Princess of the Void: An Alien Abduction Romance [Vols 1-5 complete]

Stories

### Chapter 1: Dramatis Personae

The Royal Couple

Sykora, Princess of the Black Pike

Our heroine. A Void Princess. Ambitious and amorous. She is trying to work on her temper. Wife of Grantyde.

Grantyde of Maekyon , Prince Consort of the Black Pike

Née Grant Hyde. A Maekyonite (or "human," in his original tongue). Our hero. Prudent and purposeful. Husband of Void Princess Sykora.

The Black Pike Command Group

Vorakaia of the Black Pike

Sykora's majordomo. Timid.

Hyax of the Black Pike

Sykora's Brigadier. Surly.

Waian of the Black Pike

Sykora's Chief Engineer. Easy-going.

Crew & Servants

Ajax of the Black Pike

Taiikari marine. Dutiful and terse.

Meena of the Black Pike

A hangar crew engineer and the girlfriend of Ajax of the Black Pike. Cheerful, outgoing, and possessive.

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Kymai of the Black Pike

Taiikari quartermaster. Neurotic.

Ipqen-mek-Taqa , Lady of Eqtora

Eqtoran noblewoman and engineer apprentice aboard the Black Pike. Soft-spoken.

The Black Pike Coterie

Garuna, Governess of Ptolek

Governess of the gas giant Ptolek. A bubbly, unserious woman.

Frelle , Lady of Ptolek

Garuna's mother. Canny and domineering.

Paxea , Marquess of Entmok

A shipping magnate and ally to Sykora of the Black Pike. Wed to Thror.

Thror , Marquis Consort of Entmok

A gregarious Amadari man. Wed to Paxea.

Wenzai , Countess of Korak

A hedonistic condenser fleet manager. Wed to Tikani.

Tikani , Count of Korak

A thoughtful Kovikan man. Wenzai’s husband.

Lakai , Lady of Kyin

An accomplished pilot and woman of leisure. Known as a flagrant xenophile.

The Empire Beyond Black Pike

Zithra XIX , Empress of Taiikar

The undisputed ruler of the Taiikari empire. Known for her sweeping reforms and ambitious expansion.

Inadama , Marquess Palatine of Taiikar

Mother to Sykora, Princess of the Black Pike, and Narika, Princess of the Glory Banner.

Resident of the Imperial Core.

Narika , Princess of the Glory Banner

Void Princess. Sister to Sykora of the Black Pike.

There is little love lost between them.

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### Chapter 2: 11 Night Shift

Volume 1: Maekyon

A month from now, as he feels the cool metal of his wife’s gun settle against his skull, Grant will remember his final days on Earth. He’ll wish he’d spent more of them on the surface, in the daytime. He’ll have trouble remembering the exact blue of his old home's sky, how its sunsets look. Another reason to regret his time in those underground halls—not that he’ll need more.

Today, he’s just focused on getting the job.

“This is a night shift,” the man says. His jacket zipper clatters softly against his tie pin. “11 to 7. You’re aware of that?”

Grant folds his hands in his lap. Dozens of interviews lately and he never knows what to do with his hands. “I am, sir.”

“Not everyone does well with that.” The man scratches his thick paunch. “You worked them before?”

“Yessir.” Grant points at an entry on his resume. “Security superintendent at the Potterfield, right there, and the overnight custodian position just below it.”

“How’d you do?”

“Just fine,” he says. “My sleep schedule’s a bit off-kilter. It was a good fit.”

“Why’d you move on?”

“That’s when I relocated to Colorado,” Grant says, because I moved on when it was time to move on won’t play, he doesn’t think.

“Why’s that?”

“Family reasons.” He leaves it there.

The man has the good grace to let it lie. “So you get on okay with boredom? Being by yourself, not much going on?”

“Sure. That’s night shifts. Honestly, it’s a perk.”

“No manager poking around, huh?”

“I self-manage well.”

“Good answer.” The man smirks. “You’d say you enjoy them, then?”

“I do,” Grant says. “I know people say that, and then they can’t hang. That’s not me. It’s nice to have space to think. And I like the sky at night.”

“We got a poet.” The man chuckles. Grant doesn’t think that what he said is very poetical at all, but he grins along anyway.

“You won’t be working outdoors, much,” the woman says. An older lady, much more of a desk type than her stocky security-looking colleague. The fluorescent light glints off her horn-rimmed glasses. Neither of them have given Grant their names. “But there’s some fabulous stargazing out here when you can get it. We’re very remote.”

“I saw on the drive up. I’m looking forward.”

The man’s leather boots squeak as he sits back in his folding chair. “You want to talk to us about 2019?”

“That would be the year I dropped out of college, sir,” he says. “Went to Alberta and worked on the oil sands, north of Fort McMurray.”

“Why’s that?”

“Same reason I’m here,” he says. “I needed money, and I’m not stressed about doing stressful things for it.”

The man raises his eyebrow. “You’re an honest guy, Grant.”

“To a fault, sir. That’s what I’ve been told.”

“And you never went back? Smart kid like you?”

He shakes his head. “My father needed help.”

“You stay in touch with him?” the woman asks.

Another shake. “He’s gone.”

The woman takes off her glasses and fiddles with them, folding and unfolding their arms. “We run a pretty extensive background check, Mr. Hyde,” she says. “Archer Holdings contracts with the US Government, and they insist on it. Are we going to turn up anything off the level about you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“No arrests?”

“No, ma’am.”

“If we do a urine sample, will we find anything?”

“Not even a poppy seed, ma’am.”

“You drink much?” the man asks.

“Some.”

“Well, nothing illegal about that, long as you don’t do it on the clock. God Bless America.” The man smirks and Grant feels duty-bound to do the same.

The woman slides a little plastic jar across the table. “You fill that up to the line and put it in the receptacle on the right-hand side of the bathroom on your way out. And then you have a very nice evening, Mr. Hyde, and expect a call in the next 24.”

The man, it transpires, is named Drake. He’s there to meet Grant on his first day at Archer Holdings West. He’s in the same coverall uniform as before, same incongruous cowboy boots, with the fresh addition of a gun, in a black leather holster clipped to his belt. Grant doesn’t know guns so well. He thinks that’s a Glock, but to an enthusiast that’s probably the same as calling every rifle an AR-15. Not something he’d prefer to conversate about either way.

They move through a labyrinth of security checkpoints on the way into Archer Holdings’ drab glass-and-steel business box. Metal out of pockets, shoes off, squawky wand. The usual stuff. Drake waves to a man with a submachine gun slung across his back.

“That’s, uh, that’s firepower,” Grant says.

“It’s all show for the bigwigs,” Drake says. “No sweat. Eddie there’s a teddy bear. Eddie the teddy.”

Eddie chuckles. “Fuck off, Drake.”

At a line of lockers, they seal away his phone and his keys, and pick up a uniform for him. A gray coverall with HYDE, GRANT on a laminated ID lanyard. Drake shows him his custodial duties. “Daywalkers are supposed to take out the garbage at lights out,” he says. “But they usually forget. You buzz by the rec room and you see the can full, just take it to the chute on the other end of the hallway.”

“Sure,” Grant says. “Can I tell you something? Every night shift I ever had, independent of each other, we all call ‘em daywalkers.”

Drake chuckles. “That’s a reference to something, right?”

“Think so. Not sure what.”

“Makes ‘em sound like a zombie or something. Shame they run the world.”

Drake walks them down unadorned and stucco-ceilinged hallways to a silver elevator. They get in and he reaches past Grant to press B5. “Going down,” he says.

They descend. Grant isn’t sure how fast this elevator is going, but if it’s as modern as it looks, it’s a long way.

Another hallway, this one narrower and paler. Drake shows him to his office.

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It’s a close and cramped place, dominated by a ceiling-scraping bank of TV screens before a large console. Before it is a broken-in suede swivel chair. The chair sits below an AC vent that blows cool air directly down, and Grant notes to himself to bring a jacket, just in case, but he doesn’t mind the cold. Reminds him of Alberta.

There’s another door on the other side of the office. This one’s labeled CHAMBER. A wide observation window set in the wall next to the screens shows the room beyond, a real-time view of the scratchy black-and-white world of the CCTVs all around.

The CHAMBER is a walkable strip of floor tile in front of a massive cylindrical cell of thickened glass. Within the cell is a jungle gym, a toilet seat set into the wall, and a large poster, taped to the opposite side, showing an evergreen forest.

It’s empty beyond that. A cell built to hold… nothing. A life sentence for the jungle gym.

“The job said this was property security,” Grant says. “Is that a cell?”

“It’s a cell with property in it.” Drake indicates the jungle gym. “You worried about the inalienable rights of the monkey bars?”

“I guess not.”

“Here’s the lion’s share of the job. It’s easy. You sit here—” Drake slaps the back of the chair. “And you monitor the feed. This dash in front of you is the camera controls. You shouldn’t have to touch any of them, but if they go askew or fuzzy, the manual’s right there next to the board. Don’t worry about that. Doesn’t happen.” He points at the bank of screens. There’s an unlit yellow diode the size of a fist set into the wall next to them. “If anything shows up or moves on those cameras, or if that light right there flashes, you record the time it happened and any additional observations in the logbook. Even if you think you might’ve imagined it, doesn’t matter. You write it down.”

“But there’s nothing in there.”

“Right. Easy job.”

Grant chews his tongue. “Anything else?”

“Yep. Got your phone right there.” Drake gestures to a handset. “If you need the outside world, you hit star-nine and it gets you reception. Gotta give them a reason you’re calling out, and they’ll be listening. Star-zero is a line right to me. There’s more, but that spiel’s fine for night one. Oh, right—and if an emergency happens, you flip the plastic case and hit that button.”

Drake taps the boxy transparent cover over a predictably large and predictably red control in the middle of the camera dashboard.

“When that happens,” he says, “You’re gonna be locked in here. Metal shutters come down over all the doors and the window. Only my ID card is gonna get those doors lifted. So keep in mind, once it’s hit, you cannot leave until I retrieve you. That’s for your safety.”

“What counts as an emergency?”