Alien Engineer’s Mate (Latharian Mate Program #5)

Chapter 1

1

S he hated this job. She hated the cold and the damp—especially the damp.

The only reason she hadn’t quit was that she liked eating and breathing air. And she had kids who liked to do the same…

The titanium-cutting teeth spun until they formed an arc of silver beyond the safety screen, scattering strange patterns under the work lights. Eira Coleman gripped the controls tighter, feeling the unfamiliar vibration shuddering through the whole rig. The machine had always been temperamental—she knew it hated her—but this felt different. It felt wrong.

She flicked a glance at the control panel. The sensor display was cracked to hell, and patched with tape… just like everything else in this place. Numbers flashed and jumped across the screen, completely useless. She tapped it and sighed. Typical corporate nonsense… they'd rather let equipment fall apart than spend a single credit on maintenance.

"Amos," she murmured into the comm. "You getting anything weird on your end?"

Static crackled before Amos's voice cut through. "Nothing here. Sensors all green.” He paused. "Though that doesn't mean shit these days."

Damn. She'd put in the work order last week, but of course, nothing had been done. Nothing got fixed anymore unless it was completely dead, and sometimes not even then. Not since the takeover.

The shudder hit harder, and the rotor cutter let out a scream of metal and fury. The massive blade was built to eat rock for breakfast, but something was definitely wrong with how it was spinning. Warning lights flashed on the busted sensor panel, and the steering yoke vibrated like it was going to shake itself apart.

"Clear the tunnel!" she barked into the comm, already reaching for the emergency shutdown. "Something's?—"

The world went straight to hell.

The rotor cutter exploded with a thundering crack that shook the tunnel, sending razor-sharp shrapnel spraying everywhere like deadly confetti. She threw herself down behind the control panel as fragments pinged off the reinforced cabin. Alarms screamed, mixing with shouts and the relentless rain of metal debris.

"Status!" she yelled as soon as the initial chaos died down. "Everyone report!"

"Torres, clear!" The first response sounded, followed quickly by others. Each voice sent a wave of relief through her until Amos's breathless "Clear!" completed the count.

Hauling herself up, she ignored her protesting muscles. The emergency lights kicked in, painting everything blood-red and making the rock dust look like something out of a horror vid. Figures moved through the haze as her crew emerged from whatever cover they’d found when all hell broke loose.

"Anyone hurt?" she called out, climbing down from the rig's cabin. Each step sent metal crunching under her boots.

"Just cuts and bruises," someone replied. "Nothing major."

"Small mercies," she muttered, but the relief faded fast when she made her way along the machine and saw what was left of the rotor cutter. The massive blade was just gone, turned into twisted shrapnel scattered across the tunnel. The mounting assembly looked like it had gone ten rounds with a crusher unit and lost badly.

"Shit." Amos's voice was tight as he came up beside her, taking in the wreckage. "How long were those sensors acting up?"

"A week." She kept her voice steady even though her hands were still shaking from the near miss. They could have all died down here. It had happened before. More than once. "Posted three work orders myself."

"Let me guess." Torres joined them, face hard. "All of them magically vanished from the system."

"Like everything else that might cost those bastards a credit." Amos kicked a piece of shrapnel, sending it skittering across the tunnel floor. "Just like Sarah's requests about the ventilation before..." He trailed off, but the look he exchanged with Torres said it all. They'd all lost someone to corporate "cost optimization."

Heavy footsteps behind them announced incoming trouble. They all turned to see Paul Justiv's stocky frame emerge from the dust cloud, his shiny foreman's badge catching the red emergency lights. His expression was neutral, but his eyes gleamed flat and black like a shark’s.

"What happened here?" he demanded.

"Equipment failure," she shot back, steel in her voice. "The sensors have been malfunctioning. I put in a work order last week."

Paul made a show of checking his tablet, but she knew he wasn’t reading anything. "No work order showing in the system. Must have been a... technical glitch."

Her fists clenched tight. She met Paul's eyes and caught that same predatory look she'd seen at James's funeral… the one that had her taking different routes through the colony to avoid him.

"Funny how those glitches keep happening," she bit out, keeping her voice steady despite her skin crawling. The other miners tensed around her, everyone knowing exactly what game was being played.

Paul’s gaze swept over her with a hint of a sneer. "Watch yourself, Coleman. You're already on the hook for destroying company equipment. Giving me attitude won't help your case."

Her jaw tightened. “On the hook? The sensors were failing. I reported it. If it had been fixed?—"

"If you couldn't handle the equipment, you should have said so instead of making excuses," Paul cut her off. "The company doesn't look kindly on operators who can't keep their shit together."

"She's right about the sensors," Amos said quietly, though he wouldn't meet her eyes or Paul’s. "They've been acting up."

"Then why wasn't it reported properly?" Paul's voice was reasonable, but his eyes said he was going for the kill.

"It was," she insisted, but she knew she was screwed. Her team was already looking away, shuffling their feet. They all knew what was coming next.

"Well, regardless of your excuses," Paul said, tapping his tablet imperiously, "company policy is crystal clear. Equipment damage comes out of team wages. Hmmm…” He paused for effect, the bastard. "A new rotor cutter assembly will cost approximately twenty thousand credits."

She gasped. Someone swore behind her. Twenty thousand credits meant at least a month of survival rations. The corporate takeover had already pushed them to the edge with their "optimization" nonsense; surge pricing on necessities, restricted rations, and endless equipment fees. This would push some families right over that edge.

"That's not fair," she tried one last time. "If proper maintenance had been done?—"

"Life isn't fair," Paul cut her off. "But hey, if you want to cover the whole cost yourself..."

The threat hung there like a noose. They both knew she was screwed. With three kids to feed, Kyle's medical bills had her barely treading water as it was. Same story for most of the crew… especially Amos, trying to keep two girls fed on a single miner's pay.

"We'll split it," Amos ground out, staring Paul down. "Equal shares."

The others muttered agreement, their anger thick in the air but useless. They all knew the drill. One wrong word, and suddenly your air quality would tank, or your family's water would come up short. The colony's new owners had turned screwing people over into an art form aided and abetted by people like Paul Justiv.

Her hand clenched at her side. Just once she’d like to meet him down a dark tunnel where no one could hear him scream…

"Excellent," Paul said, tapping his tablet with a flourish like he was doing them a favor. "I'll process the paperwork. Coleman, you're done for the shift. Everyone else, come with me. We'll clear this lot out and bring in the backup rig once this mess is cleared." His smile was pure poison. "Assuming it's working, of course."

He turned and walked away, leaving them standing there, the blood-red emergency lighting playing over their tired faces. One by one, the crew drifted off to start cleanup, carefully not looking at her. Only Amos hung back for a moment.

"I know it wasn't your fault," he said quietly. "But my girls have to eat."

Then he was gone as well, leaving her alone with the wreckage. She looked up at the mining rig's cabin, remembering James teaching her to run it just months before he died. "You never know when you might need the extra skill," he'd said.

She sighed and yanked off her safety helmet to shove her hand through her hair. What would he think of the hellhole the colony was now? Or what they'd all turned into, fighting like rats just to survive…

She started the long walk back to the surface, trying not to think about explaining to her kids why their plates would be even emptier this month. She snorted as she passed the colony's motto, carved above the exit to the main tunnel: ‘Together We Thrive.’

Yeah, right. These days it was more like ‘Together We're Fucked.’

And somewhere in his office, Paul Justiv was probably already planning his next move against her. The colony wasn't a community anymore, it was just a mass of desperate people trying to keep their heads above water, willing to drown others to save themselves.

She straightened her back and kept walking. She'd survived worse than this. She'd find a way through. She had to. Her kids were counting on her.

The broth wasn't enough.

Eira stirred the thin liquid, watching the few precious protein chunks swirl in lazy circles. Steam rose in weak wisps that did nothing to help her growling stomach. Through the tiny kitchen window, she could just see the edge of her greenhouse below, nestled between the pods. The salvaged poly-sheeting barely protected her struggling vegetables from the caustic atmosphere. The plants were stunted, with twisted leaves and bent stems, but they were food—real food, not the processed protein they could barely afford at the moment. She frowned as she noticed movement; one of the sheets had started to degrade, letting in traces of the orange dust that covered everything on this world. She couldn’t afford to replace it yet.

Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes for a moment. The dull plasti-walls pressed in around her in the cramped kitchen. Her fingers tightened on the spoon, but she wasn’t there; she was back in the mine, watching that rotary blade spin wrong again. She flinched as her mind replayed the explosion... metal shrapnel flying everywhere, the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears as she waited for her crew to sound off. Opening her eyes, she stabbed at the hard vegetables with a fury they didn’t deserve, trying to break them down to something more palatable. Twenty thousand credits split between the crew. The number made her stomach clench harder than hunger. That was a lot of money—a month of survival rations, if they were lucky.

Leaning her hip against the counter, she let her gaze drift over their small living space while she stirred. The extruded plastic table and chairs were just like everyone else's in this section, a far cry from their previous three-bedroom pod on the other side of the settlement.

Her gaze softened as it passed over a cushion made from one of James's shirts, brightening one chair, and her grandmother's needlework adorning another. At least she'd managed to save the cushions when they moved. Small comforts meant everything these days.

The airlock's warning chime sounded, followed by the hiss of equalizing pressure. Her son, Leo, ducked through the narrow doorway, unclipping his respirator. His broad shoulders nearly brushed both sides of the frame. His refinery uniform was coated in dust, and exhaustion dragged at his features.

"You're home early," she said, forcing brightness into her voice as she ladled broth into worn plastic bowls. With practiced movements, she shifted most of her protein chunks into Leo's portion before he noticed.

"Supervisor sent us home. Equipment needs maintenance." His voice was heavy with fatigue as he slumped into a chair. Worry spiked through her; the long hours at the refinery were wearing on him, but he never complained.

"I'm sure they'll fix it soon," she said, setting his bowl in front of him. When he looked suspiciously at the extra protein in his serving, she busied herself serving food for the rest of the family. In the past, there would have been bread too, but their budget didn’t stretch that far anymore.

"You need to eat too, Mom,” Leo said gently as she sat down.

"I'm not very hungry," she replied, her stomach mercifully quiet this time. The door opened again before he could question her further.

Kyle burst in first, his school bag bouncing against his back, with his sister Grace following close behind.

"Mom! We learned about colony history today!" Kyle's voice echoed off the orange plasti-walls. "Miss Barrett told us about the landing ships!"

“That’s nice… Eat up while it's hot," she told the younger children, ladling out their portions. Kyle dug in immediately, but Grace picked at hers, pushing the misshapen vegetables around her bowl. The girl's dark eyes, so like her father's, kept darting to the window where the orange dust swirled against the poly-sheeting.

"We had another respirator drill today," Kyle announced between spoonfuls. "Miss Barrett made us practice really fast this time."

Eira's hand tightened on her spoon. The third one this week. She kept her voice steady. "Did Miss Barrett say why?"

"She said it's just practice." Kyle shrugged. "But I heard Tommy's dad saying all the filters are breaking down."

Her spoon paused halfway to her mouth. Like everything else in the worker sections, the school’s environmental scrubbers were failing. She looked up at their pod’s aging air vents. They barely coped with the four of them at times, and that was before…

Shit. She glanced at the clock. It was almost time for Kyle's evening treatment. The medical equipment waited in the boys' bedroom, its warning light blinking steadily.

Colony Director Richardson's face appeared on the tablet screen, his weekly message beginning automatically. "Fellow citizens," his rich voice filled their small space, "I'm pleased to report another quarter of unprecedented prosperity?—"

She jabbed the mute button with more force than necessary. Richardson's perfect teeth and clean-pressed collar told her everything she needed to know about whose prosperity he meant. Twenty thousand credits. She sat silently as she ate, only half-listening to Kyle tell Leo all about his day. All she could think about was the mining fine… it would eat up any chance they had of affording larger quarters with better air filtration.

Grace finished first, carrying her bowl to the sink without being asked. Kyle followed, chattering about his history lesson while Leo helped him wash the dishes. Suddenly, the hot water cut out mid-wash.

“Oh shit… Not again," Leo muttered, shaking water from his hands.

"Just give it a minute," she said, frowning as Leo shook his head, his hand still under the water.

“Dammit,” she hissed, grabbing their pod tablet to check their family account. Her heart sank. Environmental costs had increased again. Between that and the mining fine... she closed the screen before the numbers could blur together.

In the corner of their living room, Grace had settled with her schoolwork, making herself as small as possible in the limited space.

"What's wrong?" Leo asked, looking up from the dishes.

"Nothing," she lied smoothly. "Just problems with the heating pipes, according to Mrs. Reeves.”

She grabbed her respirator from its hook by the door, the orange plastic dulled by years of use. Her hands shook as she clipped it on, needing to escape their cramped space before her children saw her break down.

"Just getting some air," she said, forcing a smile. "Won't be long. Can you start Kyle on his treatment?”

Leo nodded, offering a small smile. “Of course, Mom.”

“Thank you.”

She slipped through the door, heading along the gantry at the side of the pod section to the rooftop access ladder. It creaked under her weight as she climbed and stepped onto the roof, careful where she walked so as not to disturb the occupants of the pods below.

Sitting down, her back against one of the ventilation shafts, she wrapped her arms around her knees. Rows of identical pods stretched out before her, leading to the hostile landscape beyond. The landing shuttles gleamed in the distance, their lights steady and bright while the worker sections flickered in the growing dark.

Twenty thousand credits. The number haunted her, adding to the weight of Kyle's medication costs, the increased environmental fees, the constant struggle to keep food on their table. She wiped her eyes with trembling fingers. Her children needed her to be strong, but tonight… it was difficult.

The caustic air burned even through her respirator's filters. They were dodgy, off-market reconditioned ones she’d swapped for a favor a few weeks ago. She knew the test mark was fake, but it didn’t matter as long as they had it. With that, she could work.

Sighing, she leaned her head back. In the distance, the refinery towers belched orange smoke into the tainted sky. Another shift would be starting soon, more workers filing in to replace those that left in an endless cycle.

When she climbed back down to their pod an hour later, Grace was already in bed, curled around her stuffed animals. Leo had gotten Kyle started on his breathing treatment, the medical equipment humming steadily in their shared bedroom. The sound mixed with the rattling vents, a chorus of machinery keeping them alive on this hostile world.

"Everything okay?" Leo asked quietly as she passed him in the hallway. The dust from his shift had settled into the creases around his eyes, aging him beyond his years. It would take a shower to wash it off, but without hot water, she didn’t blame him for avoiding it.

Reaching up, she touched his cheek, her heart aching at how quickly he'd had to grow up. She and James had wanted the kids to stay kids as long as possible. Life was hard enough without them getting started early.

“Everything's fine," she lied. "Get some sleep. Early shift tomorrow."

He nodded, ducking into the bedroom he shared with Kyle. She stood in their small living room, listening to the sounds of her children settling in for the night. Through the thin walls, she could hear other families in their pod block doing the same… quiet voices, the hum of equipment, and the ever-present rattle of air filters.

Reaching down, she picked up James's shirt-cushion and held it against her chest. He’d promised that things would get better. But that had been before the accident… before she'd been left alone to navigate this harsh life with three kids.

Before rotor blades exploded and fines ate up their survival money.

The tablet chimed again. Ignoring it, she began her nightly routine of checking the seals on their air filters, testing Kyle's medical equipment, and then she sat down to figure out how to stretch their resources just a little further.

Twenty thousand credits.

She'd find a way. She had to.