1. Chapter One

6Earthen months later Mari watched the last coupling link connect.

A ship-wide thunk sounded as the Beagle-2230 docked in the infamous port—again.

Yes. They were here. Again. Mari did a quick shimmying "off to play in Bogarta" dance.

Stopping at the lab's window, she peered out it—her nose smudging the glass.

In all her years traveling, she'd never seen a town as "alive" as Bogarta. From one end to the next, there was always something happening—even on the docks. The port itself wasn't just a berth where you set your ship. Hells no. A bustling trade took place right on the dock. It was fascinating to watch and build stories about all the people.

Below her window, a Rivullian and a Sopharian haggled over a case of explosive spurs. The Rivullian gestured emphatically at the case of shiny spurs, but the Sopharian was playing it cool and pretending to consider it…like a boss. Take it away. I will find shinier spurs to explode my enemies with.

Mari had never thrown a spur, explosive or otherwise. There wasn't much cause in the regular run of an exploratory ship's day. She wanted to.

Farther on, cloaked Aecors wandered around. They stared at the exploratory ship. Hmm. Suspicious. Aecors were shady characters, often in the industry of piracy or smuggling.

A nearby Gaiian shouted at the Aecors, and they practically ran.

It was good to be back here. Again.

Bogarta port called to her, more than any of the other ports where they'd docked during her six months with the Beagle-2230. They'd be here an entire week. She couldn't wait. That proved how badass Mari was—she wanted to spend a wild week on a planet renowned for its lack of native plant life.

Bogarta port traded in a multitude of flora—plant life which was frequently outside the Prime Allegiance regulations, but the planet didn't support crops. The planet Casa, where the port resided, was entirely a saltland. No soil or sand, just salt. No oceans or lakes—salt as far as the eye could see. The planet's salt produced a breathable atmosphere, but only under the exact conditions found on Casa.

Outside the enormous trading outpost, the saltland was dotted with thousands of round, glassed domes. Deep pockets of water found in aquifers below the salt were pumped to the surface and used for these hydroponic greenhouses—only a few of which grew food crops. Some crops grown in them were for medications or fuel. Other harvests were less wholesome, or so she'd heard.

As a xenobotanist, Mari would have loved to examine the hydroponic greenhouses, but they were fully automated. The clans running Bogarta weren't into farming so much as sustaining a profit and stocking what couldn't be found in Allegiance-regulated ports.

Ships stopped here to trade items of a dubious origin, arrange for jobs with vicious characters, and possibly to indulge in a little vice. There was a strict rule against flesh trade here: higher-sentience lifeforms could not be sold or bought for sex, slavery, or consumption, and Gaiian clans were ruthless about enforcing it.

A hooded Votullan dressed in clothing matching Casa's saltland passed below her window. Interesting. Votullans were often assassins. That might have been an assassin. She might have seen an assassin. Yes!

If one wanted to people-watch for famous people, one went somewhere in the Allegiance's Core system—maybe a stop on Oneth, which was the capitol planet, or at a fancy marketplace on Fiveth. Bogarta was where one saw the infamous; and, hopefully, that sighting was in a clan-run bar or shop as opposed to a dark alley.

Smugglers, pirates, assassins, bounty hunters, and elite soldiers all passed through the town.

After wandering through Bogarta, Mari typically sat in the corner of a clan-run bar and people-watched to her heart's content. She saw two or three fights each time the ship stopped in Bogarta, and a feisty part of her enjoyed them—a lot. Around her, quick betting occurred on the fight's outcome. The inventiveness of weaponry choices was fascinating.

It no longer shocked Mari she'd found a used stick to wield in that Pilfer battle. After watching so many fights, she could have sourced ten weapons from what was available in that alley, including the Pilfers themselves. Everything could be a weapon if you got creative.

Occasionally, in the bar fights, things got messy. When that happened, a Gaiian came to stand near her table, probably ensuring the odd Earthen didn't get killed.

It was never "her" Gaiian, the one who'd saved her and the Tylon in the fight. Each time the Beagle returned here, Mari had searched for him…to thank him. She'd yet to manage it. She'd seen him, but he was always gone when she chased after him. She'd ended many of these chases standing in a Bogartan street while muttering obscenities after losing him again.

He must be actively avoiding her.

No. No, of course he wasn't. He was a Gaiian, and she was an Earthen. He probably hadn't thought about her since then.

Other Gaiians stood outside the ship now, watching the crowds as if they were guarding the Beagle-2230. Neither of them was her Gaiian. Disappointing. But, she would have a week to hunt him down and thank him. A whole week.

She loved Bogarta. The port teemed with life like the bacteria on a Sentillien leaf. The traffic thronging the port was a moving mosaic of races. Their diverse forms were a contrast to the flat saltlands outside the outpost.

Some races or combinations of races she never saw anywhere but Bogarta. Over two-hundred seed races existed in the universe, and people were known to hook up with other races, creating one-of-a-kind wondrous variations. That extremely tall, black-scaled person below the window was possibly a Su-oviethe crossed with a Volmol or maybe a Mercurian.

Once upon a time, Mari would have been termed "mixed-race" on Old Earth. Her nearly-black curled hair came from her mother's side, along with her light-brown skin. Her blue eyes had matched her father's when he'd been alive. However, Mari was listed solely as "Earthen" on data-docs.

Cultural clusters still existed on many Earthen colony planets, as people retained their heritage associated with Old Earth. Mari had spent time with her mother's relatives in New Mumbai. Her father had distant relations in Calgary City, but she'd never met them.

Mixed-race individuals were plentiful in Bogarta. Everyone could come to the saltland planet, as long as the clans allowed it. The Gaiians permitted entry through the shield to anyone who believed they could survive Bogarta, with a few notable exceptions of hated enemies or those ear-marked for other reasons.

Their first time docking here, the captain had needed approval from a "first son of Bogarta" for the exploratory ship. According to the Beagle's second-in-command, Artur, the first son had asked if they had any races in their company who were especially messy when dismembered. They didn't. Still, the Gaiian had advised the exploratory captain to proceed with caution. If too many of her company required corpse cleanup their first time porting, it would be their last time porting.

The ship's second-in-command had said there were "implications" in the words "last time porting."

Mari had rushed ashore to see everything, believing it might be their only time there, and she'd ended up fighting a bunch of bugs. It was as if she couldn't help being a xenobotanist, even in Bogarta.

What had that shifty-looking Tampher passed that cloaked Beneth below her window? The Beneth race had their own elite military force, Serpents. Just the way that Beneth carried himself, she'd bet money he was a Serpent. The partially-covered item might have been a crystal laser rifle. The cloth wrapped around it had unraveled and exposed a shiny end of what could be a rifle stock. Awesome.

The vast diversity in town made Bogarta a trading paradise—if you didn't get your ship jacked, your guts spilled, or your pocket picked.

The Beagle-2230 wasn't here for trading. She had no idea why they were here this time. Didn't know. Didn't care. Mari was going to have the wildest adventure she could safely get into. Wild. She'd finally hang out with people on the crew.

Much of the last six months had been spent working on the backlog left by the previous xenobotanist. Mari had barely touched the specimens she'd gathered herself. She had hundreds of samples from the planets they'd visited. The bulk of them were, surprisingly, from a dwarf planet, Lelifta, which was now closed to all visitors.

While she enjoyed being busy, she had barely left the lab. It was a stereotype-proven-true that xenobotanists tended to be antisocial misfits who spent their lives buried in labs. However, Mari wasn't a typical xenobotanist—at all. With the enormous backlog she'd been slogging through, no one aboard knew Mari was a wild child—a maverick—a badass.

The ship's captain stopped beside the lab door. Captain Virginia Ockler was one of the five other Earthens on the ship. "Time to be going ashore."

Mari shrugged. "That's what we called disembarking on my homeworld." Since she'd always traveled with her parents, who'd been born and raised on a waterworld colony, the nautical terms had stuck.

The captain shook her head, causing a lock of black hair to fall from the knot at her nape. "Waterworlds. With four specialists from waterworlds, it's amazing our logs don't read like we're running a seacrop ship out of Codder." She looked past Mari through the viewport. "The first time we ported here, I figured you, of all the crew, wouldn't be interested in a saltland where the only water sources are buried aquifers. You're a botanist from Lacidasia, for hells' sake. But, we have to com you to come back each time we've been here. Now, I'm being paid enough to fund our exploration for years and under Allegiance orders to make this stop, so I'm grateful you're happy here."

"The Allegiance wants us to stop here for supplies? They're funding our next trip?" The Allegiance was particular about where the ship stopped if they were funding an expedition. The captain avoided relying on Allegiance grants because they were always less lucrative, and the government called all the shots.

"No. Our orders are solely to port here."

"Here? In Bogarta? The Allegiance has no jurisdiction here." The Gaiian clans would never allow the universe's "government" to have a presence in Bogarta.

"No, but, they do have jurisdiction over our ship, as we fly under an Allegiance-allied nation. They say stop, and I say, ‘How long?' In this case, it's a week."

"Weird. Why are we stopping here?"

The first time the ship had come here had been a necessity. No one traveled to Zaskiza, their next stop, without a particular antidote found in Bogarta. The stops in Bogarta after that, well, they hadn't been urgent at all.

"We might be picking up a new crewmember," the captain replied, as if carefully choosing her words.

Huh. Most exploratory crafts ran lean in order to be as self-sustaining as possible, and the Beagle-2230 was no exception. Thirty-seven individuals worked and lived on the three-level vessel. Half the crew kept the ship running. The other half were specialists of various kinds.

Each planetary stop, the specialists went ashore to study everything they could for the time they were allowed on the planet. They logged entries into databases—information that might prove helpful to fields such as medicine, science, or technology later. They also procured samples for grants funding their expeditions, if there was one. If any of their database entries proved profitable, Captain Ockler held the finder's rights, and the logging specialist received an entry "share" of those rights.

Several of Captain Ockler's early "finds" had proven extremely profitable. She'd reinvested all the credits in her ship, and it showed. The Beagle-2230's labs were state-of-the-art, and Mari's fellow specialists were intelligent and eager.

The only reason the Beagle-2230 had the occasional staff turnover was Captain Ockler's acceptance of risky fringe grants. The ship also stopped in ports, such as Bogarta, where Earthens often feared to tread.

"What will this new crewmember be doing?" Mari asked.

"He'll be an ambassador—sort of. With his status and wealth, he'll be able to get us onto planets you've only dreamed of studying." The captain wore a wistful expression, no doubt imagining wondrous profits from finder's rights.

"Are we waiting for him to arrive? Is that why we're here for a week?"

"No, he is here. He just needs a week of our time. Well, it's a ship's week plus an additional three hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty-two seconds. I've been assured by many individuals that no one will be harmed. Essentially, it's worth the risk, for everyone involved, so here we are."

Okay, well, that made no sense. On the other hand, this woman put credits in her account, and Mari had bar fights to watch—so whatever.

Mari pulled her "going ashore" knapsack over her head to cross her chest. She wore the simplistic brown pack close to her body and never carried more than a few necessities. Each time she left the ship, Mari expected to return without her pack. There was a cachet associated with being mugged in Bogarta. She hadn't been. It was disappointing.

Around them, air pressure shifted abruptly as the outside gate to the ship was opened. It was as if the ship was sighing in relief after a week of recycling air through its system. The vents on the ship opened, including one just above her portside window. An automated system began drawing in air to compress and store. It brought with it the sounds of the port below.

Everything about Bogarta was larger than life, even the amount of noise. It should have sounded like chaos, with so many people, bots, and ships making noise, instead it sent a thrill whispering through her. It sounded like an adventure. It sounded like possibility.

The captain turned to leave, but Mari caught her attention, asking, "What race is he? This new crewmate?"

"Gaiian."

"Gaiian? He's Gaiian, and he's getting on our ship?" Whoa.

"Yes and yes."

Gaiians ran Bogarta, and, if they wanted to, Gaiians could run the universe. They didn't want to. Why would they? The race existed parallel to the remainder of the known universe and definitely outside of the Allegiance. Bogarta was Gaiian clan-run and profitable as hells.

Biologically, Gaiians were similar to Earthens. Carbon-based lifeforms were the norm, rather than the exception, especially when it came to bipedals. The building blocks of the universe shared many commonalities. Plus, the same highly-evolved race, which had seeded Old Earth, had been prolific in leaving colonies on habitable planets. They used advanced technology to stabilize and standardize gravity on these planets to make it conducive to life, and they terraformed planets that were on the cusp. The now-vanished race adapted the original forms of their colonists to survive vastly different environments, creating the diversity that coexisted with sentient races already around the universe.

Gaiians had been adapted to tame a wild and ferocious planet, and those qualities showed in every aspect of them. It also meant they were a seed race. In theory, procreation was possible with other seed races.

It took Mari's mind back to all her carnal dreams of the last six months and her Gaiian.

Stop it, Mari. He's a Gaiian. You're an Earthen. He's more likely to find you annoying and bizarre. He may have just jumped into the fight to avoid another Earthen corpse needing to be cleaned up.

"It'll be interesting flying with a Gaiian onboard," the captain said. "Hells, if I had a ship of Gaiians, I could have half the crew because they hardly ever sleep. It's a shame they're not into exploring typically. Curiosity doesn't coexist with their profound pragmatism." The corner of her mouth quirked up in a wry smile. "Think what I could save on food, though. A few crates of their tasteless protein bars, and that'd be it."

"Artur would wither and die from a lack of interaction."

The captain smiled. She and her second were close friends. "It's true. They are serious as all the hells, and Artur is…not."

A loud commotion erupted outside. An enormous rock-person from Blaythen tossed an Ingrath clear to the next ship while shouting what had to be Blaythen obscenities. Ingraths were a seed race with, essentially, built-in armor—their skin was so thick they could take direct blaster hits.

The Blaythen was Bogarta's dockmaster. Mari had stood beside him six months ago while the Tylon worked out a way home. Clorto must've understood the urgency of her mission because he hadn't grown annoyed with her presence, as she'd expected. He'd stood guard beside her, not throwing her or her cabbagey friend. Still, it'd been a relief when a grumpy Fah'hilian smuggler acquaintance had shown up and given the Tylon a ride.

"I can't believe we're spending a full week in Bogarta," Mari said.

"The clans have insisted we'll be safe, to the best of their ability. Which reminds me…" The captain tapped behind her ear, using her neural link to send a com. "Artur, remind the Crayflors that if they die due to their own stupidity this week, I'm telling their families they died in the most humiliating way imaginable." Ending the com, Captain Ockler shook her head. "The crew has been making bets as to whether they'll survive the week. Odds are leaning toward us needing to find new crew for Engineering."

"Outrageous." She'd bet against them. As much as Mari, personally, liked Bogarta, the odds were good that the Crayflors would do something stupid. They made poor choices, and they were terrible at Rowtha and hated losing. She had a side bet with Artur on how much they'd lose playing.

"I've got five credits on at least Nothren surviving," the captain admitted as they left the lab. "It felt wrong to bet entirely against them as their captain."

Mari and the captain strode through the ship to the cargo hold where other crewmembers had gathered. They were all watching her. What was going on? A belated hazing ritual?

Also, everyone was going ashore? Mari craned her head, ignoring the stares from crewmates. Yep, everyone was here. The entire crew, including piloting staff and maintenance, were off to frolic in one of the most dangerous ports the universe. What the hells?

The dockmaster, himself, boarded the ship, squeezing through the crew door. Clorto's gaze scanned those gathered in the hold, pausing twice, first, on Mari, which was unnerving; then, his gaze moved on to the captain. Mari exhaled one long continuous breath. She did not want to catch the eye of a being who'd thrown a damn Ingrath. Clorto might be in a "throwing" kind of mood.

"All is ready?" The dockmaster's words were a grunted version of the Prime universal language.

The captain nodded. "Yes. We're all going into town for the week, and we will not return to the ship."

What? They weren't returning? Mari examined the gathered crew. Huh. Everyone else had packed a bag. No one had told her. Mari would have to buy clothes in the Bogarta marketplace and find a place to sleep…with one eye open. Where did one sleep in this rowdy lawless town? Did one actually sleep? She would need access to a cleansing room—that was for damn sure. Seriously, had provisions been made for their accommodations? These were things she needed to know.

Thankfully, her plants were handled. Before disembarking in Bogarta, Mari set the plant biomes and stasis pods to self-sustaining cycles. It was a botanist's version of a will. If Bogarta killed her, her plants would live on.

She'd probably missed a com. Mari got hyper-focused while working.

It was fine. She'd ask the captain how to handle this once they disembarked. They could possibly share a room. Technically, the captain was her employer, but specialists fell outside the ship rankings.

In fact, Mari had been told she could call the Captain "Vi." She hadn't quite worked up to that yet.

Artur was "Artur" within minutes of meeting the half-Earthen second-in-command. That was when Artur had launched into a story about the time he'd navigated a smuggler's ship, blindfolded and drunk, on a dare. To emphasize the battle axe dropping, nearly decapitating him, Artur slammed his hand down through the holographed "death and dismemberment" data-doc that she was there to sign as part of her contract. He'd stopped and stared at the document. "Oh, that's what brought it to mind." He'd rubbed a hand down his face. "Don't tell Vi I told you a decapitation story while trying to get you to sign this. She'll have my ass."

Mari had signed, and Artur became "Artur" immediately. Mari also pinky-swore secrecy that he'd told her one of his near-decapitation stories.

The captain, on the other hand, persisted as "captain."

Mari could finally call her "Vi." She'd put it on her list of goals for the week: find the hot Gaiian and tell him "thank you" and call the captain "Vi."

It was bizarre they were all heading into town, though.

Maybe they were doing hull maintenance or spraying for an infestation left over from the forestworld Kenistha. That place had been crawling with creepy-crawlies, both large and small. Getting the bacteria and insects off her botanical samples had been a trial.

Clorto pointed at Mari.

She swallowed thickly.

"Not her," Clorto said. "She stays."

Damnation to all the hells. Her rep for that street fight was catching up to her. No wonder she wasn't warned to pack—Mari wasn't going.

Damnation.

Her fight had been with Pilfers. Nobody liked them. Prior to her great escape while carrying the cabbage dude, the hot Gaiian had been yelling equally as obscene profanity. Probably. They sounded like the foulest of words. Gaiian profanity always did. Mari had once seen a fistfight originate over a single word. Whatever "sifct" meant, and of course the word wasn't in databases, it was not to be uttered.

The captain wouldn't let her be left behind. Captain Ockler was fair.

The captain nodded her acceptance.

Mari's jaw dropped. What? She was staying aboard when literally no one else was? No way. Outrage overcame her nervousness of the Blaythen because it was not fair—at all. As the crew disembarked, Mari headed toward the captain and the dockmaster in a loud stomping manner.

"If this is about the fight…," Mari began as the last of her crewmates left.

The captain pointed at her in a stabbing motion. "That! That should have told me you were different. Not two weeks on my crew, and you start a fight with two dozen Pilfers in a Bogartan alley over a talking cabbage."

"Tylons are a technologically-advanced species for not having any limbs." Her tone was definitely defensive, but she'd had several fascinating discussions with Teetang while waiting for him to arrange passage home. The Tylon homeworld was near Gaiia, which was likely why the Gaiian had helped her save Teetang. "Plus, they're a sentience classification of 7. It was the only option."

"The fact that you saw jumping into a fight to save a sentient cabbage as an option makes me question the validity of our hiring process," the captain replied. "I generally only take on people with at least some self-preservation. Then, I got a com from the Allegiance, and I thought, oh hells, this is what I get for not screening well enough."

Mari's eyes widened. The Allegiance had taken interest in the ‘Great Pilfer Battle'? The Allegiance weren't even allowed a presence in Bogarta. The Gaiians didn't recognize their authority.

Wow. Alright then, she'd stay aboard and not complain.

"Honestly, I'm glad we're finally to this point," the captain said to Clorto. "This was quite the process. He essentially took on all of Oneth to arrange this."

Clorto nodded. "He has been pacing the docks. You were late."

"And, you know why." Captain Ockler didn't back down an inch. "Although, his patience throughout this impressed me, especially with the politicians on Oneth."

Clorto agreed with a low rumbling sound. "Oneth is a cesspool, and it is spreading. This may have been a safer homeport for your ship regardless."

"Yes." The captain shook her head. "Unbelievable, but it might have been, even without the clans guaranteeing our safety. There's always been the occasional planet or city that had too much unrest for us to port. Now, it's entire systems we're avoiding."

"Have you seen any Thalarin ships?"

"Not personally," she said. "Other captains are reporting them. Three systems over, the Husdon-10 was passed by several enormous cloaked Thalarin ships. The captain swears one of the damn ships was only a thousand sarts away, at most. Their giant ships looked like a moving bit of the universe. The only reason she knew they were Thalarin were the fleet ships escorting it—one had a glitching cloaking system. It scared the piss out of her. They'd stopped to deal with a malfunctioning thruster, and they'd shut down everything on the Husdon, aside from vital life systems and cloaking. They didn't want pirates seeing them as an easy target. Then, that happened. No one dared breathe until the ships had passed. If those fleet ships had seen them…"

"They would have destroyed them." The dockmaster said this so dispassionately, it was eerie.

"Yes." The captain shrugged. "She figured so anyway. She was so spooked that she took an Allegiance grant on the other side of the universe and got the hells out of Dodge."

"These would have been Thalarin carriers," Clorto said.

"Yes. They must've been. What she described was far bigger than any fleet, and Thalarin carriers have been seen other places—though mostly in systems closer to Thalaris."

Clorto grunted an acknowledgment. "You should tell the clans details."

"I will," Captain Ockler said. "Between that and the ugliness over those new regulations, we'll stick with outer systems when we do leave here."

"No mining ports." The dockmaster actually wagged a finger here, as if people genuinely wanted to stop in mining ports.

"Hells no. We don't typically go near them for anything other than supplies, but hells no," the captain said.

Despite Mari's focus on her own tasks, it would have been impossible to miss that the universe was currently a bubbling pot of violence, poised to overflow. Something was not right in the Prime Allegiance. The newly-instituted regulations on the ore pirridium were causing unrest, particularly in mining communities, and prominent political voices opposing those same regulations had disappeared. It was hinky as hells.

Thalarin carrier ships being seen, well, that was news to her. Thalarins were bitter enemies with Gaiians due to an ancient and secret grudge. Mari would trust a Gaiian over a Thalarin any day.

Clorto grunted again. "Past time we got involved. The fight has begun without us, and that is not our way."

"I thought Blaythens were a neutral nation." Captain Ockler might be having a lengthier conversation with the Blaythen than any previous Earthen ever had.

The dockmaster frowned at the captain. "I am Bogartan. We are not neutral."

"No," the captain said. "I suppose you can't be. Not in Bogarta. Nothing less than you and the clans could keep this place from burning to the ground on a regular basis. I'll be glad to have him on my crew—if that's how it concludes."

"Yes. His reputation has been useful to Bogarta."

"I imagine." The captain folded her arms. "I had heard of him, even…," she cast an enigmatic look at Mari, "…before. His name is the type of thing you hear in reverential whispers in bars."

"Yes. His honor was earned in blood. Only one to pass the Allegiance's cursed standards for captain too."

"He's the only person I've known who's solely taken the test, let alone passed. Everyone works through the ranks, doing achievement equivalence." Captain Ockler's voice held a note of awe.

This new crewmate was a captain too? But, he'd be working under the direction of another captain? What?

"He is not as quick to violence now, though." The dockmaster implied this was a character deficit. He turned his frown on Mari. "Because of you, he reads these things called books."

"Me?" How could it be because of her? "Wait, is this the Gaiian who helped me in the fight?" He had seemed fine when she'd caught glimpses of him. "Was he injured?"

"Might say that. Reading," the dockmaster said.

"There's nothing wrong with reading. Reading is cool. Reading is fundamental. I, personally, love to read." That was a bit adamant for a conversation with Clorto. Not that defending reading wasn't instinctual, but it wasn't worth being smashed by the dockmaster.

Clorto opened his mouth.

Shit. Mari sucked in a breath. She was about to be smashed for her love of reading.

The dockmaster turned toward the bay's door.

The deep metallic clanging of footfalls on the gangplank grew louder.

"Great, that's it then." The captain's words were uncharacteristically cheerful as she moved toward the door. "You stay here, Dr. Clemons, and greet your new fellow crewmember."

"Okay. Cool. I'll be here on the ship…for a week." Mari laid the guilt on thick like a paste made of shaming. "Alone."

"You won't be alone." She glanced back. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. I've met him, and I trust him to honor his race." She left, and her footfalls clanged too as she strode down the gangplank, pausing only to greet someone.

The dockmaster stayed—looming. Wow, he was huge.

She wasn't afraid of him because she was a badass xenobotanist. No fear.

"Remember, technically, I won that fight with the Pilfers," Mari said, before honesty compelled her to add, "well, my team did. The Gaiian and I kicked their asses."

His rock expression crinkled. "Why were you kicking only their asses? Is that an Earthen thing?"

Before she could answer, he arrived. For added effect, Casa's bright suns provided a vivid backlighting of his tall, muscular male form. His silhouette at the ship's threshold was reminiscent of Old Earth's ancient gods, the ones who sat above the world on a mount in judgment. If a chorus of harmonious voices had intoned "taahhh-daaaaah" at precisely that second, it would not have been amiss.

Mari's heart sped up as he entered. Why did this feel significant?

It wasn't. It was just the drama of a very sexy entrance. Hells, what an entrance.

Her Gaiian had arrived. His silvery-green skin, the hue of bluegrass, as well as his matching light green hair were common among Gaiians. His intense black eyes were also typical.

Sure, there was some variation to hue and shade of green and silver among Gaiians. Her Gaiian's—uh—this Gaiian's features were more recognizable. His face's bone structure had angles as sharp as if they'd been shaped by a laser trowel. Even without the thin white scar stretching from the corner of his eye to his short silver-green hair, Mari would know him anywhere.

Hells, he was glorious…from a strictly biological standpoint. A flush heated Mari's cheeks. That mouth of his. Mmm.

Stop, Mari.She should not be noticing and fantasizing and lusting after his mouth. He was a fellow crewmate.

Her crewmate's gaze traveled the cargo hold before his eyes landed on her. "Dr. Marigold Clemons of the Earthens and exploratory-class ship Beagle-2230."

"Yes," Mari responded tentatively, resettling the shoulder bag. "We meet again."

He nodded. His attention shifted to the dockmaster. All friendly emotions dropped from his expression. "Leave!"

Mari startled at the barked command.

The rock-man bolted out the door. He bolted. Clorto clipped the doorway, denting it, but that didn't stop his exit. She waited for his clang on the gangplank. No clang. Had Clorto jumped the gangplank to the dock? He must have. Damn. If only she could have seen that firsthand.

"I will fix the door before we depart," the Gaiian said of the dented doorway. "Do not be concerned. It is merely a visual imperfection, not a structural problem."

"Yeah, because that's the weird thing that just happened." She dropped her bag onto the hold's floor.

The Gaiian watched her closely before saying, "Sarcasm. Sarcasm is not straightforward and therefore not frequently employed among my people; however, I am learning it."

"You ordered Clorto off a ship, which isn't even yours," Mari felt obligated to explain. If he was trying to learn more about the way they used language, she should help.

He tipped his head. "Should I attempt to buy the ship? I assumed that would be encroaching and threatening to your autonomy."

Mari blinked. What did any of that mean?

Shaking his head, her new crewmate stepped forward. "I am Captain Creythur Darfothahar, first son of Bogarta. I would be pleased if you called me Crey." The clipped, stiffness of his speech was at odds with the gentle tone.

"Okay." A Gaiian had requested she use a shortened version of his first name. Whoa. Think of something to say. Ask him a question. "Were you raised here in Bogarta, Crey?"

"Yes, but I have traveled widely. I have a substantial amount of experience and many skills."

Why was he acting as if he wanted her approval? Wait, he would be working with her. Of course. Mari relaxed. Now, this situation made sense. She was staying to help him find his way around the ship. He must have an interest in botany. They'd be working together, in addition to him working as an ambassador. Finally, she could wrap her brain around this.

Crey took a step closer and held out a hand. "Am I permitted to shake your hand, Dr. Marigold Clemons? I know this is an Earthen custom, and I practiced with Clorto. I would prefer to practice with you."

"Yes, and it's just Mari." She clasped his hand.

Crey shook Mari's hand in an unnaturally-long swing. "Am I doing this correctly?"

"Yes. Um, I mean, we're usually not shaking hands in swings from our head to our waist, but…"

"Smaller movements?" He shook her hand once—in a tight, fast action.

"Yes, but less energetic."

"Is my grasp too tight?"

This was important to diplomacy, which Crey would be participating in. "No. That's fine."

Possibly a shade snug, but not painfully so, it was just strangely intimate. He had his pointer finger on her wrist, as if he was monitoring her pulse.

Driven by her loud conscience to comment, Mari admitted, "We don't normally keep holding hands like this because it's too, uh…" Intimate. That word had some damn perseverance. It was stuck on the tip of her tongue, and "intimate" wasn't a nuanced word in the Prime language. When you said "intimate" in Prime, it meant sexually intimate. Mari licked her dry lips.

Was it hot in here? With the bay door open, the heat off the saltland must be coming in. Mari took another halfway-sneaky survey of her new crewmate. The heat had basically arrived.

"Earthens hold hands. I have seen them." Crey didn't release her hand. The clasp of his hand was warm and protective. It made Mari tingly in parts of her which only got tingly for science.

"Earthen couples hold hands like this, but that's because it's a sign of…" Intimacy. No. Stop talking. Every time she opened her mouth, it led there. Why wasn't there another word in Prime? They were all filthier, slang, and mostly in English.

"Yes, those in a union do hold hands," Crey said.

Mari pulled her hand from his. "Yes. So, you can see why people who have just met might find it awkward." Or arousing and awkward. More arousing than awkward. What was wrong with her? She was getting tingly over a handshake.

"Yes. May we practice again?"

Hells. Mari's skin was flushed and hot over a crewmate shaking her hand, and Crey wanted to practice? Why had her libido decided to wake up during a handshake? Of all the times.

Still, this was for diplomacy—which could be a part of sociology, and sociology was a science. Essentially, she was doing this purely for science. Mari held out her hand.

He did the same, waiting patiently for her to grasp his hand.

She did. It was as intimate as last time. Stop going there!

"We have met before, Mari." Crey still wasn't shaking her clasped hand.

"We have. You joined me in that fight to save the Tylon six months ago."

"A Tylon? The lifeforms often referred to as ‘talking cabbages'? Is that what you were protecting?" His palm warmed hers. His skin was slightly rough with calluses and scars, but she liked it. This was so…intimate. Mari, stop!

Mari blinked. Focus. "Yes. I thought that was why you helped. The Tylons' homeworld is near Gaiia. I figured that was why you jumped in to save him."

"No. I was there for you. You were surrounded by a Pilfer swarm, anxious to feast on your entrails. You were kicking them as if you were a giant of Athania, rather than a small Earthen. Then, you curled your body around what I assumed was something precious, granting me the kill of your enemies."

"Did you actually kill them?"

"All those you did not damage fatally, I dispatched. Pilfers are a blight on the universe. I would not kill them for that reason, but they dared attack you, and their fate was sealed by that action."

"Thank you. That was, uh, nice of you." Mari searched her conscience for remorse at killing Pilfers. Nope. Nothing there. They were a destructive bug people. She was a xenobotanist. Lines had been drawn instinctually. Their war was ongoing, and that'd been a grudge match. Plus, things happened in Bogarta—violent things.

"It is more than nice."

It was. He'd killed a swarm of Pilfers for her. "Yes, it was. So, thank you. It was very nice—"

He interrupted again. "I was not doing it to be nice. Gaiians are many things, but we are not…nice. Nice is tepid. Nice is," he stopped and thought about it, before finishing with, "underwhelming."

Mari wrinkled her nose. Did he not want her gratitude? Her gaze dropped to their clasped hands. She should do her part for science and tell Crey this totally wasn't "shaking hands."

Crey looked down also.

Fine. For science!"Now, it's time for subtle movements," she reminded him. Mari lifted her head when this didn't initiate the "shaking" part of shaking hands.

"I have been. Possibly too subtle for your race to recognize, without being told."

"Maybe they are, because I'm not getting it." Seriously, as far as she could tell, their hands weren't moving. Wait, no, his finger was stroking her pulse. This was not a diplomatic handshake. Also, these must've been some weird-ass hand-shaking practice sessions with the dockmaster. "I mean, this is good, but it's too…" Intimate. Oh my stars!Stop circling back to that word, Mari. He'll figure out you're getting all hot over him if you keep this up. He's a crewmate. A crewmate.

"I am not being as overt as you require?" her new crewmate asked.

"Yes, overt. Be overt." Overt was a good word. It wasn't the Prime word for "intimate," so Mari clutched onto "overt" like a lifeline. "Be wildly overt."

Shrugging, her new crewmate took a step closer. "Very well. Dr. Marigold Clemons of the Earthen race, I, Creythur Darfothahar of the Bogartan Gaiian clans, wish to claim you as a mate. I have formed a bond with you. I desire an interval of your time to perform what is called ‘courting' among your people. Is that overt enough?"

She gaped, while still holding his hand.

That was pretty damn overt of him.

Crey's proposed mate continued staring.

This clasping of hands was pleasant. Not as intimate as Crey wished, but that would come. Time had slowed for Crey. His strongest desires were no longer to acquire power or capitalize on the weakness of his enemies. He was not searching for a way to further the clans' interests. Crey had cast off that role. He was entirely focused on Mari, and his desire to be far more than "nice."

Five passes ago, after he had dispatched their enemies, Crey had taken stock of the universe and realized he could not safely claim his mate…then. This was a source of great frustration. He was feeling euphoric over finding his mate and from dealing with the swarm of Pilfers, and he did not want to wait.

Most Gaiians would initiate this "courtship" immediately, even with an Earthen. Crey led a complicated life. However, Gaiians were a rational race, and Crey was exceptionally methodical and pragmatic. He began planning immediately. His first act was to have Clorto watch over his intended and whatever object she was carrying around. After that, as he disposed of Pilfer corpses, Crey expanded his plans to the entire known universe.

At that time, the rumors they had been hearing in Bogarta regarding the many political intrigues evolving within the Allegiance had not been thoroughly investigated by his people. Yes, the clans were aware a corrupt faction had risen within the government, but Bogarta existed both in spite of and outside the Allegiance. They would react if necessary.

Bonding to an Earthen had profoundly changed Crey's view of what was necessary.

Crey was not the only one impacted by this bond forming. The last five passes, which his intended referred to as six months, had brought substantial changes for his race. Crey's union was like a fierce wind across the saltland, shifting the landscape.

Once, Gaiians had influenced political policy and had a massive trade empire. They had commanded, and the universe responded. Then, the poisonous disease had made them exceedingly aware of their mortality. His people began living separately. Gaiians and the Gaiian lifestyle were their primary concern. Their focus had turned inward.

In the orbits which had passed since the disease, encroaching forces had filled the gap left by Gaiians. Corrupt entities and viciously opportunistic races had taken their place in influencing the universe and manipulating the Prime Allegiance.

Crey's bond with an Earthen made Gaiians look outward again. It was past time to expand their scope and rejoin the universe. Gaiians were not superstitious, but many had said that "if signs did exist, this was one."

"I think we need to back up," Mari said finally.

Using their clasped hands, Crey drew her deeper into the ship, away from the door which Clorto had left open.

Mari followed him. She used her free hand to push a strand of her silky, curly hair behind her ear. Crey had never touched another's hair. Mari's curled brown hair appeared soft.

"I thought you would be working on the ship." Mari licked her lips and gestured around with her left hand. "I thought that's why you were here."

That was the arrangement he and the Earthen captain had reached, after several meetings. "I was told you would prefer that. Your captain said you were driven and enjoyed being in your lab. She believed you would not be happy if taken away from your work." This observation had fit with his own research; therefore, he had trusted it.

"Okay. Yes. I mean, yes, all true. As far as my personality goes, I am far happier in a lab or when gathering samples for my lab." His Earthen's free hand did strange, wild gestures. He wanted to capture that hand also, but he only had implied permission to hold the one hand. "I didn't know that you being here had anything to do with me. No one told me. This is very sudden."

"I could not put forward my intentions until I had everything in place. The Allegiance has recently acknowledged our race as endangered. We are not as populous as we once were, due to the disease in our recent history. As an ‘endangered race,' we are allowed certain mating customs. There is a law, Allegiance code 52-992, which governs the rights owed to races facing extinction. As these intimate customs and courtship are necessary to an endangered race, they are protected by the Allegiance, but only for the one interval."

When Crey had told others in the clans about having their race declared "endangered," his suggestion was met with disbelief that anyone would ever consider their race to be so. Admittedly, it was a ridiculous term to label Gaiians. However, in politics, perception could be manipulated, and words were useful in both defining and binding. He wanted a guaranteed interval of courtship. He had it—if his intended was amenable.

Clarifying the nature of this obscure code and having his people declared "endangered" were not the only reason Crey had visited the capitol planet, Oneth. He had also established new laws, granting Gaiian nationality to mates upon bonding. His status as a high-ranking first son, which was delaying his courtship, provided a way for him to not only protect his Earthen, but all future Gaiian mates of other races.

The Earthens in the government had not been pleased with his intentions. "Earthens are Earthens. They do not become Gaiians if a mate bond forms," they said.

Earthen politicians were stubborn.

Crey was viciously stubborn. No one would stand in his way. The politicians were keeping him from claiming his mate. Gaiians felt the distance between them and their bonded mate as if it were an open wound. Crey grew frustrated. He channeled this frustration.

Earthen politicians enjoyed miring others in bureaucracy. Crey cut through that.

Those who defied him had learned to fear his voice when it grew low and firm. Crey had discovered the effectiveness of grasping politicians' necks and restraining them against a wall until they agreed with him. For several, it had taken quite a long time.

He was correct. They were wrong. Eventually, they understood that and complied, or they pushed back in new ways.

Two assassins had been sent after him on Oneth. Their bodies had fed the wild creatures which lurked in the forests under the raised-platform cities of the capitol planet. Stubborn politicians. He traced the assassins' orders to the source, and those who set the bounties also fed the monsters underneath the platformed city.

As a result of Gaiians' absence from the greater universe, a lesson had been forgotten: if one attempted to kill a Gaiian and did not succeed—run.

While he was on Oneth, reports of Thalarin carriers in various systems had reached Crey's ears. This further established Gaiian mates would need the protections accorded to their nation. He had persevered. The laws were now in place. Mari was protected.

Crey had also filed a great many data-docs to bind the Beagle‘s captain into acknowledging this interval. Fi'nehneth, one of the Gaiian twins with prescience, had convinced Crey it would be important.

Finally, Crey had prepared everything within his capability for an Earthen to be a part of his life. Theirs was a rare match, but he anticipated it could be an enjoyable and prosperous union. He had needed to convert aspects of his ship, home, and all other spaces Mari might visit. In the end, Crey had accomplished all his designs. He was ready.

"That's why the Allegiance is requiring my captain to dock here for a week?" Mari asked after considering his words. "This code?"

"There is the code, but she is being reimbursed." He was making this interval worth the Earthen captain's time. In trading, Crey could be merciless when a competitor challenged him. While Captain Ockler had been a commendable opponent in negotiating, he had wanted a harmonious conclusion where all involved benefited. He did not need to "win" against the captain. He only wanted to succeed in courting Mari and gaining her acceptance of the bond.

"But, the code is why no one told me?"

"Yes," Crey said. "Among my people, we take an interval to establish a bond after it is formed. The Allegiance code, specifically, states customs of an endangered race are to be allowed provided they are consensual and not harmful. This allotted interval began when I acknowledged the bond in your presence, which meant you could not be told or prepared. If your crewmates had told you, they would have been in violation of the agreement between Captain Ockler and myself. They would have been terminated immediately."

"Wow, that's…a lot. This, uh, courtship seems more serious than two people dating for a week."

"It is slightly more than a week." Crey quickly did the calculations on his databand, while also switching it to EST.

Mari's race set their own time. The Beagle-2230 flew under an Earthen flag, therefore using Earthen Ship Time. It was unusual to use time increments from a dead planet, rather than using the Allegiance capitol planet, Oneth, as the rest of the universe did. Even Gaiians had converted to Prime increments for measuring. They were logical. However, Earthens often created their own rules and expected others to abide by them. Before meeting Mari, this was intolerable and arrogant. Now, it was endearing.

"We have one week, three hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty-two seconds in Earthen Ship Time," Crey said. "This is customary for my people and is apportioned to us by the Allegiance. I began counting from when we met in the cargo bay." He shot her a glance. "Your ship was nine shifts late porting, as your captain had to wait for an available docking station."

He and the Blaythen had nearly come to blows over the lack of a docking station the necessary size for the exploratory vessel. Growing frustrated, Crey had left to confirm the crew's accommodations were in order. He had considered changing clothes again before the ship docked. It would have been the fourth time that light-cycle. It still might not meet an Earthen's expectations, but he had researched and an attempt had been made.

"What does this week plus a bit entail?" Mari asked.

"This courtship interval will lead, if that is your desire, to a permanent state of mating through increased intimacy."

Her cheeks and ears had pinkened when he had said the word "intimacy." Her skin changed from a pale brown to a pink-brown. Fascinating.

"You've been arranging this whole thing—this courtship—ever since we met six months ago?"

"It was a lengthy process to secure the details with the Allegiance." Something Crey had not anticipated he would ever consider worthwhile. "You are not of my race, nor a Bogartan resident; therefore, it was necessary to establish with your captain, as well as other Allegiance officials and Earthen representatives, my desire for mating intimacy."

"You didn't actually use the Prime word ‘intimacy' on data-docs, did you?"

"Yes, it is the closest to the mate bond's intent found in the Prime language."

Mari groaned. "There are data-docs that have my name and that word on them."

"I could have used a different word on data-docs such as ‘fornicating,' but I have been told that word, which is commonly used here, is not appropriate for official files. There are other Earthen words." Crey offered a few alternatives, which he had learned in his study of her race's slang.

Her pulse increased, and her cheeks were the pinker color again. "I'm beginning to think ‘intimacy' is the right word, or the least crude if those were your alternatives. Damn Prime and its limited choices in words."

"Damn," he repeated. "Damned. Damnation. I have heard these Earthen words. I will adopt them." They were less profane than Gaiian profanity and therefore gentler to use around his Earthen mate. "Do you dislike the word ‘intimate' or the act itself?"

"It's not that I dislike either." That was good, but not a firm endorsement. It would come with time. "But the word, uh, it's not the sort of word you put on data-docs."

"Intimacy?" he asked, as if clarifying. He enjoyed the word's effect on her.

"Yes." Mari gestured with her free hand, waving it again. Earthens—so many unnecessary expenditures of energy to display their emotions. Rather than amusing him, it aroused him. Mari was emotional; her passion visible even now.

A disturbance on the docks drew both their attention. Blasterfire sounded.

Mari pulled him by their clasped hands away from the cargo bay and down a corridor. "We can't be out there, throwing around the word ‘intimate' where anyone can hear. We'll go to my place—my room."

"Very well." This action met with his absolute approval. "As I was saying, I had to arrange for this time with various entities, settle my affairs in Bogarta, and plan for the future. I also researched your people and learned your language, so there would be no mistakes made." He only had an interval to show Mari he was her preferred mate. He also required her consent for further intimacy. Crey could not fail.

If Mari were Gaiian, she would feel the mate bond's pull when Crey had. Further intimacy would be an inevitability. With Gaiians, the "courtship" interval allowed for a union to deepen and for a paced acceptance of the changes wrought in their minds. As an Earthen, Mari might not recognize the bond's suitability as he did. Therefore, it was imperative Crey prove he was worthy of her regard.

"My language?" Mari tilted her head. "I speak Prime. Didn't you already speak Prime?"

He switched to her Earthen language of English. "Yes, I am fluent in Prime, but I have also learned Earthen English. Data-docs stated it was your first language." After bonding, Gaiians had phenomenal memorization skills. These skills had proven necessary due to the excessive amount of contradictions in Earthen English. English also had a wide-range of the emotional language an Earthen might use or need to hear.

Stopping beside a metal door, Mari spun around. "You learned English for me?"

"Yes."

"For me? Mari?"

"Yes. Although, I did not have your permission to call you that at the time." He liked this shortened version of her name. "Marigold" was also very pleasant-sounding, but being offered "Mari" implied a form of consent.

His intended pressed her free hand against a biometric plate beside the door, opening it.

"This is your personal room?" Crey examined the room they had entered. He had seen examples of exploratory ship botanical labs while researching, but this one was quite impressive.

"Yes."

"Where you spend your time?" The air carried the scent of growing plants and his intended mate.

"Yes." She unclasped their hands, disappointing him. Then, she shut the door, setting him at ease. Mari desired to remain with him and was not intimidated by his presence.

Around him, many different encased biomes featured diverse forms of plant life. Studying Mari had led to studying her work, so he recognized a few specimens she had recently added to databases. Bisecting the room and lining the walls, long tables were covered in botany tools. Assumedly, the drawers underneath the tables contained even more of the items necessary for a botanist's work. One entire wall was a stasis chamber, and every pod was filled with plant life. If this was "her room," the captain was correct in suggesting Mari's work as a xenobotanist was vital to her.

"Where do you sleep?" There was nothing in the room comfortable enough to be termed a bed. "Earthens typically have a bed in their rooms."

"I sleep in a different room. But, I only go there to sleep. I wouldn't take you to a room like that. I do everything other than sleeping here."

This was her version of an intimate place. This room was not for the mundane, such as sleeping, but for other activities. Hm. There were possibilities. The tables were long and appeared sturdy. "This will work," he said, approvingly. Mari was more inventive than Crey would have guessed; though, Earthens were known as being lascivious.

"Good, because we have to set some things straight."

"Very well." Mari's captain had said she had a "thing" about straightening and organizing.

"You've learned English for me or you learned English for any Earthen who stopped through?" Mari did, indeed, begin straightening items around the room.

"For you. Why would I waste my language on other Earthens?" Perhaps she meant as a source of instruction. Earthens in Bogarta were an unlikely source for proper language lessons. Crey had studied English texts, as these were less likely to offend Mari.

"But that's just so…" She continued moving items, without finishing her sentence.

"Do you wish for me to help?" She had said they would be setting things straight.

"Um, no, I'm just organizing. I do it when I, uh, need to organize." She cleared her throat. "Maybe you're Bogarta's version of a player, and I looked like an easy Earthen mark. That makes some sense, and you probably have money to throw around so you could con the captain."

Her stiff posture and the tightness around her mouth indicated this was important, but he was unable to parse out the meaning of her words. Finally, he admitted, "My English is not thorough enough to decipher the meaning of what you are saying. The words ‘player,' ‘mark,' and ‘con'—I could not understand from their usage."

His mate slapped a hand on the counter where she had been straightening. She switched to Allegiance Prime, saying, "You saw me in a back alley of your town, and you wanted me. Maybe I presented a challenge or you were impressed I tackled a Pilfer swarm. You had to already know English. No one can gain fluency that quickly. But, you've set up this whole thing to get into my pants because you're rich, and whatever you want, you get. That doesn't explain why you want me, but the rest makes sense."

"No, I was drawn to that alley. One moment, I felt as I always did. Then, pressure gripped my chest. The pressure stopped my breath and my heart. After I entered the alley, my heart resumed beating. My breathing became easy, and my thoughts focused entirely on you and making certain you were unharmed."

"That sounds like a heart attack."

"That is the way it feels when one finds their mate and bonds."

Mari tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "So, you're going with love at first sight? I don't believe in that."

"Love is an Earthen term. Intimacy does grow between mates after consent has been given, and that can lead to stronger emotions. As soon as I saw you, I was tied to you. The Greater Beings created these bonds for such recognition."

"Wait, you don't believe in love—at all?"

"I believe a binding spiritual and physical tie will develop if allowed. This would lead to a desire for intimacy." The Earthens were known as a passionately emotional race, given to much lasciviousness, and that had met with more approval the longer Crey had been forced to wait. He wanted intimacy with Mari; however, being bound to such a fascinating individual would be enough initially.

"That doesn't sound completely different from love. But, right now, you feel drawn to me, which is a sign of bonding in a Gaiian?"

"That is an adequate summation of my feelings, yes, but my entire existence has been transformed by the bond. You felt nothing?" He had been forever altered.

Mari held out both hands. "I don't know. I was excited to see you during the fight. I've chased after you to thank you every time we came here. You always disappeared."

"You are certain you saw me?"

"Yes. I saw you." Mari gestured at Crey's scar from a battle long ago, which he wore proudly. "You have that scar, and you look very distinctive from other Gaiians. Did you not see me?"

"I did, and I watched over you occasionally." Crey had many individuals guarding her the rest of the time. Typically, after Mari had visited traders, she settled in a bar and enjoyed the frequent fights, which was very Gaiian. It prompted a smile each time Crey was commed with the update that she was watching fights—again. "I was making certain it was known that you were protected. You were not always careful while wandering around a dangerous outpost." He tried not to sound admonishing. Coming from Crey, that would be hypocritical. Plus, he did admire Mari's bravery and boldness.

"Bogarta has never seemed that dangerous. I mean, the first time, prior to you arriving in that alley, sure, it was terrifying. I felt reckless even leaving the ship, but, since then…" She shrugged. "I might have you to thank for that, but I've always liked Bogarta and felt safe."

The peace brought by their union returned. She would not have felt safe in Bogarta without a bond or connection providing her with a sense of security. Crey had been industrious at making it safe for her, but the outpost was a constantly-shifting population of disreputable beings, here solely to trade goods or information outside the Allegiance's influence. There was a bond between Crey and his Earthen, and she was experiencing it differently from him.

Mari resumed organizing items on the counter. Actually, she was returning items to where she had originally had them. Hm. Perhaps she had been testing new organizational positions.

"This bond you feel—you recognized it because you've felt it before?" she asked, repositioning several instruments.

"No. Prior to the disease, only one in twenty Gaiians would bond to another during their lifetime, now the bond is more rare. Additionally, the bond forms exclusively with one person."

"What if it goes away?" She stilled, and her hand tightened on the trowel in her hand. "You might decide, after you get to know me, that you don't like me."

"That does not happen. The bond, blessed upon my race by the Greater Beings, forms between intended mates and does not fade."

"What if I don't want this?"

"Then, you do not give your consent to my touch, and I will leave you alone."

"After an interval?"

"Immediately, if that is what you wish."

"And what happens with your people in that case? We're in a clan-run town."

"They will respect your wishes. I respect your wishes, and I always will." Subtly, Crey took in a deep breath and released it. Should that occur, he would find new purpose.

Mari dropped her face into her hand as she rested her elbow on the counter. "This is all so hard to believe." Her words came out muffled by her hand. "Plus, everyone knew about this interval before I did. I could tell in the cargo bay just now." Mari lifted her head. Her gaze held accusation.

"It was inevitable they would know before you. You have been back to Bogarta frequently at my request. While here, the crew would have heard the rumors, and they were warned not to impede my courtship. If they had not already heard, they would now, as this trip was made specifically for our courtship."

"You requested my ship return here all those other times, and my captain just agreed?"

"I have become a patron of your explorations."

Crey had paid for the exploratory ship's expenses, provided they were never more than five or six rotations from Casa's system, and he received regular updates from the ship's second, Artur, notifying him that Mari was alive and well. He had come to look forward to the short coms from the shiny part-Earthen saying, "We're all alive. Don't get your panties in a bunch." Though, he did explain that Gaiians did not wear "panties." They certainly were not bunched, whatever that meant.

The ship was also to return to Bogarta between expeditions. Waiting for this interval had been difficult, but he admired that the Earthen captain had needed assurances before granting the Allegiance's edict. Captain Ockler cared for his intended's welfare, that spoke well of her.

Mari nodded while chewing on her lower lip. "I've heard there's not a lot that captains of exploratory-class ships won't do for a grant to support an expedition, especially if it avoids an Allegiance grant. This is all a bit improbable—that you would bond to me and set all this in motion. I'm a boring Earthen xenobotanist."

"You are not boring. You are beautiful and wondrous. Additionally, you are brave; you attacked a Pilfer swarm to save a cabbage."

"Of course I did. I'm a xenobotanist. We save plant life. It's what we do."

"You save all life—you and your father before you."

"What?"

Crey removed his databand. "You and your father. It is what you do."

"Holy shit!" Mari's eyes widened as she stared at the image on his wrist.

"Wow." Mari opened her "stash" drawer and grabbed a chocolate chip granola bar. She kept them on hand for moments such as these.

Wow.

He had a diastratorphium on his wrist. There, tattooed on his silvery-green skin, was the flower her dad had found. Crey knew who she was, who she actually was. If Crey knew that much about her, it was likely the rest of what he'd said was true. He had learned English for her. For her. Mari.

Wow.

"What is that?" Crey indicated the bar in her hands.

"It's a granola bar. The chocolate chips help my mood, and the granola creates a false dichotomy in my brain that what is good can also be healthy, which is patently false, especially for me. I always want what's bad for me." Yes, indeed, and here he was, in her lab, weaving a story that appealed to Mari's deeply-hidden romantic side. "My brain can be convinced that this," she wiggled the granola bar, "is healthy enough to forestall any guilt."

"You would feel guilty for eating?"

"Well, I'm essentially eating a cookie and lying to myself about its nutritional value."

"It is not nutritious enough to sustain your health?" Crey's bafflement did not speak well to his taste in food.

"I eat a variety of foods for that. I get everything I need. I just don't get it from this granola bar. From this bar, I get my sinful dichotomy lying to me, so I can enjoy chocolate in an oat vehicle. Would you like one?" She'd never, ever offered to share her chocolate-chip granola bars. Crey couldn't know how amazing it was that Mari was even offering him a granola bar.

He shook his head. "I am certain I would not benefit from this dichotomy; therefore, it should be preserved for your welfare."

That was damned sweet and a little romantic—in a weird way.

Crey sat on a nearby stool. His feet were flat on the floor, despite the stool's height. Gaiians were tall.

Mari's feet were on the rungs of the stool. Mari wasn't tiny. She was average Earthen-size. Still, she felt small in comparison to him.

"What?" Following her gaze, Crey examined himself, as if searching for a defect. No defects. None at all.

"Nothing. You're tall. Gaiians are taller than Earthens." She took another bite of her bar.

"Does it displease you?"

"Your tallness?"

"That I am Gaiian, not Earthen? I am an ‘alien' to your people. I read in your people's history about their beliefs that ‘aliens from outer space' would be green. This was, of course, before you had devised a method for faster-than-light space travel. After that, you infested the universe."

"Infested?"

"That is what is said. I could use a different word if you prefer."

Mari shrugged. The description was true enough. Once her people had discovered faster-than-light travel, they'd bolted from Old Earth. FTL travel could allow them to colonize other worlds, and their planet was dying. Before leaving Earth's system, they tripped through a cloaked wormhole, which had been left behind by the Tun'Essen race. The official "first contact" happened accidentally.

"When we thought all ‘aliens' were little green men, we also imagined they'd have giant heads," Mari said.

"Such as the Tun'Essens?"

"Yes. We formed opinions on what we'd known. They were the only ones who'd bothered visiting our corner of the universe."

The "flying saucers" in Earthen records had been the Tun'Essens, as had all the abductions and experimentations. In recompense for visiting and manipulating the technologically-primitive race of Earthens, as well as to "save face" among the other highly-sentient species, the Tun'Essen race had agreed to share their wormhole technology with the entire universe. Wormholes were installed in every system. Frequently-traveled systems had hundreds of gates spread across them, and several dark systems had become hubs with thousands of gates. Then, the Tun'Essens had slapped tolls on the wormholes. Earthens weren't the only ones who knew how to capitalize on an unfortunate situation. Capitalism drove many early choices made by or about the Prime Allegiance.

"I am green, but not little." There was a whole lot of suggestion in Crey's words.

"That—I do not doubt," she said under her breath.

"Does it displease you that we are different races?" he asked pointedly again.

"No. I spend every day with people of other races, and I study universal plant life, rather than a constant-world botany." Being constrained, like planet-specific botanists, had never appealed to her. "Biologically speaking, we're both from seed races and compatible. You're even my favorite color." Mari snapped her mouth shut. Her favorite color? Seriously? "That was a really weird thing to say. Forget I said that."

Crey smiled. He obviously wouldn't forget. "You are saying I am not that alien?"

"I'm saying that I'm not, uh, bothered by it, as far as relationships go." Was she actually considering a relationship with him? Yes, her body screamed. Her brain and her heart were more hesitant, but they were willing to hear him out, for now.

"You are attracted to me. I could tell from your pulse when I was holding your hand." He nodded, indicating her face. "Additionally, that color you turn—pink—it is my favorite color."

Thankfully, her skin tone hid most of her blush, but not all of it, apparently. "I also turn this color when I'm embarrassed."

"There is no need for embarrassment with me." As if he could command that. "Nothing will cause my feelings to change. You are my intended. I am devoted to you." Crey gestured between them. "This will not change. You should not be embarrassed."

"That's easier said than done. It's natural to feel embarrassed."

He examined her for a moment before saying, "You will see, with time, that I am constant."

His statement was a safety net. She couldn't be too quiet or too focused. Mari could indulge her silly or her romantic side. She could be "her," which she hadn't been with anyone for a long time.

Still, this whole "being bonded" thing—was intense. There was nothing wrong with Crey, and the attraction was present and accounted for. From the beginning, Mari had wanted this man. She'd had many steamy dreams about "her Gaiian." But, she didn't know him, not like Crey knew her. She glanced at the tattoo on his wrist of a flower—the flower.

"You have these in your race too." Crey nodded at his tattoo. "People mark themselves with ink while in Bogarta even."

"We do have them. I have tattoos in fact."

Crey stood, examining her visible skin.

Nothing would cause his feelings to change. It was freeing.

Mari spun on her stool and pushed her hair out of the way while pulling aside her collar. Where her neck met her shoulder, a simple line drawing, patterned after the sketched Old Earth field botanists' depictions, was inked.

"You wear a diastratorphium as well."

"Yes. I got it for my eighteenth birthday, right after my parents passed. Your tattoo doesn't look new," she said as he moved closer to examine her ink.

"It is not, nor am I the only Gaiian to have a diastratorphium there, even if I was the first." His finger hovered above her tattoo, leaving an impression of heat that was more impactful than a touch. "How did your father discover the diastratorphium?"

"After he'd heard about the disease affecting your people, Dad immediately began researching. He loved to research. In the incomplete records of an Earthen exploratory ship, he found entries regarding a flower with many properties he believed were necessary. The dwarf planet Strator was relatively boring and in a sparse, mostly-dark system." She shrugged. "No one had gone back to flesh out the entries. My mother was pregnant with me at the time, so he set off alone to this planet. Mom was the practical one, the person who prepared for trips. Dad forgot to get fuel for the trip. He was stranded in the system after transmitting the data he'd scanned and confirming it was a plausible antidote. Luckily, a Gaiian Hunter was nearby, heard his distress call, and got him home, just in time for my birth."

He made an amused sound.

"It wasn't luck?"

Crey blinked. "You were serious?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "No, my people intercepted his transmission. They were there to get the flower after rescuing him."

"Oh." Turning fully, Mari grasped his wrist to examine his tattoo. "My mother's name was Dia. The planet's name was Strator. That's where the name comes from. You aren't the only one with a diastratorphium on your wrist?"

His mark was not as ornate nor as striking as the matching bloom on her neck, with the petals he had wanted to stroke. Not touching Mari, when he desired her, was a torture Crey was enduring, but not well.

If she were Gaiian and not Earthen, Mari would understand the steps of this mating period—this courtship. He could explain, but he wanted her to give her consent, without knowing it was expected. Mari should welcome his touch, without him asking.

The bloom was above his vein and no larger than the print of his smallest finger. The inked flower was typically concealed by his databand. Covering it was innocuous, as most higher-sentience beings wore databands as a bridge between their neural implants and outside sources of information and access.

Crey rarely thought of the mark he wore; however, while researching what might please Mari, he had found her family history. Since then, he had frequently removed his band to examine the flower. It had settled his frustration at not initiating this courtship immediately.

Mari stroked the flower on Crey's wrist. If only the mark was two or three times the size it was.

"The disease struck me in childhood," Crey said. "I was among the first to receive the medicine made from the crushed petals. After the danger had passed, my mother put this on me. A mark of life, she said. Other Gaiians followed in our clan. I am told it is common among Gaiians now."

"You're saying that Gaiians who were saved by the diastratorphium wear the flower on their wrists?" Her eyes were shiny, and she blinked rapidly.

"Yes, underneath their databands, and it began with me." Her father's discovery had saved millions of Gaiians. It was possible that millions wore the mark. "My mother said a flower from a distant planet had changed my life once and to be mindful as it would happen again."

He had recognized the fulfilling of his mother's prediction after he had met Mari. While researching, he had discovered her name was an Earthen flower, a marigold. Her father had found the flower that had saved his life, and Crey would spend the rest of his life devoted to this Earthen's daughter.

"Wow." Mari released his hand. "To think, I woke up this morning just looking forward to walking the streets of Bogarta…"

"We can do that." Crey refastened his databand overtop the tattoo. "Would you like to explore Bogarta with me?" He would enjoy that. Her safety would be assured with him beside her.

"I don't know. Is that a normal thing to do during this interval? What are the rules?"

"There are no rules. This courtship is meant to increase intimacy and trust."

Mari waved her hand around. "Why is the Prime word ‘intimacy' the only term for a, uh, close relationship, other than really explicit words which all came from Old Earth? English has many words to establish the emotional depth of a relationship. Prime has hardly any."

"The Prime language was created by the Tarcekian race. They fornicate only once to seed their chosen mate and never again. Comparatively, Earthens are considered to be exceptionally lascivious."

"We are?"

"Yes." It was an acknowledged truth.

"But, seriously, Tarcekians didn't see a need for less explicit words for everyone else?"

"It was an act of retribution. When your race's king decided we should have a universal language as well as a governing body, to enable trade, he forced the Tarcekians, who are considered the most intelligent race in the universe, to design this new language. They refused. He persisted." After working with so many Earthen politicians, Crey had a greater understanding of their ability to persevere despite their odds of succeeding.

"Earthens are great at persisting." Mari's tone was wry.

"Yes. It can be admirable in some situations. The Tarcekians did not believe this to be such an instance. In retaliation, the Tarcekians made requesting ‘fornication' difficult, knowing Earthens enjoyed it. Tarcekians view closeness, other than for procreative purposes, repugnant. Therefore, Prime words describing physical closeness have implications. Eventually, many of your English words were adopted into Prime. Your race favors descriptions of everything, which Tarcekians found unnecessary. In addition, the vast spectrum of sensory input encountered would be difficult to create conventional terms that encompassed all races' experiences."

Things such as softness were a variable perception, but Crey was increasingly grateful that Earthens had brought descriptions into the universal language.

"I've always found it funny that our English color names made their way into Prime—especially after I looked up where their names originated," Mari said. "Orange is called that after a fruit that color. Violet is after a flower of the same name."

"What is green?"

"Green is just green. Well, it's developed out of words from other languages relating to growing things, so plant life."

"Which can be a vast spectrum of colors."

"Yes."

"And includes oranges and violets."

"Yes."

Earthens were odd. Returning to their previous conversation, Crey continued, "In regards to fornication and the Prime language, explicit English words were more widely-accepted in the universe as there were no comparable words in Prime. Additionally, slang and explicit words were used in Old Earthen vids, which some races have found entertaining." He had used the vids for instruction—primarily; though, they had also been amusing at times.

"‘Fornication' is more explicit than the Prime word ‘intimacy.' Maybe we should stick to intimacy." She waved a hand again, in agitation. "I mean, we should use ‘intimacy' when discussing this. I'm not ready for actual intimacy."

That was acceptable. Crey had over an Earthen week. He glanced at his databand. One week, two hours, and fifty-five minutes in EST. Mari had already touched him several times. Crey had enjoyed each and every touch immensely, especially those where her fingers had been in contact with his skin directly.

"I want to see if this works—if we work," Mari said.

"If we work?"

"If we're compatible."

"Biologically, we are compatible." They were both seed races. Additionally, he had researched. They would "work" very well. He had studied in explicit detail how to accomplish fornication.

"I meant emotionally—if we're a good couple. I am interested." Mari bit her lip. "I don't know how much of a choice I have, but, anyway, yes."

"You always have a choice. Tell me to leave, and I will leave. Immediately."

"No. I like you. As long as I have a choice, I'm okay with it."

His databand pulsed. This could not be good. He had held all communication which was not designated as urgent. "One moment, Mari. I have a com." Crey tapped the implant behind his ear. "What?"

"You must leave,"his clansmate Nathe said. Nathe'leyinth was clan to his mother's sister's mate. "Immediately. With your Earthen."

"Explain."

"We have incoming Thalarin ships. They are intending to kill you and your mate."

"There had been rumors." Much of Crey's knowledge of these rumors had originated with Nathe. His clansmate had a particular source for information, a smuggler named Bain, who was remarkably accurate. Nathe's surety was enough for Crey, and he had, therefore, planned accordingly. Gaiians reveled in opportunities for vengeance, but it would have been better if the Thalarins had recognized how stookt it was to attack a fortified outpost. Their timing was terrible, as the Earthens said.

"Baro caught an escaping smuggler, Da-Geen. The Gorsen substantiated the rumors and confessed to smuggling in several of our enemies."

"Retht," Crey swore. "In Bogarta?"

"Yes. You must leave."

"Very well. I will need a break in the shield in…" Crey looked at his band. "Sifct." He should not have said that word in front of his mate, but, sifct, this was frustrating, and the unfamiliar Earthen time designations exacerbated his annoyance.

"Crey?"Nathe's tone was amused. This was not amusing, but Nathe was known as being a more humorous Gaiian.

"I need a shield break in thirteen shifts. I switched to EST." It should not have confused him.

"Save me from an Earthen match. EST time. Arrogant smags with race-centric obsessions. Imagine thinking the universe revolved around your dead planet."

"Nathe." Crey's voice held a note of warning. Even if he may have shared this belief an orbit ago, he had an Earthen intended now.

"Thirteen shifts and open for two shifts. Bounty?"Customarily, the clans paid those who guarded the port from attack.

"Bounty is set at two thousand credits and will come from my account. Bill me, and I will acknowledge." This was personal, and paying bounties recognized that. "Tell the Earthen captain I am relinquishing her ship. She may leave the port as soon as it is safe to do so."

"I will relay this. However, the ship might be shot down. Word has spread which ship your Earthen was on. The ship is likely to be a target. Especially if there are Thalarins here."

Not wanting to alarm Mari, Crey switched to the Gaiian language. "What do you suggest for this Earthen ship?"

"The ship flies under an Earthen flag, and she will not be on it. It is nothing to us. I can assign a Hunter to flank."

"That is not enough. It is her Earthen ship, even if she is not there. You will protect the vessel and its crew, as if she was already in our clan." Crey paused. "You will protect it yourself, Nathe. I am calling in my blood debt."

Nathe could not and would not dishonor a blood debt. It was done. "I am not mated. Being confined on that vessel will be intolerable," his clansmate said.The inner aggression that mating calmed would be difficult to control in such a limited environment, but Mari would not forgive Crey if anything happened to the Beagle‘s crew.

"The blood debt will be satisfied as long as you do not endanger those onboard. Until I have deemed it safe, you are to be there. Bill me what you wish in recompense." Nathe would be unable to broker trades or further his own ambitions while fulfilling this debt. Nathe was wealthy in his own right, but Gaiians preferred monetary exchanges. The blood debt sealed Nathe's accordance, but credits would keep balance between them.

"I will. Thirteen shifts starting now."

"Thirteen and, then, open for two shifts." Ending the com, Crey turned to his intended.

Mari was holding a second chocolate granola bar. "I sense our situation has changed."

"You will need to pack. Thalarin ships are incoming. We leave this ship in approximately six of your minutes. I will be taking you somewhere safe, off-world."

Mari stood, putting the granola bar in her pocket. "I can be ready in five minutes. Explain on the way to my quarters."

"Explain?" he repeated.

"Yes," Mari said over her shoulder as they strode toward the door. "I want to know about the big secret feud between Gaiians and Thalarins. As your proposed mate, I deserve to know."

"Sifct."