Alyssa

My heart is pounding so hard in my throat that I feel like this nurse might be getting concerned about my health.

“99% match,” she says quietly, and then she leans back and shakes her head. “I have to tell you, Miss Marsh: I’ve never seen anything like it. The last test you took — to see your fertility compatibility with the Mahdfel race — what did you get?”

“66,” I tell her with confidence. I am finding it incredibly hard to hide my wide smile. “I guess I went up by 33%.”

“This is quite unusual,” she can’t help but say, clicking a few times on her hollow, elderly mouse and shaking her head some more. “This new system, Firosa, the Mahdfel who live there have slightly different DNA because their mother species is different from planet to planet — as you know — but a 33% discrepancy is enormous.”

She narrows her eyes and scans some information that I can’t see on her screen. I swallow, my mouth dry at her interest and confusion, and I fidget with my hands on my lap. “Should I just hop straight into the transporter, then?” I ask.

“Legally, yes, you have to enter the transporter right away,” she lets me know without making any further eye contact. “I just want to run the test one more time.”

With a short breath, I present my thumb again and she snaps a small needled device against it, almost like a holepunch, and pushes the slide back under the industrial microscope. One extended glare through the lens later, she leans back again, blowing out her cheeks and checking the information on-screen. It says the exact same thing as it did before. I am a 99% match to the Firosan Mahdfel.

Not to be cocky, but I knew it would work.

“I’m a scientist,” I offer. “Want a second opinion?”

I expect her to argue that that isn’t professional at all, but she gestures to the lens. The screen shows all information about the sample, but the lens is available for a peek. “By my guest,” she says. “Shed some light on this.”

I can hear the cogs turning in my own brain as I approach the lens and look through it. “Aha,” I say. “It’s definitely blood.” She doesn’t laugh. I step back and investigate the screen. The acronyms and shortenings that would stump anyone with no training are like a fluent second language to me, and I smile as discreetly as I can.

I have almost completely forgotten to pretend to be upset.

“You know, I wish I could say different,” I sigh, really trying to channel my fourth grade theater lessons, “but it does look as though I’ve got to go up to one of those … hmm … space stations? Am I saying that right?” I give her my best bewildered look, but she isn’t even looking up at me. She looks pretty upset, and I figure she feels sorry for me — having to uproot my life and go off to an active military base.

She doesn’t know that’s exactly what I want.

“Space station?” she repeats, and I shoot her a glum nod. “No, no. Not a space station.”

“Ah, so an active military spacecraft,” I offer.

“No, you’re going to the planet Paxia, in the system of Firosa. Up until a couple of months ago, completely unexplored by humans. You don’t get to have the honor of being the first human to visit, but you are the second, and that’s kinda cool?” She shrugs apologetically.

“Yeah, right, yeah,” I say, looking away at the wall. “A planet? So … they’re holed up on this planet while they fight the Sulhik Wars? Like an outpost, or…”

“No,” she interrupts. “It’s just a planet. I’m not even sure they have access to spacecrafts on Paxia. According to my records, there are no Firosan-descended Mahdfel anywhere other than the Firosan system, so I think they—”

“No,” I say, sitting back down hard in my chair, my eyes wide despite my will to control myself; my sudden fear. “Recheck the computer. I have medical training. I did four years of medical school. I would be useful in an active military zone. Send me to a space station. Send me to an outpost, a spacecraft.” I have my palms down on the table that separates us and the nurse looks uncomfortable at the level to which I have raised my voice.

“I can’t do anything,” she says quickly. “You have a match. You have to go to your match if you have one. That’s the law.”

“Right, but a 99% match with one dude on some planet, maybe a 98% match with some other guy somewhere else.”

She looks up at me, helplessness in her eyes. “Sorry,” she says.

“I … I have to go to a military med bay,” I whisper, tears pricking at my eyes, which I battle back inside my face again. “You don’t understand.”

And then I realize why she has apologized — she has pressed the security button hidden under her desk, reserved for belligerent and uncooperative women. Two burly men thick with muscle and disdain stride through the far door, ducking to get inside, and flank me with their arms folded.

“Sorry,” she says again.

“I can’t … this is my only chance. I didn’t think there were Mahdfel who just stayed planetside. Don’t they all have to fight in the war? Don’t—”

“Miss,” one guard says, and there is plenty of meaning behind his one word. Cooperate, or we’ll make you cooperate.

I stand up on shaky legs.

“The other woman on Paxia,” the nurse adds, safe in her chair, safe on Earth for however long she wants. “Since it’s just you two on a planet populated only by men … I recommend you try to find her. Maybe you could be friends.”

A planet populated only by men?

A planet with no war medical station, with no supplies I need? No chemicals used to fight the Suhlik and their spore viruses?

I can’t think of any worse fate than this. What have I done?

I don’t want or need the security guards to jostle or pull at me so I just walk in front of them at a slow shuffle — as if delaying my trip through the transporter is going to make any more than a couple seconds of difference — and we enter the undeniably alien-looking back room of the New York DNA Clinic.

It has white, sloping walls, blinking lights on panels to show that the transporter is working perfectly, and in the center is a bluish tube that reaches from the bottom to the high ceiling of the room. I stand in front of it as the door slides open, and then I let out a shuddering breath as I step inside, clutching the backpack filled with my only possessions close.

I have no choice. This is what I have to do now, or be forced. There is no choice — this was the promise Earth made in order to get the warrior species, the Mahdfel, to protect them in the war. I’ve done something stupid, but … maybe I can make the most of it. Somehow. I can go and find a military base somewhere, find those chemicals, find a way to send the cure back home.

I have to believe that I can do what I came here for. What I sacrificed my entire life to do.

The door slides shut behind me just as soon as the guard hands me a little wrapped mint for the nausea of a transporter. Like there’s anything in the world that can curb the sickness brewing inside me right now. I take it anyway, and then with a single grim look, the guard flips the switch, and everything blinks out of focus as I am flung lightyears away in a matter of seconds.

But … seconds pass and my world stays dark.

And then a female voice that I don’t recognize sounds out: “Error.”

I try to answer but I have no voice. Do I even still have a mouth? Where am I?

“Error. Critical error. Brace for emergency recalibration protocol.”

What?!