CHAPTER 1
Xaviara was mortified—from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes. She wished it was possible to sink into the floor of Sol Alliance Space Station 47, ooze into the engine room, and evaporate into tiny particles. That way, she wouldn’t have to think about what a mess she’d gotten herself into.
“I can’t believe the two of you.” Manda, her boss, paced the floor in her small office in Sub-section Epsilon. “Childish antics like this.”
Piotr stood next to her, arms easy at his sides. Xaviara wasn’t a violent person, but she wanted to slap the smirk off his face. He thought this was funny? The only consolation was that Manda wheeled on him to thrust a finger into his face. He lifted a hand as though to ward her off, a tattoo of an infinity symbol surrounded by a circle visible on his wrist.
“Official reprimands in each of your files! Do you find that amusing?” she barked.
“She started it,” said Piotr.
Xaviara bit her tongue, holding in a retort. She agreed with Manda. Their antics were childish, and to reply would be to underscore that fact. He was the one who’d started their rivalry when he’d joined the team, with his biting remarks about a project she’d been working on for weeks. He insulted her font choice, mocked the layout, and finished up with a doozy about lazy research. And was she supposed to take that? No. In retaliation, she’d been extra critical of his first project, and things spiraled out of control from there.
After several months, their disagreements had escalated—when he started actively trying to sabotage her. He’d been the one to hack into her account and steal her shower credits, a declaration, she’d decided, meant war.
But this latest…
“Do you think Gloria doesn’t know that you planted the wrong video?” said Manda, finger still in Piotr’s face. “You think she got to the rank of Senior Ambassador by being clueless to human behavior?”
He shrugged. The grin was slipping, at least.
Right in the middle of a presentation to the Senior Ambassador about an upcoming negotiation, Xaviara had inserted a video of the diplomatic team they were about to meet. However, smiling blue- and purple-skinned aliens completing their customary greeting was replaced with an embarrassing video of Xaviara dancing with—well, if she was being honest with herself, grinding on—some guy in one of the space station’s clubs.
Piotr’s smirk was now a scowl. “That wasn’t me. Xaviara shouldn’t have been given that responsibility. She made a mistake, and—”
“That’s enough.” Manda sighed. “You embarrassed yourself in front of your boss’s boss. My boss. This needs to stop and it needs to stop now.”
Maybe she won’t mention—
“And you! Dumping a cup of coffee in his lap!”
Heat flooded Xaviara’s cheeks anew. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t retaliate the next time he struck, that she would be the one to end it, but he was so smug. In a fit of rage, she’d lifted the lid of her coffee and thrown it into his lap. Xaviara had to admit that when his tablet got soaked and he knocked his own cup over, she felt vindicated.
Until his coffee sloshed across the table to soak Gloria’s pristine, white suit.
“Piotr, go. I need to talk to Xaviara alone about the upcoming negotiations.”
Piotr’s face darkened even more, but he didn’t argue. Xaviara couldn’t help a strain of her own smugness rising inside.
“Official reprimands in both files!”
He scurried out, shoulders hunched.
When they were alone, Manda leaned against her desk. “Honestly, what has gotten into you? This isn’t like you at all. You’re usually my most reliable aide.”
Xaviara looked at her hands. The small office felt cloistered, even with the Piotr gone. Sol Alliance Space Station 47 was a cozy home for Senior Ambassador Gloria Falchuk’s diplomatic team—sufficient amenities for ambassadors and aides, although the truly opulent spaces were reserved for out-of-system guests. Today, it felt too small. Xaviara knew everyone and everyone knew her. And apparently, about this idiotic feud with Piotr.
“Do you need some time off?” prodded Manda.
“No!” said Xaviara. That would be a disaster. The entire rivalry centered around Piotr’s desire to worm his way into Manda’s good graces, although both had likely shattered whatever favorable opinion their boss had of them. Xaviara needed to prove Manda could count on her. “I’m fully prepared for the kadyyza’s visit. Piotr just pushes my buttons.”
“It’s not— You don’t have a crush?”
And Xaviara thought she couldn’t become any more mortified. “He’s gay, Manda. This isn’t a schoolyard, pigtail-pulling thing.”
“I know that. I wanted to make sure you did, too.”
She was certain her face was brilliant red. “I’m not attracted to him.” Definitely not. She couldn’t see him as anything more than a thorn in her side—and an impediment to her career. Maybe it would be easier if she did find him attractive. Maybe then, she could set aside some of her fury.
“Fine. Then I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. Find another outlet. Do something fun. Channel this urge to bicker into your recreation time. There are plenty of eligible men on this space station.”
“I have a date tonight. A real one.” One she was actually looking forward to. “He works security at the port.” Which meant she didn’t have to go through the awkward process of requesting permission. Members of the Sol Alliance Coalition had to register their romantic relationships. What a way to kill whatever’s budding.
“That’s good.” Manda’s voice softened. “I’ve been worried about you lately. Not just as a boss, but as a friend.”
Xaviara waved a hand. Her career came first, which was why Piotr’s sabotage upset her so much—not to mention her own reaction. She couldn’t not respond, yet responding shot herself in the foot. “I have better things to do than get into something serious.”
Manda squeezed her shoulder. “Regardless, I hope you have fun. Forget about Piotr. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I know what a hard worker you are.”
“You’ll drop the reprimand then?” Xaviara dared to hope.
“I can’t. Gloria insists. She wants to teach you two a lesson, and I have to say that in this instance, I agree with her. What if this had happened when the kadyyza were here? It would have been a diplomatic nightmare.”
Xaviara slowly nodded. She hated the idea of a blemish on her record, but she could understand Manda’s reasoning. “I’ll be on my best behavior with the kadyyza. I promise.”
“You’d better. You know how important this is to me.” Earlier, Manda had shared in confidence that she was putting in for the position of Lead on this particular negotiation. Xaviara hoped she hadn’t jeopardized that chance.
“Good luck.” She was determined to keep to her word.
* * *
Xaviara, despite all attempts to convince herself otherwise, did not have a good time on her date. Tom was a good match on paper—steady if not glamorous job and full of witty anecdotes that were neither too short nor too lengthy.
And he was attractive, she supposed. Chiseled chest from the workouts he liked to brag about, dimples in both cheeks, tousled hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. But despite all that, the spark wasn’t there.
In the interest of giving the poor man—and her libido—a chance, Xaviara accepted an invitation to return to his quarters for a nightcap, hoping a kiss or two would liven her up. But now she was alone in his small living space, considering how to gracefully make her exit, while Tom—such a staid, dull name—freshened up in his bathroom.
She tapped her fingers on the gray couch’s armrest. That was the problem. Despite his initial charm, Tom was as boring as his name. Curse you, brain. Xaviara could never muster up attraction unless the man engaged her on an intellectual level. Oh, sure, he was full of stories, but they all had one thing in common. They took place here on the space station or in his home colony on Mars.
Xaviara hadn’t trained as an international ambassador to settle down and raise children in the Sol System. She’d been patient as she went to university for four long years, and now that she was in her first year of a paid internship with a real diplomatic team, she wanted to get out of this place, see the galaxy.
Tom was taking a while in the bathroom. She glanced around the tiny quarters, contemplating. This apartment was the same footprint as hers as a first year aide. To seat more than two people at the slide-out dinner table, one had to shove the standard-issue couch against the wall. The colors Tom had chosen were boring gray, with hints of brown thrown in.
His empty inbox flashed on the wallscreen, devoid of even a flier for the upcoming holiday sale in the plaza’s shopping center. As soon as they’d set foot in the apartment, he’d pressed a finger behind his ear to route his messages from his link—the implanted neural chip everyone had—over to the wallscreen.
That was another thing. Boring Tom had an unhealthy preoccupation with his link, something Xaviara detested. During the day, she was chained to hers, at the beck and call of her superiors. But unless they were in an active negotiation, the Sol Alliance Coalition had an ironclad rule around all employees taking sufficient downtime every day.
The inbox dinged, a nearly imperceptible sound that emanated from a small speaker at the base of the sofa. A symbol next to it indicated the message was encrypted, and it contained a blank subject and [email protected] in the From field.
This was the first intriguing thing she’d experienced about Tom.
Xaviara glanced toward the only inner door in the apartment. To the left was the bathroom. To the right was Tom’s bedroom. It was probably the same drab gray as the sofa and wall trimming. She decided, in that moment, she would definitely never find out. Sorry, self, guess the sex drought’s gonna continue. She was used to it, though. Despite the compromising video Piotr had taken of her, she didn’t have the desire to take things any further than a dance. She longed for a real relationship—but not now. In the future. Once her career was sorted out.
In the bathroom, the water was running. Tom would be out any moment. But Xaviara had to find out why he’d been flicking his eyes to the right all night, the universal command to his link for How many messages are waiting for me?
Of course, it could be spam. All the technology in the world, and they’d still been unable to do away with unwanted advertisements.
Unable to convince herself, she reached out and swiped in the air to open the mail, a casual flick she told herself the computer could be mistaking for a command. Oh, Tom, I sneezed and accidentally opened the message. You know how this interface is.
It was short and full of additional characters that made it hard to read:
^[email protected]@L^ Preparations ^[email protected]@L^ complete. ^[email protected]@L^
^[email protected]@L^ Operation Mallard ^[email protected]@L^ Duck confirmed. ^[email protected]@L^
^[email protected]@L^ Negotiation team arrives ^[email protected]@L^ tomorrow 22:00. ^[email protected]@L^
^[email protected]@L^ Attach previously provided packages to lead ship per ^[email protected]@L^ schematics. Be prepared to receive further instructions. ^[email protected]@L^
^[email protected]@L^ First payment initiated ^[email protected]@L^ to account on file. ^[email protected]@L^
Xaviara put a hand to her mouth. Part of her job as an aide was to know the docking schedule of all diplomatic teams. There was only one scheduled for tomorrow at 22:00 hours: the team of blue- and purple-skinned aliens, the kadyyza, for which Manda hoped to lead the negotiations. The aliens were to escort the humans—including Xaviara—back to their homeworld, simply called the First Planet, in the Imdali System, where they would finalize a treaty resolving contested mining rights, among other important provisions.
It was important. Exciting to be part of. And crucial to the human economy that it not fail.
“Packages” sounded ominous. What would be inside them? Surveillance equipments? A bomb?
She tipped her head to the left, wondering at the additional characters. Initials of some sort? De-encryption software failing to remove some of the embedded safety measures?
Tom was looking less boring than he had a few minutes ago, but Xaviara was loyal to her species, through and through. She had to do something—fast. She pressed a finger behind her ear to activate her link, blinked rapidly to take a snap of the wallscreen, and cycled through her contact list.
She flicked her wrist to close the interface as Tom came from the bathroom, his sexy smile now appearing sleazy. Whose payroll was he on? No matter. She needed to get out of here. It was possible he’d asked her out only because of her place on the ambassadorial team. She rose smoothly and took a step toward the door.
His face fell when he saw the inbox he’d left open—was he clueless or what?—and crossed the room in two strides to close it.
“Want something else to drink?” he asked.
They both looked at her glass. Only a few sips were gone from it. She used the movement to surreptitiously open a mail in her link. Is my head swimming? Did he put something in that drink? She quickly attached the snap she’d just taken, managed to type a few quick words behind her back, and flicked her eyes to initiate the send protocol.
Tom looked back at her. His brow furrowed—ugh, he wasn’t so handsome that way, although maybe discovering that he was involved in something ugly made her distaste all the more potent. “Did you look at my mail?”
“No, of course not.” Xaviara wanted to make her excuses and hightail it out of here, but she needed to keep him from destroying the evidence before the authorities could arrive. They’ll be here quickly, right?
“That message showed as read.” He was watching her, something lurking in his eyes.
She grasped at an explanation, her heart racing. “Oh, I just… I sneezed and—”
He stepped toward her. “You lying to me?”
She couldn’t believe she’d found him handsome before. His face was twisted, his expression furious. Could she bolt out the door before he caught her? As part of her training, she took hand-to-hand combat lessons, but she’d never been in a real fight. Still, she could take him… even if he also practiced… Right?
As she poised to flee, the door beeped and slid open. A uniformed, masked man burst through, shouting something incoherent, followed by a second, third, fourth. “Hands where we can see them!” ordered the first.
Whoa, that was fast.
Tom leapt backward, face a shock of paleness. Xaviara put her hands in the air, but the masked men ignored her. They swarmed around her, yanking Tom’s arms behind his back and securing him with electric cuffs before hustling him out the door. The leader turned to Xaviara, saluted, and said, “Miss.” He hurried through the door and it slid shut behind him.
Xaviara was alone.
She exhaled, slowly lowering her arms.
Maybe Tom had more layers than she’d thought—not that it mattered anymore. She’d kept the delegation safe and gained brownie points with her management, plus the end of her date wasn’t as boring as it could have been. She swaggered to the door, pleased with herself, and headed off to her own quarters.
She couldn’t wait to rub Piotr’s face in her discovery.