Chapter 3
Mara
She was on a big spaceship heading to an unknown destination. Her father messaged her twice since she left. She had one more transmission to send him before all home communications would be blocked.
The ship’s interior was all metal and steel, white walls washed in bright light that made everything feel too clean. The air was cool, almost cold, brushing her skin as it circulated nonstop, carrying the faint hum of the ship through space.
There was a smell to it, too. Not bad. Just… strange. Sharp and clean, but not like anything she recognized. Not oil. Not chemicals. Something in between that made her aware she was far from anywhere human.
There was no art. No color. Nothing meant to soften the place. It felt built for efficiency, not comfort—like the ship didn’t care who walked its halls, only that they kept moving.
Mara hadn’t seen any of the other players.
In fact, since she boarded the ship, she had only seen a handful of people.
They were employees of the Galactic Survivor Games.
All the players were being kept in separate areas of the ship.
Fourteen players in total, all different alien species from across the galaxy.
The GSG staff kept them busy. Her first two days she had to go through a stream of medical exams. They scanned her so that they could create a biosuit specific for her human anatomy.
It would monitor her vitals throughout the games, track her progress, and would help her adjust to all sorts of environments she may encounter.
Another day was what the staff called a press junket. She sat in a room for hours, being interviewed by one reporter after another. They asked all kinds of questions. Some were ridiculous, others were intrusive. Many were repetitive. She gritted her teeth at recalling what that was like.
“Miss Sinclair, why did you want to join in the Galactic Survivor Games?”
“It’s one of my favorite shows. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”
“Will you use it to travel or buy something extravagant?"
“It will give me freedom to do many things.”
“Isn't it true that your father is dying? That’s really why you want to win, for the money.”
She did her best to keep a smile on her face. “Of course, the money will help greatly in paying for his treatment.”
“That is a noble endeavor indeed. May the fates guide you."
She didn’t know about the fates, but she hoped for a lot of luck. “Thank you.”
Today, she was spending time reviewing previous broadcasts, pausing and replaying them while she took notes on the different species who had competed before her—strengths, weaknesses, patterns. Her father always said knowledge was power. He would know. He was a professor, after all.
Even during their summer travels, he never let learning stop.
Campsites became classrooms. He taught her how to read the wind before a storm broke, how to tell when a forest had gone quiet for a reason, and how to notice the small details most people missed.
The places they visited, the people who had lived there long before—everything had a story if you paid attention.
To this day, she relied on something he’d taught her almost without realizing it.
One of the challenges she watched pinned two competitors against each other—a Bestial and a Sorian—forced to cross a narrow bridge strung between two mountain peaks. No railings. Nothing but open air and a long fall.
This time, she paid attention to how they moved.
The Sorian relied on speed. He darted back and forth, shoulders squared, strides long, burning energy with every showy feint.
His confidence was loud enough to waste breath.
The Bestial was clearly stronger. He didn’t rush.
He paced himself, conserving energy, watching.
When he struck, it was brutal—each punch sent the Sorian skidding backward, boots scraping for balance.
But he missed as often as he hit.
There was no way the Bestial could match the Sorian’s speed or catch him outright. Instead, he waited. Tracked him. Let the Sorian exhaust himself.
The same instincts her father had drilled into her around a campfire slid into place. Watch first. Act second. Trust came last—if it came at all.
She replayed the footage, slowing it down.
The loud one relied on intimidation. Big movements. Big presence. He expected fear to do half the work for him.
The quiet one counted on chaos. He waited for mistakes, for the moment when confidence turned careless.
Mara exhaled softly.
Both styles had cracks.
She made a list of strengths and weaknesses.
The powerhouses had strength and endurance on their side. They are known for their extreme aggression. These included Bestials, Cyclops, and Primans. Their strength fails them when they overtire.
The specialists have speed and agility. These are the Sorians, Arians and Felons. They are capable of moving quickly around their opponents. However, their bones can sometimes be brittle.
The best at stealth and survival would be the Chameleons, Reptans, and Slurchans.
These are the ultimate survivalists because they can transform their bodies to adapt to the many extreme environments.
The weaknesses would depend on the particular species.
Chameleons don't do well in dry spaces, the Reptans hate the cold, and the Slurchans require moisture.
The aliens she called the wildcards, would include Cyborgs, Lythos, Aquatics, and humans.
Each utilized strategy over brute strength, though the Cyborgs had strength that matched Bestials.
Lythos were shape shifters, so they could adapt to their environment similar to the Chameleons and Reptans.
Humans were considered the weakest physically of all species to take part in the games.
These particular species were often overlooked, which were an advantage.
They were also over confident in their own abilities.
There was a new species entering the games for the first time.
Crytharians are a predominantly humanoid species from the volatile ice world of Crytharia, where extreme temperature swings shaped both their bodies and culture.
They live mostly underground near the planet’s warm core, navigating cave systems and frozen waterways.
Very little was known of their species since they have never before left their home world.
Her father would have loved this part—learning about a new species, breaking down their biology and behavior. It was exactly his kind of puzzle. He’d been a professor of astrobiology once. Before the medical leave. Before everything changed.
She hated that she couldn’t tell him she was entering the Games. She had to carry this alone.
Her jaw tightened as she added another note.
At least, thirteen different alien species were confirmed for this round, each with their own strengths, their own ways of surviving.
There could be multiple of the same species competing so there was no telling how many players were actually participating.
There were countless more across the galaxy who never set foot in the Games at all—who stayed far away for good reason.
Survival wasn’t about strength alone. It was about noticing what others missed. About patience. Timing. Knowing when to stay still.
Every small detail mattered.
Any one of them could be the difference between winning and losing.
Or living and dying.