Page 145 of Tempted by Celestial Bodies

I hurried to run a life-form scan, my heart in my throat as the radar pinged softly through its readout.

One lifeform. Type: unknown.

A survivor.

Thetype: unknownmay have given me pause, but it wasn’t uncommon on a ship equipped by humans. We knew shockingly little about life beyond Earth, despite the fact humans had fled their home planet for distant worlds by the thousands.Unknownwas better than what we left behind, and it was better than leaving a survivor to die alone in the depths of space, clinging to the shred of hope that somebody would come.

After days on end of unhurried routine and not enough food, the adrenaline in my blood left me shaky, and my hands trembled as I hurried to engage the tractor beam. The beam locked onto the escape pod, artificial gravity reeling it toward the airlock. With bated breath, I watched the silver cylinder draw nearer until I was sure it approached unhindered by the surrounding debris.

My knees creaked and my back popped as I sprang from my seat, but I didn’t care. Pushing the stiffness in my body from my mind, I strode purposefully toward the airlock. I shoved my faded purple hair from my face and tugged at my navy pilot’s jumpsuit where it pulled tight around my generous hips and chest, trying to set myself in order as I walked. The pounding of my heart in my ears urged me to run, but my latent military training gripped my muscles and I measured my steps.

Several long years had passed since the adrenaline of battle had last coursed through me. The sizzle of energy and survival instinct had somehow kept me functional then as plasma bolts rocketed past my starfighter, allowing me to return fire against the forces invading Earth.

I wasn’t in the midst of war now, though. The ship around me was quiet, not rocked by distant explosions or punctuated by blaring proximity alarms. Still, one overwhelming thought was the same as it had been during my time in the Space Force:

Somebody was in danger, and only I could help them.

I reached the ship’s aft section and stopped at the end of the barren hallway. A painful groan of metal grinding indicated that the bay doors opened to allow the escape pod’s entrance. I bounced impatiently on my toes as I waited for the titanium-composite door between me and the pod to slide open.

As soon as it did, I stepped forward without waiting for the jets of steam from the environmental regulators to dissipate. I had my gun on my belt, but my worry that whatever would come out of the pod would be dangerous was overshadowed by my need to lay eye on the survivor—to assure them that they wouldn’t perish in the vacuum of space, alone and unmissed.

Though the bay was spacious when empty, the cylindrical pod now dominated the area, giving me barely any room to maneuver. I hugged the wall as I inched around the space, inspecting the pod from all angles. A long minute passed, but no signs of life came from the craft.

Uneasiness worked up my spine, and my hand drifted to the plas-gun hanging on my belt.

The pod’s inhabitant should be able to tell they’d arrived onboard a ship by now. The green blinking lights on the edges of the vessel indicated that the external sensors were intact, after all.

Slowly, I eased my gun from its holster, the biosensors on the handle recognizing my palm print and bringing the weapon to life. I gripped it with both hands, the tip pointed at the floor as I inched closer. It wasn’t particularly wise to fire a plas-gun in an airlock, but the weight in my hands steadied me nonetheless.

Perhaps a squad of corsairs lay in wait within, waiting to jump out and hijack the ship the moment I let my guard down. Or maybe, whoever was inside was too injured or scared to come out.

I chewed my lips for a moment in indecision, before taking a deep breath. I had come this far.

“You are safely aboard theGokstad, Intergalatic Federation License number RG1013,” I said. My voice sounded hoarse from disuse. I cleared my throat and tried to sound professional and reassuring. “I intercepted your ship’s distress signal. You should now be able to safely disembark from your escape pod.”

The only response was the echoing of my own voice through the bay. I frowned. If I wanted to find out who was inside, it seemed my only way forward was to open the pod myself.

Keeping the gun in one hand, I stepped forward and ran my fingers over the panel of blinking lights on one side of the hull. Next to it, I could make out seams in the exterior that marked the presence of a hatch. The symbols on the buttons were in an alphabet I had never seen before, but a large button with a blinking green arrow seemed a pretty universal symbol for “Open.” I pressed it, thinking that after an hour full of gambles, I wouldn’t let fear of this last hurdle keep me from rescuing somebody in need. Not when they had been so improbably thrown into my path.

I was rewarded with a hiss and jets of mist that outlined the hatch as the pod depressurized. The sleek silver panel slid open but still no sound came from inside.

Perhaps the life-form scanner had been wrong. Maybe this escape pod had been jettisoned by mistake, and there really were no survivors.

I wouldn’t know for sure unless I investigated for myself.

Awkwardly, I clambered inside using only one hand, refusing to holster my gun. As the dim running-lights flickered, casting long shadows over the cramped space, a dark shimmer on the floor caught my attention.

I squinted, only for my eyes to widen at the realization that the dappled pattern of shadows was the reflection of light off glossy black feathers. As my eyes adjusted, the pattern of feathers formed themselves into wings, spread across the entirety of the pod floor. My breath caught, startled by an unexpected sight.

Sprawled across the wings was a man.

Or not a man, for he clearly was not human. But my brain helpfully supplied that he was the most masculine creature I had ever encountered, despite his alienness.

Aside from the black feathered wings sprouting from his shoulder blades, the creature’s form was mostly humanoid. What at first glance appeared to be dulled colors from dim light, turned out on second glance to be gray skin, pulled taut over a deliciously muscled torso. An impressive amount of that gray skin was on display, as the alien wore only a loose pair of black pants.

I tore my eyes away from the striking swell of his sculpted chest to look at his face. It, too, appeared mostly human, the features broad but handsome. The only difference was the glimmer of fangs, pressing lightly into a full bottom lip.

His eyes were closed, black lashes fanning over his cheekbones. In fact, he was completely black and gray, including the dark and wild hair that fanned out from his head. I saw only one single splash of color: the tips of his wings shimmered a dark crimson, the feathers there the red of blood spilled fresh from the vein.

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