Nalina
NALINA
T he late shift crowd shuffled into The Rusted Horizon. I wiped down glasses with practiced efficiency, studying faces without looking up. The lights overhead flickered, casting odd shadows across the worn bar top.
“Those cillori lines acting up again,” Kell grumbled from behind the counter. “Need to call maintenance.”
“Yeah.” I stacked another glass, ignoring the urge to fix it myself. Too risky now. “Getting worse every day.”
Same problems. Same crowd. But not quite. There was something different, something wrong. And everyone seemed to know it.
A Merrith by the door shifted uncomfortably, mandibles clicking. “Third outage this week in Blue Section. Engineering says it’s routine maintenance.”
His drinking companion snorted. “Routine? Since when do they shut down whole corridors for routine work?”
I filed away the information while pretending to adjust the drink dispenser settings. More spaces being closed off. More people disappearing.
The door opened again, bringing the recycled station air and a familiar figure. My chest tightened. Vami, one of my quieter regulars. But something was wrong. The Selenthian’s silvery skin had dulled to a flat, lifeless gray. Her movements jerked and stuttered, none of the fluid grace her species was known for.
“Dwivelain whiskey.” She dropped onto a stool, her bioluminescent fingertips pulsing erratically. “Double.”
Around the bar, other Selenthian patrons shifted in their seats, their natural empathic senses picking up Vami’s distress. One moved several stools away, rubbing his temples.
I poured her drink, noting how her hands shook. “Everything okay?”
“No.” She downed half the whiskey. “It’s Netu. My child...”
Her voice broke. I leaned closer, pretending to wipe the bar.
“The changes started small. Headaches from the new ventilation in the learning center. Then the medical screenings - ‘routine check-ups’ they said. But after...” She gripped her glass. “The light inside them dimmed. Our bond - the connection every Selenthian shares with their children - it started... breaking.”
Ice slid down my spine. Breaking empathic bonds was like severing a limb for their species.
“Then yesterday, they said Netu was being transferred. An ‘advanced program.’” Her fingertips flared purple-white. “But there is no program. I checked every record. Nothing.”
“How many others?” I asked softly.
“Three families in our section last month. All the children showing the same signs. All gone now.” She looked up. “They said it was just mandatory screening at the learning center.” Her fingertips pulsed erratically. “For placement in their special program. But when I checked the education databases...”
Her words reminded me of Liseth mentioning similar ‘routine screenings’ in Blue Section, before she got sick. She’d been doing maintenance there, complained about new security checkpoints making her work take twice as long.
At the bar, two dock workers spoke in low voices:
“...Blue Section’s locked down tight...”
“...three new security points just this week...”
“...keep your eyes down and walk away...”
The bar’s entrance hissed open. Weber and Kash stepped in - I’d served them drinks for years, watched them joke and flirt with customers.
Their eyes tracked the room in perfect tandem. Gone was Weber’s characteristic slouch, Kash’s fidgeting hands.
They moved straight to Vami. “Ma’am, we need you to come with us.”
She recoiled. “No. I won’t. Not until someone explains what happened to my child.”
“Your child?” Weber’s head tilted at an odd angle. “Our records show no missing person report.”
“Because they claim Netu was transferred!” Vami’s fingers flared brighter. “To some special youth program. But there is no program - I’ve checked every database, every school listing-”
“You’re confused,” Kash cut in flatly. “There’s no record of any youth program because your child was never enrolled in one. Perhaps you should visit Medical, get some rest-”
“Don’t tell me I’m confused!” The whiskey glass rattled as her hand shook. “Ask the other families. Three children from our sector alone, all showing the same symptoms, all vanishing into this mythical ‘program.’ The broken bonds-”
“Ma’am.” Weber’s hand shot out to grip her upper arm. “This behavior is concerning. For your own safety, you need to come with us.”
“My own safety?” Her laugh held an edge of hysteria. “Like the ‘safety’ you promised the other children?”
Weber grabbed her arm. The movement was wrong - too strong, too controlled. Vami yanked free with a cry of pain.
“Please,” she begged the room. “Someone has to listen!”
But the other patrons turned away, fear rolling off them in waves. A Merrith family in the corner quietly gathered their things, disappearing into the shadows by the door. Someone turned up the music feed, drowning out Vami’s voice.
At the far end of the bar, a Nazok trader dropped his credit chip on the counter and slipped out. Even the usual gamblers at table six stopped their game, heads down, pretending not to notice. Only a young Poraki watched openly, his gills fluttering with anxiety.
Vami bolted for the door. The officers followed, their steps perfectly synchronized.
I wanted to reach for the stunner hidden under the bar, but that would only end with both of us disappeared. Better to be patient, to watch and listen. To find out where they were taking people like Vami. Sometimes staying alive meant swallowing back the bitter taste of cowardice.
The next few hours crawled by. I cleaned glasses that didn’t need cleaning, mixed drinks on autopilot, while fragments of conversation drifted past:
“...whole wing of Med Bay sealed off...”
“...my cousin in Engineering disappeared last week...”
From the corner, a group of Fanaith traders spoke in low voices:
“...they’re saying it’s contagious, quarantining whole sections...”
“...saw purple marks on Jensen’s arm yesterday...”
Always the same sectors. Always where the environmental controls had been modified.
The evening crowd thinned. A familiar gray-skinned figure slipped in, moving like any other customer.
“Landorian ale.” Tyrix’s fingers brushed mine as I handed him the drink. Heat sparked where we touched. We both froze for a heartbeat.
I moved along the bar, serving other customers, always drifting back to him. Each time our hands nearly touched, electricity crackled between us. When another patron approached, he shifted away smoothly, maintaining his cover. But I felt his eyes following me, saw his claws flex against the glass when officers passed by outside.
“Security’s increased around hydroponics,” he murmured during one pass, his voice low enough that only my closest regulars would hear - and they knew better than to listen. “Something big’s happening.”
I wiped the bar, letting myself drift closer. “A Selenthian, Vami was here earlier. Apparently her child vanished - and it’s not the only one. Breaking empathic bonds.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment his careful control slipped, showing the predator beneath. “Still no sign of that research bay. But I’m getting close.”
Two officers walked past outside. Tyrix shifted, casually blocking their view of his face. The warmth of him radiated across the small space between us.
“Careful,” I breathed.
“You too.” He paid and left, each movement calculated to draw no attention. I watched him go, missing his presence already.
The crowd thinned as shift change approached. In the sudden lull, the ventilation system’s hum seemed louder, wrong somehow. Shadows moved oddly in the corners, like something watching.
Something gleamed on the bar. I reached for Vami’s abandoned glass - and stopped. A small patch of bioluminescence clung to the rim. But not silver like a Selenthian’s natural glow.
It pulsed a sickly purple. The same purple I’d seen spreading across Xara’s dying body. As I watched, it seemed to grow, reaching tendrils across the glass.
My hands shook as I carefully wrapped the glass in a cleaning cloth. The metal walls of the station creaked around me, and for the first time in years, the familiar sounds felt threatening. Every shadow could hide a watcher. Every vent could carry more than just recycled air.
Whatever the Consortium was doing, it was spreading. And we didn’t have much time to stop it.
The night cycle crowd started filtering in - maintenance workers, dock crews, the usual mix of third-shift regulars. But tonight their conversations felt darker, their glances more furtive. Somewhere out there, Tyrix hunted for answers. Somewhere, Vami searched for her child.
And I stood in my bar, gathering intel drop by drop, while the station’s endless cycle changed around me, each hour bringing new secrets and lies.