Chapter 1 #2
Alien tech didn't work like Earth tech. There was no intuitive logic to it, no familiar interface I could puzzle out.
Everything was backwards, sideways, or operated on principles I didn't understand.
And the stakes were impossibly high. One wrong move and I wouldn't just fail the mission. I'd blow someone's head off.
Literally.
They gave me a replica of something called a qhoma collar, the explosive device locked around my target's neck, and a metal probe no thicker than a pencil.
The collar was DNA-coded, they explained.
Any organic matter touching it other than the wearer would trigger detonation.
I had to use the probe to manipulate a series of internal mechanisms in a precise sequence, applying exactly the right amount of pressure at exactly the right angles.
I practiced for hours every day, my hands cramping, sweat dripping down my back despite the climate-controlled room.
The instructors were patient but firm, making me repeat the sequence until I could do it blindfolded, until my hands moved through the motions automatically even when I was too exhausted to think.
"You'll only get one chance," a slender Andurian with six fingers reminded me. "And you'll be doing this under combat conditions, possibly with guards nearby, possibly with the prisoner panicking. You need to be perfect."
No pressure.
A week into my training, I received a summons to the Alliance Prime's private chambers.
I'd never met royalty before, not Earth royalty and certainly not alien royalty.
I spent twenty minutes trying to figure out what to wear before settling on the simple black uniform Chloe had provided.
When the guards escorted me through the palace corridors, my heart hammered so hard I was certain everyone could hear it.
The Alliance Prime's chambers were surprisingly cozy, with comfortable furniture, soft lighting, and walls decorated with what looked like family portraits. She stood by a window overlooking the city, her back to me.
For a moment I just stared.
She was Vaktaire, tall and powerfully built, with a deep cream pelt that looked like velvet. Her hair fell long down her back, twisted into a crown of braids. When she turned to face me, her eyes were the most striking gold I'd ever seen, set against blue sclera that made them seem to glow.
She looked like a queen.
She also looked exhausted.
"Detective Nguyen." Her voice was warm despite the weariness. "Thank you for coming. Please, sit."
I perched on the edge of a cushioned chair clearly designed for someone much larger than me. "Lady Prime. It's an honor."
"The honor is mine." She settled into the chair across from me, and some of the regal bearing slipped away, leaving just a tired woman who looked like she hadn't slept in days.
"I wanted to speak with you privately, away from the strategists and intelligence officers.
I need you to understand what this mission means to me. "
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
"My son Enslak was twenty-three when he disappeared.
" Her voice was soft. "Just a boy, really, despite his size and strength.
He was serving in the Vaktaire forces during the Vaktaire-Romvesian skirmish.
When his unit was ambushed, we found bodies but not his.
We searched for months. Years. But eventually...
" She closed her eyes. "Eventually, we held a memorial service.
We mourned him. We accepted he was gone. "
"I'm so sorry," I whispered.
I thought of Danny, of my own memorial service, if I'd even had one. They wouldn't find my body either.
She opened her eyes, and something fierce flickered there.
"A few months ago, an enemy of mine, someone who had every reason to want me to suffer, claimed Enslak was alive as he lay dying.
No proof. No details. Just enough to reopen every wound I'd spent decades trying to heal.
" Her hands tightened on the armrests. "I didn't know if it was true or just cruelty.
But then my other son, Kavak, helped depose a corrupt Romvesian king.
In the intelligence he recovered from the old regime, there were records. And Enslak's name was there."
"A century." Serna's voice broke slightly. "He's been suffering for a century while I believed him dead, while I stopped looking, while I moved on with my life." She looked at me then, her eyes heavy with guilt. "What kind of mother gives up on her child?"
"The kind who had every reason to believe he was dead," I said firmly. "You can't blame yourself for that."
"Can't I?" She laughed without humor. "I'm the Alliance Prime. I have resources most beings can only dream of. And I still stopped looking."
I leaned forward, hands clasped between my knees.
"Lady Prime, I lost my brother when I was nineteen.
Gang violence. He was twenty-three, the same age as your son when he disappeared.
" The words came easier than I expected.
"I spent fifteen years as a cop trying to make up for not being able to save him, trying to save everyone else's brothers and sisters and sons and daughters. You know what I learned?"
She waited.
"Sometimes there's nothing you could have done differently. Sometimes the universe is cruel and random and unfair, and blaming yourself doesn't change a damn thing." I held her gaze. "But you have something now that most people never get, a second chance. A chance to bring him home."
She was quiet for a long moment.
When she spoke again, her voice was steadier. "Chloe said you were the right person for this mission. She said you were brave and resourceful and that you wouldn't give up, no matter how difficult it became."
"I won't," I promised. "I'll get him out of there. Whatever it takes."
"He may not be the same." Sadness flickered across her features. "A century of captivity, of torture... the healers say he may be too damaged to recover. He may not even recognize me."
"Then we'll deal with that when we get there," I said. "But first, we get him out. We get him safe. Everything else comes after."
The Prime stood and crossed to where I sat, then did something I didn't expect. She knelt, taking my hands in hers. Her pelt was warm, her grip strong but gentle.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you for giving me hope."
I squeezed her hands back, feeling the weight of her trust, her desperation, her love for a son she'd thought lost forever.
It was the same weight I'd carried for fifteen years, the same drive that had pushed me through the academy, through every dangerous case, through every moment when I'd wondered if any of it mattered.
This mattered.
"I'll bring him home," I promised again. "I swear it."
When I left her chambers, I felt different, lighter somehow, despite the enormous responsibility resting on my shoulders.
For the first time since waking up on the Trogvyk ship, I had a purpose again.
Maybe getting shot in Hell's Kitchen had been the beginning of something after all, not the end.