After I finish cleaning the cluster of blocked oxygen filters, I’m covered in green gunk. The mush has a strange leafy smell, like chopped celery. My hair is matted with sweat, and my protective goggles are smeared with the green stuff. I pull them off, stuffing them in the top pocket of my scrubs.

Grabbing the narrow rails of the ladder with my gloved hands, I balance precariously, making a slow descent. The ladder creaks a little as it takes my weight.

My late father would have had a fit if he saw me like this. As the chief scientist of a big biotech company on Earth, he was big on the whole occupational health and safety side of things.

Here on Fortuna? They’re not so big on safety. What happens in deep space stays in deep space, right?

Station Boss Emin runs a tight ship. Rumors are he cuts costs and skims a little on the side for himself, depositing it in a secret off-planet tax haven.

Apparently, that’s the reason they’ve started enforcing lights-off during the night-cycle. In order to save electricity, we have to walk around the dark corridors with freaking headlamps on.

Tightasses.

Cost-cutting is part of the reason I have to manually clean the filters up here. A robot cleaner has supposedly been on order for months now. It’s turned into a bit of a running joke amongst the bio-sci people.

I reach the floor and make my way down the narrow winding path that takes me past a row of hyper-productive fruit trees. In the biomeric facility, we’ve got supergrafted Earth trees jacked up on plant growth factors. The current growth cycle for apples from bud to fruit is one week. The trees supplement the oxygen filters, cleaning the air.

That’s why it always smells fresh in here.

The outside, especially the quarters, can get a bit stinky at times. When you have thousands of human beings crammed into a giant floating rust-bucket, it’s to be expected.

That’s why I’d much prefer to hide out in the biomeric dome during a Kordolian takeover. Not to mention there are all the apples, peaches and cherries I can eat.

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!” This place is off-limits to the general population. Only authorized workers are allowed in here, but station protocol would mean nothing to a hard-faced warrior like this Kordolian.

“Human.” A look of displeasure crosses his face. He’s wearing funny little blacked-out sun-goggles that look like an extension of his freaky nano-armor. “You were ordered to return to your chambers.”

He stands up, grabbing a pair of menacing looking blades. He secures them at his back as he approaches. “Why have you disobeyed the orders of your Station Boss?”

“I was in the middle of a critical task.” To my relief, my voice is steady, even though my heart is racing.

“You would disregard your own safety for the sake of your work?”

I study him for a moment, then take a calculated risk. Something tells me that fear and meekness won’t get me far with this fearsome alien. I have to appear confident and in control. I have to convince him of the importance of what I’m doing. “See those oxygen filters up there? I was cleaning them. The dirt buildup can cause a critical malfunction if it isn’t attended to promptly. 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 things 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 must look terrible with green gunk staining my work attire and my hair tousled like a bird’s nest, but when has that ever bothered me? “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 expect of your ladies back home, but this is the twenty-fourth century. I’m not out to impress anyone.”

“Hm.”

“Anyway,” I hesitate, trying not to squirm under his implacable stare. “Er, how should I address you?”

“You may call me General,” he says haughtily, s if he’s giving me permission to address him.

“General, then.” So we’re not on first-name terms just yet. Or even surname terms. It’s just ‘General’. “Are you claiming Fortuna Tau? Are we now under Kordolian rule? Is that what this takeover 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 on a distant planet somewhere.” If he’s going to strip me of my freedom, there’s nothing much I can do except make my feelings known. Some might think me crazy. Perhaps I am. My bravado is born of anxiety, fear, necessity, and a little bit of defiance.

“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?” He inclines his head, the unfamiliar word sounding strange as it escapes his lips. Of course, there’s no word in Universal to describe chocolate, so I’ve used the English equivalent.

“General,” I gasp in mock-horror, unable to resist the chance to take a jibe. Do aliens have a sense of humor? Little by little, I’m taking my liberties, wondering when he’s going to lose patience and reel me in. For some reason, his demeanor —more curious than threatening—tells me I can do this. “Until you’ve eaten chocolate, you have not lived. I’m happy to share my stash with you.”

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.

“You will carry on with your assigned task,” he announces imperiously after a brief silence. “You will be assigned a guard.”

“Guard?” Taken aback, I stare at him. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think? I’m not going to run away or start an underground revolution, I promise.” Besides, what could I possibly do against a squadron of invading Kordolians?

“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, cryptic wall of silence. He regards me silently for a moment, completely ignoring my question. Then he walks away, leaving me to stare after him. Damn his well-built, muscular, tightly-armored ass. I have never met such an infuriating person, uh, alien, in my life.

“Doesn’t want to try chocolate,” I mutter 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.

* * *

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 far inferior to Callidum, it will be suitable for a temporary patch that will hopefully last for 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 surprise, the pain in my temples is 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, at least for now.

She’s removed her heavy armor and oversized helmet, revealing cropped 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 larvae?”

“No sign of it yet, boss. 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 the Xargek, but we can’t afford to lose the wormhole. This little dilemma 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-half revolution.”

“That’s longer than I expected.”

“Their tools are primitive.”

“So it seems,” I grumble. A Kordolian tech team would be useful right now, but Silence’s usual crew are back on base in Sector Three. I’d left them there for a reason, using the short weapons calibration run as an excuse to bring my inner circle—my trusted First Division—into the silent zone, away from any potential Empire spies. My intention had been to debrief them on highly sensitive matters, but now my plans will have to wait.

The fucking Xargek had come out of nowhere.

It was almost as if they had anticipated us.

“It appears there’s nothing we can do to speed up the process,” I say softly. “We just need to let them work and hope that the others eliminate the Xargek in time.”

Rykal grunts in agreement, his amber gaze flicking across to the Human female.

“And Rykal?”

“Boss?”

“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.” His voice is filled with dark humor.

“Rykal,” I growl, shooting him a 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, unable to completely suppress his smug expression 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, snorting softly. “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 just meaningless medical data.

Zyara frowns.

“What is it?” I study her reaction impatiently, but Zyara says nothing. Whether it’s in the midst of battle or navigating Silence through 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. We Kordolians have always been sensitive to light. It’s the reason we see so well in the darkness.

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?” I glare at her. I need to mate? That’s the last fucking thing I want to hear right now.

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.”

“Isn’t there a drug you can give me to suppress the symptoms?”

“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 or have your concentration impaired in any way, 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, so 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. As I rise and pick up my weapons, the dull ache behind my eyes returns.

“If anyone asks, I’ll be out hunting Xargek.” I feel the sudden urge to kill something. I decide to head back to the vegetation dome, where one crazy, stubborn 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 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 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 one of those infernal creatures has gone in there, I have to get to it 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 larval 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.

* * *

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. One of them is starting to show a slightly concerning pressure buildup.

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 supposed to be our ‘afternoon’.

I peer down into the canopy below, searching for signs of movement, but I can’t see anything through the thick treetops. The General told me he’d be sending a guard, but from here, I can’t see any signs of life down there.

I don’t like the idea of some unseen alien watching my every move from under the cover of the trees.

That’s kinda creepy.

And protect me from what? That infuriating Kordolian 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 Networks, these guys treat the Nine Galaxies like their personal playground, but 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 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, but that 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, and like nothing I’d ever seen before.

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 the sound is coming from.

Taptap.

There it is again, louder this time. 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, ominous and insistent.

What the hell? I move closer, trying to locate its 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? I pray it’s just a blocked water pipe.

The tapping is slower now, becoming rhythmic and methodical. But at the same time, it’s become harder and louder.

I peer up towards the thick, impenetrable glass of the outer dome. A crack has appeared. 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.

Is this what he meant?

Dread courses through me as fissures start to appear in the super thick glass, widening and lengthening. It’s all messed up now, like crazy paving, so I can’t see clearly through it anymore.

I start to back away, the skybridge wobbling beneath my feet.

There’s an almighty tearing sound, a rush of air, and then the whole panel of glass caves in. I scramble out of the way as massive chunks fall all over the place. A sharp, irritating pain flares across my forehead and cheeks. I think some splinters have caught me in the face. Suddenly, I’m grateful for my protective goggles and gloves.

The breach in the outer surface has exposed me to the vacuum of space, and air starts to rush out, accompanied by shards of broken glass. It’s trying to suck me out. I grab onto the railing and pull myself across the bridge, dragging myself further and further away from the breach.

The sucking air whips at my hair and makes the cuts on my face sting. I’m sure I’m bleeding somewhere, but I don’t have time to assess my injuries. I cry out with the effort as I continue to drag myself away from the huge, gaping hole, not daring to look back.

And bit by bit, it becomes a little easier, the pressure lessening.

I start to run, the metal bridge clanging underfoot. I run until the sucking force has lessened and I’m standing at the top of the narrow ladder, looking down.

I curse Station Boss Emin to hell for being too cheap to install a freaking hoverlift. And that’s when I hear it.

That sound. A low-pitched, chchchchch; an insect-like chittering.

“What the hell is that?” I groan in dismay.

I shouldn’t look back right now. I really shouldn’t look back. But I can’t help myself.

I turn and see something straight out of a twentieth-century horror movie.

It’s an oversized cockroach. At least, that’s my first impression. But then I realize it’s black, with two giant claw-like limbs for arms and several pairs of long, spidery legs. It has a head of sorts, a rounded ovoid shape that pops out of its hard carapace to reveal a giant gaping maw. Two triangular black eyes stare back at me.

It’s about twice my size.

I freeze. This is not good. As I make eye contact with the thing, it lets out a shrill shrieking noise. Its multiple lower legs start to retract. It’s sort-of crouching down, and I realize in horror that it’s preparing to jump.

At me.

I have barely a second to weigh up my options.

One, I could try to climb down the ladder, but that will slow me down. The thing will probably get me before I reach the second rung.

Two, I could rush at it and try to fight it. With what, exactly? A bucket and brush? This thing just cracked the supposedly impenetrable outer dome of the facility. No, I don’t want to end up skewered on its serrated claws.

Abbey shish kebabs is not an option right now.

Three, I could…

Oh, hell no.

I look towards the thing, then back, then down. Then at the thing again. Bridge. Ladder. Down. Me. Thing.

Jump.

“Shit,” I whimper, not liking the options before me. Climb ladder and die. Stay here and die. Jump and die.

One has more chance of survival than the others.

If I’m lucky, I’ll land in a tree or in a compost heap. There are a hundred things down there that can break my fall.

The insectoid thing opens its mouth, revealing strings of viscous mucus. I don’t hesitate for another second.

“Fuck that,” I whisper. There’s no way in hell I’m letting that thing bite me.

So I close my eyes, and jump.

* * *

As I enter the giant vegetation dome, an ear-splitting rushing sound reaches me. The air is moving.

It’s being sucked out of a break in the structure.

Movement draws my eye. At the top of the flimsy ladder, a figure is falling, and screaming.

The Human.

I start to run, willing my nanites to push my legs faster, harder. She’s dropping like a stone, and after her comes an adult Xargek, its spindly legs flailing in the air.

The Xargek must have breached the glass of the dome. Only a Xargek could survive for so long in pure space without oxygen.

I jump over bushes and garden beds and containers of fertilizers and harvesting machines. I will myself to reach her.

But she’s too far, and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t make myself go any faster.

Fuck.

I let out a grunt of frustration as she gains velocity. The sucking air has become a roar, and a wailing, deafening alarm starts up. Bits of leaves and sticks are flying around, and I bat away a small branch as I sprint towards her.

An emergency shutter is sliding down over the dome, cutting off the light and restoring normal pressure. As I whip through a grove of trees, I see her crash down into the foliage, a cry of pain coming from where she’s landed.

Then, silence.

I curse out loud in Kordolian as the Xargek flutters its small, useless wings, landing next to her.

Moments later, I’m reaching the spot beneath a fruit tree where she’s landed. Round, sweet-smelling pink fruits are scattered all around, some squashed on the floor. Beside her, the Xargek is raised on its hind legs, its claws poised, ready to strike.

Yellow venom drips from its maw as it shrieks, carrying on with its incessant death cry.

Blood lust overcomes me and I draw my twin blades, my armor extending to protect my face and hands. I have to kill it. As it descends, I move in front of the Human, my blades meeting its sharp foreclaws with a metallic clang.

It emits a piercing cry of anger.

It’s engaged me now, forgetting about the Human. As I deflect its vicious blows, I draw it away from her, towards an area stacked with barrels. It’s focused on me now, and it’s irritated.

I need to get in close. Even Callidum can’t pierce its tough carapace. I need to find the weak spot at the top of its head, or I need to sever its neck.

The Xargek swipes at me with its claws, and one of the strikes catches me in the torso, sending me skidding back several paces. The exo-armor absorbs most of the impact, but the force is enough to slow me down. As it goes for the second strike, I drop to the floor, evading it. It hits again and again and I roll out of the way.

Deep gashes are left in the synthetic floor where it has struck. Only a Xargek’s claws or a Callidum blade could cause such damage.

I’m lying on my back, about to jump to my feet, when the Xargek swarms over me, dripping acidic venom onto my armor. If it had touched my bare skin, my flesh would have melted.

The Xargek extends its head, its mandible working overtime. I see my reflection mirrored in its strange, triangular eyes.

With a grunt, I launch both of my swords, plunging them upwards through its head.

For a moment, the creature keeps moving, and I use all my strength to resist it. A low gurgling sound starts to emanate from its throat. I pull out my swords and roll away as it collapses to the floor.

It shudders and jerks and then goes still. A pool of foul-smelling yellowish liquid forms around its head.

That’s how they bleed. Yellow.

The thing is finally dead.

I realize that it’s gone quiet. The wailing alarm of the station has stopped, and the entire transparent roof of the dome is now covered with some kind of metal emergency shutter.

The air is still. The vacuum created by outer space has been sealed.

I get to my feet, breathing heavily as a faint whimper draws my attention. I swear heavily in Kordolian.

The Human is injured, but she’s alive. I rush to her side. She’s lying on her back with her legs twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Her face is covered in cuts and grazes. I gently pull the safety goggles away from her face.

She grimaces in pain, but somehow, she manages a smile. “Is that you, General?”

I will my helm to retract and her smile grows. She’s lying here battered and bruised with her legs twisted underneath her and she still manages to have that expression on her face. “You killed that awful thing?”

“I killed it.”

“Good.” Her expression turns fierce, but then she grimaces in pain. “I can’t move my legs. They hurt like a bitch. I guess in this case pain is a good thing?”

I take her hands into mine. Human skin is surprisingly soft, and her hand appears tiny against my own. Her fingers are warm.

If only I’d been here sooner, this mess could have been avoided. But now, because of me, this has happened.

She tries to move, but that only increases her pain. I put a hand on her shoulder. “Stop,” I say gently. “Don’t move.”

Her composure in this situation amazes me. I’ve seen battle-hardened soldiers with lesser injuries wailing like children in the field. Her Human body may be weak, but her will is strong. If she hadn’t jumped, she would be dead right now.

I should leave her to the Humans now. She’s injured beyond measure, and her recovery will be long and painful. If she survives, her life will never be the same.

Behind her, the Xargek lies in a lifeless heap, its soulless eyes staring at me with seeming hatred, even in death. The Xargek are predators, nothing more. Organized. Efficient. Deadly. They have their own incomprehensible hive intelligence. They are without empathy or remorse. We have tried to understand their motivations, and failed, time and time again.

So instead, we try to eliminate them.

“What was that thing, General?” Her voice cracks. Underneath her brave face is fear. She’s never seen a Xargek before.

“Do not worry about such details now, Human.”

“It’s Abbey,” she whispers. “I have a name, General.”

“Ah.” I watch the rise and fall of her chest as she lets out an involuntary cry of pain. I should call the Human medics, but Humans have not mastered technology on our level.

There’s only one thing that can restore her to normal functioning.

She needs a nanograft.

My people will not like it, but I will insist. This is my responsibility.

“Rykal,” I snap, activating my comm. “Get Zyara. Tell her I’ve got a full emergency. She needs to come now. We’re in the vegetation dome. If you don’t know the way get the Human soldier to lead you. Bring a stretcher.”

“What happened, boss?”

“Questions later,” I bark. “Just get your asses over here now.”

A small hand squeezes my own. “We have medics too, you know. Maybe you should call them. They’re more familiar with treating Humans. I get the feeling our biology’s a little different to yours.”

I look down at her legs. A fragment of bone protrudes from her torn flesh.

“Human medicine can’t do what we can,” I whisper.

A tortured expression crosses her face. Her breathing is becoming faster, shallower. Crimson blood is pooling around her legs.

“Rykal,” I shout into the comm. “Where the fuck are you?”

“On our way, Sir.” He sounds breathless.

The female’s eyes flutter. Right now, they’re pale and brown, almost golden. “The skydome is cracked,” she murmurs. “There’s no sunlight for the oxygen filters. We need to get it fixed, otherwise we’re all going to choke to death.”

In the midst of her suffering, she’s still worrying about the fate of this Station, making sure the Humans have air to breathe.

Unbelievable.

“You talk too much,” I scold, but there’s no sting in my voice. She blinks, as if staring at me for the first time, her eyes big in her pale, heart-shaped face. I reach down and wipe away a trickle of blood that’s about to enter her eye. Her skin feels clammy, a light sheen of sweat making her features glisten.

Her eyes become unfocused, and her grip becomes weaker.

She’s drifting away.

The thought of her dying bothers me. A lot. I shouldn’t care about an inferior Human this much, but in the short time I’ve spent with this female, she has somehow earned my respect.

Some of her traits are so very Kordolian.

And the Xargek are here because of us. I failed to protect her, despite my assurances.

This situation has come about because of me.

It would be a shame if her life slipped away now.

I’m a filthy cur, tainted by war. I have played my part in destroying civilizations and spreading Kordolian rule across the Nine Galaxies, and I have done it well. Under the old regime, I was feared and hated.

I am still feared and hated, but I am not without honor.

And I am not leaving this female to die needlessly, because of my negligence. An instinct stirs in me, stronger than ever before. She’s under my protection now. Mine.

I will do everything in my power to cure her, even if it means dragging her back to Kythia and forcing the High Council to grant her the healing privileges given to the Kordolian elite.

They have the ability to restore her body to its original state.

I just need to convince them. And I can be very persuasive when I want to be.