Alien Kidnap

By Robert Parker

If you were kidnapped by an alien, who would you choose to keep you company? And what if the alien who kidnapped you had their own troubles? And what if everyone wanted a piece of the action?
A human named Kaeden must face an uncertain reality with a version of his wife that doesn't know him except as the goofy boy next door.
An alien named Heiborant must recover a treasure that doesn't want to be recovered.
And an imperfect god must run for its life from an evil that doesn't value anything.
This is a science fiction, but may seem like a fantasy, and is certainly never serious.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Parker
• Release date: Dec 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005707392

Robert Parker

I've been an Engineer, Technician and Programmer, so naturally I like technical stuff, but my stories stretch the limits of what is plausible and focus primarily on the absurdity of human behaviour. I have the usual number of wives, children, dogs, cats, talking trees etc. I'm also very fond of the wonderful Australian birdlife that comes freely to my home. These humans and other creatures inspire me. I have little interest in politics or war. If you've tried out my stories, I'd love to hear what you think, good or bad.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1 – THE BIRD WENT FIRST

While a sleepy Spanish town enjoyed siesta, a retired nun read aloud for the benefit of the raven perched on her chair.

‘...wherever they go,’ Sister Margarita read, ‘and whatever happens to them on the way in that magic place on the edge of the woods, a small chico and his oso will always be playing.’

When she finished, a little sob escaped her. The raven saw her rheumy eyes shift to the faded photograph on the wall, the one where two young men in uniform smiled at the camera. The raven believed these were Margarita’s chicks, misplaced during a war that had finished long ago. That was long before she rescued him: her feathered foundling. He, who she called Guillermo, didn’t understand her grief, for she had him, and he had her, so what need was there for tears?

It was hard to resist Margarita’s melodic voice, particularly when she spoke in the foreign English tongue, but Guillermo believed he had moved on from dubious translations of children’s stories. He hopped back to the window ledge where she’d rested his current book between two flower pots: an old technical manual written in German.

The warm breeze had flipped the pages, loosing his place. Carefully, he used a claw to lift a corner of the page, then, with a quick flap of his wings, he turned to the section on vacuum tube circuit analysis. This would have been easier using his beak, as a dumb chicken might do, but Margarita would not approve if the pages were spoiled.

She was very kind to him. She brought him a new book almost every day from the bric-a-brac stall. He liked those with pictures the best. She liked to please him, but he was yet to find a way to properly repay her.

True, the money he stole from sidewalk cafés would make her laugh. Then, as she added to rolls of the same that she kept in an old urn over the fireplace, she would sing a silly song. He didn’t understand how an old woman could become a rich man.

Guillermo dearly wished he could ask her why she never used his gifts. He had tried to speak, just to declare his love, but she was deaf to his sonorous voice.

In desperation, he’d scratched a note of endearment in the flour on her kitchen bench. The shock she received on reading his words had sent her to bed for the following three days. He didn’t write to her again, and she pretended it had never happened.

His attention returned to his book. Guillermo’s academic German was not up to scratch. No matter how hard he stared at the page, first with one eye, then the other, he could not decipher the meaning of ‘V2 Raketenführungssysteme’. He suspected it referred to missile guidance systems, but he really needed Margarita to fetch him a German-Spanish dictionary. How could he convey this?

When he looked over to her, she’d stopped weeping and was glaring at the ceiling, all the while making that gesture across her breasts that she used in times of trouble. ‘El diablo nos mira,’ she mumbled.

Something was wrong. The feathers on Guillermo’s neck ruffled in anticipation, for he respected her sense for danger. Margarita’s intuition had kept her alive while the rest of her flock had been lost. Did he imagine it, or could he smell ozone?

Margarita rose stiffly from her chair and took up her cane. She continued to stare upwards, her lips moving silently as in prayer, but, if she was praying, she appeared to be angry with her god on this day.

Suddenly her fearful eyes turned on him. Was she afraid for him, or of him? Then Margarita moved faster than he’d seen her move in years. Her cane was thrust forward, attacking him!

‘Margarita!’ he crowed in alarm.

‘Huir!’ she cried, and used the cane to physically shove him out the window, book and all.

A blinding white light appeared to snatch a potted geranium from the very place where he’d been roosted. The plant, minus its pot, reappeared a moment later.

For a moment, he thought Margarita had done this, but he was greatly relieved to see the flying saucer hovering over their apartment. How could he have ever doubted her love, but what atrocity had the Germans dreamt up this time?

Though she spoke German fluently, Margarita always blamed that northern flock of humans for any and every evil. She was particularly overjoyed when he returned from his forays with Deutsche marks clamped in his beak.

Was this saucer taking revenge for the money he’d stolen? If they were German, then they were being unfair. He had preferred to target the Americans tourists as their tips were more generous.

Guillermo dived down through the shaded alleyway, scaring the pigeons that nested in the alcoves over the shops.

He knew what he’d seen: a semi-transparent disk without markings. So maybe not German, but he couldn’t believe this UFO was connected with extra-terrestrials. Why would aliens come so far just to visit an insignificant planet like Earth?

Another shaft of light disappeared a professional racing pigeon. It was returned immediately without its leg tag. The saucer was improving its aim with each attempt, so Guillermo had no time to ask the pigeon its opinion on either international or extra-terrestrial politics.

Heading into the old town, he scattered the tourists who were window-shopping during the hottest part of the day. They should be dozing, or enjoying a challenging book like any sensible Spaniard.

In his panic, Guillermo burst from the dark alleyway into the town’s sun-drenched market place. He would have collided with a cafe awning except a hole was punched through it by another of the saucer’s beams. He dived through the hole before the missing canvas returned. Looking back, he saw the circle of fabric float down onto the head of a waiter delivering three cappuccinos. Who would order a cappuccino in this heat?

Questions plagued Guillermo's life. For example:

Q. Where should he fly to escape?

A. He could dive down into the drains, but the rodents living there would definitely take revenge for the crimes he had committed on their kind. He took another alley-way instead.

Q. Should he fly higher?

A. He couldn’t see anything over him now, but he sensed that the menace came from above.

Q. How did this saucer work?

A. The bright light was followed by a slight popping sound as the victim or object was swallowed, then a more vulgar noise as the meal was rejected.

Q. Did they use teleportation?

A. He’d read that the transmutation of matter into energy was possible, though that seemed an overly complicated process for the short distance to the saucer. Unless, of course, the saucer was merely a projection, a kind of remote lens for a machine located at a much greater distance. That would explain the delay between target acquisition and the beam’s activation. Given limitations created by the speed of light, Guillermo theorised that the operator could be no further than the moon.

Q. So why were the aliens interested in a raven?

A. There were plenty of other birds. Guillermo thought of himself as a simple creature. Well, maybe not that simple; not many birds read advanced circuit theory. As a chick, his natural mother scolded him for his curiosity. Stop dissecting that mouse and just eat it! she would crow. As luck would have it, his desire to learn had led him straight from the nest into Margarita’s care. What a wonderful academic life he had led ever since.

Guillermo’s nostalgia had caused a slip in concentration. He found himself in the town’s main square. The bronze statue at its centre offered him no protection.

He quickly reversed course and the horseman which the statue celebrated was made temporarily headless.

Flapping madly, he might have regained the cover of the alley ways if he hadn’t seen the giant eye looking down at him through the saucer. This lens was definitely no German wunderwaffe, and the operator was not a German, but at least his theories about the saucer seemed more likely.

Q. Would the operator return him as it had the other objects?

A. Guillermo had no time for conjecture. Before oblivion swallowed him whole, he bid Margarita a silent farewell.

CHAPTER 2 – ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN

Almost a year later, when it came for Kaeden’s turn, he was too jet-lagged to know what day it was. The Jamaican cab driver who drove Kaeden from the airport kept checking him out. The side windows were smeared with mist, so Kaeden found it hard to avoid those deep brown eyes in the rear-view mirror.

The driver said something.

‘Pardon?’

‘What is your name, Sir?’

‘Oh, it’s Kaeden.’

‘Jay Dean?’ repeated the driver.

‘No, Kay-den.’

‘I’m Sidney, like the city, but spelled different. I’ve not met many men named Kay, Mr Den.’

Kaeden sighed. ‘It’s an old Scottish name. My dad chose it. It doesn’t suit me.’

‘Sure it does, Sir. Nothing happens in this world without reason.’

‘My mother wanted me to be a plain John. She never got her way.’

Why was he telling Sidney his family frictions? Lack of sleep, probably. That was the way they got people to talk, to confess crimes they hadn’t committed.

Kaeden tried to blink himself awake, but the cab was warm and they weren’t going anywhere fast, stuck in Edinburgh’s afternoon traffic. At least, he thought it was the afternoon. There was usually a subtle difference between the morning and afternoon traffic; the afternoon traffic lacked impulse.

At the next intersection, the driver made an unexpected turn, taking them through the city centre. The navigation unit on the dash marked out a complicated route that would avoid toll ways, and, no doubt, maximise his fare. But Kaeden wasn’t in the mood for argument, nor was he ready to face his boisterous family.

Outside the cab, humanity’s truce with the Scottish weather had ended. A more regular deluge fell. Behind the taxi’s busy wipers, an already blurry view of commuters, heritage buildings, and shiny cars blended into one. When they were again stopped, Sidney asked, ‘What do you do for a living, Kay?’

Kaeden thought the twenty tennis rackets in the taxi’s boot might have been a good clue, but he didn’t mention that. Sidney was no doubt bored with the monotony of city life and needed conversation.

‘I coach tennis. That’s what I do, Sid.’

‘But I see you return from New York. You go there just to coach?’

New York! Kaeden wished it had been only New York. He’d changed planes several times before that: Brisbane, Auckland, Tahiti, Panama City. The Russian-Saudi and Philippine-Chinese wars were blocking all the shorter routes.

‘I’ve just competed in the Singapore Classic,’ he explained. ‘I need to enter a major tournament once in a while to stay somewhere near the rankings. No rank, no wealthy customers.’

‘I didn’t know that.’ Sidney moved the taxi forward without taking his eyes from Kaeden. ‘Tennis? I’m thinking that’s not a job for an old man.’

Kaeden cringed, but took note of both the wrinkles and humour lines around the driver’s eyes. Sidney must be pushing eighty, so he had no reason to be calling Kaeden old. Except at thirty-eight, Kaeden wouldn’t be competitive for much longer. After that, he would need to live off his reputation.

‘I’ve looked into other careers,’ he admitted. ‘Would you recommend cab driving?’

Sidney snorted. ‘There are not many wealthy passengers in Edinburgh.’

Kaeden leaned back. ‘Maybe once my kids are old enough, I can study something else.’

The driver smiled. ‘Ah, my man, I understand. You jet around the world to avoid your home life.’

‘No,’ retorted Kaeden just a little too firmly. ‘Er… sorry. You’ve found my sore point. But it’s not what you think.’

‘Tell me.’

Kaeden hesitated. Sidney’s eyes looked sympathetic and he felt the need to explain.

‘My wife has her own career, as an artist. She’s quite well known around here. Leigh Campbell. Have you heard of her?’

‘Ah, yes.’ Sidney nodded with a smile. ‘I know Leigh. She’s cool. So you’re Mr Leigh. Who looks after your children when neither of you are home?’‘She has very supportive parents, and she’s happy for me to travel. There isn’t as much money in the art business as you’d think. Not at the making stage anyhow. Leigh wants me to travel more, while the money is good, but that would mean spending more time in beautifully maintained taxis like yours.’

Sidney’s eyes grinned. ‘You take my questions well. I knew you would.’

Kaeden was spared further psychoanalysis by his phone ringing. It was his agent, appointed by his father, just before his death, in attempt to push Kaeden’s career onward from beyond the grave.

Kaeden tried to sound enthusiastic. ‘Hey Joe, what’s up?’

‘You did well in Tokyo, kid.’

‘It was Singapore, and I lost.’

‘Yeah, but you lost with style. Another five sets against a top seed. The crowd loved it.’

Kaeden remained silent. This pep talk could have waited until he’d got some sleep.

‘That match earned you a wild card into the Australian Open,’ said Joe.

‘Oh.’ Kaeden sat up. The sky seemed to brighten. And maybe the traffic moved more smoothly.

‘That’s not the best bit,’ continued Joe. ‘They’ve done that secret ladder draw they do. This is top secret, I shouldn’t be telling you, but the word has it that you’re up against the top seed for the first round. Some risky punters are hoping for an upset, so I’ve put a grand on you at two hundred to one.’

This was probably meant to inspire him. Kaeden only wanted to know one thing, though he had already guessed. ‘Who is it?’

‘Fanis.’

Kaeden was fast on the court, but it took him a full second to react to this news.

‘NO WAY!’ he screamed.

Sidney hit the taxi’s brakes and Kaeden’s safety belt dug into his shoulder. The phone sprang from his fingers.

Once the cab was stopped, Sidney half-turned in the driver’s seat, his mouth opening, when a blinding light shone down through the taxi’s skylight.

Before Kaeden’s eyes could adjust, the light had gone, and so had the driver.

Kaeden blinked, and the driver was back again, his mouth squeezed in a pained grimace.

Had he only imagine that the driver vanished? Then he noticed Sidney’s safety belt was slowly retracting, though clearly it was still buckled. Somehow the sash had passed through Sidney’s ample body and was now behind him. Sydney seemed surprised by this too.

‘Are you there?’ Joe’s voice sounded distant. The phone was somewhere under the front passenger seat.

Kaeden and the driver made eye contact. The driver’s mouth moved, but he’d lost the ability to speak.

‘You went,’ said Kaeden.

Sidney nodded.

‘Now you’re back.’

Sidney squirmed in his seat.

There were horns blaring behind them, but the taxi didn’t move. Sidney mumbled something.

‘What did you say?’ Kaeden asked.

The driver’s expression became more intense. ‘I said, don’t, ever, ever mention, what just happened, Sir. Not to no one, no how.’

Evidently they were no longer on first-name terms, which was a shame. Kaeden needed an ear to listen about his fears for the future, and it wasn’t his fault if aliens fancied cab drivers.

Someone outside shouted and Sidney let the taxi roll forward. Kaeden reached under the seat for his phone, but he kept a wary eye on the skylight.

‘What’s going on?’ asked his agent. ‘Who’s disappeared?’

‘Nothing, Joe. Just a minor traffic accident.’

Kaeden continued to scan the grey skies above them. There had been something up there a moment before the driver disappeared. It might have been lightning, except he’d heard no thunder.

Leigh was the one who believed in UFOs and stuff like that. Or so she claimed.

He shielded his mouth over the phone so that the driver wouldn’t hear.

‘I can’t wait to tell Leigh,’ he told Joe.

‘About playing Fanis?’

‘Fanis? Oh, yeah, sure. She’ll never believe me,’ he said.

And she didn’t.

CHAPTER 3 – BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME

Later that week, but earlier in the day, the alien lens shifted to California in North America. Zelda Chojnowski (also known as Mrs Show-off-ski) commanded the attention of everyone around her. So no one noticed the oddly shaped cloud hovering above them.

She’d entered her thirteen-hand, brown and white pony into a dressage competition – not her usual sport. The aliens didn’t know Zelda had faked the little mare’s papers. Tinkerbell now had as her parents the famous dressage stallion, Rodin, and the equally majestic mare, Kahlo. Both sire and dam would have been surprised by their alleged child’s diminutive size and colour, but the aliens were completely fooled.

Zelda and her mare were well known in other equestrian circles, and despite offering various bribes, they were only allowed to enter the pony-class, and only then because the officials were afraid of Mrs Chojnowski.

As the aliens adjusted their sampling device (which looked like a flying saucer), the little mare’s legs switched back and forth in perfect time to the accompanying music. The alien operator couldn’t hear the music, so didn’t appreciate that the horse and rider were executing intricate flying changes timed to the fourth beat of each bar.

Zelda had dressed in her late husband’s Polish Calvary uniform, a colonel no less. It was an impressive uniform, though a little tight. Luckily she didn’t need to use her hands or legs to guide her horse. She’d coached the mare in a manner better suited to a circus performer and Tinkerbell knew the choreography by heart.

An ex-friend had unwisely suggested to Zelda that she had entirely missed the point of dressage; which is… Her ex-friend was not able to complete the explanation and had been lucky to escape with her life. Zelda thought dressage was for sissies. Even so, she intended to excel at it.

The less educated members of the audience (both alien and human) were greatly wowed by the little horse’s movements. The judges had already calculated a score designed to avoid loss of face, but Zelda’s reputation for being quick to anger had preceded her, so they dreaded her reaction once the scores were actually displayed. Meanwhile, the alien’s tentacle hovered over the activation crystal, waiting for the mare to be stationary.

When the test was complete, Tinkerbell relaxed, as calm as a horse could be; her ears gently twitching to the applause. Both the rider and mare bowed before the judges. Zelda looked confident.

The judges tried to look pleased, while adjusting their scores to further minimise offence.

Zelda smile was for the public, for she knew her mare would score poorly on this occasion. Those judges were all snobs! She suspected that winning at dressage was all about who you knew. Before entering again, she would need to consider which of the men she could seduce, and which of the women were open to blackmail.

A sudden brilliance distracted her, then her horse disappeared from between her legs.

The crowd let out a collective gasp, but gravity was quicker. Zelda bottom was only slightly cushioned when her saddle landed on a terracotta pot. She wasn’t the only one to think her horse had turned into that now broken pot, but in a blink, Tinkerbell was standing over her, looking down between her legs at her hapless rider.

If the crowd had been a little louder, Zelda might not have heard the snigger that came from the judge’s box. She reached for her gun.

During a later inquest, the local dressage society heard it was a record keeper (and not a judge) who had laughed at Zelda. Fortunately, her gun hadn’t been loaded, so the only real damage was to the judges’ pride and their clothing (found in the manure pile at the back of the stables).

CHAPTER 4 – SPLITTING A MOMENT IN TIME

A full month later, when Kaeden walked from the change rooms in Melbourne’s tennis pavilion, he’d nearly forgotten the incident with the taxi. Just ahead of him, his rival stopped before the exit into the centre court. It was the bright sunlight outside that reminded Kaeden of the UFO he thought he’d seen in Edinburgh.

‘That were the product of a tired mind,’ Leigh had patiently explained.

Of course, she still believed in aliens on a spiritual level, just not that her husband could be having close encounters with them.

Kaeden shook his head to clear his thoughts. He fantasised for a moment that Fanis would disappear just as the taxi driver had done – then he could avoid the embarrassing defeat he was about to suffer. Why had he ever agreed to this match?

He realised Fanis was speaking to him. These were the first words that the tennis legend had spoken to him.

‘Are you well, Mr Campbell?’ Fanis had a deep voice and was more than a head taller. He looked down on Kaeden despite being lower on the ramp. ‘Did you hear me? I said: I will break you. There will be no point trying.’

‘Ah, yup. It’s a great honour to play with you too,’ said Kaeden, and he meant it. Fanis was his hero. He couldn’t believe he was actually getting to play against him. Most of all, he wished he could be like Fanis: afraid of no one, and always willing to speak his mind.

The crowd in the stands grew excited as the master of ceremonies introduced the star of the Australian open: ‘Would you please welcome Melbourne’s own champion, Fanis Papadopoulos, a man, who rumour has it, possesses the body of Hercules and the temper of Zeus.’

Fanis winced. He probably wasn’t offended about his reputation (he was famous for his on-court outbursts), but the mangling of his Greek family name would hurt. He gave Kaeden a final withering glare and turned to greet his fans.

The applause from the substantial Australian-Greek population in the audience grew even louder. They had turned out in force despite Fanis declaring that this match was a waste of his time. One news service had even quoted him as saying, I’m insulted to be playing this Scottish amateur. Kaeden wasn’t sure when he’d become an amateur, but the truth never worried the popular press.

The announcer couldn’t find much to say about Kaeden as he walked out onto the court. No one here had heard of him and he received only a spatter of applause, and one or two boos.

Kaeden was more interested in the sky. It was reassuringly blue. There was no where up there for a flying saucer to hide. He shielded his eyes against the glare and spotted Leigh in the top stands. His one-woman fan club was trying her best to make her presence obvious, waving her Scottish flag among a sea of Greek ones. There may have been other Scottish flags, but both flags sported the same blue and white.

Somehow her attempts were successful and the giant video screen behind her showed her in closeup. If their kids were watching, they would be jumping up and down to match their mother’s enthusiasm. He was reluctant to look away, but he was here to work.

Five hours later, the heat in the pavilion had become oppressive. The organisers closed the roof, but not before the temperature exceeded his internal one. He was fried, both physically and mentally.

He was also feeling a little guilty that he might be ruining Fanis’s fitness for later matches. His defensive style was gruelling, and these tournaments were all about pacing (something Kaeden rarely managed).

Their match so far had been a series of epic rallies, but he refused to surrender. Every game went to deuce, and each set required a tie breaker. It was taking forever.

In the fourth set, Fanis, a man known for his incredible endurance, requested a break. Even though Kaeden was dead on his feet, he wouldn’t have dared to ask for one, so he was very grateful.

While this was not Wimbledon, court etiquette required that the lower rank player should wait for the star to leave first. Kaeden took the cool towel offered by a ball-girl and soaked up the carnival atmosphere. The stands had filled up, but where was Leigh?

It appeared the audience had been waiting for a break too. While the sensible families unpacked their dinner baskets, a stampede for the washrooms and concession stands clogged the isles. No one had left during the match, and many more had arrived. Australian’s love an underdog, or a car crash, so they wouldn’t be expecting Kaeden to win, they just wanted to see how badly he lost.

Kaeden wasn’t too worried about losing. Just making an appearance at this tournament would secure his coaching appointments for a good many years. He and Leigh could pay for their children to get a decent education, and without his father’s stern gaze, losing was finally an option.

He still couldn’t find Leigh. Where could she have got to?

Leigh had shocked him by agreeing to come to Melbourne. She rarely attended any of his performances, international or otherwise. As a neighbour, and then as teenage sweethearts, he’d been more obsessed with her than she had been with him. Their marriage hadn’t changed that. Even now, he thought Leigh probably saw their relationship more as a business arrangement.

Speaking of business: the corporate boxes were already awash with illicit alcohol, so there was little need for movement there. He spotted her smile at the front of a VIP box. Someone had taken pity on her, or she had talked herself into an upgrade – she was good at that. She was chatting with a big dude in a suit, but Kaeden eventually caught her attention and signalled for her to join him in the change rooms.

He was holding his curly red hair under the cold tap when she grabbed him from behind.

‘How’s me brave warrior holding out?’

Kaeden looked over at his official minder. He needed to be careful what he said, even to his wife. If it leaked out that he was admitting defeat, he would be in big trouble. Large amounts of money were waged on every game’s outcome, even this close to the end.

The official stepped into the corridor and seemed to be arguing with his phone; something about a missed appointment. The artificial intelligence on these newer phones were very bossy. Soon they’d be telling their owners what to think and even when to breathe.

‘Well, how ya going, mate?’ insisted Leigh, using a mock Australian accent.

‘I’ll last,’ he whispered, then twisted around in her grip. Before she could resist, he pressed his sweaty body against hers. ‘Do you realise, this might be my last time in a major tournament. Certainly, it’ll be my last playing someone like Fanis.’

‘Nonsense!’ She thumped his chest. ‘You’re going to win. You’ll go onto greater things, or I’m not a Kinnaird.’

‘You’re not, you know. You’re a Campbell, remember.’

‘Are ye sure?’

‘Yeah. Both our fathers were crying at our wedding.’

‘Ah, silly me. I forgot.’ She danced away to the massage table and patted it. ‘Plant yourself here, and I’ll pretend you’re a lump of dough in my parent’s bakery.’

He happily slid onto the table and she got to work. She’d become strong from sculpting wood into beautiful carvings. She dug her clever fingers into his muscles, kneading away his aches and pains. He couldn’t remember being happier, or more worried. This moment was too good to be true.

His father had told Kaeden that he was abandoning any chance at tennis glory if he married Leigh. Getting a clever, vivacious, and somewhat flirtatious wife seemed like a fair exchange.

After his father’s inflated ambition had died with him, Kaeden only suffered the occasional twinge of guilt. Had he somehow hastened his father’s death? At least he could no longer disappoint the man. His only worry now was that this state of bliss couldn’t last.

‘Aye, our fathers cried,’ said Leigh, ‘but me da was crying for joy at getting rid of me. Ha! He never suspected I'd leave me two bairns with him to go chasing you around the world.’

‘I hope they’re watching.’

‘They’ll be fast asleep. My parents are very strict about bedtime.’ She pushed deeper into his aching shoulders and Kaeden groaned with satisfaction.

‘Now, as for your father...’

Kaeden rolled his eyes. Please. Not this again! Not now. He expected her to launch into another rant about poor parenting.

‘He’d have been dead proud,’ she said. ‘Whoops. Excuse me pun.’

He tried to see her expression, but her face was veiled by her auburn hair.

‘Leigh? Do you ever wonder where we’ll all be in ten, twenty, or even a thousand years?’

She snorted. ‘Lucky enough to know