I have left Earth before—everyone has these days—but only to visit the moon and a few of the localized space stations.

But still, the feeling of a ship landing never fails to make me nervous. The whole ship seems to rattle as it makes its way through the planet’s stratosphere. The pilot, an older man I’d heard the others call Paulson, said when we boarded that our arrival would be a bit a rougher than an Earth landing, but I didn’t quite expect this. Really, I know I should probably find a seat or head back to my small cabin while I wait for the ship to touch down. Instead, I’m making my way toward the front of the craft, where I can hear the other members of the crew speaking to the pilot as he brings the ship down.

The unsteady movements nearly make me lose my footing at one point, but I steady myself and walk on, pausing only when their voices become more distinct and I realize they are talking about me.

Their voices overlap at first, and it’s hard to make out who’s who. Darwin is there, undoubtedly. I don’t think I’ve seen him head to his room once since we left Earth the previous day. I hear my name said by a voice that is still only vaguely familiar, followed by:

“It’s gonna be a chore keeping that girl safe.”

If I had to guess, I’d say it was one of the scientists from the EDC. I’ve only spoken to them briefly so far, but both of the men seem to have taken it as a personal insult that an intern, and a woman at that, is tagging along on the voyage. Clearly they wanted to be heroes, just them.

I walk a bit farther, the ship having finally stabilized as Paulson touches it down. I stop to one side of the doorway so that I can see them as well as hear them. It doesn’t count as eavesdropping, I’ve always thought, if I happen to be the subject of the conversation.

“No idea why it couldn’t just be us. The dream team.” There’s a chuckle. These men are mostly already friends. I’m stepping on toes by tagging along, I know, but this is a job. The most important one I can really think of. Why can’t they get over it?

"Should she just stay on board, you think?” the second scientist asks. He’s on the short side, with a rather unkempt beard. I’m about eighty percent certain his name is Matt Richards, which mean the other scientist is Cole Singer. We’re a long way from the EDC and none of us have name tags.

“Does she have a weapon?” Vincent ‘Call-me-Vince’ Harris asks. He is the only one who bothered with an introduction while I was moving my things aboard the ship. He is one of two soldiers accompanying the mission, though he doesn’t look terribly intimidating, with a rather slight build and laughing brown eyes.

Of course I do, I think, rather smugly, as I touch my fingers to the blaster at my hip. Reynholm gave it to me before the ship left Earth. The reminder that it is there fills me with a rush of excitement. With the monotony of the journey, it’s beeneasy to forget what we are here for.

Even if we don’t find the cure, there is still a chance we might find a lead of some sort that will be useful in future research. So long as we don’t return completely empty handed, I’ll consider it a success. Regardless of how it turns out, it’s still sure to be the adventure of my life.

“What do we need a nurse for anyway?” Cole asks, just as I stride into view. He is taller than his scientist counterpart Richards, and lacking the beard. He is younger than the other men on the crew by several years.

“Reynholm insisted,” Darwin wheedles, obviously trying to sway them in his preferred direction. He sounds imploring, appealing to the others to allow me to come along, but his voice makes it clear that it is not something he wants, and rather an order he is following.

The voices quiet when they see me standing in the doorway. I don’t even attempt to pretend that I didn’t hear them. “There are a hundred reasons to have a nurse,” I say. “Do any of you have medical training, trauma experience?”

There is nothing but silence. Vince is the only one to speak up with a shrug. “We’re not medics, miss,” he says, nodding to the second soldier, whose name I’m still unsure of, by his side. “They just teach us the very basics—put pressure on the wound and wait for the professionals. I know some first aid.”

I give him a small quirk of a smile in thanks for furthering my point to the others. Some men don’t listen to anything unless it comes from another man. “Then I might just come in handy,” I say, tapping my blaster for emphasis. “And I can look after myself.”

The men still look displeased, though no one more so than the scientists.

“Worry about yourselves,” I add. “That seems to be what you excel at.” I’m hoping to see at least a face or two drop with guilt, but at best they seem indifferent. Vince snorts, finding the reprimand, or perhaps the lack of the reaction from the men, to be entertaining.

“You don’t have to like me,” I continue, taking advantage of the silence. “Let’s just get this over with, go home, and be heroes.”

The scientists move toward the door, having apparently resolved to ignore me. I think they simply mean to distance themselves from me, until they start walking down the ramp.

“Hey!” I say. “Maybe we should sit down and make a plan first?”

“You do that,” Richards calls. This is followed by a short laugh from Cole. “Good luck,” he throws in, their footsteps echoing as they exit the ship.

Darwin moves with them, nodding that I should follow. He obviously thinks that if I’m left out, I’ll spin it as his fault to Reynholm.

I sigh, loudly, looking to the soldiers for some scrap of sense.

“The whole premise for this mission is based on a message that we have more than enough reason to be suspicious of. This is monumentally stupid.”

Vince shrugs, and starts after the group, the other soldier falling into step beside him.

“Crap,” I whisper.

The pilot props his heels up on the control panel as I step onto the ramp.

The marketplace is fascinating. I have never seen such a place on Earth; the closest thing I can think of is the crowded farmer’s market my grandmother has taken me to. Here, the wares are out in the open, sitting on makeshift tables, or on blankets on the ground. A few are lucky enough to have their own tents, but they are few and far between. The constant stream of people is unending, and I’m actually not even sure if the word ‘people’ applies. There are aliens of every size, shape, and shade, and though we’ve only been trekking through the city for an hour, I’ve already spotted several species that I do not know the names for. I do my best not to stare and try not to smile too widely, after Vince warns me that some species consider it creepy or threatening to grin at strangers.

“Just being friendly,” I say, but I switch to a more neutral expression. I stick close to him for the most part. At the very least, he doesn’t seem to harbor some instinctive hatred for me. The second soldier, who he introduces as Jansen Slate, simply seems indifferent.

Darwin and the two other scientists, Cole and Richards, pause in front of us, staring at something with abject disgust. I peer around Cole for a better look and nearly laugh at their reaction. Admittedly, the alien they have stopped to gape at has an appearance that some might call grotesque, with skin that reminds me of a slug. I have seen much worse things as a nurse and have learned not to get hung up on appearances lest you make the patient uncomfortable.

The glistening alien obviously notices the stares, and stares back as he begins to ooze a thick fluid from the oversized pores on his skin. The men in front of me shrink back, horrified, while I chuckle loudly at the creature’s deliberate display. Richards turns all the way around to shoot me a dirty glare before the group walks on.

The meeting point is fairly public. I was initially worried that the messenger had chosen somewhere isolated, but to my surprise we are still close to the marketplace, just one street over and in an alleyway with dumpsters mostly blocking the either end. Before we step away from the more open street and into the alley, I take note of the neon flashing lights in alien languages that my translator chip focuses on. It didn’t have much of a chance to translate more than small snatches of speech as we walked through the crowded marketplace, but now it switches the words I see to GENTLEMAN’S CLUB, and I’m in awe of how seamless the visual translations appear in front of my eyes.

Despite the initial interest, as I move into the alley, I can’t help but think that X24, particularly this part, is a bit of a sleazy place. I’ve never realized before how safe the Federation offices sprinkled on every corner at home make me feel in comparison. There are plenty of unsettling places on Earth, but it is much easier to discern real danger from paranoia when you are familiar with a place. Here, I can’t even read the facial expressions of passersby to discern if they are hostile.

We wait for only a moment, quiet, save for Cole, who keeps trying to engage Slate in conversation despite the man’s lack of interest.

Three tall, slender aliens appear. At first, I only take note of their strange similarities to insects, the segmented bodies and shiny skin. Skin doesn’t seem to be the right word. It’s harder than that, closer to armor, the part of the bug that makes a crunching sound when you crush it with your shoe. They are a bit taller than most humans, but far too thin. Darwin has elected himself our speaker without consulting the rest of us. It seems like the sort of thing that might have been voted on earlier, had we all sat down to talk together.

“Hello,” Darwin begins, plainly nervous. His voice shakes a bit, but with luck the aliens aren’t familiar enough with humans to register it as an abnormality. “We are the representatives sent from the EDC of Earth. We need you to give us the Velor plant.”

There is only silence in answer. The aliens begin moving forward with slow, menacing steps. Darwin, to his credit, keeps plowing forward. “The plant you promised to deliver,” he elaborates. “We received information from you that it is capable of curing a very devastating disease.”

The aliens keep advancing and, in response, our group shrinks closer and closer together. We are shortly wedged in on one side by the closest dumpster and the alley wall, and by the approaching aliens on the other. We outnumber them by half, but that means little. Each one of them looks like a warrior, and we only have two real fighters of our own. I know how to aim a blaster, but that won’t mean much if it comes to a close quarters fight.

“Shit,” Slate pronounces grimly. It’s the first thing I’ve heard him say.

The two soldiers have positioned themselves in front of both the scientists and myself, but we are still open to the aliens on too many sides. Darwin is still talking about the Velor plant and how it will save humanity, rambling on and on.

“Don’t think that’s helping,” Vince says, and I have to agree. The soldiers draw their guns, and the scientists draw theirs in turn, though they do not hold them with the same skill and steadiness. Darwin’s hand is trembling so hard I fear he will drop his weapon altogether.

Just as I am about to pull my own weapon from my holster, the tallest alien, the one who I take as the leader, steps forward and holds out a flimsy paper bag instead of a gun. Darwin’s sigh of relief is probably audible all the way back in the marketplace.

The soldiers move forward first, together, on their guard with their eyes trained on the aliens. They are watching their hands, I realize, ready to respond should they make an obvious grab for their weapons.

Slate’s hand is perhaps a millimeter from the bag when a second set of arms shoots out from beneath the creatures’ coats, these ones holding weapons.

It happens so fast, the soldiers have no chance to respond. I see Slate fly backward, knocked out cold by the stunning ray. Vince manages to pull the trigger on his blaster, but the shot goes wide as the aliens move forward. Vince falls next, the frontmost alien taking advantage of his missed shot to send him to the ground along with Slate. In the space of seconds, our only competent fighters are out of the game.

I panic at the sound of blaster fire, knowing I’ll surely be shot within seconds. I drop to the ground just as the scientists begin to fire their guns in return. The dumpster is close enough that I can easily crawl beneath it without so much as bumping my head. Cole and Richards drop immediately; I see no blood and assume they have been stunned in the same manner as the soldiers. Miraculously, Darwin lasts the longest, though only because he breaks away from the aliens and begins to sprint toward the opening of the alley. I pull out my own blaster just as Darwin is dropped, but it’s impossible to get a good shot off from my current vantage point. Hitting the aliens in the ankle with my blaster on stun will likely only piss them off, and even with the settings turned to kill, the best I could manage is blasting off a foot.

I’ve effectively boxed myself into a corner. There’s no way I can wriggle back out and run without notice, but at least they seem to have forgotten me for the moment. The three aliens begin to search the pockets of my fallen team members. Most of them come up empty, but the third, the furthest from me, pulls out a set of keys and jingles them triumphantly. They must want the Federation spacecraft for some reason. Perhaps I can reach Paulson on my comm device and warn him to move the ship before they reach it.

Just as the aliens turn to leave, and just as I press the button at my wrist, the sound of a gun firing reaches my ears. It is different from our standard issue blasters; whatever it is, it fires into the center of the group of aliens and sends them all flying. They don’t move when they hit the ground, but I can see the chest of the closest one moving, and I assume they are merely stunned as well. I scan the area once before crawling out, making certain that there are no more hostile aliens waiting for my exit.

I nearly scream when a blue hand falls into my vision. My pounding heart calms when I realize it is extended in invitation to help. I place my hand in the much larger one, and allow myself to be pulled up from my awkward position on the ground. Brushing dirt from my clothing, I look up at the alien who has apparently come to our rescue.

A nervous laugh tries to escape when I am able to recognize him as Velorian, based solely on my experience with Kaylee’s dating sim. I’ll have to tell the girl it proved useful. He is a good seven foot tall, meaning I have to crane my neck a bit to get a good look at him. His skin is strangely textured and looks much tougher than my own human hide. He has a tail, I realize when he turns, and that seems to be the strangest thing about him. Despite this, I cannot stop myself from thinking, however inappropriate in my current situation, of how handsome he is.

“The Xzerg should not bother you further,” he says, inclining his head toward the aliens he stunned. He kneels over the men from my ship. “They’ll be fine,” he tells me. “No major injuries that I can see, though that one,” he nods to Darwin, “may have hurt his head.”

“That’s a relief,” I say, and the alien tilts his head quizzically. “His head was already a lost cause.”

The alien blows out a short huff of air that I take to be a reserved laugh. It lasts only a second before he is back to business. “I will help you transport them back to your ship. I’ll need you to lead the way.”

“Thanks heaps,” I begin, and start forward, meaning to help him with at least one of the men—surely he can’t carry them all. I can at least attempt to drag one of the skinnier scientists.

Before I can make it there one of the Xzerg moves, his hand reaching for a blaster on the ground perhaps a foot in front of him, fingers inching forward. It seems to happen in slow motion. His fingers reach the gun, turning the dial away from stun and toward something decidedly more deadly. Clearly, they didn’t want to risk killing Federation employees, but my rescuer appears to be a different story.

I lift my gun and fire, heart hammering, just as the Velorian assisting me turns and notices the trouble. The blast hits the hostile alien in the chest, causing him to fall backward into one of the many piles of trash scattered throughout the alley. I’m still holding the gun out as the Velorian circles to walk in front of me. I panic, worried he’ll think I’m aiming at him, and let it drop to the ground.

The Velorian’s facial expressions seem blessedly familiar to human ones, and I can tell that he is wearing a look of stunned surprise.

He steps closer, head angled downward a bit to meet my eyes. I feel a flutter of something in my chest, probably more nervousness, that I resolve to ignore.

“I am called Vohx,” the Velorian says. “What is your name?”

“Stacy,” I say, doing my best not to look away from the sheer intensity of his gaze.

Vohx drops into a low bow, his knees nearly touching the ground as he presses his right hand over his heart, or where I assume his heart would lie.

I continue to stare. Whatever’s happening, I hope it goes well.