Chapter 1

Lise

“It’s an opportunity of a lifetime.”

I crossed my arms. “You have no one else to send.”

Hans Binkle, my boss and lead editor of Earth Life News and Galactic Report, sighed and sat back in his gelform smart chair. The seat made a squishy sound as it adapted to his new position. “The other qualified women have exemptions and the Mitran leadership won’t allow human men to go. That doesn’t change the fact that this is a great assignment. Everyone is going to read it. You’re going to be doing the talk show circuit when you get back. Interviews. Awards, if your work is good enough.”

I had no interest in an appearance on Good Morning Earth or The Planet Speaks, or any of that. “Hans, you know hard news is where I want to be. You want to ship me off to an alien planet and have me follow a bunch of women around as they search for love with horned alien dudes who look like they had way too many physical enhancements.”

“That’s just how they look, Lise,” said Hans reasonably. “They can’t help it. And besides, think of this as hard news. It’s a real psychological thing. The Mitrans are facing the collapse of their species if they can’t make a new generation with human women, many of whom struck out in the love department here for one reason or another. It’s a massive culture shock for both species.” He spread his slender hands. “There are diamonds to mine, here. If you have an open mind, that is.”

That was the killing blow and he knew it. Every modern journalist wanted to find the story behind the story. I narrowed my eyes at my very clever and very smart supervisor. He was actually fine to deal with, listened to input and took suggestions, but I saw no chance of changing his mind. “If I say no?”

His augmented blue eyes didn’t blink as he stared at me. “The president of the media company we are both employed by has made it clear that you go, or you find another job.”

I felt like the wind had been sucked out of my lungs. “What? He can’t do that.”

“He can.” Hans steepled his fingers beneath his prominent nose. “I don’t like it either, to be honest, but Mr. Pinworth has been working with our government and the Mitran leadership to get this story—series of stories—approved for over a year. With no other qualified and available women journalists, that leaves you.” He pulled up a document on his desk screen. “I’ve been told to authorize for you a twenty-five percent raise, a spending allowance, and to cover the costs of your apartment here for the duration of the assignment.”

A twenty-five percent raise was beyond unheard of. Despite the advanced times, journalists were still underpaid. “What about my cat?”

He blinked. “You have a cat?”

“Do you read my column, Hans?” I asked. “I mention Nugget often in my pieces.”

“Oh.” He scratched his chin. “I didn’t know that was a cat.”

I didn’t want to imagine what he thought I was talking about when I put my sweet feline in my weekly lifestyle column. Life as a single woman in New Boston was apparently something that people liked to read about, for reasons I wasn’t even sure about. When I’d started the column four years ago, I thought it would fade away, but it was quite popular…and relegated me to a lifestyle writer. Not exactly where I wanted to go in my career. “Can I bring him?” I asked.

“Who?” Hans asked.

“My cat,” I replied. “Can I bring him with me on this assignment? If it’s not dangerous, it shouldn’t be an issue.”

He frowned. “I’ll arrange boarding for the animal.”

The thought of my little buddy scared, confused, and stuck in a strange place for six months, waiting for me to come home, was a step too far. “If I can bring Nugget, I’ll go.” Hans’ expression shifted and I knew then that bringing my cat wouldn’t be the deal-breaker, but the deal-maker.

His eyes lit up like ilum strobes. “Good. Bring the cat. That would make your column explode,” he said, more to himself than to me. “I was going to put it on hiatus, but this way, you can write your perspective about living on Mitra with your cat and keep the column going.” He looked up with bright, triumphant eyes. “It shouldn’t be hard to get approval from Mr. Pinworth for Nuget to accompany you.”

I groaned. “It’s Nugget,” I said with a wince and a sinking stomach. “Do I need shots?”

“No idea.” Hans waved a hand as his attention turned to his screen where he was likely messaging the president of the company about my agreement and the bonus that I’d be continuing my column in addition to the stories I would be writing. “Non-Earth Relations Department will set you up with everything you need. And I’m sending a cam-bot with you to take recordings and images. Don’t break it.”

“I won’t,” I said sourly. “When am I leaving?”

“Two weeks.”

“That’s not much time.”

He looked up with a genuine smile. “You’re going to ace this, Lise. I’m sure of it. This is going to be the big break you’ve been wanting. When you return, you’re going to be a celebrity.”

I didn’t bother to say what I was thinking, that I didn’t want to be a celebrity. I wanted to write the big stories. Uncover corruption. Expose criminals. Interview the people that most were too afraid to get near. It was what my mother did, and no one did it better than Eliza Avory. How could I possibly live up to her legacy if my “big break” was covering alien romance drama on Mitra?

I fretted over this for two weeks while I endured a physical exam, and yes, shots. Non-Earth Relations sent me copious reading material and other media so I could walk off the transport onto Mitran soil with knowledge of the people with whom I’d be living. They had a lot of customs. They worshipped (sort of) the nearest star, called Skrah, and made their own food and clothing even though they had access to synthesizers for all those things. Some of them even preferred their traditional medicine to modern medical devices, which was horrifying, in my opinion. Why sit with an open wound, waiting for it to heal, when there were tissue regenerators that could close it up as if it never happened? These were the things I shook my head over as I prepared for my “trip.”

Nugget, my white and orange cat, laid out on my couch, blissfully unaware that we were soon to be shuttled off to an entirely different star system. He stretched and kneaded my thigh as I perused records of what women wore on Mitra and how many had successfully found hubbies.

“They’re sending us to one of the least civilized settlements,” I told my cat. “I’m sorry, Thrails. That’s what they call their cities and towns. Don’t worry, I won’t let them eat you.” I absently scratched behind his ear and he leaned in, purring. “I promise.”