Vox

Carrie:

Time to get the Sunday night torture over with.

Carrie waited while the ground vehicle automatically retracted the safety restraints. Tucker, her fiancé, sat in the pilot seat but the truth was the vehicles practically drove themselves. All a person had to do was enter a destination and the onboard navigation took care of everything. Of course, manual override was possible, and a certain portion of the population insisted on “driving.” All traffic accidents were caused by human error now. Computers simply didn’t crash cars.

“Carrie? Pudding? You’re lost in that head of yours again.”

Tucker’s voice roused her to gather her bag and climb out of the vehicle. Slowly. Reluctantly. Still wanting to think of a good enough excuse to turn around and have Tucker take her back to her apartment.

Every Sunday, Carrie’s mother insisted on a family dinner. In theory, that was great. The adult West kids came home, had a good meal, caught up on the family news and gossip and left with full bellies, fortified for another week of adulthood. In actuality, the family dinner was two hours of Eleanor nit-picking Carrie’s hair, clothes, posture, eating habits and career. Mostly her father ignored her while he discussed business with Justin and Tucker, which was fine by her.

Her parents were traditional, very traditional, and had rigid ideas about gender roles. Girls simply did not work. It wasn’t done. Boys had careers and got to do all the fun stuff. Girls had to sit and wait at home, baking cakes or something. Carrie wasn't sure. She wasn’t the sit and wait type. Or the baking type. As long as she toed the family—and company—line, her parents largely ignored her, leaving her free to work and do all those unseemly, fantastic things.

Tucker helped her out of the vehicle and smoothed down the back of her dress, not missing an opportunity to squeeze her butt.

A shiver ran down her spine, more from irritation than any true desire. Her parents’ front door was not the spot to play grabby hands and Carrie said as much. “Knock it off.”

Tucker Hunt was part of toeing the family and company line. He was the son of Josiah West’s late business partner and held a significant portion of stock in West and Hunt Enterprises. He was also her brother’s best friend and someone Carrie had known since she was a knee-high to a grasshopper. She knew Tucker, knew how his mind worked and she trusted him.

So what if he wasn’t the world’s greatest lover? His weekly heaving above her left her… unsatisfied. Not that she had anything to compare his performance to. Tucker was her first boyfriend, first everything. She frowned at a realization that when they married, he’d be her one and only, and that left her with inexplicable frustration.

“What are you thinking about, pudding pie?”

“Hmm? Oh, what’d it be like to be married.” She refrained from mentioning how disappointing their sex life was, and would be in the future.

Sex didn’t matter, not when they were compatible on so many levels. If she wanted an orgasm, she could do it herself.

Tucker draped one arm over her. He really was classically good-looking with a strong jaw and the flawless hair you got from a really expensive barber. “I like to daydream about that, too.”

“After five years, you’d think we’d just get it over with,” she said. Five years was the legal limit on engagements, at least if a fertile young woman wanted to be exempt from the Mahdfel bride program, jokingly called the Draft. It was the unspoken consequence that hung over the head of every young woman who was healthy, fertile, single and childless. Get hitched, get a baby or run the risk of being matched to an alien.

It had been five years since Tucker put a ring on her finger. The engagement would be good only once more to exempt her from the Draft. This time next year she had to be married. Carrie wasn’t sure what frightened her more, the risk of being matched to an alien warrior or a lifetime of boring but acceptable marriage.

“Let’s get this over with,” she said.

* * *

“No, sweetheart, this is your plate.” Eleanor smacked Carrie’s hand away from the dish of homemade lasagna being passed around the table. She set down a pre-portioned serving of lasagna—tiny—and a generous heap of salad already topped with an oil and vinaigrette dressing. No doubt the lasagna was made with reduced fat cheese, no-carb noodles and tasted like the bottom of a shoe.

“There’s five hundred calories on the entire plate,” Eleanor said with pride. Then, for good measure, she added, “You’re looking a little heavy lately.”

Carrie tossed a longing look at the basket of fresh baked bread, still steaming, and the generous portion of real lasagna her brother scooped onto his plate.

Fine. Whatever. She’d eat a real meal when she got home.

Eleanor’s criticism of Carrie’s figure was so expected, she really should be able to ignore it by now, but inside she flinched. Eleanor, herself, was trim and petite, put together in designer threads and never had a blonde hair out of place. Carrie was… She was herself. She took after her father’s side of the family—tall, broad and with vivid red hair—and her clothes just couldn’t stay clean. Carrie had ruined many a silk blouse, much to her mother’s frustration, by “tinkering.” She’d get caught up in a project, forgot she was in her “fancy clothes” and wiped a hand on that expensive silk blouse. Still, Eleanor West persisted in dressing her daughter like a delicate debutant and Carrie continued to absentmindedly ruin clothing.

A prodding at her knee made her look down. Reaching under the table, Justin held out a roll to her. With a conspiratorial smile, she hid the contraband roll in the fold of the napkin on her lap. Real food. Finally.

Tucker glanced down. If he noticed the roll, he said nothing. Eleanor seemed to be the only one concerned that Carrie was thicker in the middle than most. Tucker liked her figure just fine. In fact, he had a healthy appreciation of her thick thighs and booty, but said he liked her big brain the best.

“You have a birthday this week,” Josiah said, digging into his own generous helping of lasagna.

Carrie paused, salad laden fork paused mid-flight. Her father was talking. To her. That was never good. Normally Josiah West ignored his day dreaming daughter and that was just fine. Not that he was cruel, he was just… a wee bit terrifying. Josiah Hunt, self-made billionaire, treated his children as employees. Carrie was used to that. Heck, she was an actual employee of West and Hunt Enterprises, and it was still frightening when the boss wanted to speak to her.

“I do,” she said, finding her voice. She’d be twenty-five in three days.

“And you’ve been in research and development for how long now?”

“Carrie’s one of our best engineers,” Justin said.

Josiah silenced him with a wave and focused his ice blue eyes on her.

“Three years. Five, counting my internship.” Carrie had graduated high school early and raced through her undergrad degree. She finished her masters just as quick, putting in intern hours for course credit while taking a full class schedule. Coffee powered her through sleep deprivation, but she graduated with a master's in engineering at twenty-two. She’d been happily working in West and Hunt’s research and development since then.

“Now that you’re twenty-five, your mother and I think it’s time you got serious.”

Carrie bit her lower lip. Get serious? Graduating early and working with a double course load in school to get a master's by twenty-two wasn’t serious? “I take my job seriously.”

“Carrie’s our best engineer,” Justin said. “The stealth tech she’s been working on will knock your socks off.”

“And how long has she been toying with that?” Josiah asked.

Oh, hell. Toying. She did not toy. She built. She designed. Carrie recognized the direction that conversation was headed. She took a big bite of the roll, needing the fortitude only bread could give her.

“A few months but she’s not toying—”

“Eighteen months,” Josiah said, the flat of his palm landing heavily on the table. “Eighteen months. I’d have killed anyone else’s project by now but I’ve indulged you because you’re my little girl. I’m sorry but it’s time to grow up.”

“But I’m close. I nearly have it figured out,” she said.

“Starting on Monday, you’ll transfer to your new position in public relations.”

Public relations. Carrie flinched. Not only would she be taken away from doing what she loved, what she was good at, she’d have to talk to people. Ugh.

“I don’t think I’m the right person for that,” she said. A few times a year, Eleanor trotted Carrie out for photo ops and the press, which was bad enough. But as a full-time position?

“I think you’ll be great,” Tucker said, patting her on the arm. “And the board agrees.”

“You talked about me with the board?” Carrie thought her father ignored her but no, he had been orchestrating this move.

“The board wants a new, fresh face for the company,” Josiah said. “I’ll still be at the helm, of course, but I can’t be at every press conference or sit through all the interview requests we receive.”

And she could? Carrie swallowed her question, looking frantically from Tucker to Justin and to Eleanor, searching for support. Eleanor just nodded, a smug smile on her face. Justin looked stricken, pale, as his hand clenched his fork. This was a surprise to him, as well. Tucker, however, meet her eyes and nodded. “You’ll be a Hunt, soon, and that’s the kind of unity the board wants to show the investors. Right, Josiah?”

Since when did Tucker go around calling her father by name? Last week he was all “Mr. West this” and “Yes, Mr. West.”

“But PR is boring.” Hardly a challenge at all.

“You’ll need the lighter work load. Once we’re married, we’ll need to start cranking out little West-Hunts.”

“For the investors?” Sarcasm laced her voice. Tucker had zero enthusiasm when talking about children. Their children.

He nodded, completely missing her sarcasm.

Eleanor leaned in. She lifted Carrie’s red hair and pinched the soft skin of her upper arm. “We’ll have to do some work to get you camera ready. Stars above know you won’t be able to lose the weight with dieting. I’ll schedule surgery for one of those gastric sleeves. We’ll need to get those freckles removed. Dermabrasion, I think. And do something with this hair. It feels like straw. Might as well get those ears pinned back so you can wear your hair up.”

Carrie swatted her mother’s hands away. She liked her freckles and there was nothing wrong with her ears. “What if I refuse?”

Josiah fixed her with his icy stare. “I need you to pull your weight here.”

Tucker snorted.

That was the moment the fight left her. Carrie’s shoulders slumped, defeated. Her father made a fat joke and her fiancé laughed.

Some family.

Carrie slowly unclenched her fist. “No,” she said, voice small.

The family ignored her, making plans in the Great Carrie Renovation, because everything about her was deficient, apparently. She looked toward her fiancé, who was happily discussing getting her a personal trainer and how to space out their babies. Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with excitement. She had the money, the vision and now permission to completely rebuild her daughter into someone worthy of being a West.

Only Justin seemed upset. He mouthed, “Don’t worry. We’ll think of something.”

All Carrie could think of was that she wanted out. Her family saw her as a thing. Not even a pretty face, just a womb. Good for only being fucked and they certainly were trying to fuck her tonight.

“No.” Carrie stood up from the table. All eyes swiveled to her.

“Sit down,” Eleanor said. “You’re making a scene.”

Seemed like an appropriate time to make a scene to her. “I said no. I won’t do it.”

“You’ll do your duty, little girl,” Josiah said, voice even and commanding.

“Or what? You won’t fix me and turn me into another boring debutant?”

“Carrie West, you are acting like a child.”

Her hands trembled lightly under the weight of his gaze but she refused to back down. Josiah had always been more of a supervisor than a father to her and if she was going to be ordered about like an employee, then that meant she could quit like an employee, too. “I think you’re right. It’s time for me to grow up,” she said. “I quit.”

Carrie stormed out before she could change her mind. She needed to get out of the oppressive house, into the fresh night air and clear her head.

Chairs scraped the floor and she heard Tucker promise to talk to her.

She headed down the long driveway, as fast as her feet could take her.

“Pudding! Pudding, where do you think you’re going?” Tucker jogged up beside her.

“Away. Home. Anywhere but here.”

“Were you planning on walking there?”

Maybe. Carrie spun toward him, fists clenched. “Shouldn’t you be picking out baby names or something?”

He gave her that lopsided grin, the one she used to think was so charming, and tucked an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. “I know you’re freaked out right now.”

Carrie snorted. “But you shouldn’t be surprised. We’ve been engaged for nearly five years. We have to get married this year or the exemption is invalid.”

Healthy, childless and single women had to register for the Mahdfel draft. Engagements kept a woman from being matched to one of the alien warriors, but engagements had a time limit of five years. If you weren’t married after five years, tough luck. A lot of women her age were already married, or had kids just to stay on Earth. Her engagement to Tucker was convenient because he had ties to her family, it kept her on the planet and she liked him well enough.

But “well enough” wasn’t really enough to be married, she knew. She wanted something more. Something Tucker couldn’t give her.

“Maybe I don’t think we should be married,” she said.

“Pudding, come back inside. You’re just upset and don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know what I’m saying.”

His grip tightened on her arm and his smile vanished. “Do you? Because I don’t think you realize how the investors are going to react when they find out our merger fell through.”

“Marriage! We’re not a merger, Tucker. And I don’t care about the money.”

“You should, princess. You might dress like a hobo and not spend your fortune but without investors, your precious R&D funding gets cut. Your pet project goes away. And when R&D is cut, we fall behind the competition. The military stops ordering our planes, our ships, and our weapons. People lose jobs, Carrie. Real people will suffer because you can’t toe the line.”

She couldn’t say she was surprised at this side of him. She’d seen it before at work and once at a party in college, but it had never been directed at her. This is how he fought. Some men used fists, Tucker used words. She knew how he wore down his opponent: guilt, threat and insult.

“If you break off our engagement, you’ll have to go through testing for the Draft. You don’t want that, do you? If you think being married to me will be bad, imagine being shipped off to some hulking alien brute. They won’t respect you like I do. They won’t understand you. They’ll just fuck you full of their little bastard aliens because that’s all you’ll be to them: a baby making factory.”

Carrie lifted her chin, ready for the insult.

“And a make-over isn’t such a bad idea. I mean, you’re good looking enough but have you seen the other wives? You should try a little harder because you’re not that interesting, honestly. Lucky for you, I’m fond of you, pudding, but maybe show some enthusiasm?” His thumb brushed at her chin and for a moment he looked as if he might kiss her but he pulled away.

“I thought you liked my big brain.”

“Yeah, well I also wouldn’t mind if I could lift you without throwing my back out.”

His words hit as hard as a fist.

Carrie rubbed at her eyes, surprised to find her fingertips wet. Tears. For this dumb fucker.

Being matched to a Mahdfel warrior didn’t seem so bad. And it wasn’t like the aliens were a complete mystery. Carrie had been a child when Earth had been invaded by the Suhliks and she remembered clearly when the Mahdfel arrived to protect the planet. The tide of the war changed. Earth forces stopped losing ground and started winning.

She had vivid memories of touring a base with her father, inspecting the latest space fighters his factory produced. It was one of the rare, good moments she’d had with her father. He lifted her up to his shoulders. In the sun, the fighters gleamed as far as she could see. He told her how proud he was of his company for delivering the order in record time, how proud he was of his workers and how proud he was that his work was going to save the planet.

Perhaps she never really left that moment. She spent her entire life trying to get back there, to make her father proud.

“Josiah’s right. It’s time for me to grow up.”

Tucker sighed with relief. “I knew you’d come around. Josiah wanted to strong arm you but I know how you think. We just needed to lay it out nice and logical for you to see reason—”

“I’m breaking off our engagement,” she said, cutting him off.

“What?”

“I need to grow up. I can’t be here,” she waved vaguely to the house and the manicured lawns, “anymore. I can’t let my family make decisions about where I work and who I marry. It’s over. I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sorry. She was relieved.

“Don’t be selfish, Carrie. Too many people are depending on you.”

“Selfish? You don’t love me. You don’t even like me. You’re just marrying me because it’s good for business.” As the words left her mouth, she knew they were true. Everything that was unsatisfying about their relationship was due to their lack of mutual affection. “And I don’t love you. Not anymore.”

Fury flickered across his face. “Fine. Be a stubborn brat. Maybe walking home will change your mind.”

He stormed off to his car, slamming doors, and tires squealed as it took off down the driveway.

A long walk might change her mind but she doubted it.

* * *

The car pulled up alongside her, keeping pace with her too-proud-to-call-a-taxi walk of righteous fury.

“I’m not the one you’re angry at,” Justin said, opening the door.

“They ambushed me and you just sat there like a lump on a log, stuffing your face with lasagna.”

“Lumps don’t stuff,” he said with a chuckle.

“Yeah? And brothers defend their sisters.” Good brothers did.

“I… I didn’t know Dad was going to do that.”

She snorted. “Sure. You’re his favorite and he talks to you but you had no idea.”

“Look, he mentioned something about moving you up in the company. I thought he was going to give you your own team.”

Carrie paused. Her own team? “You think I can manage my own team?”

The car stopped. “Absolutely, Carrie. You’d need a personal assistant to manage your schedule, but I think you’d make great thing happen.”

She shook her head. She needed a dozen alarms in the morning to wake up and a dozen more to keep her focused enough to get to work on time. No way she could juggle a project and all the engineers that came with it. She could barely manage herself. “You’re just trying to flatter me so I won’t be angry at you, which I am.”

“Is it working?”

She laughed. She didn’t want to but Justin always knew how to calm her down.

“I’m not going to marry Tucker,” she said.

“He’s not good enough for you.”

“And I’m not going to do PR.”

“You’d be wasted there.”

“And I’m starving.”

“Me too. I think the entire lasagna was that no-carb stuff. It tasted like nothing.”

Carrie climbed into the car and fastened the safety belt.

“Where to?” Justin asked.

“Take me to the squirrel.”

They did not speak during the short ride to Bucky’s Burger Rodeo. Bucky was a giant cartoon squirrel in a cowboy hat, for some reason. The burger joint survived the invasion when few buildings did and the interior was dated from the last century. Linoleum topped tables groaned with age. Everything about Bucky’s was tacky, right down to the smiling cartoon squirrel and Carrie loved it. As a child, she begged her parents to take her. They seldom did. Then the invasion had happened. Bucky’s sat boarded up for years before finally reopening, as tacky and squirrel-tastic as ever.

And the onion rings weren’t half bad.

Carrie sighed with pleasure as she bit into her burger, savoring the crisp lettuce against warm, melting cheese.

“Mom would kill us if she caught us here,” she said.

“I don’t think she cares so much what I eat.”

Of course not. Justin was tall and slim.

“But you’re enabling me, she’d say.”

Justin ran a hand through his hair. “Geeze, Carrie. I’m so sorry. I had no idea what they were planning. How upset are you with me?”

Carrie nibbled on an onion ring, contemplating her emotions. The white-hot fury that convinced her walking eleven miles to her apartment was a good idea had dissipated. “I’m feeling a little tender but I’m not mad at you.”

His shoulders slumped with relief. “I’ll talk to Dad. We’ll get you back in R&D where you belong.”

“No. I’m not going back.” She didn’t know it until the words left her mouth, but they were true words. She wasn’t going back. Not for family. Not for money. Not even if the great and mighty Josiah West got down on his knees and begged.

“Of course you are. Where else are you going to go?”

“I’ll be matched on my birthday. So space, I guess.” Again, she didn’t know the words were true until she said them. She’d avoided the Draft with her long engagement to Tucker but that was over. She wouldn’t pretend to love him for one more day, not even to avoid the Draft. And how bad could it be? By all reports the Mahdfel worshiped their brides. She wouldn’t mind a little worshipping. And she’d be on a spaceship or a station, surrounded by alien tech. She’d be able to continue her project. Hell, her proto-type was currently sitting on a Mahdfel battle cruiser now. If she could work remotely on Earth while the prototype and the test pilot were who-knows-where in the galaxy, she could work anywhere.

“You can’t be serious. They’d take you away. We’ll find an exemption.”

Carrie shook her head. “No. I want to go. I’ll be closer to my prototype and I won’t have to wait a day for reports. I might be able to watch in real-time.”

“Do you think they’d let you do that? Because I think they’ll chain you to a bed and get you knocked up as fast as possible.”

“No, there’s a provision against that in the treaty.”

“We’ll find a doctor and say you’re not fertile.”

“No. I’m not going to lie.”

“Carrie, you wouldn’t be lying. The doctor would.” For a hefty bribe, Justin could find a doctor to say anything.

“We have a few days yet. We can get you married. It’ll only be on paper but that will make you exempt.”

Carrie shook her head. She knew, theoretically, that plenty of women had marriage-of-conveniences to stay on Earth. She also knew, theoretically, that plenty of men sold their services to women.

“No.”

“But—”

“No, Justin. Stop trying to talk me out of my decision.”

When Tucker started talking about weddings at dinner, Carrie had watched as her entire life had played out before her just as her family had planned: married to a man she didn’t particularly like and who she now knew didn’t love her, kids, a mind-numbing job, and just endless years of low-level dissatisfaction.

No, she’d take her chances with the Mahdfel. Her work was vital in the fight against the Suhlik. They’d never tell her to give it up and do something safe and boring, not when the Suhlik continued to threaten the universe.

The fact that the Draft was technically an arranged marriage to a stranger barely registered to Carrie’s thoughts. She was too caught up with the benefits of actually seeing her project in the flesh, rather than through screens.

“I hate it when you get all stubborn like this,” he said.

“It’ll work out,” she said around a mouthful of burger. “You’ll see.”

Vox:

Vox was a study in patience. A warrior was patient. A warrior wasted no movement. A warrior waited for the perfect moment to strike. Vox waited.

The warrior had many years to practice waiting. He waited for his mate, patiently. Every orbit, he grew older but he waited. He went where his warlord ordered. He fought the Suhlik, the vicious lizards that once enslaved his people. When the Suhlik came to the spiral arm of the galaxy and found Earth, the Mahdfel followed. Vox’s fondness of the blue and green planet was instant. Earth satisfied his two most primal instincts: to fight and to breed.

The fighting was plentiful. The Terrans had put up a valiant effort to repel the Suhlik invasion but they were simply out classed. Still, despite overwhelming odds, despite repeated defeats, they continued to fight.

How could he not want a female from such a fierce warrior species?

True, Terrans were smaller than Mahdfel, and more fragile. They were easily injured and slow to heal. On the surface, they made poor warriors. The Terran spirit, however, was strong. Resilient. Indomitable.

His mate would be Terran. Vox had decided that more than a decade ago. He spent the following years studying Terran customs, food, films, history and learning all the things a good mate should know to make his mate comfortable.

Every orbit, he grew older and continued to wait to be matched to his mate.

A warrior waited. A warrior was patient.

Vox sat still, allowing the nails on his left hand to dry while Estella gleefully painted his right hand.

“Don’t smudge them,” she scolded, with a tone far too serious for a seven-year-old child.

He splayed his hand on the table, willing himself to be still. Each finger was a different color because Estella could not decide. He helpfully suggested she use all the colors. His left pinkie was now red. The right would be violet.

He had no regrets.

“What are you two doing?” Meridan’s voice cut across the room.

“We are improving our hand-eye control and honing fine motor skills,” Vox said with a smile.

“Are you sure you don’t enjoy being a pretty, pretty warrior?” Meridan landed a quick kiss to the top of her daughter’s head, who ignored her, thoroughly engrossed in making a pretty, pretty warrior. “Go wash up for dinner. Your father is waiting.”

Estella capped the nail polish. “Is Uncle Vox having dinner with us? Please?” She turned her big-eyed gaze from her mother to Vox and back again.

Meridan raised an eyebrow, asking him.

“It would be my pleasure but I am on patrol soon. Next time.”

“Fine.” Estella frowned but her tone carried no significant injury.

“You. Wash. Now,” Meridan commanded.

“She is a good warrior-in-training,” Vox said, watching the child’s retreating figure.

“She’s not a warrior. She’s a little girl,” Meridan said with a frown. Estella had unique… abilities. Abilities that required training to master control to prevent injury to herself or others. Vox knew Meridan was unhappy with the arrangement but it was necessary for Estella’s safety and everyone onboard the Judgment.

Meridan sighed, shaking her head. She pointed to Vox's hand, “Seriously though, you didn't have to let her paint all the colors of the rainbow.”

“The paint will be removed the next time I go through decontamination.” The process that killed all harmful bacteria and viruses would also strip the fine layer of polish from his nails. “Perhaps I will start a new trend.”

“I doubt it.” Meridan gathered up the tiny bottles and shoved them in a canvas bag. “The only trend you’ll start is letting little girls take advantage of you.”

Vox had no regrets.

* * *

Alone in the cockpit of the ship, the emptiness of space stretched out before him. It soothed him. Scouting required all his concentration and relied on skills most warriors never used and satisfied his instinct for battle. Battle and breeding, those were the driving forces in the Mahdfel mind.

Fighting and fucking.

Many warriors would consider the standard patrol beneath them. There was no guarantee of conflict, of the battle all Mahdfel warriors craved, only isolation and searching for potential trouble.

The Judgment was firmly within Mahdfel territory but the Suhlik were aggressive and known to raid within Mahdfel controlled sectors. The border territory saw constant conflict and skirmishes.

Vox knew that some within the clan grew impatient with the warlord. They craved a good fight and longed to shed Suhlik blood. Vox also knew that the Judgment moved toward the border but not fast enough to satisfy the battle lust of some.

He was patient as ever.

Battle would come. Until then, he enjoyed the brief respite from the overly serious, dour dispositions of his brothers. They had no sense of humor at all. And why should they? The Mahdfel life was brutal and short. Even with superior reflexes and healing, the fatality rate was staggeringly high. Vox, himself, had never known his father.

Reaching old age was a luxury and retirement was simply unheard of. The best way to leave a legacy was to have sons, many sons, and Vox was ready to do his part. As soon as he found his mate.

Patience.

His patrol circuit completed, Vox headed back to the Judgment. He flew a prototype stealth starship. Small and fast, it was designed to be perfectly invisible to all sensors. Selected as the test pilot, Vox took it through its paces, skirting the edges of the Judgment’s sensor range and poking just bit at any Suhlik he found.

Today he found nothing beyond a derelict freighter and asteroids.

Heading back to the battle cruiser, he ran another diagnostic. The Terran engineer on the project constantly asked for more data. He found it best just to run diagnostics as much as possible to keep the engineer quiet.

Approaching the Judgment, Vox lined up to dock with the flight deck. He initiated the landing procedure, the bleeding of speed and deploying of landing gear.

A worrisome light blinked.

That was new.

“Rohn, we got problems,” Vox said, transmitting to the head engineer on the flight deck. “The landing system failed to deploy.”

“Piece of Terran junk,” Rohn replied, voice thin over the comm link. “Give us some time to clear the deck. I don’t want you wrecking any of my good ships.”

“Sure. How about I go to the market and pick up some milk.”

A pause, followed by cursing. “I’ll never get your sense of humor. Just go do a loop-de-loop or something. Be creative.”

He could be creative but elected to fly another circuit around the Judgment. He was coming in on the plane’s belly and needed to lose as much speed as possible. Even bleeding as much speed as he dared, the plane would still land hard and scrape across the flight deck.

“Hey, fly boy,” Rohn barked. “We got a nice, wide path clear and the shock absorbing foam set up.”

“Just aim for the foam pillow? How big a target are we talking?”

“It’s huge. Not even you can miss it.”

“I clip a wing once and you never let it go. Move on, Rohn. Dwelling on the past is bad for your health. It’ll give you an ulcer.”

“What the blazes is an ulcer?”

Vox didn’t actually know but it was an expression he heard in a Terran film and thought it sounded witty. Meridan certainly laughed when he said it.

“Arriving in thirty seconds,” Vox said.

He lined up the ship with the wide force field separating the flight deck from the vacuum of space. The golden haze of the force field flickered, indicating that it was possible to pass through the barrier.

Vox gave the engine enough fuel to accelerate. He needed a minimum velocity to penetrate the barrier. Too slow and the plane would bounce off the force field like so much rubble and debris. Too fast and he wouldn’t be able to maintain control and land safely.

Well, as safe a landing as possible.

The ship met minimal resistance as it passed through the force field haze. Gravity immediately grabbed a hold of the ship and tried to pull it down. Vox feed the thrusters to continue to hover above the flight deck. The engine whined. Designed for space, atmospheric flight was possible but the ship didn’t like it. Not one bit. He’d share that with the engineers, assuming he’d be in any shape to share insights.

A wide corridor had been cleared on the deck. At the end was a pad of beige foam. It covered the floor and curved up the wall. Vox knew the foam would expand immediately on impact and surround the ship.

He aimed the nose of the ship toward the foam. The engine gave out and the belly skidded across the deck. The controls jerked in his hands. He fought to keep the ship as steady as possible, which was damn near impossible as the entire vessel vibrated so badly his horns bounced against the roof.

The beige foam got closer and just when he thought he missed the mark, a sticky beige substance covered all the screens.

Safe and sound.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he unbuckled the safety harness. With the engine dead, there was no climate control and the temperature of the cockpit rapidly increased. He’d run out of air soon but had faith that Rohn and his team would dig him out.

Gradually, unseen hands scraped away the foam and Vox was able to open the hatch.

He climbed out, wading through the strangely buoyant foam.

Rohn ran a hand along the curve of his horns, frowning. “How am I going to get that thing clean? And you killed the engine. Murdered it. I’ll knock out your teeth if I have to rebuild that tetchy Terran engine.”

Vox slapped the male on the back. “That was fantastic! Do you want to have the next emergency landing or can I go again?”