bestselling fragrance.

“You smell like food,” the General clarifies.

“Ummm… because I cooked it?” I tell him. “I’m the hotel’s chef.”

I am so going to die today—only this time by Nelan’s hand when he finds out that I just claimed his job. Note to self: update will to include “death by angry cyborg chef” as a likely cause.

“Would you like some?” I ask when the General doesn’t say anything.

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