Page 31 of Alien's Love Child

"Your change?—"

"Keep it."

My boots slip on the wet pavement, sending me sprawling. The produce spills across the ground, a purple tuber rolling into a puddle. The doll in my pocket digs into my hip as I scramble up, snatching what I can salvage back into the bag.

It takes everything in me to calm my breathing.

The landing pad looms ahead, my ship's silver hull gleaming under the port lights. Two Authority cruisers block the main approach, their running lights cutting red swaths through the rain.

An officer steps into my path, hand raised. "Ma'am, this area is?—"

A massive furry form shoulders past him. "Captain! You got the spices!" Paraxan's whiskers twitch as he grabs the grocery bag. "Perfect timing. The stew's almost ready."

"Par, I told you not to cook without?—"

"Everyone loves my cooking." He wraps one arm around my shoulders, steering me toward the ship. "Even found my special seasoning blend this morning. Been aging it in the cargo hold."

The officer clears his throat. "Sir, we're conducting an investigation?—"

"Investigation?" Paraxan's ears perk up. "Oh, you must be here about the converter! Told the boss it needed replacing months ago, but you know how cheap these private operators are." He leans closer to the officer, dropping his voice. "Between us? The pay's terrible. But the food allowance..." He pats his round belly.

"Actually, we're?—"

"Speaking of food!" I pipe up, forcing a smile. "That stew won't cook itself. Right, Par?"

"Right, right." He guides me up the ramp, still chattering. "Did you get those purple things? The ones that taste like Earthpotatoes? Last batch was stringy, but if you boil them just right..."

The ramp hisses shut behind us, cutting off the officer's protests.

The cargo hold's door slides open, revealing two Port Authority officers looming over Rena and Taluk. Three more officers are scattered around, one hanging upside down in an access shaft while another pries open panels with suspicious precision.

"What's going on here?" I drop my shopping bag, letting a few tubers roll across the floor. Taluk stumbles, nearly tripping as he bends to pick them up.

"Sorry, Cap," he mumbles. "They just started?—"

"Ma'am." The taller officer steps forward, his badge reading 'Waxan.' "We have reason to believe this vessel is involved in illegal smuggling operations."

I press a hand to my chest, letting out a sharp laugh. "Smuggling? Us?" My eyes drift to where Rena stands, arms crossed. "We can barely afford fuel most days."

"Then perhaps you'd like to explain these discrepancies in your maintenance logs?" The second officer waves a datapad. "Three stops in the past month at unregistered ports."

"Unregistered?" I snatch the pad, scrolling through. "Those are independent colonies. They can't afford Alliance certification, but their cash spends just fine." I toss it back. "Look, we're not exactly premium contractors here. We go where the work is."

"And where the oversight isn't."

"Because we sometimes skip the environmental impact forms?" I roll my eyes. "Yeah, guilty. Sue us. But smuggling? That's..." I gesture at Taluk, who's managed to spill half the groceries again. "Have you seen my crew?"

Par chooses that moment to sneeze, sending fur floating everywhere. The officer in the access shaft yelps, losing his grip.

"We're a budget operation," I continue. "Cut-rate parts, long hours, terrible pay. Ask anyone." I spread my arms. "But smuggling? That's crossing a line. We're just trying to make a living here."

"Then you won't mind if we continue our search?"

My fingers twitch toward the doll in my pocket. "Fine. But you're paying for any panels you break. And keep your hands off my private quarters – a girl's got to have some secrets."

An explosion rocks through the port, rattling the ship's hull. My bones vibrate with the force of it, and for a second, I can't breathe.

Waxan's PerComm lights up with urgent chatter. "All units respond. Explosion at Warehouse Seven. Possible terrorist activity."

---