Chapter 2
2
T he dust storm hit without warning.
Eira cursed under her breath as the first gritty gust slammed into her, almost wrenching the patched satchel from her shoulder. She ducked into the nearest doorway—a recessed airlock hatch long since welded shut—and pressed her back to the corroded metal. Her goggles fogged up, the cracked seal letting in a fine, persistent spray of sand that made her eyes water. She fumbled with the mask strapped to her face, its frayed elastic digging into her scalp. The filters rattled weakly as she inhaled, their faded green lights flickering like dying fireflies.
Three months , she thought. It had been three months since maintenance had flagged her filters and three months of promises from her shift supervisor that the overtime pay she needed to replace them would come through. That was before Colony Director Richardson had vanished to his villa at the Eastern Beacon, leaving every request in the settlement to rot in his inbox while they struggled to breathe. She snorted to herself as she huddled in the doorway. It must be nice; the perks of being descended from the original captain.
She counted the seconds between wind bursts, the way her father had taught her when she was small enough to ride on his back through these same rust-scabbed corridors. Wait for the lull. Move fast. Don't look up.
The storm's howl dipped, and that's what she was waiting for. Lurching forward, her boots skidded on the sand-slick plating. She only made it six paces before the next wave hit. Her mask slipped, a curse torn from her lips as grit stung her cheeks.
Somewhere beneath the roaring, she heard Grace's voice, bright and rehearsed, reciting the safety drills they all learned as kids: "Seal your mask first, then help others. Never remove it outdoors. If your filters fail ? —"
"Not today," she muttered, though the words dissolved into a cough as she swiped her sleeve across her goggles, smearing the dust.
The general stores loomed ahead, its flickering sign spelling out GEN'L SUPPLIES in sputtering orange letters. Fucking orange. What was it with the expedition planners and the fucking color orange?
The entrance scanner beeped at her when she shoved her wrist under it, the door shuddering halfway open before jamming. She shoved her shoulder against it and squeezed through the gap, the sudden stillness of climate-controlled air making her sway as it slammed shut behind her.
The store was all flickering fluorescents and the reek of recycled plastic. Leaning against a shelf of discounted plastar blankets (orange again), she removed her goggles and blinked grit from her lashes.
Two people stood at the counter up front: a colonist in a grease-stained coverall jabbed a finger at Beck Aaron, the store master, who leaned back on his stool with the weary patience of a man who'd long since run out of fucks to give.
"—Still three days until ration reset," the colonist's voice cracked. "My kid can't keep synth-gruel down as it is. You're telling me there's no discretionary allowance? Not even for?—"
Beck scratched his salt-and-pepper beard and shook his head. "Supplier's late. Again. Blame the tariffs."
"Tariffs? You think I care about tariffs when my daughter's?—"
"Take it up with the Director." Beck's tone didn't change, but she heard the unspoken weariness. The store master was the frontline for everyone's complaints about the rationing and shortages. She didn't know how he coped with it all the time.
"I don't know how you people live with yourselves?—"
She tuned their conversation out, her attention caught by a stack of leaflets piled next to a dented bin of discounted respirator parts. They were actual physical leaflets. Brightly printed paper that felt silky under her calloused fingers when she picked one up. Her lips curved in a small smile. Grace would lose her mind over them. The kid hoarded scraps like a magpie: foil wrappers, broken circuit boards, anything she could glue into her school scrapbook.
This leaflet was all shimmering silver ink and swirling alien script, the kind of glossy propaganda reserved for off-world resorts. A headline in looping Terran curled across the top: SEEK NEW BEGINNINGS AMONG THE STARS.
She snorted. Yeah, right. Been there, done that. The stars weren't all they were cracked up to be. Beneath the cursive, a cartoonish depiction of a heavily muscled alien almost wearing a black suit offered a bouquet of fantastical flowers to a woman. Latharian Mate Program , the subheading read. Cultural exchange initiative... mutual prosperity... relocation assistance...
The colonist at the counter stormed out, almost colliding with her on the way. She caught a glimpse of his face—sallow, sunken-eyed—before he vanished through the door into the storm.
"Eira." Beck motioned her forward, already rummaging under the counter. His hands emerged with a small glass bottle half-filled with small pink capsules.
"That's... all of it?" Her stomach dropped.
"Supplier hiked the price. Again." He pushed the bottle toward her. The label— K. Coleman: Anti-xenobiotic Regimen —was streaked with dust. The damn stuff got everywhere. "I told you to switch him to generics. They're much cheaper, and I can get you the full dose."
"Generics make him vomit blood." The words came out sharper than she'd intended. Beck's expression tightened, his gaze darting to the security cam in the corner. The powers that be were always watching. He shifted a little to the left, so she was between him and the camera, looking down as he reached for a req pad.
"Look," he said, voice low and soft. Pitched not to carry. "If you can front another 200 credits by Friday, I'll try to barter with the Thalax traders. They sometimes carry unregulated stock."
Her fingers tightened around the bottle. Two hundred credits was half a month's air ration. Two hundred credits were Grace and Kyle's school fees, Leo's mask filters, or the leaking seal in their pod she kept meaning to get around to dealing with.
Her throat burned. "Errr… no worries. I'll... figure something out."
She didn't remember leaving the store. The storm had worsened, reducing the settlement to a smudge of amber light and screaming wind. Her mask's alarm shrilled— FILTER CAPACITY AT 16% —as she staggered toward the residential blocks. Sand needled her exposed wrists, her neck, and the strip of skin above her goggles where her scarf and hood had slipped.
For one wild, airless moment, she considered ripping the mask off. Let the storm scour her lungs clean, and the dust bury her under the same rusted plating her parents had died maintaining.
Grace. Kyle. Leo. The names hooked into her ribs, sharp as shrapnel. Grace, who'd started hoarding her protein bars "for emergencies" after Kyle's last fever. Kyle, who couldn't sit still if his life depended on it. And Leo working split shifts in the refinery to cover what she couldn't.
She grabbed at her hood, wrapping her scarf around her head and using it to pin the hood in place. She reached in her pocket for a rag to clean the front of her goggles.
Her hand brushed the leaflet, and she yanked it out, squinting at the text through her cracked goggles. The wind tried to tear the paper from her grip, but there, in cramped legal script at the bottom: All relocation and medical costs for eligible females and all dependents will be covered by the Latharian Mate Program (Clause 14-5B).
She blinked.
Medical costs.
Kyle's medication. The tariff markup. Generics that don't work.
She looked at the leaflet again, but the words blurred. She blinked, her pulse roaring in her ears. All dependents. Grace. Kyle. Even Leo, technically, though he'd turn eighteen in six months.
She looked up, jaw clenched in determination as she turned on her heel. She ignored the storm's fury as she strode eastward. The colony manager's office lay in the opposite direction to her pod, but she didn't care. Her boots crunched over debris, her grip on the leaflet tightening.
The dust screamed behind her, but she didn't look back.
She could fix everything.
All she had to do was marry an alien.
Pain stabbed through Maax's neck as consciousness clawed its way back. Light from the viewport pierced his skull like needles, blazing its way through his defenses. Damn it. He'd fallen asleep in the living room chair again, with his daughter Emily’s small form a warm weight against his chest.
He blinked sleep from his eyes and lifted his arm, trying to force his wrist bracer to come into focus: 0720 station time.
Draanthing hell.
Twenty minutes late to the nursery already. The engineering meeting... Emily shifted against him, her tiny fingers still curled into his shirt like she feared he'd disappear. His chest tightened at the dried tear tracks on her cheeks. She'd jolted awake, screaming about the dark three times. Each time, he'd carried her here where the lights could burn away the shadows that haunted her dreams.
"Emily." The gentleness in his own voice startled him; his engineering crews would never believe their ears if they heard him. "We need to wake up now."
She burrowed closer, her face pressing into his chest like she could hide there forever. "No."
He smoothed a big hand over her tangled hair as a proud smile curved his lips at the defiance in that tiny 'no.' Two months ago, she would have snapped awake at his first word, the terror of punishment driving her from sleep.
"Yes, poppet. We need to."
"Don't want to." Her voice wavered between sleep and waking, and she snuggled closer.
"The other children will be at nursery already." He tried a different tactic. "And Red Dragon needs an adventure today, doesn't he?"
One eye cracked open, and she looked up at him through her tangle of hair, hope warring with sleepiness. "Can I take him?"
"Of course, poppet."
The stuffed toy had been his first desperate offering when she'd come home with him. She'd clutched it for days, wielding it like a shield against the world.
“‘Kay.”
She squirmed off his lap, wobbling a little as she stood. He followed her through to her bedroom to find clothes for the day. Her sleep attire, decorated with what the merchant had sworn were 'popular Earth animals,' twisted around her small frame. Getting her dressed would be a battle, especially when...
"No." Emily backed away from the warm outfit in his hands, eyes flaring with defiance. "Want my blue one."
He bit back a sigh. It was going to be one of those days, he could tell. "But you wore the blue one yesterday," he argued. "And the temperature controls are being adjusted today. You'll be cold."
"Blue one." Her chin lifted in that familiar stubborn tilt that meant a fight was brewing.
His bracer chimed again. 0731. The meeting was about to start without him, his team gathering while he argued about dresses.
"Emily..." He caught himself and forced the growl from his voice. Who would have thought it, a warrior of his standing and experience bested by a tiny human female? But… the nightmare still haunted her eyes, and she needed these small choices. Needed to feel her choices mattered. Even if those choices meant wasting precious minutes arguing about a dress.
The blue dress was a wrinkled mess, stuffed in the back of the storage unit. His fingers itched to smooth it as Emily clutched it to her chest, her red dragon dangling from one small hand. He wasn’t sure the thing was even a real Earth animal.
"Will you at least wear the warm leggings underneath?"
Her small nod felt like victory.
Getting her dressed still took an eternity. The dress tangled in ways that defied physics, her hair fought the brush, and then they’d had to mount a full expedition to find Red Dragon's favorite ribbon—because he needed to look ‘pretty’ today. Maax’s bracer chimed three more times before he managed to herd Emily out of their quarters.
The station corridors pressed in around them, thick with traffic from the station’s shift change. Emily in the crook of his arm and Red Dragon riding his shoulder, he glared at everyone that got in his way. Most scattered out of the way immediately, and he growled at those who didn’t.
Another message from his second in engineering crawled across his bracer just as they reached the corridor that led to the nursery.
Where the draanth are you?
His expression tightened. He needed to respond, to explain...
"Warrior Maax!"
His spine stiffened at that too-bright voice. No. Not now.
A human female stood planted by the nursery entrance, her smile as artificial as station lighting. She'd positioned herself perfectly to intercept them… which meant she'd been lying in wait. Again.
“Good morning, Aisha,” he rumbled, trying to step around her.
"Good morning!" She stepped in front of him, blocking his access to the door. "I was just telling everyone how wonderful it is to see you taking such good care of Emily."
A cluster of human mothers behind her paused their chattering to watch, expressions ranging from curiosity to poorly hidden amusement. Emily cuddled closer to him, burying her face against his neck under his hair and trying to disappear.
"Good morning, Emily!" The nursery teacher, Mrs. Harrison, emerged from the doorway like a rescue vessel. “You’re just in time. We're about to start morning songs. Would you like to help me set up the instruments?"
Emily looked up and nodded. “Yes, please.”
He set her down on her feet, then crouched down in front of her, ignoring Aisha's attempts to catch his eye. "Remember, if you need anything, you can ask Mrs. Harrison to call me. Anything at all."
"Promise?" Her voice was small. Fragile.
"On my honor as a warrior." He touched his chest formally, rewarded by the tiny smile that crept across her face. He leaned forward and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Okay, run along now, poppet, and I’ll see you later.”
"Such a devoted father," Aisha sighed as Emily disappeared into the nursery. She'd somehow slithered closer while his attention was elsewhere. "It's so rare to see a man take such responsibility..."
He straightened to his full height, using it to step back without appearing to retreat like prey. "I need to report to Engineering."
"Oh, but surely you have a quick moment?" She followed, as focused a hunting drakeen . "I've been meaning to ask about the station's power systems. As a teacher myself, you know… upper levels, of course, I find it all absolutely fascinating..."
His bracer chimed again. Forty minutes late now. The temptation to pick the irritating human up and move her aside grew stronger with each passing second.
"I have a meeting." He rumbled in a voice that made junior warriors run for cover. "Engineering matters require attention."
“Oh, but I’d love to hear all about your work." Her smile widened like a krin’s as she invaded more of his space. "Perhaps over dinner? I know a lovely little place in the commercial sector…”
“I do not socialize outside the mate program." The words escaped through clenched teeth despite his effort at diplomacy. “And mate potentials are not allowed out in the commercial sector without an escort.”
He realized his mistake as soon as her smile widened even more.
“Yes, but I would have an escort, wouldn’t I? And the mate program is so... restrictive, though, isn't it?" Her hand brushed his arm, sending revulsion crawling across his skin. "Surely there’s room for getting to know each other more… naturally?"
A growl built in his chest, but movement and a flash of orange hair caught his eye. Taller than the average warrior, Commander Kirr’s height made him stand out even among them.
Their eyes met. Kirr’s lips twitched with poorly concealed amusement.
Draanth. I’m never going to hear the end of this , Maax thought sourly. But he'd take any escape route available, even at the cost of his dignity.
"Commander," he called out, letting his voice carry like the distress signal it was. "A moment of your time?"
Aisha stepped back at Kirr’s approach, her eyes widening. His greater height and rank tended to have that effect on most humans… a fact Maax had never appreciated more than this moment.
"Of course, Lead Engineer." Kirr’s expression was neutral, though his golden eyes danced with amusement. "I believe we're both expected in the same meeting?"
"My apologies for the delay." Maax gave Aisha, who had finally retreated to a bearable distance, a curt nod. "Good day, Lady Aisha.”
He fell into step beside Kirr as they walked away. His friend waited until they were safely around the corner before speaking.
"Rough morning?"
"Emily had nightmares." The memory of her terrified whimpers made his hands clench at his sides. "Again.”
Kirr’s amusement vanished like air into space. "She is safe now. You made sure of that."
"I know." Maax glanced at his bracer's stream of increasingly urgent messages, guilt warring with protective instinct. "But the memories remain."
"And that female by the nursery?"
A growl escaped before he could stop it. "She knows I am not available outside the mate program. A fact she chooses to ignore.”
"Ah, but you are such a strong male, taking on such responsibility," Kirr mimicked Aisha's tone to perfection, then dodged Maax's half-hearted swipe with a wide grin. "Perhaps I should mention to Security that she's harassing the Assistant Chief Engineer?"
"I can handle it." Maax straightened his jacket, trying to look more like a professional and less like someone who'd spent the night in a chair. "Though if you'd arrived a few minutes later..."
"You'd have what? Thrown her out an airlock?" Kirr chuckled. "That would be somewhat hard to explain to Emily. And Duke Karrigan.”
The mention of his daughter brought a smile to his face despite everything. "She's worth all of it. Even the pain-in-the-draanthic females."
"Now that," Kirr said as they reached Engineering, "is something I never thought I'd hear you say."
They paused at the entrance. Through the doors, he could see his team clustered around the main display; heads bent over what was no doubt the power grid analysis he was supposed to be leading this morning. His chest tightened with fresh guilt.
"Go on," Kirr prompted. "I'll even explain about the nightmares if you want. Better than letting them think you've finally succumbed to human female wiles…”
"And no, I can make my own excuses, thank you very much.” He eyed Kirr. “You're enjoying this way too much.”
“Of course.” Kirr’s grin widened. "It's not often I get to see the mighty Maax A’Taav felled by a small child and a persistent female."
“Draanthic.”
With a final glare at his friend, Maax squared his shoulders and headed in to face his team. They'd understand about Emily. They always did.
They might think he’d gone soft and talk about him behind his back, but he didn’t care.
His daughter was worth it.