by Riley Carver
It’s stressful to consider. At least our consolidation of Omegas is nearly complete. In the next few weeks, the first Omegas will arrive at the collection center.
They’ll be a strong incentive for our commanders to complete the more arduous missions assigned by the Upper Council. There’s no reward better than an Omega to pair bond with. Of course, the Upper Council is the real winner. Breeding Omegas with the best of the best in the Fysian military ensures that the next generation can pick up the mantle of war.
It’s a sad fact that wars tend to last for decades, but that’s the way it’s always been. I try not to dwell on what could be. That’s not my job. My job is to make sure that the Avekis pay for their audacity. Seeing Vylrin as it is now refocuses me. The Avekis will get their claws on Fysi over my dead body.
While Amiran is on his mission, I take the chance to tour the ship and check in with the tier two staff. Morale is low because of the canceled trip to Vylrin City. I want to make sure that they’re still doing their jobs the right way in spite of their disappointment. I swear you can’t trust anyone to actually do what they’re commanded to.
When I reach the lounge, the back-up Beta attendant tucks away whatever she’s holding and comes over to me.
“Sir, I’d like to discuss a matter of the utmost importance with you,” she says.
There’s a pinched look on her face, and now she has my full attention.
“I have grave concerns about the Omega’s Beta attendant,” she continues, speaking in a hushed voice.
At the mention of the Omega, all my protective instincts go into high gear. “Why’s that?”
“The Beta attendant is too familiar with her charge. She treats the Omega as a friend.” At the word “friend,” the Beta wrinkles her nose. She waits for me to share her disgust.
“I see. And have you noted incidents when that affected the Omega’s safety?” I’m tapping my foot now because it’s clear to me that this is a waste of my time. The Beta attendant put her life on the line to keep the Omega safe. So what if every time I see the Beta and Omega together they’re giggling like they’re at the children’s center?
The back-up attendant’s eyes flit back and forth like she’s trying to come up with something to support her cause. Before she speaks again, I tell her that I appreciate her concern, and I’ll take her feedback into consideration. Weeks later, I’ll play the exchange over and over in my head, torturing myself with the idea that I should have gleaned what was going to happen next.
Chapter 12
Kira
Peggy pulls up Amiran’s report on my screen as soon as Drax announces over the intercom that it’s posted. I feel like I can hear everyone on the ship exhale, even though I can’t actually hear anything through my walls.
Peggy and I both read the report so quickly the first time that we have to read it again. Vylrin was destroyed by the Avekis—Amiran found discarded Aveki tech in the rubble. According to the report, he found very few bodies. Peggy says it’s likely the Avekis took the Vylrians as slave laborers.
“That’s the danger of living on a sparsely populated planet,” Peggy says. “There aren’t enough Vylrians to fight off a surprise attack. And the survivors would easily fit on a mid-size Aveki ship.”
We sit silently for a long while. At least Amiran found enough fuel to get us to the next planet. At the end of the report, Drax has outlined his plan. We’ll go to a planet called Srim to complete refueling. There, we’ll get the leave we’ve all been promised. Drax has been in contact with another ship in the Fysian fleet that just left Srim, and all is well there.
It was simply bad luck that no Fysian ships had been to Vylrin recently to witness the carnage. It was worse luck that the Fysian weren’t there to help the poor Vylrians. I might have complicated feelings toward the Fysians myself, but Drax’s pledge to liberate the Vylrians makes me feel almost patriotic. Almost.
Peggy leaves me to my thoughts and comes back with a tray of food. For the first time, there’s no Earth food on the tray at all. Peggy shrugs sheepishly. “The kitchen’s run out of the Earthborn meals we stockpiled for you. I guess they figured you’d be fully adjusted by this point in the trip.”
I cringe a little because I’m definitely not a fan of Fysian food. I shove aside the mealy brown Fysian bread before dipping my spoon into the viscous blue liquid in my bowl.
“This is the only Fysian food I like so far,” I say as I swallow.
Peggy smiles. “That doesn’t surprise me much. Nutrient broth is very sweet, and you Earthborns seem to like anything sugary. Lucky for you, nutrient broth is one of our most nutritionally complete foods. You could survive on it alone, though I think you’d get pretty sick of it.”
I try to wrap my mind around the fact that I’m going to have to eat Fysian food for the rest of my life. It makes me feel panicky. Like usual, Peggy can sense that I’m getting upset.
“I have a few ideas for dishes you might like that you haven’t tried yet. Don’t worry; Fysian cuisine is an acquired taste, but there are more choices than you can imagine. Ships only stock the most portable foods. The collection center has a famous chef on staff. You’ll be happy there,” she claims, and I see her smile weaken as she waits for me to protest.
I’ve been trying to put on a brave face for Peggy as she recovers. I force a smile in return and hope it’s a convincing one.
“Will you be able to visit me at the collection center?”
“Yes! I keep telling you, it’s not a prison. It’s meant to be a nice transitional place for Omegas.”
“What will happen there?” I force myself to ask. I’ve finally reached the point where not knowing is probably worse than whatever she has to say.
Peggy tries to hide her surprise at my question. “Well, you’ll be housed according to who your mate is. That way, you’ll meet other Omegas who you’ll socialize with frequently outside of the center. You’ll get a full medical exam and start weaning off your suppressants. There will be classes in Fysian customs and expectations for mates of high-profile Fysians. And when you go into heat, you’ll be released to your mate.”
Peggy peeks over at me to gauge how I’m taking this. It sounds like I’m headed to a cross between a country club and a brothel. I exhale loudly—I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath the whole time she was talking.
“That sounds … pretty awful,” I laugh. And then I can’t stop laughing. It’s contagious, and Peggy’s giggles echo around the room too. We laugh until we cry.
Peggy dabs at her big, beautiful eyes. “I know it must all be strange for you. You have to understand that this is an honored Fysian custom. This is just the first time that Omegas have come to the collection center from Earth. Before, it was a way for Omegas from nearby planets to adjust. Being an Omega has always been special, and usually, Omegas have been excited to take their rightful place.”
I don’t say anything at all in response. It’s clear to me now that I’m never going to live up to anyone’s expectations for Omegas. There’s no way I could feel excited about being handed off to an Alpha so that he can breed with me and show me off as a status symbol. They would need years at the collection center to brainwash me into thinking that’s a good idea.
I think Peggy is the only one who understands why I’m resistant to all this. But even so, I kind of want to be alone right now. Peggy senses that. She gives a slight, knowing nod and shuffles off.
As soon as she leaves, I pull the report up on my screen. I’m not prepared for what happens when I read Drax’s name again. All of a sudden, I feel hot all over. I can’t stop thinking about the way he took me, thrusting into me, stretching me open, claiming me.
At least that’s what it felt like. Logically, I know that it was a hook-up, nothing more. I’ve made peace with the fact I have a crush on him, but there’s no way he can ever touch me again. So why is my body screaming for him?
Drax
The two days it takes to get to Srim pass quickly. I�
��m tiring of the complications this mission has brought. Sitting in the control room, I imagine filing my final report. Normally, I celebrate a mission’s conclusion with Amiran.
We go out to the bar at the top of Fy Tower. It’s a hotspot reserved for high-ranking Alphas, and there’s nothing you can’t get your hands on there. I always order aldria eggs and wash it down with a few shots of Atraxia.
There are floor-to-ceiling windows all around the circular room, but there’s no view. It’s too high up. I love feeling like I’m out of reach of any of the problems waiting for me on the ground.
Whenever there’s an issue on a mission, I close my eyes for a second and imagine myself in my reserved banquette in Fy Tower. But lately, whenever I run into trouble and close my eyes, all I can see is the Omega’s dusky nipples and her dripping wet core.
The familiar pressure starts to build, and my frustration brings out the worst in me. Amiran taps me on the shoulder to get my attention, and I wheel around in my chair and swat his hand away with a growl.
Amiran’s eyes widen and then he bares his teeth at me in return. “Don’t be an asshole,” he says in a low voice so that the other crewmembers can’t hear. He knows better than to openly undermine me.
I get close to his face. It’s all but inevitable now that we’ll come to blows. We both stand, and I start to hear an annoying buzzing noise. It’s getting louder and louder. After a moment, I realize a Beta crewmember is trying to get my attention.
“Sir, we’re prepared to land if you want to issue the order.”
Amiran and I jump apart and refocus on the task at hand. Later, we’ll both choose to ignore our fight and pretend like it never happened. That’s what always happens between us. There are never any hard feelings. Alphas living and working in close proximity are going to scuffle sometimes—it’s who we are.
I sit heavily in my chair and ensure that the landing equipment is functioning properly. Next, I guide us into the docking station. It’s a bit of a tricky procedure because of the damage to our ship, but I have no doubts about my abilities, and I focus so intensely that I don’t even notice the blue and green lights that flash to indicate we’ve docked safely in Srim. It’s finally time to get off this cursed ship.
Kira
Walking around Srim’s capital city feels like a dream. I can’t convince my brain that what I’m seeing is real. For instance, Srim’s sidewalks float an inch or two off the ground.
“It’s so that they can be rolled up and moved and the land isn’t altered,” Peggy explains.
I’m afraid that I’m going to trip and fall off the side, but Peggy tells me there’s something like a force field that keeps you from falling off. At regular intervals, there are breaks in the sidewalk where you can step down.
Another strange feature of this place is that the sky here is more blue-green than blue. I look up at it to try to orient myself as a Srimite brushes past me on the sidewalk. As I stumble slightly toward the edge, a strong gust of air shoves me back.
I steady myself and keep walking and looking. So far, I haven’t seen any roads or cars or ships. Everyone is on foot.
“Peggy, does everyone walk here?”
“No, the roads are underground. Srimites are serious about keeping the land as undeveloped as possible. It’s like this to a certain extent on Fysi too.”
I can see what she means when I look around. I’ve seen maybe four buildings since we got off the ship. It’s strange to be in such a sparse city. The most notable feature seems to be the guards trailing me and Peggy at a short distance.
Peggy points at a squat, square building to my right. “That’s the Sovereign House,” she explains. She searches for a word for a minute before continuing. “It’s kind of like a palace and a parliamentary building all wrapped up into one. The Srimites build only their most important structures above ground. The buildings you see are either places of worship or key government buildings.”
I wonder what this underground city looks like. But Peggy bursts my bubble.
“Visitors to Srim are not permitted to go into the tunnels,” she continues. “There’s a plaza with a few amenities that’s exclusively for visitors. You’ll like it—the restaurant there is known for its nutrient broth!”
Peggy might be overestimating my fondness for nutrient broth, but I find her enthusiasm contagious. She’s moving around a little better these days, and it seems like her energy is coming back. Pretty soon, I’ll be overwhelmed by her hyperactivity again, and even though she drives me nuts, it’ll be nice to have the old Peggy back.
Since so much of the land hasn’t been developed, there’s a feeling of limitless space. There isn’t much to look at—there’s a lot of reddish soil in big mounds—but it’s a relaxing place to be because it’s so quiet and open.
We follow the sidewalk for about five minutes or so until we reach an ornamental archway. It’s probably twenty feet tall, and a banner hangs down that reads, “WELCOME GUESTS.”
Here, the walkways and the plaza itself aren’t suspended above the soil. Later, Peggy explains to me that this is the only spot in all of Srim that has been paved over. The Srimites consider it to be symbolic of the permanence of their hospitality.
The plaza has three buildings, each one or two stories tall.
“This is the only place we’re allowed to visit, right?”
Peggy nods.
“So how is it not swarmed with the soldiers from our ship?”
“Everyone gets their leave at different times. That happens no matter where you land, but it’s especially important here.”
She points to the farthest building. “That’s where we’ll eat.”
On the way there, we pass a small market stall. I catch sight of Cevelii toting a bag. I wonder what she’s bought. When I look again, she’s pulling a big blanket out of the bag, and the vendor at the stall is handing her some coins.
I guess Cevelii has a side business making blankets. Leave it to Cevelii to sell something where everyone else is buying. She really seems to do her own thing. I’m glad I don’t have to ever interact with her again.
When we get closer to the restaurant, I see that there are no doors or windows on the building. The roof is more like a tent. We sit down on tufted cushions, and a cool breeze blows through the restaurant. Without taking our order, a waitress appears with two drinks and two bowls of soup. She looks a lot like the Fysians, except for her green skin and ultra-long fingers. I try not to stare at her hands as she sets the nutrient soup in front of me.
“What are Earthborn restaurants like?” Peggy asks me, and I’m startled because she always seems to know everything about life on Earth.
“A waiter or waitress comes to take your drink order. Then they come back with drinks and take your food order. Then they come back a third time to take your dessert order.”
“I thought I remembered that from my research. All that ordering is inefficient. This is better—each restaurant serves one kind of food. You go, they bring exactly what you wanted, and then you leave.”
Peggy and I spend the first half of our meal talking about restaurants we’ve been to. Then it feels like the breeze suddenly stops, and I can’t hear anyone talking, not even Peggy. Charging through the restaurant, coming straight toward me, is Drax. And boy, does he look good enough to eat.
Drax
This isn’t what I had in mind for my brief foray off the ship. I planned to relax a little—alone. But I’ve been to the other restaurants on Srim, and they’re all full up. And which table is the only one with room for me? Of course it’s the Omega’s.
I can see her body clench when she notices me. But it’s more than that. I can feel her movements. I want to shove all the food off the table, lay her down on it, and breed her in full view of everyone here.
I sit down heavily and snap my fingers for the waitress to bring me my food. I’m starving, so I don’t attempt any niceties with the Omega or her attendant. I’ll shovel the food in my mouth and be on m
y way.
The Omega scoots away from me and turns so that her back is toward me. Fine. She must feel the same way I do, that avoidance is best.
But when I hear the attendant say something about the children’s center, I can’t help myself. I have to interject.
“That’s incorrect,” I say.
“Excuse me?” the Omega says, while the Beta looks like I’ve struck her.
“It’s not true that the children’s center is meant to be a nurturing place. It’s only meant for one thing: to begin our training early so that we can serve Fysi.”
