I don’t particularly like the Federation capitol, though that seems an unfair assessment to make after less than a day in the place. It’s a few systems away from Earth, as we are in no way the center of the truly vast universe, and it is where all meetings of the Intergalactic Federation occur, where every important decision of the last several generations has been made. It is also, among other things, the home of important politicians of every species, in addition to other people who have reached fame through one accomplishment or another.

“Stacy Hale of Earth,” a voice says.

Another thing I don’t like is standing in front of large groups of people, but here I am anyway. I stand up, conscious of the number of eyes on me, and stride to the front of the ridiculously large meeting room. It’s at least five times the size of the one I’d stumbled into with Darwin’s sandwich, what felt like a lifetime ago in the EDC. Though I’m seated near the front of the room, I navigate through what must be dozens of different species before I make it to the large table where the more important of the officials are seated. I pass chairs filled with military officers and political ambassadors, finally stopping at the center seat, which is currently filled by the Admiral of Earth’s military. I stand before him, a grizzled old man with sternness in his countenance and steel in his spine; his face is impassive, but there is a slight smile in his eyes when he meets mine.

The Admiral holds up the medal. It is silver and glinting, and the cloth that it hangs from it is made from stripes of blue, green, and red, the colors of the Federation. I duck my head a bit so that he can easily slip it over my head, and I am somewhat shocked by the heavy weight of it around my neck.

“Vohx,” the voice says next, “of Veloria.”

He has a much easier time navigating the room than I do, his height allowing him to map out the easiest route. Even with all that I have gained from the activation of my DNA, I still find myself wishing to be a bit taller. There are chuckles, and I realize that instead of attempting to place the medal around Vohx’s neck, as is traditional, the Admiral has opted to hand it to the much taller alien instead. He stands close to me, our arms barely brushing against one another. To the people watching, I am sure we merely look like colleagues or comrades, but as we stand, there is an arc of electricity between his skin and mine. I find it difficult to focus on the words the admiral is saying.

“In summary, we thank you for your bravery,” he says, and I realize that I must have missed much of the speech regardless of attempting to pay attention. Vohx gives me a smirk, and I guess that he has had a similar problem. “Thanks to Stacy, Vohx, and the other members of their crew, the Drought is well on its way to being eradicated. The Velor has provided us with a cure that has been successful in all the trials so far, and it will soon be distributed to everyone in need. Work toward a vaccine has also commenced, as their team retrieved more than enough samples to create a serum.”

Applause sounds at every scripted pause, and at this latest announcement, there are a few cheers and whistles as well, mostly from the less well dressed, likely less important people, who have begun to trickle in to hear the news. I am grateful when the Admiral ends the formal ceremony and invites the audience into the hall outside, where refreshments have been set up at large buffet tables. I somehow lose Vohx as I follow the flow of people from the meeting hall, and am nearly devoured by the number of humans and aliens in formal clothing who want to shake my hand. I don’t have much to say to them, but I try to appear humble and grateful for the attention, however uncomfortable it makes me. I am only a nurse, after all, and the spotlight is never a place I wanted to be.

I escape by heading to the relative safety of one of the long tables, the only one the comforting smells of Earth food are emanating from. A throat clears behind me as I eat the contents of one of the small plates.

“Fair warning,” the voice says, “I don’t think the chef is human. These cocktail weenies leave a lot to be desired.”

“Vince!” I say. The man looks well, though the cast on his arm hasn’t come off yet, and the sling is still in place to keep him from straining his shoulder with the weight. “How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good. They say the arm will be fine, thanks to Richards’ shit aim. And the fact that we had a ‘competent medical professional’ on board.” He grins. “Thanks for that.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Well,” he says, “I was hoping they’d give me a medal, but I guess they ran out.” He pauses, clears his throat. “I really just wanted to thank you. I know I wasn’t much good this time around, but if you ever need an extra gun …”

“You’re allowed to take whatever jobs you please?”

“Not technically speaking, but I’ve been thinking of not re-upping with the military and doing some freelancing instead. I wanted to thank Vohx too—I’m assuming it was him and not you who hauled us all out of there—but I can’t stand the stuffed shirt crowd much longer. Tell him for me, will you?”

I accept the warm handshake he offers. “Of course,” I say.

“You’ve got another fan lined up,” he warns, before melting back into the crowd, this time heading for the door.

I’m still smiling fondly when I see the man he indicated. He looks to be about my own age, perhaps a bit older, and he is dressed in the same style of formal suit that most of the humanoid species seemed to have bought. Perhaps there were only a few such stores on this station.

“I was hoping to run into you,” he says, and I squint at him in confusion.

“Have we met?”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “But I think it’s remarkable, what you’ve done here. My name is Jason Reynolds. I’m an ambassador for Earth. You really are prettier in person. I was hoping you might be interested in having a friendly drink with me downstairs. There’s an excellent lounge I can show you—“

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” I interrupt. “But I actually have plans with someone else.”

The man’s friendly demeanor shifts entirely, eyes narrowing, mouth twisting into an offended expression. I thought an ambassador would be better at controlling himself. “Do you know who I am?”

“An asshole?” I say, before I can stop myself.

The man steps forward, his face now aghast. He quickly takes several, much more urgent steps back as a shadow is cast across his form. I know that Vohx is standing behind me without looking, the casual familiarity of his hand coming to rest at the small of my back giving him away. “She said no,” Vohx says, his voice threatening, but carefully low enough not to draw the attention of the entire room. “And she said it far more politely than I will …”

The man pales even further, the color draining from his face. He mutters something unintelligible and moves away, flocking together with another batch of suits that he can easily get lost in.

I look to Vohx and mouth a thank you, rolling my eyes in the direction of the thoroughly frightened ambassador.

“So,” he says. “When you said you had plans, what were you referring to?”

“Let’s find somewhere quieter,” I suggest. “They’re not the sort of plans one discusses with an audience.”

Vohx’s chuckle is warm as he lifts my hand and presses an ice-cold kiss to the back of my palm.