Rescued By Her Alien Monster: A SciFi Romance

Chapter 1

Kyp

         A droning sound breaks through the white noise of the yard. To me, it’s as uplifting as a symphony. Shift change. I can finally put the chaos, dirt, and grubbiness of this job and this day behind me for at least a few hours.

         “You heard it. Back inside. Rec time is over!”

         My fellow guards bark out the orders as we push the wall of prisoners back into their various cell blocks.

         For the past hour or so, the women of Kwenlen Women’s Incarceration Facility, also known as “The Larc” have “enjoyed” the air and sunshine of the yard. They do so by clustering in groups chatting, or half-heartedly playing tervo (a ball game of sorts, the appeal of which I fail to comprehend) or merely sitting at the outdoor tables staring into the middle distance.

         It’s a mixed bag, as most prisons tend to be. Women from all over the United Star Alliance and beyond are sent here for a cornucopia of offenses: petty larceny, assault, fraud and even murder. Humans, Pi’Rell, Kiphians, Vakutan, Dragonians, Odex, Grolgath, Tagrol, Scrins, Vons and many other species can be found here. The Larc may not be somewhere anyone would want to end up, but it seems to welcome any and all. 

Jurtik as a planet itself is infamous for being one of the prison planets of the galaxy.

         As the women file inside, a new phalanx of guards takes over, nodding at us day-timers in a grim salute of passing the baton. I nod gruffly back, wanting nothing more than to get out of my uniform and hole up in my private room.

         After a quick body scan to verify my identity, I pull open the door that leads from the yard into the area reserved for the prison guards. A drab square shaped kitchen/eating area, infused with the smells of meals long cooked and consumed, I quickly head through it to the locker room beyond.

         Worn benches and utilitarian lockers line the walls. It’s astounding to me, the utter lack of upkeep at this place. I am well aware it is a prison, but this place is locked in a time warp. Merely hours away is the city of Ysdrey, a sophisticated and glittering metropolis within the infamous prison planet; the crown jewel of the continent of Trelia. Jurtik is a huge planet with many regions that have become mythical in how the galaxy views it, but Trelia stands out as a place for art, culture, science and engineering.

         The Larc, by contrast, seems to be in a race to the bottom. Everything here is worn out, run-down and barely functioning.

         Just get through this contract and never look back, I tell myself, pulling my stiff uniform shirt over my head.

         “How was today?” a voice says as a body thuds down beside me. It belongs to Req, a guard who has never felt a real emotion in his life. We Salkin are known for our even temper and long fuses, but Req is in a different league altogether.

         “Difficult. Cell Block F was unreasonable,” I reply, throwing on my soft undershirt.

         “As per usual,” he says in his monotone.

         “It is illogical. If they just behaved, they would not receive so many demerits.”

         “You are thinking like a Salkin. Tell me, Kyp, do you see any Salkin women here?”

         I ignore his comment. Of course not. Salkin women (like the men) are highly logical, practical beings. We are not generally prone to feats of passion or flights of rage. Our crime rates are absurdly low. That is why we Salkin are so well suited for prison guard duties.

         “What’s on the schedule tonight?” This voice, somewhat mocking in tone, belongs to Idy, a young guard who came to Larc shortly after I did. As always, he’s accompanied by his sidekick, Sce. Both shock me as they have a level of impulsivity not often seen in Salkin. They are downright rebels.

         “The usual,” I mutter, taking off my work boots. The less I speak with these two, the better. They never improve my mood.

         “Playing with your toys?” Sce says, his voice hinging on derisive laughter.

         “If you are referring to my model, then yes,” I reply drily, tugging on my soft shoes.

         “Kyp will build great things someday. He must start somewhere,” Req says, effectively shutting down the conversation. Though I appreciate it, I wish I did not need his intervention to shut down these two. They are an embarrassment to Salkin.

         I cannot wait to get back to my room. There, at least, the world makes sense because it is one I have built myself: a scale model of my village back home. Using found objects and the occasional item sent from my family (on the other side of Jurtik), it allows me to navigate the chaos that is The Larc.

         It’s hard to believe a whole year has elapsed since I came here. But, for most Salkin, this type of job is a rite of passage. After we leave our formal schooling, we work for two to three years to save up enough credits for our formal educations and/or apprenticeships,

         In my case, I hope to pursue engineering when my contract expires here. Then I will build not just models but full-sized buildings and structures that will make Jurtik the envy of the Galaxy.

         I’m getting ahead of myself. Just finish the model first.

         My uniform is now neatly folded, and I stow it away in my rusting locker. Idy and Sce, thankfully, have moved on, planning some tournament of Skykin, a strategy game preferred by young Salkin.

         Req continues his slow, methodical change from prison guard to off-duty prison guard (I have no idea how he spends his free time). Grunting my thanks, I leave him, eager to grab my dinner rations and escape into my room.

         I leave the guard’s area and skirt the edge of the yard towards the guard’s barracks. Immediately, the noise of the women inside the cell blocks that fan out from the yard’s central hub hits my ears. Cackling and loud guffaws somehow manage to permeate the thick walls, making my skin crawl.

         I am not cut out for this job, even after all this time.

         My room is near. I know my thoughts will lighten once I close my door. A few hours of freedom within a small space.

         The irony of it all is not lost on me.