Sue Jorgensen: Queen of Space

By Ken La Salle

Sue Jorgensen never imagined she’d find herself standing on the deck of an alien ship, escaping the chaos on the Earth below, ascending in a heavily modified Plymouth – when aliens take her son!

She started her morning as she always did as a restauranteur in the wilds of Washington, making the coffee and cleaning the countertops when a stranger happened by and sat at the counter. He showed her news clips of a shattered Golden Gate Bridge, destroyed by aliens and a man named Max Dedge, a private investigator who he claims has brought doom to the world. All at once, the reality she has known is replaced with space-faring Plymouths, gravity drives, and a mad dash into space.

Somewhere between space and terra firma, Sue Jorgensen finds herself in a new galaxy – one that is being taken apart for scrap by interstellar corporations with no interest in human life. Now, she will have to find a strength she never knew existed, to pick herself up when she’s thrown back to Earth and find her son in the vastness of space.

With the help of semi-sentient machines, mind-controlled dreamers, and an iron will, Sue Jorgensen will travel to the farthest reaches of sanity drawn by the power of her love for her son – to find the Queen of Space within herself, to discover that nothing is what it seems.

And that we all need rescuing.

Book One of The BreakThrough took readers to a whole new world. Sue Jorgensen returns them to Earth, and nothing will be the same.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ken La Salle
• Release date: May 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215047583

Ken La Salle

Author and Playwright, Ken La Salle grew up in Santa Ana, California and has remained in the surrounding area his entire life. He was raised with strong, blue collar roots, which have given him a progressive and environmentalist view. As a result, you'll find many of his stories touching those areas both geographically and philosophically. His plays have been seen in theaters across the country and you can find a growing number of books available online. Find out more about Ken on his website at www.kenlasalle.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Sue Jorgensen’s worst day did not begin when the Golden Gate Bridge was destroyed, when the media filled every screen with the mayhem, when everyone was asking what just happened. No. It began the day after, which was when aliens kidnapped her son.

This was not as straightforward as you might suspect.

The Golden Gate Bridge was a long way from Rockport, Washington but displayed prominently on the TV over at the Rockport Grille. Most of it, at least. With seating for only about a dozen, The Rockport Grille was little more than a slop shop, but after she started adding Swiss Miss cocoa to the regular coffees, which she then featured on the menu as Café Cocoas… Sue liked to think of it as more of a dive.

Sue didn’t like seeing the Golden Gate Bridge shattering into pieces on her TV but the news kept on showing it. Every hour, sometimes twice, the footage would be run with some commentator talking about the dangers of global warming, who was usually not as shrill as the commentator who suggested the Chinese could have been behind the fall of all that iron into the icy waters of the Pacific. The fact was no footage really showed the whole story. Waves battered the bridge to pieces but nobody had been there to film where the waves had come from or how the bridge had been cleared of cars or where all the police had come from until the picture became a mystery in plain sight.

That’s no great mystery, one of Sue’s customer’s grumbled as he sat at her counter, having just stepped in from an experience in wetness outside. Washington State may have been known for its rain but nobody in Washington saw more of it that year than Rockport. The trees in the state park across the road pulled in storms all winter long and Sue, no native of Washington, had long ceased wishing for just a little sunshine after she saw her tenth storm of the week. Now she just wanted to be dry.

She looked from the heavy, spring mist outside to her new customer: a dripping Latino carrying a bag with a… What’s that? Sue asked.

What I said, the customer told her. People who were there saw what happened. You could see it for – it was a clear day. Just nobody got the footage so it only appears mysterious.

What? No. I meant what’s that, Sue repeated, pointing at her customer’s bag. Looked like he was carrying a bag of rocks the size of a baby’s head. A fat baby.

But her customer followed her gaze and covered his bag with part of his huge, dripping overcoat. He answered with a curt, None of your concern. What should be your concern is what happened at that bridge. Nobody on TV or on the Internet realizes what really happened at the Golden Gate. They weren’t there when it fell. But I was. I saw it.

Uh huh, Sue replied, stepping up to the counter. What did you see? And what can I get you?

Coffee. Strong, came his answer.

As Sue reached for a mug, he continued, Would you believe if I told you it was aliens? There? At the Golden Gate?

Sue didn’t answer him immediately. She looked back out the window as she poured his coffee, returned the carafe to its hot plate, and set the mug before him. Aliens? Is that right, Mister…?

Call me Art, he said.

And you saw these, um, aliens? Did you, Art?

Saw enough of them, he answered. Saw enough to take one down myself. One shot. I was the real hero at the Golden Gate. That’s something you won’t hear about on the news.

No doubt, Sue told him, watching her own reflection in the chrome countertop, fiddling with the mountain of hair she had tried to put up. Her eyes drifted to the mirror, looking for whatever vehicle Art must have come in on. She asked, So, you killed an alien on the Golden Gate Bridge and suddenly you had to get to Washington? You been driving for a while, have you?

I’m not kidding you, Art insisted, a sudden accent that hadn’t been there before flaring with irritation. This thing has only begun – whatever this thing is – and most people don’t even know to think about it. But I promise you, at the center of this swirling storm of bad ideas you will find one man and his name is Max Dedge. Max Dedge.

Max Dedge, huh? Sue asked him.

Max Dedge. He’s the source of all your problems; I guarantee that.

You do, huh? Sue’s question was cut short as her son, Aaron, pushed his way through the swinging door to the kitchen. Aaron was just like any other six-year-old-kid whose family owned a restaurant: a bit too chubby but with an unending energy supply and a fantastic pallet. Not bad for a slop shop, Sue reckoned.

Where’s my gun, the boy asked, which caught the immediate attention of Sue’s customer.

See, now that’s taking things seriously, Art told Sue.

Taking what seriously? another voice inquired.

Sue turned to see Dennis LaQuon step into her kitchen, easy on her eyes. He dressed more like a mechanic than a chef and could bus tables while spouting philosophy, too. His features might have been striking but Sue was too busy being drawn in by his slate-blue eyes… and his ass, when he turned around. Sue wasn’t exactly the leer at a man’s bum type, but there were exceptions. Let’s be honest. Part-time chef, handyman, general help, Dennis LaQuon might have started out as just another wet face looking for coffee… but Sue made sure he stayed. She had plans for this one.

And don’t bother reminding her of her age. Sue knew darned well how old she was every time Dennis’ black hair reminded her of the creeping grey in her mound of orange and the way his eyes were not crowded by wrinkles. Probably because he was nearing thirty while Sue… But age is just a number, after all. She couldn’t be troubled with details when Dennis was walking in with his six-foot-two, one-hundred-sixty-pound Greek statue of a figure with nary a hint of body fat.

And the kitchen felt suddenly crowded.

Sue wasn’t above side-stepping her son, just so she could bump into Dennis. She’d learned that little trick the first week. And, while he did that thing where he caught her a bit, letting his hand cup her hip as she leaned in as far as she could, Sue could feel Dennis and she made sure he could feel her.

But Art answered him right there. The destruction of the Golden Gate Bridge and possibly human life as we know it.

Sue lifted one tired eyebrow in the direction of her customer and, moving around her constantly shuffling boy, muttered, Exaggerate much?

Look at your television, Art told her, pointing up at the flat screen anchored above the refrigerator. Again, a slow-motion shot of a cable from the great suspension bridge snapping as iron architecture collapsed in response languished on the screen long enough for silence to set down in the midst of the conversation. Art continued, I don’t need to exaggerate when the video from the scene does all of my work for me.

That is a shame, Dennis observed.

Global warming, though, wasn’t it? Sue asked.

Monsters, Aaron told her.

It ain’t none of them things, Art told them. I’m telling you it was aliens. Call themselves the Abrogines or Aborigines or something. That’s what Max Dedge told me before he left me to die in a Bangkok hotel.

You mean like an eggplant? Dennis asked.

Art replied, No. That’s an aubergine. It’s a totally different –

What did they look like? Dennis pressed with a seriousness that was oddly out of character.

Long, purple, Sue muttered.

I never saw one myself, Art answered, hesitantly. But Max tells me they’re human looking, big head –

And where would he have seen this guy with a big head? Dennis asked.

But Art appeared to be finished with the questioning. He took another sip of coffee and pushed it away. Listen, pal. I’ve been from one world to another, looking for –

One world to… You’re serious about the Abrogines, aren’t you? Dennis was practically reaching across the counter, his trim, athletic body leaning forward to tower over the other man.

Sue had never seen him so engaged. Dennis usually kept to himself, puttering around. He took his pay under the table and, sometimes, took it in parts for the old Plymouth Barracuda that had been sitting out in the garage since her husband had left it there. She put a hand on his arm and said, Hey, Denni… You okay?

The hand on his arm must have redirected his attention and Sue was a bit put off when he pulled his arm back, pivoting to look at her. Like she was an insect pestering him and he was going to hit her. He must have realized the anger she saw in his eyes because he quickly turned them to the ground and apologized. I’m… I’m sorry, he told her. Listen, I’ve gotta go.

As he spun around in the small kitchen, Sue replied, Okay. If you’re going out, could you drive Aaron to the –

I have to go, Dennis repeated, ducking out of the kitchen.

Sue didn’t need any attitude at this hour. Dennis was not even outside before Aaron started pulling at her apron, mewling a sad, Mom…

Just a second, honey, Sue responded. She was so used to saying, Just a second, honey, she did it without thinking, which was helpful because with her car in the shop (for nearly a month now)… Denni, she yelled after her employee.

She turned back to Art, still sitting at the counter, and asked a quick, Listen, you want to stay here and finish your coffee? I just need to run out for a second.

Art looked back at her for almost a complete second and asked, You’re leaving me all alone in your restaurant?

Sue was already being pulled towards the door by her son to follow Dennis. She said, Well… You look trustworthy. Right? Just, uh, leave your mug on the counter and try not to break into the till. There ain’t much there to begin with. Sound good?

She watched Art scope the counter and much of the diner before answering with the question, "You’re not expecting anyone else?

Dennis was already out the door and Sue didn’t have time for questions. She threw a Thanks for the help, back through the door as she slid on through, the cold April breeze running through the open doorway cutting through the thin sweats that had proved so useful for keeping her cool in the kitchen.

Sue crossed her arms against the chill, seeing Dennis and Aaron take the turn around her tiny garage, and hurried after them. The entire property had once been a residence, which had included a main house and a larger garage. It was the garage that had been converted into the diner, with a shed that had never been built for cars that then became necessary for that purpose. Besides, the only vehicle garaged was the ’Cuda and it wasn’t going anywhere.

So, why was Dennis going there? Had he not encountered the hundreds of mysterious boxes of hand-me-downs, cast-offs, and general junk that had been stored in there since the previous owners? Sue followed, however, because she could never be sure that Dennis hadn’t carved another path through the forest. He spent most of his time back there, on their side of the highway, across the Skagit River. Never in the National Park across the way but always –

To Sue’s surprise, the door to the shed was open – not the big one in the front but the small door around back. Standing before the opened doors, she found that he had encountered the boxes and though there remained a few still stacked behind the car most were long gone.

Dennis, Sue called to him from the doorway. In truth, the shed was so dark and dusty and moldy and draped in a thick curtain of old spiderwebs, Sue wasn’t prepared to go any closer just yet. We need just a little help getting Aaron to the – now, I know you probably haven’t had any luck with the – "

The ’Cuda’s fixed, mom, Aaron told her, his chubby, little body dashing back through the half-light that still had not come through the trees.

Trying to be one of the guys, Sue thought. But she didn’t have time to consider this because her mind was still on, You actually fixed my Barracuda?

She directed this question to Dennis, who fished through some of the remaining boxes in the shadows in the back of the shed in a way that Sue found more troubling than anything else. When he didn’t respond, Sue asked the question again… but only after saying his name two more times so he’d pay attention.

He stood motionless for just a second, answered, Is that a problem?

No, of course, it’s not a problem if you really got it working, Sue told him. She wasn’t looking at him as she answered; she was too busy inspecting the hood of the old car, the only part sticking out in the morning light. True, it was a gas guzzler, but it was also true that Sue didn’t have another car available at the moment. And true, a muscle car like the Barracuda wasn’t exactly practical, but it would be far more practical if she sold it. Sue figured that a vehicle that actually vehiculated would be easier to sell than two tons of dark back seat and, anyway, she didn’t honestly believe she’d get Dennis back there. When she ventured a bit further into the darkened shed, and looked in to see the driver’s seat, she saw the keys hanging from the ignition. She looked at the new stick shift. And she smiled. Are you taking it out?

That’s the idea. A man of few words, that was Dennis.

Sue turned away from the distracting beauty of metal and chrome, away from the flowers on the cloth top, away from the memories of all the drives… actually, three – no, two drives. And she marveled at how little she missed her ex after a divorce she never thought she’d... Hey, she said, shaking off the ’Cuda’s hypnotic effect. Could you take Aaron over to the store? He’s out of baking powder.

Baking soda, Aaron corrected.

It’s the one that makes the bubbles with the vinegar, Sue said to Dennis, not entirely certain he was listening. Dennis?

I don’t have time, Sue. I really don’t have time. Dennis kept moving boxes off from the far wall. Sue could see that he was moving them away from the roll-up garage door, a door that had not been open in at least a decade, when the ’Cuda had moved in.

You’re not going to get that opened, she said to him.

Dennis flashed a smile back in the dark, which Sue could barely detect as he tried lifting the door, pulling it in the direction it had once moved. All he succeeded in doing was knocking a decade’s worth of bugs and leaves and rat droppings into the air and down on top of himself. Sue and Aaron retreated from the cloud of gunk while Dennis hauled at the door, succeeding only in making a lot of noise.

Sue shouted in, I don’t think it’s going to work that way, Dennis. And it’s only up to Loggers Landing. She thought for a moment. I mean, if you succeed in getting that open.

Don’t have the time, Dennis shouted back, straining at the door. Something had jammed in the pulley or the cable or possibly some of the parts to the garage door opener that were probably in a box somewhere; Dennis couldn’t make the door clear a couple of feet no matter how hard he struggled.

You’re not going to get it, Sue told him. And Loggers is just ten miles.

Eleven, Dennis shouted back, kicking at things on the darkened floor as he ducked below several feet of seemingly immovable door. The only light entering the garage came from the filthy windows and many, untended cracks. Dennis looked back at Sue for the first time that day, I need to get out of here, even if it means driving the car right through this door.

Sue poked her head back into the dim shed, certain she couldn’t pay for another garage door. We’ll call a ride for you – No. What am I thinking? Not out here. Well, maybe you can borrow a bike –

Dennis crossed the distance between them and grabbed her arm with an intensity Sue had never seen before. I need to take this car. I need to go. Now.

And she watched him as he dashed around the small garage, kicking at anything that slowed his feet, checking on something with the car. Sue wasn’t a car person but her ex-husband had said he was, which is why she had no problem letting Dennis take over the ’Cuda. She figured he couldn’t do much harm, might even be able to fix it, which she guessed he had. Can you, at least, take me and Aaron over to Loggers Landing? It’s ten miles.

I told you I don’t have the time. And I told you it’s eleven. I have to leave and I have to take this, Dennis shouted back at her, his head poking back under the hood.

How could something under the hood open the door? Sue only let this thought hover for a moment.

Well, I’m not giving you a choice, Sue told him, irritated by his snooty behavior. He couldn’t stop her from opening the passenger-side door and that’s what she did, whispering to Aaron, Buckle up, son. I think it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.

Don’t do that, Dennis told her, looking up from the engine.

I’m going to do that, Sue snapped back at him. And I’ll do one better. I’m going to go get his backpack, which I am only now realizing he forgot.

Get Tony, too, Aaron shouted, finding this all much more enjoyable than the adults. But it was this call for his stuffed buddy that Sue would remember for years to come.

Tony was the worn-out husk of a stuffed animal Aaron insisted on carrying around with him despite any offer of a new toy. Tony wasn’t a toy; he was a friend. He was also completely indecipherable with regards to type of animal or even of color, though he was mostly green.

I’ll get Tony, too, Sue replied.

Do not get Tony, Dennis told her.

I’m getting Tony, she said, heading for the door.

I won’t be here when you get back, Dennis shouted.

Just so long as the car is, Sue replied, hurrying from the garage to the main house. She popped her head inside the restaurant en route. Doing good? she asked.

The solitary figure of Art replied, Haven’t even cracked the till, yet.

But Sue didn’t hear him. Her mind wasn’t thinking about customers. She ran into her house, and corralled her son’s things, but her mind wasn’t thinking about that, either. At the moment, she only had mind enough for Dennis.

The pair had slept together on two occasions – Sue was still hoping for a third. And, sure, she had a type she didn’t much care for: unavailable men… some single. She couldn’t help herself. But this new attitude Dennis had, thinking that he could order her around, was not putting him on her list of favorite people at the moment. Sue made a point of telling him this as she stuffed her son’s things in the front seat, And you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to sit right here in the back –

There’s no room in the back, mom, her son told her as he slid into the front beside a whole bunch of Tony. The car was so far in the shed that the boy appeared surrounded by darkness. Whatever sat behind them, Sue could see that it certainly was not a back seat.

Didn’t this car have a back seat? she asked.

I needed it, Dennis said, dashing around to the rear of the car. You didn’t have the room. And I couldn’t just hang it out the window.

Hang what out the window?

Something you can’t find in the backwaters of the Evergreen State, I can tell you.

Well, what is it, then? Sue asked, slapping the fabric top. This is still my car and I want to know and you’re going to tell me. She slid into the front seat next to her son and asked again, What is this secret cargo that takes up my entire back seat?

Get out of the car, Dennis told her, opening the driver’s door.

What is it? she asked again.

It’s a part of the engine. Now, get out, Dennis repeated, the meager light in the garage illuminating his youthful features. A strand of light reached through his trimmed, black, roguish beard and Sue wished she could take a picture.

Get out, Dennis shouted.

And, like that, Sue found herself shouting back. This isn’t your car, Mister LaQuon. My ex-husband paid for it with the money that was supposed to pay off my hospital bills, which is my own issue but it’s how I know it ain’t yours. She slammed her car door and proceeded to belt herself in. Now, you take us to Loggers Landing and we’ll be out of your hair… at least, until three when I need you to help us get ready for the dinner rush.

Dennis appeared obsessed with the car, flipping switches that were not supposed to be on the dash, having already buckled up himself. He said, Oh, I’m not going to any Loggers Landing and you’re going to regret ever getting in this car if you don’t get out this second. And he revved the engine so loud Sue had to reply twice.

The second time, the one she heard herself say, came out, I already regret this car or didn’t you hear how we came into it? He told me it was a steal, even as they towed it in. And you are so to going – But that’s as far as she got.

The ’Cuda blasted through the frame of the small garage with enough force to tear off its front, making any problems with the door no longer an ongoing concern. Sue watched the warped wood boards and bent frame and about a thousand nails fly apart in the morning sunlight through the car’s side-view mirror as there was no longer a view out the back. Before she could look ahead, the car was already on Highway 20, tearing up the road as it wound gently to the northeast.

Fast enough, Sue shouted.

But Dennis was paying too much attention to the road to reply to what Sue considered a well-timed burn.

Sue pursed her lips in irritation and repeated, I said do you think you’re going fast enough?

You better belt your son in for what’s coming next, Dennis shouted over her. You don’t want him flying about the cabin.

Sue smirked. Please, Dennis. If any of us are doing any flying, it’s not my chubby, little lion.

Mom, the boy shouted in embarrassment.

What?