Page 7 of How My Fake Alien Boyfriend Learned to Cook and Saved the Family Business

“Computer?”

No response.

“Ship? Sir? Madam? Captain?”

Silence again.

“Please?”

Nothing.

Well. Back to Plan A—slapping buttons and turning knobs until something happens.

The mechanical voice responded, “Flight path set to planet Earth. Please enter final destination.”

Finally, a response! If the computer was alert, I could talk to it and explain the situation.

“Computer! Can you hear me? This is Kalexdyorn Tirinn of planet Xaerea, identification number 01672. Listen, I’m not authorized for this flight. I need you to turn around and—”

“Enter final destination.”

“No! Return to planet Xaerea,” I shouted. “Turn around! Go home!”

The control panel lit up red.

“Please?”

Again, the computer didn’t respond to my command. I was beginning to understand why this model of solo pod was being decommissioned from the fleet.

Without a plan and without comms with someone who could help, I didn’t have much choice. Ships were stocked with a limited supply of nutritional formula and supplements for terranauts in case of travel delays. There would be a reserve tank of fuel for the same reason. But it wouldn’t last very long out here.

If my options were to die alone in space or finish the trip to Earth and face the consequences there, the choice was simple. Besides, Xaereans had multiple outpost stations on Earth where I would be welcomed with open arms. Or, perhaps, not open arms, but with the resources to send me back home as soon as possible.

Sitting back in the pilot’s chair, I mentally scrolled through a list of options: Capilla del Monte, Pori, Great Falls, Petrozavodsk, Rio de Janeiro, Washington, D.C., Roswell.

Roswell.

Of course! I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of that sooner. If I set the destination to Roswell, I would land where the Xaereans carried out our largest operations. Based on what I had observed as an administrative assistant, the Exploratory Unit always had pods coming and going from the Roswell outpost. There were even a few permanently stationed full-timers to keep everything in order and make sure humans didn’t get too suspicious of our comings and goings.

“Enter final destination,” the computer repeated.

Decision made, I cleared my throat. “Set destination to Roswell…Roswell…” The full name of the destination was on the tip of my tongue. It was in the United States of America, I knew that much. But what were the specifics?

“Destination not recognized.”

“I said Roswell, for the love of—”

“Destination confirmed. Flight path now set to Roswell Falls, Tennessee, United States of America, Earth, Milky Way.”

“No! That’s not what I meant,” I shouted, jumping up from my seat.

Roswell Falls? I had never heard of a place called Roswell Falls. And what was a Tennessee? My memory of the full list of Earth-based Xaerean stations was a little fuzzy, but I knew enough to know neither of those locations featured in it. I needed to reset the final destination before it was too late.

But before I could get the chance, the pod began to rumble. Vibrations racked my body through my hu-suit, through my own flesh and muscle, hard enough that my bones rattled and my vision shook.

“Entering warp speed in thirty seconds.”

“No! No no no no no no no!” My heart thumped, and my stomach felt near to emptying. How could everything go so wrong, so quickly?