Colonel Solan stopped at the foot of the ramp. His five officers did the same, standing behind him in an organized semi-circle. He closed his eyes and inhaled. There were females here. He could smell them. Not the perfumes they adorned themselves with, but the primal, female scent of their pheromones. It stirred a longing in him. A fertile mate, that’s what he needed. That was why he had made the stop here.

It was his first time on the Prodigy space station. Located in the Terra Galaxy, he had passed it on numerous occasions when coming through the wormhole. He’d been on the waiting list for a female for almost a year. His time was running out.

Solan felt a twitch of movement behind him. Normally, his troop obeyed his every order. Coming here had been different. There had been several fights as they’d traveled. His Galaxar troop was as wound up as he was. They all needed to produce offspring. Without them, a male Galaxar was seen as less. He was incomplete without having sired a squib.

Solan opened his eyes at the sound of rapid footsteps approaching. A tiny, red-faced female was almost running toward him. She looked familiar. An even smaller, blonde female was next to her. His hand instinctively moved to the blade held in the scabbard on his right hip. It looked like they were going to attack.

The red-faced female’s eyes widened as she saw where his hand rested. She stopped dead. “You must be Colonel Solan.”

He nodded, recognizing the female now that she was so close. She was not here to fight. “I’m here for my mate.” His gaze ran over the women. It still surprised him that human women were able to breed with Galaxars. They were so tiny.

“I’m Vegas Munro.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I’m the manager of My Single Alien.”

He nodded again. Solan had communicated with Vegas over the past year as they’d refined his desired mate requirements. She had an odd sense of humor, but a pleasant voice, and she knew her job. Her final description of his female had been ideal. For some bizarre reason, he had missed their monthly conference calls to discuss his needs and the females available to him. Not that it mattered now. He was here, and his mate was waiting.

Solan’s gaze shifted to the blonde female. “You are my mate?” He hoped not. She would barely come up to his chest when they stood together or laid together. He would crush her. Maybe Vegas was not so good at her job after all.

The blonde giggled and took a step back. “Oh no. We’ve not been matched. I also work at My Single Alien. I’m Heather Roberts. I’m a matchmaker.”

“A what maker?” Solan shook his head. The space station’s primitive universal translator system seemed to have a glitch. It translated the human’s words to hatchling maker.

“Heather helps to find aliens their perfect match,” Vegas said. “She’s an expert profiler.”

Solan raised his chin and looked over their heads. Humans always insisted on pointless talk before getting down to business. It was no wonder their planet was such a mess. They’d likely been discussing the weather and hadn’t noticed someone detonating bombs all around them.

Vegas shifted from foot to foot. “I trust you had a pleasant journey.”

Solan forced himself to remain calm. Endure the small talk; it was the correct thing to do. “It was adequate. My ship is reliable.”

She nodded. “It’s a great ship.”

Solan glanced at the craft. He was proud of his ship. He owned it outright. It had not been a gift from a grateful race, thankful for his protection. Solan had saved up and paid for it himself. “It is.”

Vegas adjusted the collar of her jumpsuit. “Your induction will begin tomorrow, once you and your troop have settled in.”

“I have booked a one-to-one session with the trainer to ensure this happens swiftly.”

Vegas’s eyebrows shot up. “Avril is sick.”

“Avril?”

“Oh, yes. I mean, she does the one-to-one sessions. She handles the training and inductions.”

The rush of pheromones shooting from Vegas made Solan’s nostrils flare. She smelt like the cinnamon wine they served on the outpost in the Capathian sector. Perhaps she tasted like it too.

“Who will undertake my induction?”

Color flared on Vegas’s cheeks again. “That will be me. I’m covering Avril’s training until she is recovered.”

Solan liked the idea of spending time with the enticing smelling Vegas. “That is agreeable. We can start immediately.”

“Or we can wait a few days. Avril will be back by then. She is our expert. We want to ensure you have the very best experience at My Single Alien.”

“I’m sure you’re competent.”

“A few days won’t do any harm,” Vegas said. “We have entertainment here. You and your troop can take time out to relax and get to know everything we do.”

“I’m only interested in breeding.” Solan saw uncertainty flash in Vegas’s eyes. It was a look he’d seen many times in an enemy’s eye just before he’d killed them.

“And maybe find love?” Heather smiled shyly at him. “We do more than offer you a fertile partner. We’ve had many successful pairings. We are celebrating our twentieth wedding next month.”

“Wedding?” Solan wondered if the translator was going wrong again.

Padam, Colonel Solan’s right-hand man, stepped forward. He had an insignia of three Hellitic birds on his right shoulder—the sign he was the top-ranking commanding officer. “Colonel, a wedding is a traditional ceremony on Earth. A public ceremony to show a pairs commitment to each other.”

“That’s right,” Heather said. “A couple joins together to show their love.”

Solan raised a hand. Padam instantly stepped back into line. “Love is not a concern of ours. Having healthy squib is. That is what we’re here for.”

“You don’t believe in love?” Vegas crossed her arms.

Solan admired the swell of her bosom as she did so. This female was tempting him. “It is not considered an important trait in a pair bonding.” From the tightening of her mouth, he could tell Vegas was displeased with this response.

He did not need to explain himself to her. He’d been waiting long enough. It was his time to have a fertile woman. He needed nothing else.

“I would like to complete my induction.”

“Very well. This way.” Vegas turned on her heel and strode away. “Heather will see your troop to their accommodation.”

“We need to complete a station threat audit,” Padam said.

Vegas slowed and turned back to Padam. “We have no threats here. Our own security team ensures that.”

“It’s procedure,” Solan said. “We mean no disrespect. You do not have Galaxars guarding the station.”

“You charge too much. We can’t afford you,” Vegas said. “Our security protocols are excellent.”

“You have yet to search our ship,” Solan said.

“Do you have something on board we need to know about?” Vegas arched an eyebrow.

“If we did, it would be too late by now,” Solan said.

Vegas stepped closer. “We conducted an internal and external scan of your ship before you entered the docking bay. Our scanners recorded no threats. And, while you were debating the usefulness of our security team, two stealth bots entered your craft and are completing a thorough sweep.”

Solan turned and stared at the open ramp. “You entered my ship without my permission?”

“As you said, we need to be sure you will not pose us any threat.”

Padam caught Solan’s eye and a flicker of a smile traced across his broad face.

Few races got the better of Solan. He’d need to keep a closer eye on Vegas Munro. Humans were small in stature, but it appeared they made up for it in cunningness.

Solan nodded to his troop. “Go with the small female. Assess the suitability of the accommodation.”

“I assure you, we provide excellent accommodation,” Vegas said.

“So you should, given the amount of finance we have provided you.”

Vegas’s eyes narrowed. “It will be worth it.” She turned and strode away.

Solan followed her. He was used to strong women, but they were normally more his physical match than anything else. Galaxar females could match males in every aspect. That was a part of the problem. That was why he was here.

As he walked out of the docking bay, Solan found it unpleasantly cold. The space station’s climate appeared to be set for aliens who lived in temperate conditions. He was used to hot deserts and dry environments. The feel of the sun blazing on his skin was one he was used to. This tepid environment did nothing to improve his mood. Neither did the stern-faced female he walked beside. Solan knew a little about Vegas through their communications. He hadn’t expected her to be so sharp when they met.

Normally, silence didn’t bother him. He’d rather that than chatter. The atmosphere surrounding him felt tense and flared his battle instinct. Humans liked to talk; perhaps that was the problem. He should make an effort to make Vegas feel more comfortable around him.

“How long have you been at the station?”

Vegas glanced at him. “A year. Ever since My Single Alien began.”

“You established the matching service?”

“No. I was one of their first recruits. I used to do something similar back on Earth.”

“It seems like a success.”

“When you have a commodity everyone wants, it’s hard to fail.”

“And these...” he waved his hand in the air, “these weddings that were mentioned. They are an indicator of success?”

“That’s what my boss thinks.” Vegas looked at Solan again. This time her gaze ran over him.

Heat stirred inside Solan as he watched her assess him. Was she double-checking the physical attribute information he had sent through, or did she desire him?

Her gaze cut to his face, and she sped up. “Weddings are fun. I know Galaxars match purely for a successful breeding outcome, but some find it nice to have a partner to do other things with. Some like to have a single mate and remain with them. I’m assuming you’ve read the Guide to Human Interaction that was sent through? It explains these concepts.”

“I have.” Solan knew about the concept of monogamy. “On our planet, we have what is known as timeless mates. It is rare to find someone who can be your timeless mate. It is easier simply to breed.”

“A timeless mate. I like the sound of that.” Vegas smiled. “The breeding is the easy part. Getting someone to love you is the hard part.”

“I hear Earth women are remarkably fertile.”

“There’s nothing remarkable about it,” Vegas said. “We’ve not messed around with our genetics like some races. Women have always been good at getting pregnant.”

Solan growled at the insult. “Galaxars do not mess around with anything. We are physically perfect when it comes to going into battle.”

Vegas’s cheeks flushed again. “Sorry. I simply meant, well, that we didn’t change what evolved naturally.”

“You’re saying Galaxars are a genetic abnormality?”

Vegas stopped by a door and turned toward him. Although her gaze was cautious, her posture was upright. She wasn’t afraid of him. He admired that.

“What Galaxars do to protect the stars is incredible. You ensure races who aren’t good at defending themselves have peace. You sacrifice a lot to make sure that happens.”

“We sacrifice nothing. We are a superior race.”

She tilted her head to the side. “So superior you can’t breed anymore?”

Solan scowled at her. “We can breed. It is simply more of a... challenge.”

Vegas shook her head. “Whatever you say. In here. This is where we’ll begin your induction.” She pushed the door open and walked in.

Solan took a long, slow breath of the recycled station air. Frustrating human woman. She didn’t understand Galaxar history. As a proud warrior nation, they had to ensure they were genetically fit for fighting. Their prowess on the battlefield was the only asset they had. They traded muscle for all the essentials to sustain life on their harsh planet.

Solan rested his hand against the door. He had a feeling this would be a tricky battle he was entering with Vegas and one where he wasn’t certain what the rules of engagement were.

It was no matter. He would win. He always did.