The crowd disperses slowly. Long lingering looks before they go make it obvious they would prefer to stay. Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch and wait. When at last we are standing alone, I return my attention to Rosalind. Ladon stands next to her, silent, a brooding presence.

"You push too far," I say.

"Do I?" Rosalind asks, arching an eyebrow. "I would argue I don't push far enough."

"The Edicts define who we are," I answer her.

"Yes, they do," she says. "They also limit you."

The red rage of the bijass rises, threatening to claim my thoughts. I won't let it. I am myself.

Ladon’s soft hiss cuts through my internal struggle. Locking eyes with him, I shake my head. Frustration grows from the anger. I make a slashing motion with my hand, cutting off the conversation and turn away. I head towards my quarters. Let them do as they will.

As I make my way up the ramp, I hear Rosalind’s soft footsteps behind me. Consumed with the effort of fighting off the rage, I don't acknowledge her. When I reach the leather covers that serves as my door, I step aside and hold it open for her. She meets my eyes before entering, and no matter how I try to harden my heart, it softens. I cannot remain angry at her.

I step in behind her, offer her a chair and refreshment, then take a seat across from her. She sips the small cup of water and sets it down on the table with soft clink.

"It is not easy for us to change," I say by way of opening.

"Nothing before us is going to be easy," Rosalind says, staring at the table between us.

One hand grips the cup, and the other rests on the table. I see the free hand tremble. She balls it into a fist and pulls away.

"I'm not saying you're wrong," I say, changing tactics. "But nothing is more important to me than the good of the tribe. I have sacrificed everything to bring these few survivors together."

"Then why can't you see we need everybody," she says, a pleading note in her voice as her eyes lock with mine.

"If we allow weakness to breed, if we allow those who would undermine us to remain, we don't come out stronger. You let Gershom continue, knowing full well he was working against you."

"Yes," she says shaking her head. "I underestimated him."

"I tried to warn you," I say, and my gut knots. The last thing in the world I want to say is some version of I told you so. Still, if only she had listened to me, none of this would've happened.

"So you did," she says. "It doesn't change the fact that I need him. More than that, I need his followers. That's neither here nor there. Why did you not stop Padraig from beating on Samil?"

"That is not our way," I reply, shrugging.

"How can it not be? Is not the second edict 'together we are stronger'?"

"And three is, survival of the group matters," I respond.

"I don't understand how that addresses my question," she says.

"For the group to survive we have to be strong," I explain. "The edicts work together, interchanging with each other, they are the guiding rules by which we judge everything."

"I get that," Rosalind says, her jaw tightening in frustration. "Do not speak to me as if I'm a child."

"Rosalind, I'm not," I say, my heart pounding in my chest. As if of its own free will my hand covers hers. The small, balled fist of her hand is engulfed in mine, but all I can feel is the softness of her skin. "I would never treat you that way."

"Good," she says. "Then answer my question. How can you stand by and let someone like Samil take a beating like that. Where's your heart? Where is your sense of honor?"

"Because we sacrifice everything for the group," I say, anger rising, threatening to take control. "Nothing else matters. No one person is greater than the need of the group."

"What good is a group that sacrifices those who needed support?" She asks, her voice soft, her eyes imploring mine. "He needed you. He needed someone stronger than him."

"That is the difference between us, Rosalind," I say. "Sometimes we have to sacrifice the weak to ensure the safety and the future of the strong."

"I cannot agree to that," Rosalind says, shaking her head. "We have to be better than that. The society we create has to be one I can be proud of."

My scales tingle listening to her words, she speaks softly, but her voice is filled with her passion. My hearts beat faster, my hand tightens on hers, as I search for words to say.

There's a noise outside my door, and the skin is pulled aside. Ladon storms in followed closely by Sverre. Ragnar trails in behind them. Rising, I turn to face the newcomers.

"What is the meaning of this," I say, aggression rising.

"Has he told you?" Ladon asks, looking past me at Rosalind.

Sverre stands next to him, calmer than Ladon, but I can see in the tint of his scales that he is angry as well. Ragnar stands to one side, keeping a few feet between him and the other two. I turn my attention to him.

What is the meaning of this, Ragnar?" I ask.

Rosalind rises to her feet and comes to stand next to me. She has her hands on her hips as she looks between Ladon and me.

"Told me what?" she asks.

"Zzlo," Ladon says, making a slashing motion with his hand across the air between us before pointing at me accusingly.

"What about the Zzlo?" Rosalind asks.

"Ragnar and the hunters found their base," Ladon says. "They know where they are."

"Is that true?" Rosalind asks.

The weight of everything falls on my shoulders again. I hold up my hands palms out towards her.

"The information was just brought to me," I say.

"Are there survivors there?" Rosalind asks. Her voice sounds strange, but she’s speaking softly.

"I don't know," I say.

"What do we know?" she asks.

"Too little right now," I say. "We only just found out right before you came back."

"Right," she nods. "Tell me what is known then, and let's go from there."

"We know the location," I say. "Nothing else yet."

"I saw their spaceship taking off," Ragnar adds. "It's obvious that they are shipping prisoners off world."

"What does that have to do with us?" Ladon asks.

"Because they took the other survivors," Rosalind says, whirling towards him in a rare display of anger.

"It's a tragedy," Sverre says. "That doesn't change the question though. If they've already shipped them off world, there is nothing we can do."

Rosalind looks the men over before turning and locking eyes with me. I can see the wheels turning in her mind. I know, before she says it, what she's thinking. The only question is what I do with it. I look at all the possibilities, trying to decide—what is the greatest good for the Tribe?

There are plenty of human females for every member of the Tribe to mate with. But that won't be enough, because not all of them will match. There is a disparity also in the number human females compared to the number of human males If we can rescue those human females it only increases the odds of a better future for the Tribe.

Rosalind stares into my eyes, waiting for me to respond. Coming to a decision, I give her the barest of nods. A smile spreads across her face. Warmth grows in my chest, starting in my hearts and pounding its way in a wave through my limbs.

"Perhaps that is not the case," I say.

"You can't be serious," Ladon exclaims.

"Why not?" Rosalind asked, jumping into the conversation.

"Because it's not worth the risk!" Sverre exclaims.

"Is it not more risk to allow them to operate without challenge?" Ragnar asks.

"We have responsibilities here," Ladon says, his wings opening and hands balling into fists. "I've already lost my city. What else would you take from me?"

"Leaving the Zzlo to operate isn’t wise," I say. "In any situation they are a future danger we're going to have to handle."

"And we need those survivors, human and Zmaj both," Rosalind says.

"Why?" Ladon asks, the edges of his scales edging red making it clear he’s struggling with his bijass.

"Genetics," Rosalind says. Ladon and Sverre exchange a blank look before their attention returns to Rosalind. "How much do you understand about that subject?"

Ladon shrugs and Ragnar shakes his head.

"I understand," I say.

Rosalind inhales deeply, her brow furrowing in concentration. Silence sits heavy over all of us while she contemplates, then she nods at last.

"The future of our races is not assured," she says. "Neither human nor Zmaj. I think it's clear that we need each other. But even that may not be enough. If there is not a broad enough mix of genetics to pull from, we risk creating a short-term future that might only make it four or five generations."

"I don't understand," Ladon says shaking his head and wrestling his wings. "Illadon is doing well and so is Rverre."

"Yes, they are, for now," Rosalind agrees. "I said it would be three or four generations down the line before there are likely to be problems. Their great-grandchildren would be the earliest I would expect it to show up."

"What to show up?" Ragnar asks.

"Weakness in the genetics," Rosalind says. "Possible mutations or tendency towards diseases. No matter how it manifests, it would greatly shorten their lifespans, then continue to get worse as it extrapolates further down the line. Until at last, both of our races are doomed once more."

"You can't know this," Ladon says.

"I tend to agree Rosalind," I say, shaking my head. "How can you predict so far into the future?"

"I am the Lady General of a generational ship that left Earth four generations ago. A large portion of my training is to know things like this. The amount of science and work that went into the creation of the generation ships is beyond comprehension. They had to allow for every variable to make sure we would be viable when we reached our destination. All of that has been disrupted, but it is still my duty to shepherd the human race, and the survivors most especially, to a viable future."

A cold chill forms in my stomach as icy tendrils creep outwards.

"So you're certain that this is what will happen if we don't rescue them?" Ladon asks.

"No," Rosalind says. "Nothing in this is certain. It's all projections and conjecture based on educated guesses. I am saying that it greatly increases our odds of being successful if we rescue them. That alone makes it worth the effort to at least try."

Ladon and Ragnar lock eyes and I can feel the exchange going between the two of them without words. Ragnar nods, subtle, then Ladon does also.

"We’ll go in the morning," Ragnar says.

"No, you won't," I say, shaking my head. "You and the other hunters are too valuable to us. We barely have enough food as it is. No, the ones who need to go are the ones who are most disposable right now."

"So what, would you send children? Perhaps Samil?" Ladon asks, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Rosalind and I exchange a look in which no words necessary. We both know what the other is thinking. The decision is right even though I know they won't see it at first.

"Rosalind and I will go," I say.

"No!" Ladon and Ragnar shout almost in unison.

"He's right," Rosalind agrees. "Visidion and I are the most expendable."

"You’re our leader!" Ragnar says. "What are we going to do without you? Who will lead us into the future?"

"And without you who would feed us?" I ask. "There is no option. This is the way it has to be."

"This cannot be," Ladon says shaking his head, frowning and his hands clenched into tight fists.

"Ladon," Rosalind says. "You'll need to fill my role. Make sure everyone stays busy. Production is the key to morale. Keep them working and it'll keep their mind off the troubles."

"This is not my job," Ladon argues. "I am not a leader. They won’t follow me."

"I think you'll be surprised," she says.

Ladon opens his mouth to argue further, but Sverre cuts him off.

“Rosalind, no. I understand the logic but the humans need you. Even those who left the City look to you for leadership. You’re their inspiration. Visidion I know the Tribe feels the same about you.”

Rosalind shakes her head, meeting Sverre’s gaze head-on.

“No,” she says simply. “It doesn’t matter how you argue against this, it is the only way.”

“She’s right,” I add. “Rosalind and I are more than capable of handling ourselves out there. The survival of the Tribe is all that matters, and that includes you who have been banished from the City.”

“Ladon, Sverre, you both have children. Our future hinges on them as much as anything. You cannot go,” Rosalind adds.

“Ragnar, you and the hunters are the lifeline,” I say. “We would starve without your efforts.”

“No one else can do this,” Rosalind says. “Visidion and I are both well prepared for a reconnaissance mission. We’ll go and gather information, then, when we return, we’ll make a plan.”

“I don’t like it,” Ladon hisses, shaking his head.

“I agree with him,” Ragnar says. “This is stupid.”

“They’re right,” Sverre says, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing.

The other two men look at him with surprise on their faces.

“You can’t be serious?” Ragnar asks him.

“Yes, I am,” he says. “Think it through. They’re right. We can’t let this operation continue but we can’t stop it without information. We don’t know what is going on there for sure. We can’t send an army; we don’t have one. It has to be a small, stealthy operation.”

“Which is exactly what I do,” Ragnar argues.

“Yes, but then who hunts? How many days of food do we have right now? Especially with the addition of us refugees?”

Ragnar opens his mouth to argue then snaps it shut. He looks grim, angry, but nods.

“You and I should go, Sverre,” Ladon says.

“You would leave Illadon an orphan?” Sverre asks.

"Enough," I say cutting off the last of their arguments.

"It is decided," Visidion says. "We will leave in the morning."

The three men before us exchange looks, then shaking their heads, they silently and sullenly leave my quarters. At last Rosalind and I stand alone. She looks up, a wan smile on her face.

“This is a terrible idea,” she says, her voice soft.

“Perhaps,” I say.

An ache in my arms that feels like an empty void wanting to be filled consumes me. It’s an effort of will to not grab her and take her into my arms. She shifts her weight from one leg to the other. Every line of her face is beautiful, perfect. Fingertips tingle with the desire to touch her face, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

We're inches apart but it might as well be miles. Something plays in her eyes. I can't read it. Desire rises in my core, need for her pounding in my soul. It's hard to breathe, my chest aches, and my hearts are in overdrive.

"We can't," Rosalind says.

"Why not?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, throat tight and raw.

"They count on us," she says, shoulders slumping.

“Then let us lead,” I say, placing two fingers under her chin and lifting her face upwards.

Her lips quiver at the corners, her eyes narrow, and she starts to say something but I don't give her the chance. The pull between us is overwhelming.

I steal our first kiss.

Our lips touch. Sensation explodes like rockets shooting into the dark sky. My scales tingle and itch, my stomach tightens into a hard knot, and my first cock stiffens.

Her lips are soft, moving against mine. Her arms drape around my neck as she folds her body against me. When I wrap my arms around her, the empty, aching void fills—with her. A sense of completeness comes over me, the like of which I’ve never known.

We kiss, slow, drawn out, tasting each other until at last the need for air overrides desire and we part, gasping. Trailing my fingers lightly across her cheek, I lean in to kiss again, but she pulls back.

“No,” she says.

“Rosalind,” I counter.

“No,” she says, holding a finger up between us. “We have responsibilities to our people. That comes before our personal pleasures.”

“So you did find it pleasurable?” I ask, grinning.

Her cheeks flush red and her eyes dance with light.

“You’re terrible,” she says, laughing.