“This could get rough,” I call over my shoulder.

“Rougher, you mean?” K’sara asks with a smirk. “Damn it, Todd, get a bucket!”

Todd’s retching echoes through the ship. We’re entering Tajss’s atmosphere. Since I’ve taken over manual control of the ship, it’s been vibrating so roughly I’m worried it will shake apart. The air passing by the front screen dances with flames as I shift the angle. Visidion is having a hard time staying in the co-pilot seat and running the controls on his side, which isn’t making this any easier. The turbulence bounces him up and down since he can’t strap in.

“Ha!” Mesto exclaims as Todd vomits loudly.

“Gross, Todd, by the Seven Widows, can’t you control yourself?” K’sara curses.

The ship bounces again as we pass through the thermosphere. As we slow and level off, the jarring eases up.

“I think we’re close,” Visidion says, checking the navigation systems.

We haven’t spoken much since he put his foot in his mouth. I’m not ready to forgive him yet. I know I will, eventually, but right now I think he deserves the cold shoulder.

“Rosalind,” he says.

“No,” I say. “We’ll deal with it later.”

His shoulders slump but he nods. Of all the moments, the one he chose was the worst. Now it’s here. I won’t be able to put off a decision much longer and I know it. It doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it though.

As I guide the ship in, we pass over the outcropping that houses the Tribe. We’re low enough to see them looking up and pointing. People are rushing, some running into the caves and others grabbing weapons. We must be scaring the hell out of them. A strange ship flying over, they probably think it’s the Zzlo.

Choosing a clear area on top of a dune a short distance away, I bring the ship in for a landing. Once we’re down, I power everything off, and then we exit as a group. Visidion stays close by my side, but he’s smart and doesn’t say anything more. Everyone on the ship has picked up on the tension between us, but none of them have broached the subject which is fine with me.

“This is Tajss?” Todd asks, weaving in place and holding his stomach.

“Ha! Sucks this place,” Mesto says, shaking his head.

Cenar steps off the ramp, crouches, and runs a handful of sand through his fingers.

“I like it,” he pronounces.

K’sara doesn’t say anything, quietly observing the surroundings. Across the dunes, I see a group of males approaching, five of them, all armed and ready.

“Ragnar, Sverre, Bashir, Drosdan, and Ladon,” Visidion says, his eyesight better than anyone else’s in this environment.

Rather than wait for them to get to us, I herd our group towards them. They’re all armed with lochabers held at the ready, eying our new compatriots with suspicion. Ragnar and Ladon are slightly in the lead. Watching them approach, I sense the tension between the two of them. Nothing’s changed there. I guess I should be glad they haven’t killed each other in our absence.

The Zmaj spread into a semi-circle, lochabers in their hands.

“Rosalind,” Ladon says. “Visidion.”

“Commander,” Ragnar says, ignoring me.

“It’s fine,” I say. “These are friends of ours. They helped us to escape.”

The Zmaj exchange glances before lowering the lochabers but none of them put them away.

“Ha! Too many dragons,” Mesto says. “Hot! Too hot, water?”

“We’re home,” Visidion says. “There is much to talk about but first let’s get out of the suns.”

Ragnar stares at him for a long moment. Drosdan crosses his massive tree trunk arms over his barrel chest and harumphs.

“What?” I ask, and my left thigh quivers and goes weak. Gritting my teeth, I will it to hold my weight and manage to waver only a little.

“How?” Ladon asks, looking at the ship behind us. “What happened with the Zzlo? Are you here of your own free will?”

Smiling, I shake my head and sigh. My head is pounding, my heart is racing, and a cold sweat is running down my spine. I really don’t want to stand here discussing this.

“Like Visidion said, there’s a lot to discuss, but we don’t need to do it out here in the suns. Suffice it to say that we’re home and yes, we’re here of our own free will. Do you have any epis?” I ask.

The Zmaj look at each other, then Ladon and Ragnar lock eyes. Ragnar nods and Ladon seem to agree.

“Right,” Ragnar says, putting his lochaber away. “Let’s go home.”

“Epis?” I ask, again desperate for the pounding in my head to stop.

“Not with me,” Ladon shakes his head, frowning. “How bad is it?”

“Not bad,” I lie, but the look on Ladon’s face makes it clear he knows.

“We’ll get you some back at camp,” Ragnar says.

Visidion helps me across the sand dunes. Ladon is the only one who seems to notice how much I’m leaning on him, more than should be required.

The wall around the Tribe compound is mostly done. Standing ten feet tall with evenly placed slits for lookouts or shooting, it’s impressive. There isn’t a real gate yet, but the opening is blocked by frames covered with hardened leather. That would be effective to at least slow anything coming through, and enough to keep most wandering animals out. Two Zmaj pull the frames aside, allowing us to pass inside. The garden is in full bloom with colorful plants. Several humans, mostly female, are working their way through the rows weeding or digging at the irrigation channels.

Craftsmen are working at their stalls that circle the open area inside the wall. Long tables are occupied by people working on crafts or preparing foods for storage. Things seem to be going well. Most of them are looking at us, either openly or with quick glances. Something is off but I can’t put a finger on it.

“Good work on the wall,” Visidion says.

“Yes,” Ragnar agrees, stopping and turning to face our group. “We’re home.”

“Yes, we are,” Visidion says, turning a slow circle to look at the Tribe. “It’s good.”

“Epis?” I ask, once more, forcing a smile my vision is blurring the pain is so great now.

“Samil!” Ragnar barks. “Epis, now.”

Samil looks up from the table where he was working on something, nods enthusiastically and runs off. In moments he’s back, a soft blue glow in his hand. He holds it out to me and I take the strand, popping it in my mouth. The familiar taste explodes across my taste buds. Warmth spreads through my cheeks, racing along my nerves, growing hotter. It’s like swallowing liquid fire that burns through my system. The pain fades, and my weakness is consumed in its flames. Sighing, I nod and swallow the last of it, feeling more like myself than I have in a long time.

Vision clear now, I turn my attention outward. I try to put my finger on what’s bothering me, then it hits me.

“You’re not getting along,” I say, turning to Ragnar and Ladon.

“What do you mean, Rosalind,” Ladon asks.

“The Tribe and the City, there’s almost no mixing, even doing the same work,” I accuse, pointing a finger in a circle around us.

Ladon and Ragnar exchange a look that tells me I’m right. Closing my eyes, I sigh. Damn it, this isn’t what I was hoping to come back to.

“You’re home!” Olivia exclaims, waddling forward.

She’s very pregnant, and it obviously won’t be long before she’ll be on bed rest. As we found out with Calista, Zmaj babies take longer to come to term and the only way our bodies can manage is to go on bed rest for the last couple of months. She moves to stand next to Ragnar, who puts a protective arm around her shoulders. A movement behind them catches my eye—Mei climbing the ramp up to the caves. She sees me looking and waves, then she produces a key and unlocks the steel gate blocking off the entrance to one of the caves.

“Who’s in that cave?” I ask.

Ragnar looks over his shoulder then back. “Ryuth.”

“Ah,” I say. I’d heard about him, captured by the Zzlo and tortured for who knows how long. He had given himself fully over to his bijass. “Is it safe for Mei to be in there with him?”

Ragnar shrugs. “He likes her.”

“She’s been working with him, says she’s getting through,” Olivia adds.

I let it go for now, filing it away for later.

“Ragnar, Ladon, we need to be debriefed,” I say. “How’s the food? Any word from the City?”

“The City is gone to hell in a hand basket,” Amara interjects, walking up with a baby on her hip.

The baby coos, looking around with big, wide eyes. His scales are deep green and his hair is reddish, edging towards brown. He smiles, a toothless showing of his gums. His tiny fingers clench in Amara’s shirt as he rocks himself back and forth, tiny tail slashing left-right in time to the rest of his motion.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“She means they’re running out of food,” Lana says from behind me. Astarot stands next to her. “Gershom didn’t think through the fact that the Zmaj did all the hunting.”

“Or he thought his Human First idiots would be able to shoot better than they do,” Amara says.

“They need our help,” I say.

“No, they don’t. They’ve made their choices,” Ragnar says.

“They do, because it’s my City!” Ladon says.

Ragnar and he glare at each other like two opposite ends of a spectrum. Anger flaring makes their scales edging turn red.

“Visidion, now that you’re back, can you talk some sense into him?” Ragnar asks.

Visidion gives me a look I can’t read.

“This isn’t the time,” he says instead of answering.

“The prisoners you freed are here too,” Amara says. “Thanks for that, by the way,” she says with acid in her voice. “All the millions of lives on the ship you could rescue, and you find that batch.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Amara snorts. “You’ll find out.”

She spins on her heel and walks off. Good to know she hasn’t changed in my absence.

“Okay,” I say. “There’s a lot to catch up on, and this isn’t working. Lana, this is Cenar, Mesto, K’sara, and Todd. Can you help them find quarters and show them around? Ragnar, Ladon, can you two come with Visidion and me and bring us up to speed, please?

Not waiting for a response, I start walking toward Visidion’s rooms. I can feel their eyes on me as I climb the ramp. Somehow they all have to come together, get along, and focus on breeding the next generation while also figuring out how to improve our quality of life. A few little things that I wouldn’t think would be that hard to get people interested in. Except for the infighting, disagreements on what should be done. All the situation needs is Gershom and his fearmongering about the Zmaj stealing all the human females.

Sitting at the table in Visidion’s quarters, Ragnar and Ladon avoid looking at each other. The tension in the room is high.

“Okay,” I say. “Who’s first?”

“We need—” they both start talking at once, spend a moment trying to dominate the other one by talking louder, then stop and glare.

I’ve never seen a more clear-cut case of schoolyard bullies in my life.

“Visi—” Ragnar begins at the same time that Ladon is saying my name. This turns into a fresh shouting match, and then Ladon leaps to his feet, knocking his stool over, and Ragnar is standing on his.

“ENOUGH!” I yell, slamming a fist down on the table. “Sit, both of you.”

They turn to me with my shout, shifting their glowers from each other to me.

“Sit,” Visidion says.

“Ladon, talk,” I say.

Ladon starts telling his thoughts. Ragnar sits and listens then adds his thoughts. The Tribe and the City are doing okay here, but no one is comfortable. The City wants their comforts, and the Tribe wants them to work harder. Nothing that can’t be overcome.

“What about over in the City?” I ask. “What do we know about what Lana said?”

“She should learn to obey,” Ragnar huffs.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I told all the hunters to stay away from the City. They’ve made their bed; let them lie in it,” he says.

“It’s not that simple,” I say.

“Yes, it is,” Ragnar says. “Ladon can get over it. He lost his city. Those who stayed behind will learn to survive, or they will die. It’s on them.”

“Together we are stronger,” Visidion says, quoting the third edict.

“Yes, but we don’t coddle the weak!” Ragnar shouts.

“You do what I tell you to do,” Visidion says, his voice soft and somehow more dangerous than if he had yelled.

Ragnar’s eyes widen, his shoulders hunch, and he leans forward as his tail rises behind him. Visidion doesn’t move or even seem to notice. He watches Ragnar, waiting unperturbed, patient. Ragnar hisses, then it’s as if he collapses on himself. Leaning back in his seat, tail dropping to the ground with a thud, he shakes his head.

“Yes, Commander,” he says.

Visidion nods and makes a motion with his hand that I should continue.

“Here’s the hard truth,” I say. “We need those in the City. We need every able-bodied person, human, Zmaj, or other that we can get our hands on if we’re going to survive. We have an entire planet that needs to be repaired and repopulated. Those too old or young for babies need to help fix things. We don’t have a choice if we’re going to survive.”

“We are surviving just fine,” Ragnar grouses.

“Sure, right now, for your lifetime.”

Ragnar shakes his head. “What do you mean?”

“Your and Olivia’s child,” I say, driving my point home. “What kind of world do you want to leave him? This barren, blasted rock or something that is better than what you have?”

Ragnar frowns, crosses his arms over his chest, and doesn’t say a word.

“They’re running out of food,” Ladon says. “Scouts have been watching when they can. There are regular security patrols, armed, along the dome. There’s no way to get inside.”

“Let me worry about that,” I say. “What about here?”

The two men exchange a rare look that doesn’t mean they want to kill each other.

“It’s fine,” Ladon says.

“We’re getting along,” Ragnar adds.

“And?” I ask.

They look at each other again.

“What is it?” Visidion asks.

“The new people you sent,” Ladon says. “They’re not fitting in… easily.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Amara,” they say in unison, then look at each other in surprise.

“Amara? Why?” I ask.

“Seems there’s a rivalry between her and their leader,” Ragnar says.

“Something from before your ship crashed,” Ladon says. “She’s been stirring a lot of sentiment against them. Particularly Stancher.”

Stancher, why does that name ring a bell?

“How bad is it? Openly violent or casual disagreement?”

“Disagreements,” Ladon answers.

“Fine, we’ll get to that later then,” I say, shaking my head. “What else?”

They both shrug.

“Good, both of you go and make sure our new friends are comfortable,” I say.

“Who are they?” Ladon asks.

Visidion and I share our adventure with them leaving out some bits, mostly about us. I nudge Visidion under the table when he starts to mention the interest in epis out there. That’s a problem for later. No need to worry anyone with it now. Once they’ve heard our story, they leave.

“What now?” Visidion asks, placing his hands on my waist.

“I’m still pissed at you,” I say, turning my head to the side as he leans in for a kiss.

He lets me go and steps back.

“Oh,” he says, looking crestfallen. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” I say, moving back into his arms and rising onto my toes to kiss him.

His lips are soft and cool. I break the kiss and stare into his eyes.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” I say.

“Life isn’t easy,” he says, arms encircling my waist. “That’s not the point. If there was no struggle then what triumph would there be? An easy life doesn’t change history, it doesn’t make a difference.”

“True,” I sigh, laying my head on the bulging muscles of his chest. “But sometimes it sounds nice.”

“It does,” he agrees, laughing and running his fingers through my hair.

Pushing aside everything else for the moment I give myself into him, enjoying the strength of his arms, letting the future and all the problems wait.