Page 4 of Sy

“Is it always this bad?” she yelled over the rain as the big alien hurried them across the pad, his huge form providingsome shelter from the worst of the wind. The black over his arm seemed to ripple in the strobing lightning, and she caught glimpses of what looked like claws at the end of his fingers. Her heart skipped a beat. The file she’d been given said that some of the Izaean had mutations, but no one had mentioned anything about claws.

“Emergency shelters are this way,” he shouted over the wind, pointing to a series of low buildings ahead of them. “Watch your step. The pad can be slippery.”

She nodded, but she could barely see through the rain. His hand remained steady on her shoulder, guiding her and Lila safely through the storm. Other Izaeans formed a protective circle around the group of humans, their massive forms cutting through the wind as they clattered down the steps, sliding in the mud as they headed for the doors of the shelters.

They finally reached the shelter, and Sy ushered them inside. The sudden absence of wind and rain was almost shocking, the silence deafening. She pushed her wet hair from her face and looked up to find Sy watching her with fury. She almost took a step back in the face of it.

His lip curled back as he swept a hard, red gaze over her. “Why would a fertile female put herself and her offspring at risk coming to a damned place like this?”

2

Ashley shivered, rainwater pooling at her feet as she stared up at the towering Izaean. His words hit her like a physical blow, but she refused to show weakness. The blackness covering his forearm caught the light from the shelter’s lanterns, making it seem alive, like it was part of his skin. Other aliens moved behind him, organizing supplies in crates and setting up equipment.

Her clothes were stuck to her skin, but she barely noticed the discomfort. Anger burned like a wildfire through her veins.

“I’m here because I’m the best person for the job,” she said, her voice sharp and pitched to carry. Best to get this over with quickly and nip any queries about her abilities in the bud right now. “And the status of my fertility has nothing to do with my qualifications or my ability to protect my daughter.”

She took a step forward, tilting her chin up to meet his red-eyed gaze without flinching. “I’ve managed construction projects in some of the most challenging environments in the galaxy. I’ve coordinated teams across multiple species and cultures. And I’ve done it all while raising a brilliant, capable daughter who understands more about xeno-engineering than most adults.”

Around them, the shelter had grown quieter. From the corner of her eye, she saw some of the humans exchange glances while a few of the Izaean had stopped their work entirely, watching the confrontation with unblinking eyes.

“The fact that you’d question my presence here based on my biology rather than my extensive experience says more about your prejudices than my capabilities.” Water dripped from her hair, but she didn’t break eye contact. “I suggest you put aside anything you think you know about me, or human women, and review my credentials before making assumptions about what I can or cannot handle.”

His red eyes narrowed, studying her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle. The scent of ozone and machine oil drifted in through the doorway as it opened again, mixing with the metallic tang of rain. For a moment, the only sound was the roar of thunder until the door clanged shut.

He watched her for long seconds, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down. Finally, he made a sound deep in his throat… something between a growl and a grunt as he stepped back.

“Humans,” he muttered, shaking his head. “No sense of self-draanthing-preservation.”

Before she could say anything, he turned sharply and walked away, his long legs carrying him quickly to where a group of Izaeans were distributing emergency supplies to the shivering newcomers.

She blinked, unable to do anything but watch him walk away. The wet fabric of his top and pants clung to his skin, pulling across a heavily muscled frame. She realized she was watching his ass and yanked her gaze away to look around.

Even though it was an alien design, the shelter was similar to many others she’d been in. Massive metal support beams creaked overhead as the storm raged outside, its fury all butsilenced by the thick walls. It sounded like it was right overhead, but in here, the noise of the weather was cut. Instead, the scrape of crates being stacked and the murmur of voices as workers set up makeshift sleeping and cooking areas filled the air. Lanterns hooked on the beams overhead cast warm light across the rows of cots and half-unpacked supplies. Her stomach grumbled at the promising aroma of hot food wafting from the cooking counters. Nervous about their arrival, she’d skipped breakfast this morning, so it had been nearly a day since she’d eaten.

“Oh my god, can you believe that guy?” A nasally voice cut through her thoughts. She turned to find a tall, blond man with thinning hair in mud-caked boots standing beside her, his shipsuit bearing an engineering division patch. Thompson? Thomason? His name escaped her, even though she’d reviewed the personnel files extensively before the mission.

His thin lips curled in a sneer as he watched the Izaean workers. “Typical alien behavior. They’re all the same, just a bunch of overgrown brutes with more muscle than brains bossing the rest of us about.”

The casual bigotry in his tone made her stomach twist. He gestured around the shelter, his lip curled back. “I mean, look at this place. Herding us all in here rather than taking us to the garrison on the clifftop.”

Before she could remind him that they were guests of the Izaean, and he shouldn’t piss them off, an Izaean, his manner screaming experience and authority, stepped onto an elevated crate at the other end of the shelter.

“The storm has settled in for the night,” he announced, his words punctuated by a particularly violent gust that rattled the shelter’s walls. “No one will be making the trek up to the garrison until conditions improve. We remain here until the weather abates.”

Beside Ashley, the engineer snorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Aren’t you Lathar supposed to be advanced or something?” he called out. “Where are the antigrav lifts or, I don’t know… teleporters maybe?”

The shelter fell silent. The Izaean turned, fixing the engineer with a calculating stare like a predator sizing up particularly foolish prey.

“We are not the Lathar,” he stated, each word precise. “We are those the Lathar locked up. If we had an easy solution like antigrav lifts or access to Latharian technology, we would not have required human construction specialists. Would we?”

The warning in his tone was unmistakable. The engineer’s gaze skittered away, his earlier bravado disappearing.

She stepped back, trying not to draw attention to herself or Lila as she ushered her daughter through the crowd toward the promising aroma of food. The last thing she wanted was for their hosts and employers to think she shared the asshole engineer’s prejudiced views.

Wooden tables lined one wall, laden with steaming pots filled with what looked like some kind of grain broth, the scent earthy and inviting. An Izaean passed by, offering thick towels from a basket.

---