The Alien’s Handler

Virgin Warriors of Kar’Kal Book 1

Gemma Voss

OceanofPDF.com

Copyright 2020 by Gemma Voss

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations.in a book review.

OceanofPDF.com

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

About the Author

Sneak Preview

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 1

Ella

The alien invasion was less exciting than one might have imagined. People thought that, surely, Earth would have put up a real fight. Maybe we would band together and shake our fists at those invaders with our moxie and nuclear warheads. Well, that was cute in the movies.

But did you ever stop to consider how we might stack up against an intergalactic alliance with the technology to travel light-years with an army in tow? Missions to Mars are basically sandbox play to these life-forms. And wouldn’t you know, they came here with the express purpose of neutralizing a barbaric species before more harmful space exploration practices could be established. Pretty much the Space Age equivalent of “Hey kid, step away from the hot stove before you burn your mitts off!”

The first to show up were the Peace-Negs, with their olive branch talk and their cures for disease and famine. They gave about five Senators a heart attack when they forked into the Capitol building without warning to discuss treaties. Every world leader was scrambling to sit at the table for the Earth Delegation and get a piece of the technological utopia pie. A few months later, the Alliance army rolled into the atmosphere, and I guess most people were feeling too high on the positives to fret over the newly formed puppet governments.

The fact of the matter is this: for a whole lot of people, life is better Post-Occupation—myself included. My mom doesn’t have cancer anymore. I’ve had a steady job for the past five years even though I never finished school. Tax season and student loans have ceased to exist. Most importantly, we’re far, far away from the Sector 5 War. To little people like me, sovereignty is just a buzz word people like to kick around.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t some unhappy folks that can’t get over the whole we’re-an-alien-colony-planet thing. I get it, in theory. But practically speaking, I really could care less.

I’m forced to see the disgruntled Pro-Sovereignty Anti-Alien crowd every day, and well, it gets really annoying. They protest outside the lab where I work, which is the largest gathering place of alien life-forms in the South Jersey area. Oh yeah, you’d think New Jersey would be the last place an alien would want to plop a research lab, but apparently there was some usable space hanging around. Besides, I’ve come to learn that most aliens love a good trip to the beach.

Today is no different. As I cross the grounds from the transport bus (which runs on waste and smells like ass), I have to walk past the crowd of people waving signs that say “GET OFF OUR PLANET” and “ALIENS GO HOME.” None of them are very creative, but they are always written in all caps. If you get too close, they spit on you. To avoid them I shuffle within the blob of other commuters and ignore the cries of “RACE TRAITORS!”

Most of the local aliens live in a complex attached to the research center, and they find it strange that so few human workers take advantage of the reduced price living quarters. A couple of purple-skinned Verguli women are watching the protesters tail commuters from behind the gate with bemused expressions.

“Don’t they get tired of being so angry?” I hear one of them say as I slip through the gate and hustle towards the entrance.

“Ella!” My manager Jen intercepts me in the hallway before I make it to my assigned laboratory. “Let’s chat.”

I blink in surprise but join her in her office. Jen Marsden is a no-nonsense woman with a brilliant mind. She was on the cutting edge when it came to working with the Alliance early in the Occupation, and it paid off for her. Now, she heads the most prestigious research facility on the East Coast. Five years ago, she hired me even without the college degree. I’m only a Handler, a glorified assistant, but I’ve always been grateful to her.

Her desk is piled with folders and stacks of paper. The walls and shelves are jam-packed with photos, gifts from foreign planets, and awards that gather dust.

I remove a box full of lab equipment from her leather chair and take a seat.

“Sorry about that,” she mutters as she sinks into her own seat behind the desk.

“What’s up?” I ask, wracking my brain for anything I might have screwed up recently. Things had been going well, or at least I thought.

“Let me get right to it. I’d like to move you to a new research team.”

“What? Have I done something wrong? If this is about Oongla’s mishap in the grocery store—”

She lets out a chuckle. “No, no. Nothing’s wrong. In fact, quite the opposite.”

I blankly await her explanation.

“Don’t get a big head, because I don’t need more annoying employees,” she sighs. “But you’re my best Handler here.”

My chest swells. Jen does not hand out compliments. “Thank… you… ?”

She jabs a finger at me. “You’re not getting a raise.”

“Okay, so what’s going on?”

When the clock ticks nine o’clock, her phone starts ringing off the hook. She ignores it and starts explaining: “The Oofara team is doing great. I’m feeling confident that they can function with a part-time Handler since they’ve improved their bedside manner and cultural skills. I have a new team coming in and I’d like you to start as their Handler. I have to confess, though, they might be a handful.”

I’ve been a liaison between the Oofara research team and the human world for almost as long as I’ve worked here. As someone with zero marketable skills, the opportunity to explain basic Earth concepts to a reptilian species has been a cushy gig for me. All I do is play babysitter to prevent PR disasters.

I shrug. “All right. Any details?”

Jen lets out a massive sigh of relief. “This is it. This is what I’m talking about. Rolling with the punches. That’s what I need.” She points at the mountain of crap on her desk. “Red folder. Meet me here next Monday and I’ll get you settled with them.”

I manage to remove the red folder without causing an avalanche. My heart squeezes for my sweet reptile team who I’ll be forced to part ways with. They have truly become my friends in all this time. The yellow eyes took some getting used to, but they are wonderful people from the top of their scaly heads to the bottoms of their ugly clawed feet. Just another reason I get frustrated at the sight of those protesters every morning. I’m honestly proud of the work I do. The Oofara have regenerative abilities and have been testing re-growth healing options for humans and human-adjacent species.