Page 8

I’m midway through explaining the basic mechanics of Avaren advanced hearing when Kairen hails me, his image appearing above my command cube. Tara looms behind him, as much as a small human female can loom. I can tell Kairen notices my captive audience, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“Orien, we must speak with the human Potts.”

“Right away, Commander,” I reply, excusing myself with a smile aimed at the females.

“Oh, and Orien?”

I don’t pause in my steps. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Be prepared to take a fighter ship to London once we’ve spoken to the leader there,” Kairen continues. “She has secrets that need to be uncovered if we are to trust her.”

I grin with anticipation. My prince always gives me the best tasks. “I will be eagerly awaiting your orders, Commander.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “I’m sure, my friend.”

Once my prince finishes his conversation with the human, I begin pondering my upcoming mission and the target. I have my nanites display the intelligence we have gathered on the human female leading the British Isles from London.

SUBJECT: Elmsleigh, Margaret.

ROLE: Head of British Isles military forces. Sole female among the surviving world leaders.

LOCATION: Bunker command beneath a historic palace.

UNKNOWN FACTORS: How a civilian ends up commanding thousands of soldiers in a world that has, everywhere else, rewarded the loudest and most violent men with power.

THREAT ASSESSMENT: Negligible.

I pause on that last line, doubting it. I’m not sure a female in her position could truly be harmless. I look forward to adding more about Margaret Elmsleigh to the database. More importantly, I look forward to satiating my growing curiosity.

There’s a human song stuck in my head. The lyrics are nonsense, but the beat is catchy, and one of the young soldiers has been playing it on tiny devices tucked in his ears. Thanks to my nanites, I’ve heard it in its entirety. All seventy-five times.

“You’re leaving.”

Kael leans in the doorway of my temporary quarters, arms folded over his chest. The chief engineer looks sad even when pleased, and right now I can’t tell which he is.

“The commander gave an order,” I say casually.

He tilts his head. “You’re humming.”

“I’m always humming.”

“You’ve never hummed in four hundred cycles.” He pauses. “Is it the London female?”

“It’s a song,” I reply, deadpan.

“Of course.” He steps aside to let me pass, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Try not to start a war.”

I smirk at him. “I never start something I can’t finish.”

I head to my fighter ship, the Veil, tilting my face up to the human Sun. The ocean crashes against the cliffs, and flying creatures squawk above me. When taking in the splendor of a planet, it’s hard not to think about the thing threatening it.

Humans call the Ghorvek aliens, but that word isn’t sufficient. Aliens are Kireth grazing on yellow grass. Aliens are Yv’lar slugs drifting through Vasari tide pools. The Ghorvek are rot that learned to walk. Gray-green hide pitted like old stone, teeth serrated for tearing, four hearts to keep their big bodies going. They don’t conquer the worlds they besiege to enjoy them. They leave behind ruin and destruction.

On Tyren, a planet they desolated recently, the rain falls through hollowed towers and fills the cracked streets. I drank it for moonfalls because nothing else was left to drink.

The Ghorvek didn’t eradicate the Avaren, though they made a thorough attempt. What they did instead may have been worse. They rewrote our genetics and made conception dependent on matches so rare that some of us will live thousands of cycles without ever finding one.

Now they have set their eyes on Earth.