by Anna Carven
As I reach the little bend in the path near the front entrance, I freeze.
Someone is staring at me.
“You!” I gape at the Kordolian. He’s sitting on the bench we jokingly call the loveseat. “You’re not supposed to be in here!”
“Human.” A look of displeasure crosses his face. He’s wearing funny little blacked-out sun-goggles. They look like an extension of his freaky nano-armor. “You were ordered to return to your chambers.”
He stands up, grabs a pair of menacing looking blades, securing them at his back as he approaches me. “Why have you disobeyed the orders of your Station Boss?”
“I was in the middle of a critical task.”
“You would disregard your own safety for the sake of your work?”
“See those oxygen filters up there? I was cleaning them. So they don’t blow up. My work ensures a clean air supply. So I’m sorry if you were upset I didn’t rush back to my pod, but other stuff took priority. Like making sure everyone has air to breathe.” I narrow my eyes, taking in the Kordolian’s intimidating appearance. He’s good at looming threateningly, this one. His grey lips are pressed together in disapproval. He takes another step forward, and I shuffle backwards, scoping out the nearest escape route from the edge of my vision.
If I had to, I’d probably climb back up into the filter plant. He looks too heavy to go up there.
I hope his nano-suit doesn’t allow him to fly. That would complicate things.
Do Kordolians fly?
“Do all Human females have such little care for decorum?” He looks me up and down critically, my reflection flashing in his black goggles.
“Decorum?” I stifle a laugh. The word sounds so old-fashioned, even in Universal. I know I must look terrible, with green gunk staining my work attire and my hair tousled like a bird’s nest. “This is a mining station. We’re here to work. You know how hard it is not to chip a nail when you’re scrubbing caked-up phytogel? That’s why I keep these babies short.” I wriggle my gloved fingers. “I don’t know what you guys expect of your ladies back home, but this is the twenty-fourth century. I’m not out to impress anyone.”
“Hm.”
“Anyway, Mr, er, how should I address you?”
“You may call me General.”
“General, then.” So we’re not on first-name terms just yet. Or even surname terms. It’s just ‘General’. “Are you guys claiming Fortuna Tau? Are we now under Kordolian rule? Is that what this is all about?”
He inclines his head, his expression completely unreadable. A gentle shaft of sunlight beams down from above, making his silvery grey skin glisten. His hair is a shade lighter than his skin, almost white. Soldiers the universe over seem to have the same regulations, because his hair is done in a neat crew-cut.
So quickly I almost miss it, his pointed ears twitch.
What does that even mean? Is that some kind of Kordolian tell for being pissed off?
“Would it bother you,” he asks softly, “if that were the case?”
“Of course it would,” I reply, without thinking. “I don’t want to be shipped off to be some alien’s pet maid on a distant planet somewhere.”
“Hm.” He stares at me again, in that quiet, serious way of his.
“You don’t give much away, do you?”
Infuriatingly, he doesn’t say anything in response. It’s like trying to get information out of a brick. Instead, he lifts his gaze to the arrays of oxygen filters attached to the domed ceiling. He changes the subject. “These devices. You say they are important for air quality? And they require ongoing maintenance?”
“Yes and yes. I’ve only finished one cluster. I was just going for a chocolate break. Then back to work.”
“What is this ‘chocolate’ you speak of?”
“General,” I gasp, in mock-horror. “Until you’ve eaten chocolate, you have not lived. You want to try some?”
I receive a blank stare in response. “I doubt Human food would be palatable to our kind.”
Okay, so the guy’s sense of humor is pretty much nonexistent. Can’t blame a girl for trying to lighten the atmosphere. Especially when I’m still not quite sure whether he’ll kill me, or enslave me, or what.
I even heard a crazy rumor that Kordolians eat other alien species. Surely that’s false. Please make that be an old wives’ tale. I try not to shudder.
“You will carry on with your assigned task,” he announces imperiously, after a brief silence. “You will be assigned a guard.”
“Guard? That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think? I’m not going to run away, or start an underground revolution, I promise.”
“As you your role is important for the function of this Station, the guard is for your protection.”
“Protection? Against what?”
I’m met with a stubborn wall of silence. Then he walks off, leaving me staring after him. Damn his well-built, muscular, tightly-armored ass. I have never met such an infuriating person, er, alien, in my life.
“Doesn’t want to try chocolate,” I snort, under my breath. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on, Kordolian.”
I swear his ears twitch a little bit as he disappears around the corner.
Tarak
I return to our battle cruiser, aptly named Silence, to find work commencing on the damaged hull. Even though the metal the Humans mine here is inferior to Callidum, it will serve the purpose of a temporary patch that will last the duration of our journey back to Kythia.
Human workers swarm all over the ship like insects, operating small droids that are busy cutting, welding and hammering.
The noise echoes throughout the expansive dock, and I’m thankful I’ve had time to rest. It’s done wonders for my pounding headache. To my amazement, it’s almost gone.
I find Rykal in the middle of a tense exchange with the female soldier he took hostage. Now that the Station Boss has seen reason, there’s no need for further threats, and he’s allowed her to walk free.
She’s removed her heavy armor, revealing a long, woven tail of golden hair.
Despite the tone of their conversation, Rykal looks relaxed, almost amused. I signal him, and he strides over to my side.
“Did you find the Xargek larva?”
“No sign of it yet, sir. The rest of the boys are scouring the Station. They’ve left me here to keep an eye on the repairs.”
I swear under my breath. Time’s running out. I don’t want to leave this place without exterminating the remaining Xargek, but the wormhole will collapse soon. If there’s a Xargek ship floating about, they’ll gravitate towards the nearest source of food sooner or later. That just happens to be the Humans. We can’t leave without destroying them, but we can’t afford to lose the wormhole. The thought is starting to give me a headache again. I decide to worry about the problem later. It’s better to focus on what can be done now. “How long until repairs are complete?”
“The Humans have told me half of one of their daylight cycles. Which equates to approximately one of ours.”
“That’s longer than I expected.”
“Their tools are primitive.”
“I know. But there’s nothing we can do to speed up the process. Just let them work. And hope that the others find the Xargek soon.”
Rykal grunts in agreement, his amber gaze flicking across to the Human female.
“And Rykal?”
“Sir?”
“Don’t get too friendly with the locals,” I warn. “This isn’t a recreation stop. The High Council looks down on inter-species mating.”
“What happens off-planet, stays off-planet, right, sir? You know we’ve all indulged in a little ‘exotic fruit’ from time to time.”
“Rykal,” I growl, shooting him a dark glare. He dips his head in assent. “Any trouble on your watch and I’ll put you on cleaning detail for the next five orbits.”
“Understood.” He slinks away as I make my way into the battle cruiser. I navigate the dimly lit
interior, passing racks of ammunition and weapons, until I reach the medical bay.
The First Division’s healer is sitting in front of a holocell display, flicking through data. As I enter, she looks up, raising an elegant, lilac eyebrow. “Headaches again, General?”
“Zyara.” I lower myself into the observation chair, allowing my exo-armor to retract, leaving my torso bare. “This one was worse than usual. I need to you take a look.”
“So you’re finally giving me a chance to examine you. You should have come sooner, you know.” Zyara rolls her eyes. “Males. You always think that if you ignore it, it will go away.” Her slender hands attach lines and monitors to my arms and chest, and she brings up a small holoscreen. Numbers and charts flicker across the display. To me, it’s incomprehensible medical data. I don’t understand any of it.
Zyara frowns.
“What is it?” I study her reaction impatiently. But Zyara says nothing. Whether it’s in the field in the midst of battle or if we’re getting pummeled by a meteor storm, nothing shakes this female.
It’s why she was chosen as the medic for the notorious First Division.
She reaches out and presses a sensitive point at my temple, just above my hairline. I wince. It’s unexpectedly painful. “Your horns are regenerating,” she says dryly. She pulls a light from a belt at her waist, shining it in my eyes. I wince.
“A little warning, next time,” I growl. I’ve always been sensitive to light. It’s the reason I see so well in the dark.
Zyara gives me a critical look. “You’re more photosensitive than usual. Add to that faster regeneration, irritability and those headaches.” She starts to unhook me from the monitoring equipment, a thoughtful expression on her face. I grow impatient.
“Spit it out, medic.”
“You need to mate.”
“What?”
Zyara shrugs. “Mating fever. It happens to some of our males. Hormone levels increase, arousal is heightened, and you’re in a perpetual state of irritability.”
“And what happens if I don’t mate?”
“The symptoms will become more severe. The headaches will get worse, and you’ll turn into one grumpy bastard, excuse the language, Sir. Good for battle situations, because any release of aggression will dampen the effects. Bad for, say, a long trip home, confined to ship.” She pauses, giving me a strange look. “There’s also a chance your judgement might be affected. Especially if you come into contact with a compatible female.”
“There’s no chance of that,” I say, a little too quickly. “Is there any other way to cure it?”
“It’s not an illness, General. It’s nature. Mind you, this doesn’t happen to all males of our species. Just to the more, ah, dominant ones.”
“Is there a drug you can give me, to make it go away?”
“Normally, I might use a low dose sedative. That would only lessen the symptoms, not get rid of them. But in your case, you can’t afford to be sedated. So the only solution for you is to find a mate.”
“Fuck.” I step off the examination chair, willing my armor to return. The nanites swarm over my torso, forming an impenetrable exoskeleton. After years of rigorous training, the exo-armor is an extension of my will, shaped by my mental commands.
What am I supposed to do, stuck at the other end of the nine galaxies, far away from my home planet, when the medic tells me to mate?
Follow Rykal’s lead and take a Human?
What am I supposed to do when I return to Kythia? I’ve always found the majority of Kordolian females to be delicate, pampered creatures, present company excepted. They’re not suitable for a battle-hardened soldier like me. But that’s what happens when there are so few of them. We shelter them.
And we go off-planet to fight any race that threatens the survival of our people.
Zyara is looking at me strangely. As if she’s concerned. I rise and pick up my weapons on the way out, as the dull ache behind my eyes starts again.
“If anyone asks, I’ll be out hunting Xargek.” I feel the sudden urge to kill something. I’m heading back to the vegetation dome. Where one crazy Human female is climbing above the canopy with no care for her own safety.
My soldiers are all out hunting, and I promised her a guard.
I don’t know why I feel the need to guard her. If she wants to disobey orders and get herself killed, that’s not my problem.
But there was something oddly noble about her insistence on carrying out her duty, even in the face of danger. There was something compelling about the way she clambered through the structures above, unafraid of the dizzying heights.
Absence of fear.
How very Kordolian.
And in the vegetation dome, I had realized something. The intoxicating scent I had caught in the corridor wasn’t from the plants and trees, but from the female herself.
Underneath the dirt and the shapeless garments, the Human is oddly attractive. Some Kordolians might consider her ugly. She’s no statuesque Kordolian beauty, but there’s something undeniably feminine about her. She has rather delicate features and pale, flawless skin. Her eyes are strangely colored, shining brown or green, depending on the angle of the light.
And her scent seems to lessen my infuriating headache.
It would be a shame if this exotic, stubborn creature were killed by some filthy Xargek.
So I suppose the guard is me. I have my own selfish reasons also. I want to watch her again, and see if the effect she had on me was simply my imagination.
Aroused by a Human, an inferior species? Impossible.
So why am I drawn back to the garden?
I tell myself it’s logic. Xargek like humid, densely vegetated habitats, which makes the bio-facility an ideal environment for larvae to grow and reproduce.
If it’s gone in there, I have to get to the Xargek before it harms the female. So far, the Human scientist has shown me that she’s courageous, attending to her duty at all costs. She might be odd looking and she might talk too much, but she’s brave.
But against a Xargek, even in its maturing phase, she’d stand no chance. I doubt she’s ever held a weapon in her life.
Humans are so fragile. How they have stubbornly managed to cling to life in this remote part of the universe is beyond me.
Abbey
I finish the last square of my precious chocolate, savoring it as it melts slowly in my mouth. Then I grab my gloves and goggles and head for the roof. The maintenance panel shows me there are two more clusters of oxygen filters that need cleaning.
I haul myself up the narrow ladder, and by the time I get to the top, I’m breathing heavily. The sun is at an angle now, casting irregular shadows across the oxygen plant.
As our orbit is farther away from the sun than Earth’s, we get a skewed version of the daytime cycle. This is our afternoon, I guess.
I peer down into the canopy below, searching for signs of movement. But I can’t see anything through the thick treetops. The Kordolian, known only as ‘General’, told he he’d be sending a guard.
I don’t like the idea of some military guy watching my every move from the cover of the trees.
That’s kinda creepy.
And protect me from what? That infuriating alien didn’t tell me anything. What could be more dangerous than the Kordolians themselves? I’m still half surprised they haven’t tried to enslave us and ship us off somewhere.
From what I hear on the news, these guys treat the nine galaxies like their personal playground.
Strangely, our black-clad invaders haven’t gone to town on us just yet.
Maybe we’re really just not that important. Maybe we have nothing that they want.
I clamber over the railing, setting foot on a narrow metal walkway that stretches across the length of the oxygen filter plant. It creaks and sways as I regain my balance. It doesn’t bother me. I know these walkways like the back of my hand, and I’m steady on my feet.
I don my goggles and gloves and find the nearest
hose, retrieving my bucket and brush from their little hook.
Then I get to work. The physical exertion is good. It helps take my mind off other things, disturbing things, such as a certain grumpy alien General who acts like he owns the place.
I decide I don’t like Kordolians.
Still, Jia was right. They have a certain, er, magnetism about them. Standing before the General, I couldn’t help but notice a few things.
His features were striking; strong and elegant, completely alien and yet somehow familiar.
His size was impressive, and I found myself a little overwhelmed by the sheer, intimidating force of him. His physique was lean and muscular, and I wouldn’t mind seeing what’s under that seamless black armor.
His eyes were blood-red and piercing.
Shit. Don’t go there, Abbey. I can’t believe I’m fantasizing about a Kordolian. I have to remind myself that he’s a vicious killer, a conqueror, and that he doesn’t care one bit about us feeble Humans.
As I scrub at a particularly stubborn bit of gunk, I hear a faint tapping sound.
I look around, but don’t see anything. I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from.
There it is again, louder. I look up beyond the bits of metal and glass to the surface of the outer dome.
That’s where the sound’s coming from.
There it is again. Insistent.
What the hell? I move closer, trying to locate the source.
It seems to be coming from outside the dome. But that’s impossible. Nothing can survive out in deep space. Not without life support.
Maybe its a blocked water pipe? Please make it be a blocked water pipe.
The tapping is slower now, rhythmic, methodical. Harder. Louder.
I peer up towards the thick, impenetrable glass of the outer dome. It’s cracked. I stop dead in my tracks.
What the hell?
The surface that can withstand incredible pressure has cracked.
There’s something out there, trying to break the glass. Where’s that guard when I need him? The General said he wanted to protect me from something.