Alien Survivor: Stranded on Galatea

For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.

—Vincent Van Gogh DANOVAN tel’DARIAN

A landscape of stars glittered past the windowpane like diamonds strewn across a swath of black velvet, but they were still only the second most beautiful thing I saw that day. We were stepping off of the shuttle and onto the extended-travel vessel, and the heel of her shoe caught itself in some ill-placed grating. I instinctively threw an arm out to catch her, and she steadied himself with her hand placed gently against the slope of my bicep.

“Thank you,” she muttered, bending at the waist to hook a finger into the back of her black pump so that she could slip her foot back inside. And when that was done, she angled a pair of eyes on me that were so startling a limpid blue that I could do nothing but stare, slack-jawed, as I drowned in them.

It was like a moment in movie—the best part about my training alongside a contingent of humans was access to the cinema collection on the Farnsworth, our training vessel. I never missed a movie night in the rec room, and I never saw a movie I didn’t like, but when I saw her, it was better than any moment in a movie. It was the blond lady and the guy with the weird child at the end of Sleepless in Seattle; it was the angry cafe owner when she walked into his gin joint; it was the half-fish cartoon redhead when she saw a prince dancing on the deck of a boat.

She swept an errant auburn curl from her eyes and smiled, and I found myself smiling back, my heart thrumming like a timpani in the symphony hall of my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. She was smiling at me, and I couldn’t breathe, and I wasn’t sure how long I stood there grinning like a fool before Christian Ward—technically my boss—clapped me on the shoulder and said, “See there? This Galatean is already indispensable.” And the moment was broken.

It was the first time I had ever stepped foot aboard Federation Ship 8719, The Leviathan, among the first Galatean warriors to take a security post for the Federation. I had been assigned to be the body man for Christian Ward, and the job was simple: allow no harm to come to him and do whatever he tells me to do.

And she…

In that first, fiery instant, I had no real notion of who she was. She was blue eyes and pink lips and red hair, and I was reduced to my most basic parts, a wellspring of desire the depths of which rocked me to my core. But she didn’t even seem to see me at all, not really.

“Christian!” She exclaimed, as soon as Ward had spoken. She withdrew her hand from my arm and threw her arms around Ward’s neck. He, in turn, wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off of the grating and spinning her in a circle.

Christian Ward kissed the red-haired girl, a gesture that laid claim to her, and my symphony hall became a wishing well, into which my heart dropped like a stone. I silently admonished myself for my sentimentality. I’m not in a movie. At any rate, I thought wryly, I ought to mate with someone who would choose more sensible footwear on a goddamned spaceship.

Clasping my hands behind my back, I cleared my throat and stood straight as the rest of the shuttle’s occupants disembarked onto the gangway, splitting around me and the embracing couple over which I was standing guard.

“My God,” Christian said, setting the lady back down onto her feet, “but I have missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” she cooed, lacing her fingers with his and swinging their hands merrily.

“Ah,” Christian said, opening himself up to include me in the exchange, “Ara, darling, allow me to introduce you to my new body man, Danovan tel’Darian. He was with me aboard the Arclight and did such a smashing job that I’ve asked him to be transferred to my detail permanently. I’m glad to see you again, tel’Darian.”

“Likewise, sir,” I evenly replied, giving a sharp nod of my head to my charge in acknowledgement of the praise. I liked working for Mr. Ward. He had an expansive collection of films and music from the North American region of Earth circa 1970. These were my favorite human things. Well, and peanut butter.

“And Danovan, this is Dr. Araceli Cross, honored guest for tomorrow night’s gala and my close personal…confidante.”

Araceli extended her hand, and I took it before my mind even registered that my body was moving; it was warm and assured in my grasp. “A pleasure to meet you, Danovan tel’Darian,” she said. “And thanks for catching me. I admit to a certain degree of clumsiness, but I would’ve hated for the literal first step I took aboard the Leviathan to result in my lying face down on the floor.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Dr. Cross,” I managed as she withdrew her hand.

“You’re my first Galatean,” she said, “meeting socially, that is. I’ve worked with Galatean genomes for the last four years, but I had never actually met any. There are precious few on earth, and the only ones I ever encountered were dead and didn’t exactly make good conversationalists. Sorry! Sorry. I don’t mean to just sort of…Ahh. I think I’m nervous. I’m just very excited to finally meet one, in the flesh—and alive. And may I just say, you are extraordinary.” She smiled at me; I quirked a curious brow. “Even more beautiful than anything I’ve seen on my table or in my newsfeed.”

“You flatter, Dr. Cross,” I muttered, feeling heat rising into my face and grateful for the coarsely textured silver-tinted skin that would conceal a blush. She was beautiful, but odd. She talked a lot, and rapidly. She gestured animatedly with her hands and when she smiled, her mouth was parenthesized by a pair of prominent dimples.

“Quite,” Ward flatly intoned. “Let’s not flirt with the alien bodyguard, dear, you’ve only just arrived.”

I scoffed even as Araceli’s smile faded, but Ward had her hand hitched into the crook of his elbow in an instant and was setting off toward the living quarters at quite a clip, and the aforementioned alien had no choice but to follow close at their heels.

As we walked, I wracked my brain to try to recall where I had heard that name before: Dr. Araceli Cross. And then I remembered: In the most technical sense, Christian Ward was her boss, the same way the owner of a film production company is technically the boss of a cinematographer. They might have a say in how much money is spent, but they haven’t the slightest notion as to how things are actually done. Dr. Cross worked for GenOriens, arguably the most prestigious scientific research organization the galaxy had ever seen. And Christian Ward was its President, having inherited the company from his mother before him. He was a businessman—in fact, the Ward family was a business family—but Dr. Cross was a scientist. A geneticist, in particular, and one who specialized in prenatal genetics. If you asked Mr. Ward, he would tell you she was a bona fide genius. In fact, he had said as much to me countless times. And that is how I recognized Dr. Cross: because my boss was in love with her beautiful mind.

“I think you’ll enjoy the Leviathan,” Christian was saying as we made our way down a hall, shadowless in lighting that came at us from all angles. “The Federation spared no expense.”

“I’m sure.”

“Aptly named, the Leviathan,” Christian went on as we rounded the corner. I caught Dr. Cross casting a few furtive glances over her shoulder at me: I made every effort to keep my eyes locked straight ahead.

“Oh?”

“Mm. She boasts six levels devoted to military, five for general living quarters, three for premiere living quarters, one for a market with restaurants, shops, and the like, two for research facilities, five for storage, seven for the hangar bay, one for crew, three for kitchens, and—”

“I get it,” Dr. Cross quipped, smiling, “it’s big.”

“You didn’t let me finish: one level—the top—is entirely an observation deck.” Christian beamed down at her, reaching up with one hand to run his palm alongside his perfectly styled black hair. “And that’s where the gala will take place tomorrow evening.”

“I’m so looking forward to it,” Dr. Cross said, giving his arm a little squeeze. The three of us made our way to the end of the corridor, pausing in front of the entrance to the lift. “How funny,” Dr. Cross remarked, “don’t these look rather like the pneumatic tubes they have at the bank?” But the interior of the capsule was much more elegant, with walls comprised of high-resolution touch screens that featured maps of the Leviathan and directions to its more popular destinations: steakhouses and martini bars, couture shops and luxury spas. We stepped inside, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with other executives, scientists, bodyguards, and kitchen staff, all hustling to their various corners of the ship.

When the lift doors whooshed open, Araceli was pushed out on a sea of other disembarkers, though I did what he could do direct the stream of traffic. A breath, and we were off again, down another corridor full of indirect lighting and cool, metallic walls.

“What level is this?” Araceli inquired as they walked.

“Eighteen,” Christian replied. I opened a door for them, and when we stepped through, we were utterly transported. Gone were the cold metal walls and grated floors: now we were stepping on richly patterned red carpeting and trailing our hands over a mahogany bannister where, to our right, the wall used to be. Dr. Cross paused, and I along with her, and we leaned forward, finding ourselves high, high on a balcony that overlooked floor after floor of other such balconies. It opened to a stone lobby with a modest waterfall that filled the space with the sound of running water.

“Extraordinary,” she remarked, watching people move about on the balcony opposite.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I marveled, grinning, marking my good fortune. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

“There’s a hotel that looks like this,” she replied, “back on earth. The St. Regis, I think?”

“Come,” Christian urged us, “you’ll have plenty of time to wander about. But I’m exhausted. Let’s just get back to my quarters for the night and have a drink.”

“But there’s a waterfall!”

“Just so.”

We pulled ourselves reluctantly away, finding ourselves mere steps away from the entrance to Christian Ward’s executive suite. He pressed his palm flat against a dimly glowing touch screen and heard a series of beeps before the door parted in the center to grant us admittance.

“Now, Ara,” he said as he moved into the pitch-dark room, “I’ve given you touch key access to this suite and have had your bags delivered here.”

He switched on a light, and I blinked as my eyes adjusted: it was truly lavish. “Of course,” Christian went on, “if you prefer your own room, that can be arranged as well.”

“Oh, Christian,” Araceli murmured as she allowed her gaze to rove idly over the expanse of the room. He really had spared no expense and if the bloke had been trying to seduce me, well, this room would just about have done it. The floor was carpeted in pristine white, just past the marble foyer. A chandelier hung as though levitating in the center of a sunken living space, appointed in luxurious white and chrome minimalist furniture. But it was the view that really stunned: A picture window looked out over the hull of the ship and on into black, star-spangled night, the planet Galatea—or Kepler 542B—visible just in the lower half of the window.

“Pour us a drink, won’t you, Van?” Christian said to me, as he shrugged out of his suit coat and tossed it absently over the back of the couch. “Beefeater Gin for me—what’ll you have, darling?”

“Gin’s fine,” she replied, only half paying attention.

“Two martinis, then.”

I blinked, eyes darting frenetically over the space until they alighted on a minibar by the picture window at which Araceli stood. I went over to it and glanced over my shoulder, eyeing Christian as he disappeared into the bedroom.

“I don’t know how to make one,” I muttered.

“Hm?” Araceli asked, tearing her attention away from the stars.

“A martini,” I explained. “I don’t know what that is.” I grinned rather sheepishly: I’d been trained in the art of hand-to-hand combat, not in the art of mixology.

“You don’t know what a martini is?” She echoed, arching a brow.

My expression may have soured slightly as I turned away, locating, at least, the aforementioned Gin. “I’m a warrior, not a bartender,” I grumbled.

“And I’m a scientist,” she said, propping a hand up on her hip, “but I still know how to make a martini.”

“Then you do it,” I said, and held out the bottle of gin. She smiled and took it from him, pouring a good portion of it into a shaker.

“Actually, this is good,” she remarked as she added ice and vermouth to the mix. “This way you’ll know how to make martinis the way I like them.”

“Which is all that really matters,” I said with, perhaps, the nuance of sarcasm.

“Indeed.” She shook the shaker, and I couldn’t help but smile as she scrunched her face up with the effort. Then she ran a twist of lemon around the edge of each glass and poured in the mixture, garnishing with olives and a splash of olive juice in each. “That’s a dirty martini,” she said, and held the glass out to him. Imine hesitated, but took it, and she clinked her glass against his before she took a sip. “Try it.”

“This is for Mr. Ward—”

“Oh, he won’t know the difference.” I lifted the glass to my lips and took a tentative sip: it burned and tasted bitter and salty, and I hated it. It tasted nothing like peanut butter. My expression must have revealed my distaste because Araceli was beaming a broad, bedimpled smile.

“Well,” she said at length, plucking the glass from my hand, “they’re not for everyone.”

Christian emerged from the bedroom, clad in a fine-looking hunter green smoking jacket, and arched one thin brow high over one shrewd brown eye. He had a plush, white terry cloth robe slung over one arm. “Where’s my martini?” Christian was a handsome specimen, to be sure, with skin the color of fresh brewed coffee. He kept his goatee trimmed short and his hair clipped close: he was neat and stylish, favoring three-piece suits and pocket squares. But he had a distinct look of displeasure as he glanced between Araceli and me, contorting his otherwise fine features.

“Here it is,” Ara said, holding out my abandoned glass, even as I moved to resume my post by the front door.

“Honestly, Ara, you can’t expect me to drink from the same glass as a Galatean,” he protested. I stood, impassive; Ara furrowed her brow.

“Fine, I’ll drink it, and you can have mine.”

“No,” he said, snatching my martini glass and taking it to the small bar sink. He tossed the martini down the drain and threw the glass into a small garbage pail; Ara winced when she heard it shatter. “Make another.” For my part, I remained the silent stoic; I was used to such outbursts.

But Ara took in a deep breath and crossed her arms under her breasts. “I don’t think I want a drink anymore,” she quietly intoned. “I’m tired, I think I prefer to turn in.”

Christian stood stock still a moment before giving a sharp nod of his head. “Very well,” he said, taking her martini glass from her and drinking deeply of its contents. “Danovan, please secure the deadbolts and arm the security system. The code is the same as the one I used aboard the Arclight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ll have the room in back. There is an attached bath, but should you want for anything in the night, please don’t hesitate to make use of the kitchen.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Good night.”

Christian turned on his heel to make a sharp exit back into the bedroom. Ara lingered awkwardly a moment, watching me turn the deadbolt, arm the security system. “I’m sorry about that,” she murmured, “about…well. I’m sorry. It was rude.”

“It’s fine,” I insisted.

“You…” she began, her head canted gently to one side. I could feel her eyes on me, heavy and discerning. “Do you have a translator?

“I’m sorry?” I asked, brow quirked.

“I just didn’t expect you to be so fluent in my language.”

I arched one shoulder in a shrug. “I started training with humans nearly twenty years ago,” I said. “And I like movies.”

She smiled again, bobbing her head in a nod. “Movies,” she echoed. “Yeah, I like them, too. It was nice meeting you, Danovan tel’Darian.” She said my name like she loved the taste of it, and hearing her say it made me feel warm in the pit of my stomach.

“Likewise, Dr. Cross.”

The first thing I recall about that day was the sudden shift in cabin pressure when the shuttle from the FTL vessel docked with the Leviathan. My ears popped and I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling slightly green from all of the interstellar activity. It was my first foray into space: the journey was absurdly long from my home on Earth to Kepler 452B’s orbit and I wasn’t exactly used to being jostled around like that. I was so focused on not vomiting all over my dress that I didn’t even see the stars.

The second thing I recall about that day was catching the heel of my shoe in the grating and falling headlong into Danovan tel’Darian’s arms. It was like meeting a celebrity: I had been studying the Galatean genome for years, and there he was, right when I stepped onto the Leviathan. I suppose he’d been with me on the shuttle, but I’d had my eyes shut the entire time and I’d missed him. Silly, Ara.

He was more beautiful than any of the images I’d received in my newsfeed, than any of the cadavers I’d studied in my lab. Standing at an easy seven feet in height, his skin was the color of brushed nickel, but it was smooth and hairless from top to bottom. There were pronounced ridges at his brow that gave him the appearance of eyebrows, but there were none, such as we know them. No eyelashes either around those wide, gunmetal grey irises, flecked with blue and purple. And no stubble along his finely chiseled jaw. His shape was distinctly human, though larger than any human male I’d ever known, and he bore a bold, aquiline nose and straight, pearl-white teeth with, perhaps, slightly more pronounced canines. His ears came to a delicately sloping point, distinctly Elvish in quality, and they were decorated each with a dozen or so thickly gauged metal rings of varying sizes. I’m sure it was the scientist in me that wanted to relieve him of his black, high-necked uniform to see what the rest of his body looked like. Professional curiosity, that’s all.

But I was there to work, not to flirt. Besides which, Christian Ward was rather a fine specimen himself. Lithe and lean, the man wore a three-piece suit like he was doing it a favor. But I could tell immediately upon abandoning the Galatean and joining Christian in the bedroom that I’d already managed to make him cross. He stood in his smoking jacket, his arms hugged tight over the broad expanse of his chest, and angled a pair of sherry-colored eyes on me that bespoke his irritation. I moved past him, padding lightly over thick, white carpeting, and disappeared into the bathroom. I turned on the faucet, registering Christian’s reflection in the mirror behind me before I bent forward, cupping my hands to collect water and splashing it over my face. I was looking forward to the work, I was looking forward to Christian’s company, but I was desperate for a good night’s sleep.

“If you’re angry with me,” I said, patting my face dry, “can we discuss it tomorrow? I’m exhausted.”

“I just…” he began, unbuckling his belt, “I don’t understand why you have to make me look so awful, right away, after not seeing me for months on end.”

“I didn’t make you look awful,” I countered, plucking the pins from my hair so that the red curls cascaded over my shoulders, “you did that on your own.”

“Ara,” he continued, approaching me and gripping my arms, “I’m concerned about germs. He was on Galatea—I have no idea what sort of illnesses they have on that planet, or how susceptible I might be to them.”

“I was also on Galatea—”

“In a GenOriens base, waiting for the shuttle for—what? Half a day?” I turned and lifted my hair, the universal signal for would you please unzip me? Christian obliged, taking his time to unzip the black sheath dress.

“Well, was breaking the glass really necessary?”

Christian reached forward and the dress down my arms before turning his attention to the clasp of my black satin brassiere. “There are thousands more,” he remarked, distracted by the task at hand, “never fear.”

“I just think—” I said, turning, but he stopped me with a kiss, inhaling my words as he breathed in my air. He lifted a hand to my face and cupped my cheek, his fingertips tangling in my curls.

“Take off your clothes,” he whispered, and I hesitated.

“Darling, I’m really just so tired,” I muttered when we parted. He pressed a kiss to the apple of my cheek and retreated back into the bedroom, leaving me with my bra hanging off my shoulders and my dress bunched around my waist. I kicked off my heels and stemmed a sigh; I hadn’t seen Christian in nearly eighteen months. Sure, we indulged in semi-frequent video call play, but it was no substitute for flesh against flesh. So I understood the depths of his wanting. Even still, my exhaustion radiated to my bones. And, if I’m totally honest, I didn’t like how he’d behaved with Danovan tel’Darian. Perhaps it was nothing, but I’d read about the brewing of interspecies bigotry, and I hoped beyond hope that Christian Ward was above all that.

I shrugged out of my bra and shimmied out of my dress, abandoning them to the cool marble floor of the bathroom and switched off the light as I moved back into the bedroom. Christian was getting dressed and I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, hoping that he wasn’t itching for an argument.

“Where are you going?” I asked as he held out the terry cloth robe to me.

“I never go to sleep this early,” he remarked as I snatched the proffered robe and slipped my arms into it.

“What time is it?” I asked, suddenly aware that I had no idea what time it was, let alone what time zone we were in.

“Twenty-two hundred,” he said. Military time. I quickly did the conversion in my head—it was ten o’clock.

“Where will you go?” I tied the belt about my waist and shoved my hands deep into the pockets of the robe.

“To one of the bars for a drink.”

“I’ve barely seen you—”

“And you can’t see me if you’re sleeping, can you?”

“Christian…”

“Ara.” I looked at him with what I thought was a stern expression, but it managed only to evoke a small smile from him. I usually loved his smile, the flash of perfect white teeth against his dark complexion, but this smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just feeling restless,” he explained as he returned to my side, tugging me toward him by the belt of the robe. “I’ll go have a drink and come back here, and we’ll start again tomorrow morning with breakfast on the observation deck. How does that sound?”

I nodded and he kissed me, undoing the belt of my robe and cupping my breast in his hand. “And then we can get reacquainted with one another,” he said, his voice thick with lust.

“I look forward to it,” I murmured, and he bent to press his lips to mine, kissing me fully, deeply, and slipping the robe off of my shoulders so it dropped heavily to the floor.

“Sleep like that,” he said, breaking away from me and heading toward the door, leaving me at the foot of the bed clad only in a pair of black lace panties. I smiled.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I said, and he opened the bedroom door.

And in that instant between when he opened the door and closed it behind him, I caught sight of Danovan tel’Darian, his grey eyes sparkling in the dim light of the living room, standing at his post by the door. I may have blushed to have been caught in such a state of undress, but I didn’t have time. I did, however, have the time to see one corner of his mouth hook up in a roughish grin at the sight of me.

~ * ~

When I awoke the following morning, I was alone on the plush, King-sized mattress. Burrowed cozily into a nest of goose down and expensive linens, I stretched my arms high over my head, my bones cracking, joints aching delightedly with the movement. Artificial sunlight glowed cheerfully from the wall-sized LCD screens that covered one entire wall in the bedroom, and it took me a moment to note that my solitude was strange, that Christian ought to have been beside me.

I climbed out of bed and trudged blearily toward the door, peeking through for any signs of the Galatean. Seeing none, I abandoned propriety and moved into kitchen, running my hands over the sleek chrome surfaces.

“Coffee, coffee, coffee…” A touch screen embedded in the countertop boasted a simple menu of breakfast offerings and caffeinated confections, but I just pressed the espresso button and waited.

Nothing happened.

“It isn’t magic,” came a familiar voice, but thinking I was alone, the sound of it made me jump out of my skin. “You have to fill it up first.”

“Damn it, Cat, you scared the shit out of me,” I protested, pressing a hand against my sternum. I could feel my heart pumping madly as my eyes alighted on Cat, bearing a devilish little grin. Catherine Moss was my assistant. She had been scheduled to take an early shuttle this morning to join me. Judging by the suitcase in her hand, she’d arrived mere moments before I’d flounced into the kitchen wearing nothing but my skivvies.

Cat was a promising scientist whose interests in prenatal genetic manipulations aligned with my own. But more than that, I liked her. I trusted her. And I hoped she knew how to work the coffee machine.

“Why don’t I fix you some coffee,” she said, “while you go…put some clothes on. Really, just, any clothes will do.”

I scoffed, brushing past her to disappear into the bedroom, whereupon I donned the previously abandoned terrycloth robe. “It isn’t my fault,” I called, gathering my mass of unruly auburn curls and tying them into a messy bun on the top of my head, “I wasn’t expecting you to just show up here.”

Rounding the corner back into the kitchen, I crossed my arms in front of me as Cat added coffee grounds to the machine. She was a lovely little thing, really, with her blond hair cropped short, and a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses perched on a pert little nose. She was short and lean and apparently quite good with coffee makers, for moments later the space filled with the sweet smell of a fresh brew.

“You would think that on a ship of this size, orbiting a planet that is 1400 light years away from its planet of origin, it would have something as simple as voice command,” I remarked as Cat poured me a cup fresh espresso.

“You forget that this ship was built fifty years ago,” she remarked, as I sipped from my cup and hummed my appreciation. “The technology is practically ancient compared to what’s widely available back home.”

“How was your flight on the shuttle?” I asked, moving around to sit at one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

“Turbulent,” she remarked coolly, pouring herself a cup as well. “I’m glad it’s over.”

“I’ll look forward to spending more time planetside in the next few months, though,” I said, finishing off the espresso. Cat shoved her cup toward me, and I took it gratefully, sipping from it while she refilled the one I’d emptied. Bless her.

“As will I,” she agreed. “In fact, I’m looking forward to getting all of this bureaucratic crap out of the way, so we can get to the fun science-y bits.”

“Speaking of which,” I said, “have you reviewed my presentation?”

“I have.” Cat swept her fingers through hair as she darted out of the kitchen to fetch something from her bag, returning with her tablet in hand. “Here,” she said. “I’ve made a few notes. Nothing major, just a few word changes here and there.”

“Thank you,” I said, and began scrolling through the text, accepting changes as I saw them come up. The espresso was beginning to work its magic, and I felt alert, excited for the gala and my presentation. I was lost in reviewing Cat’s notes when I heard the touchpad beep and the front door whoosh open.

“Hello, Mr. Ward,” Cat said, and I looked up to smile at Christian and the Galatean as they entered.

“Cat,” Christian said by way of acknowledgement. Christian walked over to me and plucked the tablet from my hand.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” came my easy reply. Then I peered past him to the Galatean, who had resumed his post by the door. “And a good morning to you, Danovan tel’Darian.”

“Dr. Cross.”

With all of our very stiff pleasantries out of the way, Christian took my hand and dragged me toward the bedroom. “I have had something delivered for you,” he said.

I cast a glance over my shoulder to Cat, who was just grinning that same little lopsided grin: she must have been in on it. Danovan was looking at us, too, following our movements with his shrewd grey eyes until we disappeared into the bedroom and Christian closed the door behind us.

He went over to the closet and pulled out a garment bag. “I picked it out just for you,” he said, and unzipped the front of it. Inside was a beautiful royal blue gown, floor-length and covered in fine sequins that glittered in the light.

“Oh, Christian,” I said, taking the hanger from him and admiring the dress: it had a plunging neckline and a fishtail shape, and it may have been the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. But I was a scientist, not a beauty queen. “It’s lovely, really…”

“But…?”

“But shouldn’t I wear something more…conservative to the gala? I’m presenting on prenatal genetics and interspecies breeding, not accepting an award for best supporting actress.”

There was a subtle shift in the air around us, and though Christian was still smiling, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, hugging the gown to me. “Of course. It’s beautiful. I would be happy to wear it to the gala.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re probably right. You’re a scientist, not a prom queen. Something standard—the black sheath dress you came here in, I’m sure that would be more appropriate.”

“Christian—”

“No, really. You’re right. It’s just the most important moment of your career—why should you have a new gown?”

“I’m sorry—I think I just got self-conscious. I don’t really wear things as beautiful as this.” I brushed past him and hung the dress up in the closet, the only thing that glittered amongst his finely tailored suits. “I’m used to lab coats.”

“I need the woman on my arm to wear more than just lab coats, Araceli,” Christian gently intoned as he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He looked very fine, as he always did, in trousers and a tweed vest, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was the uniform for every fabulously wealthy man who wanted to say to the proletariat, See? I’m just like you.

“Of course I’ll wear it,” I conceded, and moved toward him to stand on tiptoe and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

He cracked a grin and bounced his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m glad you like it. Now,” he said, undoing the belt of my robe, “let me see you try it on.”

And the effect was stunning, if I do say so myself. Cat helped me to gather my curls into a neat twist, securing them with diamond-studded pins that made my hair glimmer right along with my gown. And Cat herself donned a smartly cut suit in slate grey, with sharp lapels and a single button that fastened just beneath her breasts. We were looking very elegant when we joined Christian—who seemed as at ease in a tuxedo as most people were in sweatpants and a ratty tee shirt—and Danovan tel’Darian. Danovan wasn’t dressed up for the occasion, but still, he drew my eye. There was something naturally sleek about him, with his skin like a new coin.

“No tux for you, Van?” I asked, gripping my clutch in my clammy, nervous fingers. In it was a tube of lip gloss, a bottle of anti-anxiety meds (just in case), and my tablet with my speech written thereon.

“We tried to get one for him, actually,” Christian interjected before Danovan had had the opportunity to speak for himself. “But I didn’t think to have one custom made, and of course…”

“Everything off the rack would have been too small,” I said with a nod of my head.

“Precisely.”

“More’s the pity.” I smiled warmly over to Danovan, who had yet to speak a word, but he simply turned away from me and faced vaguely forward, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Are we ready to go, then?” Cat asked, sliding her earpiece into her ear. “We’re about to miss the exit for ‘fashionably late’.”

Christian offered me his arm, and I was grateful for something steady to hold on to. I felt a quiver of something like excitement, but also like dread, in the pit of my stomach, and I gave a sharp nod to indicate that, yes, we should be on our way. Danovan pressed the button that sent the front door whooshing open, and Christian escorted me out, with Cat and tel’Darian behind us.

I didn’t exactly mind public speaking, but it certainly wasn’t my forte. What’s more, this particular speech was to be broadcast not only shipwide, but also to Galatea and across Earth as well. Somehow I, one lowly little geneticist, had become the face for interspecies relations. It was a position I relished, from behind the safe and familiar confines of my laboratory, where I could study the intricacies of a foreign genome in the privacy of my own sterilized environment. But this…This was something else altogether.

When we arrived on the observation deck, the sight of it nearly took my breath away. We stepped out of the lift and into a room with a glass-domed ceiling that served as the only barrier between ourselves and the endless expanse of stars all around us. A crystal chandelier hung in the center, suspended midair, and cast dancing prisms of light across the many linen-covered tabletops that dotted the space. At one end of the room was a stage, the back of which was a sizable LCD screen that bore the GenOriens logo in a tranquil shade of blue that matched the flowers of the centerpieces. The room was crowded with people who were eager to shake Christian’s hand, and shake them he did. He also introduced me to every last one of them, though it beats me what any of their names are. All I could think about was the stage, and the fact that I was going to have to stand on it. Not just stand on it: talk.