Rorkk’s Captive: Rotari Warriors Book 1

By Amanda LaBrooy

Rorkk is a Rotari Admiral who has defended his planet against Krylan invasion for most of his adult life. Shattered by his former fiancé’s betrayal and tired of defending a planet under siege, his spirit is almost broken until intelligence is received that the Krylans are targeting an Earth woman for her unique genome to enhance their Nzumbe troops.

Seizing the opportunity to thwart the Krylans and obtain important intelligence information, Rorkk embarks on a risky mission to ensure the Earthling does not fall into the wrong hands.

Instead of finding her dream job on Aero Space Nine with the Galactic Trading Academy, Aurora discovers her role as Chief Engineer, Spacecraft Maintenance embroils living and working on a rust bucket plagued by mechanical problems, ageing maintenance droids and a crew of oddball geeks just out of school.

After surviving a micro meteor storm which compromises the space station’s hull and the environmental systems bringing the crew to the brink of disaster, Aurora visits Robodome, an off-world pleasure centre to unwind.

Aurora’s life changes overnight when she visits the centre and is kidnapped. One minute she’s about to enjoy the delights of her assigned pleasure bot, the next, she finds herself locked in a cabin on an alien spacecraft.

With a journey that threatens everything they believed about themselves and enemies at every turn, Rorkk and Aurora must join forces to defeat the enemy. Can they learn to trust each other, their growing attraction and stop the Krylans in their tracks?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781528938587

Amanda LaBrooy

Amanda LaBrooy lives in Darwin in the tropical north of Australia with her husband, two grown sons and Turbo the dog. To satisfy her desire for adventure and to escape the corporate world, she enjoys creating stories with strong characters. In her spare time, she can be found curled up with a good book or at the gym throwing weights around, trying to look like a pro.

Book preview

About the Author

Amanda LaBrooy lives in Darwin in the tropical north of Australia with her husband, two grown sons and Turbo the dog. To satisfy her desire for adventure and to escape the corporate world, she enjoys creating stories with strong characters.

In her spare time, she can be found curled up with a good book or at the gym throwing weights around, trying to look like a pro.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the memory of my father-in-law, Trevor LaBrooy, who was one of the most creative storytellers and fearless individuals I have ever known.

Copyright Information ©

Amanda LaBrooy 2023

The right of Amanda LaBrooy to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528938570 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528938587 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

Thank you to the Austin Macauley Publishers team for taking a chance on a new author and turning my dream into reality.

Chapter 1

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! The strident blaring of an alarm jarred Aurora from her nightmare. No! Not the low oxygen klaxon alarm. She wasn’t paranoid, but this rust bucket of a space station might become her tomb if she stayed until the end of her contract.

Few sensations were as frightening as not being able to get enough air. Thoughts of suffocation immediately came to mind as breathing became hard. Really hard and more shallow. Hungry for air, Aurora clutched her throat in distress while her anxious gaze honed in on the locker containing her portable breather. Unaware that her other hand clutched the bunk railing so tight that her nails dug into her palm. She knew fear was a biological response, but she had to ignore it if she wanted to survive.

Biting her bottom lip, she jack-knifed upright, flung the sheet aside and tumbled from the top bunk. Now desperate for air, her smarting hands searched for purchase on the cold metal floor as she hauled her body over to the locker.

Everyone in space feared two things, asphyxiation and fire, but neither would defeat her today. She’d beaten the odds on Earth, surviving everything the judicial system and the paparazzi had thrown at her and her family, and this was no different.

Fuck! She gasped, missing the locker’s release mechanism on the first attempt. Only finding it on the second. WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Stars flashed across her eyes as she seized the breather with trembling fingers and shoved it against her mouth to suck in badly needed oxygen.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! A check of her wrist unit revealed it was 0200hrs. Only two hours’ sleep. Fuck. No wonder I feel like death warmed up. It’s Reikker’s shift… that figures. Taking a deep breath, she removed the breather and activated her wrist comms. Reikker! She shouted before shoving it back in place. Seconds later, she repeated the call again. Reikker! Nothing.

While her job as Chief Engineer of Spacecraft Maintenance didn’t cover the station’s environmental systems. A creeping sense of dread and an overwhelming need to survive made it her business now.

Snapping the breather back into place, she dragged her body upright with the aid of the bunk’s ladder, scooped up yesterday’s overalls and jerked them on over her singlet and panties.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Emerging from her cabin, she sprinted down the empty corridor, her curses escalating with each step as the cold metal grate scorched the soles of her feet. Treating each step as an order rather than a negotiation pushed her through the discomfort and towards the vac lift only to find it was idling on level 20, a long way from her sleeping quarters on level one and the control room on level seven. Stairs? No. Too far.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! The need to bolt almost overrode common sense as her impatient index finger whacked the button repeatedly until the lift arrived. Despite the impulse to take another route, she knew that this was the quickest way to her destination. A soon as the sluggish doors groaned open, Aurora scurried inside and announced, Level Seven.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Heart-pounding, she constantly shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she rode the squeaky lift, electing to ignore the wild woman staring back at her from the mirrored interior.

Where the hell is Reikker? He’d better have a good explanation. Unconscious from oxygen deprivation? Possible, but not likely. In fact, she had yet to see another soul – probably due to the small skeleton crew on board during the low season combined with the early hour.

The lift pinged, and Aurora eyed the central control terminal through the widening aperture of the vac lift doors. Surprised to discover Frank, the new systems analyst, already masked up and scrutinising data.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Twisting sideways, she squeezed through the partially open exit and sprinted towards him to skim the disturbing readouts over his shoulder.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Fuck! Am I right to assume that the space station is leaking air like a sieve because the hull looks like Swiss cheese? She queried.

Frank nodded. Yep, unfortunately, explosive decompression is underway. The internal atmosphere is venting into the vacuum of space quicker than the environmental system can produce oxygen.

Do you know what caused the hull breaches?

Although the young man’s attention remained firmly on the screen, he risked a quick glance at Aurora. We suffered a micro meteor storm.

Why didn’t we receive an advance alert? Was it a software malfunction?

In answer to both questions, I don’t know, he replied, his forehead creased in concentration.

Aurora’s hand moved towards the evacuation alarm button. I need to engage the alarm.

Frank seized her wrist. We should try to fix the problem first. Something flashed beneath the surface of his worried expression, prompting her to snap, Out with it.

The ‘off the record’ induction from my predecessor included a warning that many of the escape pods have been cannibalised for parts. So, there’s no telling if any are still operational. Moreover, they haven’t been inspected or serviced since they were installed.

You have got to be kidding me! She exclaimed, her heart rate hitting an all-time high.

Just then, the vac lift pinged, decanting four worried geeks sporting breathers and rumpled cartoon print pyjamas. If the situation hadn’t been dire, she might have laughed.

What the fuck is going on? The tallest of them proclaimed.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! She pressed her lips together, vowing not to curse in response. Strangely enough, swearing hadn’t been an issue until she’d started this job. Vowing to remain in control, she whispered to Frank. Let’s keep the escape pod situation to ourselves, okay?

Preoccupied, Frank nodded as he scrolled through the datasheets.

There. He pointed to a line on the screen, The antennae array’s alert system malfunctioned. Advance notice would have given us time to alter the space station’s orbital path and avoid the worst of it. But that isn’t the most pressing issue. The nanometre-scale sensors which monitor the hull’s condition should have triggered deployment of the nano-particle repair fluid to seal the breaches immediately.

Nothing would surprise me on this rust bucket. If we make it out alive, my mantra will be ‘rust in peace’ as I wave the station farewell from my Earthbound shuttle.

And the company line will be, ‘I’m sorry, it was an oxidant.’ Frank’s grin was infectious as he glanced over his shoulder.

They both laughed, and Aurora’s tense posture eased. Thanks. Despite the emergency, she appreciated the humour.

Frank flicked through the station’s schematics until he reached the crew accommodation in sector nine, which was blinking red. While that sector sustained the most damage, we have several breaches nearby, and one up there. He pointed to the ceiling. On a positive note, the station’s smaller items are already congregating around the hull breaches, and larger items are fastened, so they shouldn’t present a danger to us.

Good to know, she replied, sounding more sarcastic than she’d intended.

He glanced over his shoulder. We should send out a message to crew members in sector nine to evacuate their rooms immediately if they haven’t already done so.

Do it.

While Frank distributed the message, Aurora contemplated their situation. A massive amount of air was escaping. And if the problem wasn’t fixed, they risked total decompression, which wasn’t pretty. Not to mention that the breaches could trigger hull fractures, which were beyond the nano-particle repair fluid’s mandate.

While the effects of decompression were common knowledge, the tallest geek she now dubbed ‘bunny slippers’ delivered a lesson to his colleagues. You know what will happen next, don’t you? If we decompress, our bodies will swell because the liquid in our soft tissues and the water in our circulatory system will vaporise. After a minute, our blood won’t circulate. Gas and vapour will flow out of our airways, cooling our mouths and noses to near-freezing temperatures, and the water in our noses and on our tongues will begin to boil. Soon after that…

Enough, Aurora warned. No one needs a reminder. Instead, use your energy to come up with a solution.

After digesting the dire news, one of the geeks became unsteady and collapsed to the ground while the remainder mulled around, looking lost and confused.

Aurora rolled her eyes. What should I do? Fucking Reikker should be here managing these babies. She looked longingly at the worthless evacuation alarm and bit her lip as she turned back to see what Frank was doing. We need answers, Frank. And fast. It’s getting colder, and the ship’s electronic equipment won’t operate once it gets too cold, including the environmental system and the grav unit.

Yes, I’m aware of that.

Sorry. She vowed to remain calm, but didn’t know how long it would last if a solution didn’t surface in the next few minutes.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! The klaxon alarm brought to mind the job advertisement describing Aerospace Nine as a ‘state of the art spaceship maintenance facility.’ While the claim sold Aurora on the job, she now knew the truth. It was a tax write off for the Galactic Trading Academy. Moreover, she relished hunting down the guilty advertising executive. If she survived this latest crisis.

She swallowed hard as Frank keyed in, ‘nano skin repair report.’ Both sets of eyes flew over the data. But it was the summary at the bottom which caught their immediate attention.

Fuck! Does this mean we only have fifteen minutes before total decompression? Aurora asked.

Yep.

Aurora forced her eyes from him and set the stopwatch function on her wrist unit. Suddenly, her icy feet reminded her that she needed shoes before frostbite took hold. Targeting the geek, now conscious but still in a prone position on the floor, she jerked the slippers from his feet, apologising as she worked.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Wearing the oversized slippers, she scurried back to Frank. Out of the chair, my friend, she announced, shoving him aside while the geeks continued to mill around their fallen comrade. It’s on me now. What if I fail and people die? But with the escape pods out of action, what choice do I have?

First, she needed to distract the geeks and keep them occupied. Suddenly, inspiration struck, and she singled out two of them. Search the nearby area for spare breather oxygen tablets. Go. Then she directed her attention to ‘bunny slippers’, the most vocal of the group. You. She pointed. Fetch the spray foam sealant and tanks from the emergency kiosk in the corridor and bring them here. Sounding more confident than she actually was.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! After carefully scanning diagnostic reports on the nanometer-scale sensor system and the nano-particle repair unit software, she failed to detect any significant anomalies on the first run.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Slow down and look again. Take your time. Drawing in much-needed air from the cumbersome breather, she scanned the data again while Frank looked on, almost missing the high-temperature readings.

Could that be the problem, Frank? She pointed to a line of data. Would the system shut down if the temperature rose too high? A fire, perhaps?

There is only one way to find out, and that means inspecting the equipment.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Hopefully, it’s somewhere accessible, she replied, pulling up the station’s schematics and initiating a search. Yes! The hardware for both systems is close by in room 97. A glance at her wrist unit indicated ten minutes remained until total decompression. They would have to hurry if they had any chance.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Launching out of her seat, she sprinted down the gloomy corridor, quickly scanning door numbers, closely followed by Frank and three geeks carrying the items she’d requested.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Finding the right door, she slammed her palm against the reader and stepped inside, only to be halted by the wall of hot air and smoke.

Aurora knew the drill. As an Aerospace Engineer, she’d had to put out the occasional fire. But hot gases didn’t rise in microgravity, so the flame resembled a hemispherical cap or flamelet, which was harder to extinguish.

Through the smoke haze, Aurora spied a loose electrical hose dancing to its own tune. Looks like the power supply between the computer system and the unit housing the pipes and fans that pump the nano-particle repair fluid into the hull has been severed. She glanced at Frank over her shoulder.

That probably caused a short circuit and started the fire, he replied.

Aurora nodded, her gaze tracking the dispersed flamelets whizzing around the room in search of oxygen. She scrubbed her face with her hands, fighting the demon of panic, which urged her to run as fast as possible in the other direction.

Glancing back at her anxious colleagues, Aurora feared one of them would do something stupid. We can’t enter the room, she instructed. Dump the extinguisher. It isn’t going to cut it. She turned to bunny slippers.

Grab the industrial vacuum from the cleaner’s room two doors down and bring it here. His hesitation prompted her to add. Pronto! Thankfully, he took off. She prayed that he wasn’t running away.

Impatient, Frank snatched the discarded fire extinguisher before Aurora could stop him and pushed past her to spray the flamelets. We can’t wait. We need to act now.

Aurora watched in horror as the flamelets multiplied and then adhered to Frank’s breather and clothing. Nourished with oxygen, they flared to life and burned through his clothing. Crying out in pain, Frank dropped the extinguisher and rolled into a ball towards Aurora. Grabbing the back of his shirt, Aurora dragged him into the corridor. I told you not to go in there, she scolded. Surprised that he’d been the one to act rashly.

Frank was lucky that the vacuum’s appearance stopped Aurora from reprimanding him further. Fuming, she snatched the device from bunny slipper’s hands and sucked the flamelets from Frank’s body and mask until they disappeared.

Look after him, guys, she instructed before tightening her grip on the vacuum and entering the smoky room to suck up every flamelet in sight until she had them all contained in the metal dust cylinder.

Satisfied that the fire was under control, she joined the others in the corridor, shut off the vacuum and handed it to one of the onlookers – her stiff shoulders relaxing at the realisation that she’d defeated the first hurdle.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Entering the room again, she shut off the power supply to the unit containing the pipes and fans that pumped the nano-particle repair fluid. Next, she searched the room’s lockers and found tools to reattach the broken cable, which appeared to be in decent shape, despite the fire. The temporary fix would do until a qualified technician conducted a permanent repair. With that done, she switched on the unit’s power to start it up again. Seven minutes before decompression. She announced after checking her wrist unit.

When the heat sink pipes didn’t pump nano-particle repair fluid as expected, her heart pounded like a gavel. Any suggestions, boys? She asked her audience, tamping down the demon of panic.

I can help, Frank groaned as his colleagues pulled him from the floor. Upright but cradling his torso, he scuttled to the computer’s data terminal and pulled up the troubleshooting screen.

While Frank was busy, Aurora cast a quick look around to reassure herself that everyone was still where they should be. Let’s keep our heads and not do anything stupid, okay?

Several tense seconds passed, and Aurora held her breath as Frank continued to scan the data. The equipment appears to have cooled off sufficiently, so that isn’t the problem. He skimmed further. We need to check for physical issues with the pipes and the fans that pump the nano-particle repair fluid through the hull. The tubes need to be clear of debris and watertight. Equally important are the fans which need to be inspected for damage or missing or misaligned blades.

Okay, guys, you heard the man. Get to it, Aurora barked. Like obedient worker bees, they swarmed over the equipment, but after a thorough search, no problem was found. On the verge of a panic attack, she prompted Frank, Next suggestion. She snapped her fingers. Quickly.

He ran a shaky hand through his long ruffled hair, clearly agitated.

Out with it, Frank.

I recommend that we reboot the computer system. The problem might stem from a system error after overheating because it is old and doesn’t have the usual backups. The only problem is, if I reboot it, the computer might not start up again.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Shit, she shouted into her breather. And if that wasn’t bad enough, a check of her wrist unit signified they had five minutes and counting before the space station would start to become uninhabitable.

Go for it, Frank, she announced. I can’t believe we are reverting back to the switch it off if all else fails method. Let’s hope this bad boy doesn’t have a terminal illness.

The geeks huddled in the corner, whispering amongst themselves. Probably discussing how they may never get to finish their latest computer game.

Done! Frank announced. Say your prayers now while we wait five seconds before switching it back on.

Aurora wrapped her arms tightly around her body, conducting the count down in her head before she announced, Flick the switch, Frank!

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Her wrist unit bleeped at the three-minute mark.

Aurora’s heart felt like it was going to leap out of her chest as she scrutinised the empty pipes in earnest. Suddenly, the fans sprang to life, and nano plasma shot through the pipes. Relieved to know that as soon as it reached and repaired the hull breaches, oxygen and temperature levels would quickly increase.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOooop! Her wrist beeped at the one minute mark.

She let out a relieved breath, rubbing her temples and then her eyes. Fuck. Not before time. Although the geeks executed high fives, waning adrenaline had her sagging against the wall.

No doubt they would find out soon enough if the station’s other crew members had survived the emergency. She damn well hoped so.

After that perfect carnival of fun, we need to discover what the hell happened. Frank, are you okay to keep going for another few minutes?

He nodded, no doubt keen to redeem himself from his earlier gaffe.

Pull up the service log. Anger quickly surfaced when she found the unit hadn’t been serviced for over 12 months, even though the schedule stipulated a thirty-day cycle. Fuck, Reikker hasn’t replaced the engineer who left over a year ago. Not unusual. This outpost is held together with sticky tape, gum and a whole lot of luck. Well, our luck nearly ran out today. And who cares? Clearly, not the Galactic Trading Academy.

She ignored the open-mouthed stares. Frank, it’s time to take yourself to the infirmary and get patched up, she announced with a forced smile, pushing past the knot of geeks blocking her exit.

Minutes that felt like hours later, her breath still coming short, she sagged back in her chair. That was close. Too fucking close. She couldn’t believe they’d done it. As her gaze registered the rising oxygen levels, she removed her breather, clipped it to her utility belt and made a mental note to replace its depleted oxygen tablet. Suddenly, feeling a wild desire to laugh out loud in relief.

Falling adrenaline levels caused her fingers to stumble over the keys as she updated the maintenance logs. Her most pressing issue, the long-range antenna array’s failure to detect oncoming danger. Another task for the station technicians to address before their shift ended and, unfortunately, Reikker’s responsibility, which meant it probably wouldn’t happen. Collapsing back in her chair, she cast a longing glance at the broken coffee machine and sighed. Just when she needed caffeine in the worst possible way.

Her eyes closed briefly, wondering whether she would need therapy after her harrowing experience. If I make it out of here alive. Big If. In any case, it wasn’t the right time to travel down memory lane. She still had work to do, and she had to deal. Besides, therapy hadn’t helped after the paparazzi had driven her family into hiding.

Regrettably, it was time to find Reikker. And she did, after navigating several lacklustre corridors. She had questions, a lot of questions. What will his explanation be this time? With fists clenched, she approached his closed office door, which barley muffled the heavy metal music.

Throwing it open, Aurora found Reikker at his desk transfixed by a gyrating woman on a mini holodeck. As usual, he sported unkempt spiky brown hair, more piercings than she could count on two hands, scruffy black leather trousers and a threadbare t-shirt. Stunned, Aurora watched as the holograph cupped and squeezed her swollen breasts and teased large nipple rings. Her busy fingers roaming every contour and curve of her abdomen while she thrust her hips forward and threw her head from side to side, flicking her waist-length blond hair. Clearly, Reikker was again testing his 3 D X-rated imaging software on company time.

What the hell! Aurora shouted, fearing this bizarre tableau would be imprinted on her mind forever. What the fuck is wrong with you, Reikker? Didn’t you hear the alarm? We had a major emergency. We could have died, and it would be your fault. Were you aware that the tau ion plasma cylinder unit hasn’t been serviced because you haven’t replaced the technician?

Without warning, he stood, his trousers pooling at his feet while maintaining a death grip on his personal joystick.

Reikker’s bravado knew no bounds. Like what you shhhhee? His heavy brows wiggled like caterpillars on speed. I took a boosshhhter pill, he explained, glancing down in evident admiration.

Aurora eyed the empty bottle on the desk. On top of alcohol? Seriously? Her fists tightened as she suffered a thorough examination. I’ll need decontamination after this encounter.

He shrugged. H-h-h-heeeey! With a kiiiiiiiller body like yo-ooorrsh, I can overlook the freeeeek fa-fa-factor. Can’t afford to be fushy up here, he slurred before jabbing a finger in the air and snickering behind his other hand like a five-year-old.

Bastard! With jaw tensed, Aurora quelled the urge for violence and instead speared him with a narrowed look. Aren’t you worried about what I might do to you if you piss me off? She raised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips. After all, I’m a freak. Your words. Not mine. She watched him squirm. The drug combo had slowed his thought processes down to a snail’s pace. If they were operating at all.

She hadn’t told any of her co-workers what she was or what she could do. Anything they thought they knew was pure speculation.

Fierce heat blazed in her eyes.

This is a workplace, moron, and you need to do your job. Stepping closer, she ran her razor-sharp gaze over him. I’ve seen more meat in a vegetarian restaurant. She replied dryly, a smirk breaking across her face.

Wh-a-a-aaash would you know anyway, he protested, in a rush of barely distinguishable syllables.

Definitely disillusioned. I guess that penis booster does work. You’re twice the dick you were yesterday! She snapped, smiling with satisfaction. Boy, that felt good. She gave herself a mental high five. Serious face. Serious face.

SHUT DOWN YOUR VID, REIKKER, she shouted and then more quietly, And put away your joystick. Otherwise, management will hear about your extracurricular activities. She wasn’t going to tell him that she would be filing a report anyway.

While his eyes exhibited loathing, self-preservation kept his mouth firmly shut.

Then she delivered her final salvo. You’re on notice – turn off the vid and do your job. The long-range antennae array needs immediate attention closely followed by employing a technician for the nano-particle repair unit. Spinning on her heels, she strode to her desk, aware that Reikker’s eyes were drilling holes in her back. Idiot. She ignored his expletives; he was only interested in developing interactive vids and escaping this rust bucket. Although they shared the same wish, Aurora wanted to walk out under her own steam rather than be carried out in a body bag.

Well, if he wants to kill himself, that is his business, but he isn’t taking anyone else with him. I’ll file another report. Deep down, Aurora knew she was stuck with him because he would have been dismissed long ago if he hadn’t been such a gifted software engineer. And he knew it.

Throwing herself into her chair, she cradled her head in her hands, wishing she could erase the last few hours. Stretching her stiff shoulders, she glanced at the clock. Although it was still early morning, she felt like she’d done a full day’s work and probably had. Under the circumstances, returning to her bunk to snatch a few hours’ rest was a pipe dream. Instead, she glanced at her holographic album for a quick trip down memory lane. The pictures transitioned from her beachside house in Darwin to her BFF’s smiling faces, their arms wrapped around each other, sweaty and dishevelled after a local charity run. Her eyes teared up, remembering the good times with Corey and Stacey.

I wonder what they are up to? Probably not dealing with a life and death situation. This insular existence has warts on it. It’s been three months since I’ve worn anything but grey overalls, black boots and a hairstyle that didn’t involve a tight bun and a mini facelift. Well, most mornings, if I had time to dress without a klaxon alarm announcing another crisis. Pity, I have another nine months before I can join the living again.

Desperate to leave Earth and escape the paparazzi, Aurora had accepted the first job offer. Don’t go there. Mum and Dad are gone now. There