1. Donna

1

DONNA

M a once said, “Life’s like a game of dodgeball, sugar. Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, here comes a curveball aimed straight at your pretty little head. You gotta duck, weave, or catch that ball and throw it right on back. Tough times don’t last, sugar, but tough people sure do.” She’d set a large slice of freshly made cornbread before me, still hot from the oven. Even now, I still remember how good it tasted.

I stare at the cornbread on the counter before me now. It’s nothing like Ma’s. For one, it’s made from a pale blue grain called grushi, the flour just as blue as the grain itself. The texture’s all wrong. Gritty and dense, nothing like the light, crumbly perfection Ma used to whip up. And the smell? Well, it’s a strange mix of earthy and faintly sweet, like beetroot. Not the warm, buttery aroma I know so well.

I sigh, cutting a slice and turning it over in my palm. It’s been years since I’ve tasted real cornbread. Sometimes I wonder if my memories of Ma’s cooking are just getting sweeter with time and distance, like a faded photograph. All the sharp edges softened, the imperfections blurred away.

And, sometimes, I think maybe I’m too old to be missing my mother’s cooking. A soft, resigned laugh huffs through my nose as I stare at the “bluebread” in my palm. Maybe this whole alien abduction thing has me going crazy. Missing things like the sound of rain on a tin roof and the taste of a strawberry milkshake on a summer afternoon.

“Oh, Ma…” I whisper. “If you could see this now, you’d say I caught one hell of a curveball and ran with it.” My gaze slides from the bread to the scene out my window. “I finally got my wish about seeing the world, but you wouldn’t believe just how far out I’ve ended up.”

Before me, my kitchen window gives a view of the Hudoian plains stretching into the distance, a sea of orange grass rippling under a pink sky. Soft golden clouds drift lazily towards the horizon. It’s beautiful, serene, like a postcard from another world. Which, I suppose, it is.

Just not the one I ever expected to call home.

Lifting the slice of the bluebread, I take a bite, my eyes still on the view. The quiet of the plains grips me. Out there, through my window, not even the wind makes a sound. It’s no wonder I’m reflecting on things from long ago, dredging up old memories, old worries. Seeking something…else. Only, I’m not sure what.

I knew I’d be alone in this wilderness, this farm out here in the doohickies, but I didn’t quite understand just how…peaceful it would be. How quiet .

All I’ve got, apart from the animals and the soft sound of insects, is my big ‘ole voice in my head. All I can do is think . And too much thinking has never gotten me anywhere good.

I grunt, chewing slowly as another sigh makes my shoulder rise and fall. My gaze shifts to the view of the road and I sigh again.

For a moment, I don’t see anything there—which isn’t surprising. No one comes this way. It’s the reason the New Horizons Initiative was so tempting. The whole reason I signed up. They promised peace and safety, and after waking up from something called “stasis” surrounded by aliens in an intergalactic war, peace and safety sounded real good.

I’m about to turn away from the window and dump the entire tin of bluebread when I notice movement on the road. Whoever is coming is still a far way off, but I spot the white fur anyway. My heart does a little thud. A little leap.

It’s Xarion, the New Horizons representative who introduced me to this place. I never thought I’d be so happy to see an alien pulling up to my door, but Xarion’s my only friend—apart from the two other humans I know who signed up for the initiative.

Plopping the bluebread back on the counter, I cut another slice and put it on a flat square I use as a saucer. I’m out the door and by the gate by the time Xarion pulls up.

“Well, look what the Hudoian wind blew in.” I grin at the rabbit-like alien as he comes closer, the ooga he’s riding making him sway with each step.

I don’t want to admit it, but I’m a little excited to see his expressionless face, and that’s saying something. I really am starved for company, aren’t I?

“I can assure you, the wind was quite tame this journey,” Xarion says. “It had zero effect on my speed of arrival.”

I snort. “Mmhm.” My gaze shifts over him. He’s dressed like he usually is. In a dark suit that makes me wonder how he’s not burning up in this warm weather. “What are you doing all the way out here, anyway? Come to check if the wilderness hasn’t swallowed me whole yet?”

Xarion hops off the ooga with such grace I want to roll my eyes at him. His feet land on the dusty earth almost without a sound. “I am here on a welfare check.” Those red eyes shift to me as he secures his ooga to my fence. “I trust your acclimation to Hudo III continues…smoothly?” He glances at the slice of bluebread in my hand, his nose twitching slightly.

“Oh, it’s been a real hoot.” I brandish the bread, thrusting it in his direction. “In fact, I was just about to declare this the best darn bluebread on the planet. Want a bite?”

It’s hard to hold back my smirk as I hold the food out to him, knowing full well he won’t touch it. Not Xarion, with his refined palate and access to the delicacies of a thousand worlds. He wouldn’t be caught dead eating something as…rustic as my bluebread.

His nose twitches again. “I appreciate the offer, Donna Johnson, but I’m afraid I’m not particularly…” He pauses, I suppose, to search for the right word.

“Hungry?” I offer, unable now to hold back my grin. “Famished? On the verge of starvation?”

“All three.”

I roll my eyes, following his gaze as it shifts down to my little farmhouse.

“You’re doing well with the place. The New Horizons board will be pleased.”

“Mmhm.” I roll my eyes again, pushing off from where I was leaning on a fence post to start walking back down to the house, because I just know what he’s going to say next. He’s alluded to it many times before.

“They would be even more pleased if, like the other two humans—”

“Xarion, I don’t want a man.” I don’t even glance behind me but I know he’s following.

“It doesn’t have to be a Kari mate like Eleanor Taylor and Catherine Richmond. Even a female acquaintance—”

I snort a laugh. “Experimented with that back in college, baby. Not my thing. I like cocks. I just don’t like what they’re attached to.” I think that will shut him up. It doesn’t. Surprising me, this cultured alien isn’t even mildly fazed.

“And why is that, Donna Johnson? Scientifically, you are biologically suited for a variety of male shafts—”

“Xarion!” My mouth falls open as I gape at him. I can’t believe he just said that. “Have some bluebread.” I thrust the food in his direction again, intent on ignoring the heat rising in my cheeks. “And stop calling me ‘Donna Johnson’, like I’m in trouble or something. Just call me Donna.”

“Right. Humans like when their names are butchered. I remember.” Xarion blinks at me as I huff a laugh through my nose before his gaze shifts to the bluebread still in my hands. “Grushi grain?” he asks, and I nod.

“One bite won’t kill you.” His ears twitch and I try not to laugh again. “Probably.”

With a sigh that could rival a deflating balloon, Xarion delicately picks up the slice and takes a tiny nibble. His whiskers twitch, and I swear I see his white fur pale even further.

“It’s…quite unique,” he manages, swallowing hard.

I snort. “That’s a polite way of saying it tastes like dirt.” But even knowing it, even expecting him not to like it, my shoulders sag a little. I need this recipe to work.

“Well,” Xarion says, and I don’t miss that he’s discreetly trying to wipe his tongue, “perhaps your culinary skills might improve if you were to…expand your ingredient selection. Have you considered foraging for zimi berries in the pasture across from your farm? They are often used as a sweetening and flavoring ingredient in doughy meals like these.”

My eyebrows lift, almost reaching the headscarf tied tight around my head. “What now?” My focus shifts to the pasture across from mine, even as I try to temper the little hope flaring in my chest. The pasture stretches so far, I don’t know where it starts and where it ends. “Zimi berries?”

“Quite delectable little things. Though they must be handled with protective gear lest they stain your fur.” His gaze shifts down me. “Or rather, your dark skin.”

I stare at him for a few beats before I get an idea. “Wait here.”

Picking up the long skirts flowing around me, I hurry back inside. There’s a satchel I tied together using pieces of linen, one that serves as my grocery bag, and I hurry to take it from where I’d hung it in the kitchen. About a minute later, I’m shutting the front door and turning to face Xarion. Surprisingly, he’s finished the rest of the bluebread and is looking at me with one ear high and the other folded.

I snort. “Thought you didn’t like it.”

“It could be better.”

I roll my eyes again. “Come on, you’re going to help me forage for these zimi berries.”

I march towards the pasture, my satchel swinging at my side. Getting underneath the perimeter fence takes some acrobatics my hips don’t like, but I make it. When I look behind me, Xarion is hesitating, his pristine suit a stark contrast to the wild orange grass.

“Donna Johnson—Donna, I’m not sure this is entirely necessary—”

“Oh, come on, cotton-tail.” I turn, pushing through the tall grass. “You suggested it, now you’re gonna help. Besides, aren’t you curious to see how your little human experiment is surviving out here?”

Xarion sighs, a sound I’m becoming quite familiar with, and reluctantly follows. “I assure you, the New Horizons Initiative is not an ‘experiment’. It’s a carefully planned resettlement program.”

“Uh-huh,” I grunt, still pushing through the waist-high grass. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

We trek further into the pasture, the orange grass giving way to patches of light brown shrubs. Xarion delicately picks his way through, trying (and failing) to keep his suit clean.

“You know,” he says, stepping around a bunch of shrubs with burs on them, “the other human homesteaders have been quite proactive in building a community. Because your species is so rare and both of them have turned out to be mates fated to males who thought such impossible, Eleanor Taylor and Catherine Richmond have even started a weekly gathering—”

I whirl around, nearly causing Xarion to bump into me. I know exactly what he’s doing. The same thing he’s been trying to do from the start. Get me integrated . “Let me guess, a book club? Quilting circle? Alien crop appreciation society?”

Xarion’s whiskers twitch. “Actually, it’s a cultural exchange. Tensions are high among the Kari, so they’ve been teaching some of the males about Earthkind. Females.”

“What does that have to do with me?” I ask, turning back to forge ahead. “They have Kari mates. What they’re doing is only logical. I’m sure they’re all having a grand old time, swapping stories and braiding each other’s tentacles.”

“Kari don’t have tentacles.” Xarion says. When I glance back at him, he’s looking at me strangely before his gaze drops to my bum. “Do humans—”

“No, Xarion! I was joking.”

His gaze lifts to my eyes. “I see.”

I think that’s the end of it so I keep on walking. Truth is, I would love it if he dropped it. I know Eleanor and Catherine are navigating this new life just fine. They’ve both got mates. Fated mates, apparently, if I dare believe such a thing is truly possible. It’s great, what they’ve found. I’ve only just found peace, and this is supposed to be a new start. A new home for me where I can live the rest of my days in solitude without some man making my blood pressure skyrocket.

“Donna,” Xarion’s voice cuts through my thoughts and I stiffen a little. “I understand your desire for solitude, but isolation isn’t healthy for humans. You need companionship, connection—”

I stop, this time to scan the bushes around us. “What I need is to find these damn berries you promised. Unless this is just some wild goose chase to get me socializing.”

Xarion’s ears droop slightly. “The zimi berries are quite real, I assure you. They should be on bushes with silver-tipped leaves.”

As we continue our search, Xarion persists. “Have you considered joining one of the communal projects? The Kari are quite interested in Earth agricultural techniques.”

I snort, pushing aside a thorny branch. “Sure. That’s definitely what they’re interested in. I’ll just mosey on down to one of these meetings and show ‘em how to grow corn in soil darker than a moonless night. Maybe I’ll even throw in a lesson on how to make bread from blue grain that tastes like dirt.”

“Your expertise could be valuable.” That’s the thing with Xarion. He doesn’t react to my quips. He gets me. Gets that I’m not being prickly, just being me. Talking to him is like talking to one of my cousins. “The Initiative encourages cross-species collaboration,” he continues, yelping as his suit catches on a thorn.

“Cross-species collaboration,” I mutter. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Xarion blinks at me. “I don’t understand your implication.”

I sigh, pausing our trek. “Look, Xarion, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But I didn’t come here to make friends or find a fabled ‘mate’. I came here for peace and quiet.” I frown at him. “Weren’t you the one adamant on not letting Catherine go fulfill her matebond with a Kari? You were so scared it would kill her. Now you’re here trying to convince me to get one.”

Xarion’s nose twitches. “Now that I have seen the positive effects of these bonds, we believe it might be in your best interest finding a Kari mate, after all.”

I give him a dry look. “Mmhm.”

“You do not have to become mates. Companionship is also good.”

“Companionship. Right. You really think those males want to hang out in my kitchen exchanging stories and singing blues while I bake bluebread?” When he doesn’t answer, I give him another dry look. “Don’t think so. It all sounds like bullshit to me.”

He doesn’t argue and I’m glad. Nothing on that flyer New Horizons distributed said anything about getting a mate or socializing. This whole move is supposed to be about me. Healing Donna. This Initiative is for women divorced, widowed, or those who’ve basically had a shit dating life like me. Why would I, when I’ve finally found some peace in life, destroy all that by trying to find a man who will simply come in and destroy it?

For a moment, I think about the quiet nights, the endless alien sky, the memories of Earth that seem to grow more distant each day. But I shake it off. “I’ve got my animals, my farm, and occasionally, an annoying rabbit in a suit. What more could a girl want?”

Xarion opens his mouth to reply, but suddenly his eyes widen. “Ah! There!” He points to a bush just behind me, its leaves tipped with silver just like he said, small purple berries nestled among the foliage.

“Well, I’ll be,” I mutter, reaching for the berries.

“Wait!” Xarion is by my side in a split second, his furry hand grabbing my wrist. “Remember, protective gear. The extract stains quite permanently.”

I look at his white fur against my dark skin and can’t help but chuckle. “Somehow, I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem for me, cotton-tail.”

As I start picking the berries, dropping them into my satchel, Xarion watches in silence.

“You know, Donna,” he says softly, “it’s okay to admit that you miss your home, your people. It doesn’t make you weak.”

I pause, a berry halfway to my bag. For a moment, I consider brushing him off with another sarcastic comment. But something in his tone, in those big red eyes, makes me hesitate. He’s never spoken to me like this before. In the month or two that I’ve been here, he’s always been his businesslike white-rabbit self.

The switch does something. Makes me pause. Raps on a door I’ve had closed for a long time.

“I do miss it,” I whisper. “More than I thought I would. But this is my choice, my new start. I can’t spend all my time looking back.” I give him a soft smile. “Just playing dodgeball.”

Xarion dips his head in a nod, even though he probably has no clue what I mean, but his ears perk up slightly. “That’s a very positive outlook. But it would be good for you, for the Initiative, if you don’t do it alone.”

Back to the darn Initiative. I’d tell him to stuff it, but it’s his job. It’s the whole reason why we met. And truly, I know they have my best interests at heart.

“The more integration—” he continues.

“The more people the Initiative can sponsor. I get it.” I roll my eyes, but there’s less heat in it this time. “Fine, fine. Maybe I’ll stop by one of those cultural exchange things. But I’m not promising anything.”

“ Wonderful!” There’s a new pep in his voice as he whips out gloves from hidden pockets, slips them on his hands, and begins helping me harvest the berries.

I turn away, pretending to focus on picking berries, but it’s really to hide my face. In my head, I’m asking the Lord to forgive me for this lie, but it’ll keep him off my back for a while.

I have no intention of going to any cultural exchange, no matter how brightly Xarion smiles when I feign enthusiasm. But sometimes a little white lie makes life easier, especially when you’re trying to maintain your solitude on an alien world. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself as I pluck a handful of zimi berries, dropping them into the basket with a soft thud.

A wave of quiet settles over us as we work, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the chirping of unseen insects. It’s a peaceful sound, the kind that seeps into your bones and stills the constant chatter in your mind. And I’m reminded that the loneliness I felt earlier is also, in a way, a loneliness I’m protecting. It’s confusing, wanting companionship but also wanting to be left alone. But this quiet, this type of quiet, where my heart isn’t laden and worry, anxiety, and stress aren’t constant, is a silence I’m fiercely protective of.

Xarion, bless his furry little heart, wouldn’t understand. He thrives on connection, on bridging the gap between cultures. It’s his job. I, on the other hand, am perfectly content to observe from a distance.

I see what Eleanor and Catherine have. Mates. Love. But with all that goodness is the little voice that reminds me, life doesn’t play out the same for everyone. History has taught me that too many times.

So, I’ll keep telling my little white lies, offering up silent apologies to God. Out here, in this vast alien wilderness, I’ve finally found the peace I’ve been searching for. And I’m not about to give that up for some forced social gathering where I might meet some alien promising the world, no matter how good-looking he might be.