Claimed in the Clouds (The Fortusian Mates #3)

Chapter 1

ELENA

Death came to Inga Polar Station with my name in its pocket.

Actually, it came for me about twenty-three kilometers from the station, which was about twenty-two kilometers too far to be survivable.

With an average air temperature of seventy degrees below zero and winds that often spiked from fifty kilometers per hour to three hundred in a matter of minutes, death was always close by on the ice planet Aloris—a grim shadow lurking just outside the airlocks, on the other side of the thick windows, and in the shimmering blue ice that extended as far as the eye could see in all directions.

I followed every procedure to the letter before I left the relative safety of the Polar Seven research pod.

I triple-checked my survival suit from the top of my helmet to the soles of my boots.

I studied the meteorological data and waited to leave until mid-afternoon, when the omnipresent dangers of life in the upper polar region of Aloris were at their lowest. The data showed my route from Polar Seven to Inga Station was clear and the eighty-kilometer journey should be uneventful—at least, weather-wise.

My cargo was one small travel case of personal items and ten carefully packed specimens of extremophilic fungi preserved in stasis containers. I suspected at least three of the specimens belonged to a previously unknown order of fungi, which meant I would be leaving Aloris on a high note.

Humming to myself to distract from my roiling gut, I carried my travel case and temperature-controlled pack of stasis containers to the airlock that led to the pod’s tiny transport bay.

Just for good measure, I checked my suit’s status again.

Green lights across the display inside the helmet’s visor.

Not that my tummy felt any better knowing that.

I switched the pod to unoccupied mode and opened the airlock.

The temperature-controlled bay contained a single small two-person crawler.

The display in my helmet reported that the bay was nearly forty degrees colder than the pod.

Still, the bay was a hells of a lot warmer than the air outside, and it protected the crawler from the roaring winds, brutal temperature, ice storms, and polar cyclones.

My data still showed optimal weather, but for visual confirmation I peered through the bay’s small window at the gray sky and ice crystals swirling across the blue frozen expanse. A beautiful day by Alorisian standards.

I tapped my gloved middle fingertip and the pad of my thumb together twice to activate my suit’s comms. “Regis to Walker.”

After a beat, a familiar male voice responded in my helmet. “Walker here. Go ahead, Dr. Regis.” The station’s medical officer sounded brisk and businesslike, which meant he was within earshot of someone else.

I smiled to myself. We’d see how businesslike he’d be later tonight after we both finished our work in the lab.

“I’ve got an all-clear on weather, Dr. Walker,” I said, matching his tone. “I’m heading back to base in the crawler. ETA one hour and fifty-five minutes.”

“Understood. We’ll track you.” A pause, then, in a much lower-pitched voice, he added, “Forux will be happy to see you. Be careful, Elena.”

There was the Arron Walker who liked to murmur in my ear when I shared his bed.

I’d missed that voice and the body that went with it during my five-day stay at Pod Seven, along with Inga Station’s sauna and my bathtub.

The pod’s sonic cleanser functioned perfectly well, but getting sanitized was far less enjoyable or relaxing than a long soak and scrub-down in hot water—especially if I wasn’t the one doing the scrubbing.

I secured my specimen pack and travel case in the tiny cargo area, re-checked both my suit and the crawler’s status lights, fastened and adjusted the seat harness until it was snug across my chest and lap, and rested my gloved hands on the controls.

Heart pounding, I studied the bay doors through the crawler’s front window. Deep breaths, Elena. Deep breaths.

Six months on Aloris and a dozen round trips between an outpost pod and the main station, and still every time I opened a bay door and ventured out onto the ice, my anxiety skyrocketed.

My fear of freezing to death wasn’t the main reason I was leaving Aloris the day after tomorrow, but it was a big one.

As a mycologist, I spent half my working hours in the lab and the rest in the field. I’d lived on a dozen worlds in the past ten years and half of those had been inhospitable and even sometimes dangerous. A little peril had never kept me from doing field research.

I’d never lived or worked on an ice planet before, but I’d applied for a six-month stay at Inga Polar Station because extremophilic fungi absolutely fascinated me.

The possibility of discovering new species and the promise of adventure and new experiences added to the planet’s allure.

Before my arrival, I’d fully expected to extend my stay another six months at least.

After less than a month here, and despite making several major discoveries, I knew I wouldn’t request an extension.

My body rebelled against living on this frozen world, where one breath—one mistake, one moment’s distraction, one stroke of bad luck—meant almost certain death.

I found life here exhausting for reasons that had nothing at all to do with how many hours I worked in the lab or in the field collecting specimens.

During my stay, I’d focused all my energy on analyzing the new species I found while counting the days until I got to pack up my meager belongings and get off this floating iceberg. The closer I got to my departure date, the slower time seemed to pass.

But then a month ago I received the best news I could have possibly hoped to get. After that, my last four weeks on Aloris flew by in a blur.

Now I was two days from boarding an off-world transport with Forux, my little Fylorian arval companion. All that stood between me and the fulfillment of a nearly lifelong dream were this trip back to the station and a last few shifts analyzing my samples in the lab.

The station wasn’t going to come to me, though. And my window for safe travel would close all too soon. I took a deep, fortifying breath and activated the bay doors.

Creaking and wobbling in the wind, the doors rolled open on heavy-duty tracks. I’d probably never call any place “windy” ever again after living on Aloris. At the moment, my helmet reported the wind speed topped one hundred kilometers an hour, which qualified as a calm day in the polar region.

I squared my shoulders and piloted the crawler out of the bay.

The moment it cleared the doorway, the wind shook the crawler’s passenger compartment on the heavy track rollers.

But the sky was light gray and not dark with an approaching storm, this was as strong as the wind was projected to get, and I had plenty of daylight to reach the station.

I reminded myself of each of those facts repeatedly as I closed the bay doors behind me and set course for Inga Station.

Flying transports were the typical method of travel on every planet where I’d lived.

But on Aloris, crawlers were the safest and most common form of transport, especially away from the cities and interplanetary transport hubs.

Small airborne vehicles were simply not suited to this harsh environment.

Slow and steady gets you where you’re going on Aloris, physician Arron Walker had told me when I arrived at the station and gaped at the crawlers lined up in the bay. Trying to get anywhere fast here just gets you dead.

A lot of things got you dead on Aloris. Too many things.

Happily, an enormous long-range air transport would arrive at Inga Station the day after tomorrow to deliver supplies and pick up Forux, me, and our belongings.

It would fly us to one of Aloris’s four enormous transport hubs to begin our long journey to our next destination: Hyderia, the uninhabited conservation planet I had dreamed of working on since I was seventeen years old.

The single-most difficult planet to get access to in all of Alliance space.

After thirteen years of study and hard work, I had earned permission and funding to conduct mycology research there for six months.

Approval had come from the Ministry of Natural Sciences on Nyvor, Hyderia’s sister planet, which governed the research stations on Hyderia.

The posting was more than a dream come true. It was the chance of a lifetime.

Sometimes in the privacy of my quarters at Inga Station I replayed the congratulatory message I’d received from Minister Ganna from the Ministry of Natural Sciences just to hear her say Your application has been approved again.

Those words played on a loop in my mind now as the crawler trundled over the ice at exactly forty kilometers per hour, the maximum speed allowed.

Slow and steady, slow and steady.

With one eye on the status indicators for the crawler and my suit—all reassuringly green—and the other on the expanse of ice in front of me, I rested my hands on the controls and listened to the wind howl.

The next hour passed at a truly glacial pace.

By the time I reached the halfway point, Pod Seven had long since disappeared in the rear viewscreen.

I tried my best to focus on the thrilling specimens I was bringing back and how in less than an hour I’d be safe back at Inga Station and reunited with Forux and not think about the absolute nothingness surrounding the crawler right now.

Gusts of wind peppered the crawler with ice pellets that plinked off the hull like a sandstorm.

I tightened my grip on the controls and kept an eye on the weather data.

The forecast was still clear, with no cyclones indicated, but the wind indicator had gone from green to blue.

The passenger compartment creaked and rocked on the track rollers.