EVOLUTION CREATES SPECIES for a specific environment, not meaning for travel outside the confines of an ecological system. A natural way to maintain a balance. Nytalyan’s attempts at altering this universal law have dried her skin to painful cracks. Over each bulbous eye a bulky misting apparatus sprays the pupil to keep moisture on it. Leaving the compound was a mistake. Staying on Shalenotun VII may cause permanent damage to her body. Livable damage if Admiral Kantian receives and utilizes the information.

Saltāl’s distance and growing interest in Peratimas’s viewpoints worries her. Saltāl risked his life at the Mokarran command center. Now she must search him out, risking her life.

Gray snow flurries down on the growing no man’s land around the central headquarters. She wipes clean the lens over her eye. Her white cloth uniform stains with the ash. Gutting fires have reduced half the city to skeletal cinders. Commodore Micah Donkor was assassinated for dealing with the Mokarran, but his secret deals prevented his people from facing the destruction overwhelming them now.

Tactically armored Tri-Star shock troops patrol the charred streets in trios. They prevent her from traveling farther until they scan her DNA bar.

“Command staff should stay within the compound.” He views her identification on a computer pad.

Nytalyan wishes she held a rank. Despite being part of Mokarran command delegating orders to fleet Admirals, she has no legitimate status in the command structure. “The recent firebombing prevents communications with fellow staffers not yet designated to the compound living quarters.”

“Dispatch a security detail,” he suggests.

Nytalyan draws up her shoulders. Never has she been confrontational. “I need to know if they are alive. Your security details failed to protect the Mokarran at the groundbreaking ceremonies.”

“Working for Command doesn’t give you privilege.”

Nytalyan was hoping to have struck a nerve. Even if no one speaks of the Mokarran treatment of non-Mokarran, the tensions remain. When her evidence breaks, the growing rift should split the Federation open.

“If I had privilege, you’d be searching for my friends instead of harassing me.”

“Brave for an Aequipinatus not wearing body armor,” the soldier on the right comments.

“The Mokarran want us bickering among ourselves instead of dealing with their treatment of all of us. What are you doing with the survivors you encounter?” Nytalyan’s burst of information brings pause to the soldier’s face.

“You move along.”

Nytalyan’s discovered most TSF citizens fear the Mokarran and the consequence of questioning their leadership. Fear of informants keeps many in line. Being brazen enough to speak ill of Command could be a ploy to entrap the disloyal. Luckily, they did not call her bluff.

As she marches away she makes a mental note to discover where the survivors from this burnt section are being transplanted. She knows where the wounded children from the groundbreaking were sent, but no transports have been dispatched for this burnt area.

As she travels more snowing ash covers her. Shalenotun faces covered with bandanas shovel the growing residue from the street as more soldiers guard them. None of those struggling to clear paths are uniformed as laborers.

One question answered. Now to locate Saltāl.

••••••

NYTALYAN KNOCKS ON the door to Saltāl’s quarters. The eye mister does little to keep her moist. The ash seems to dry her skin more.

As enough time passes, Nytalyan steps away from the door only for it to open.

Saltāl drags her inside before she utters a protest.

“It’s too dangerous for you to be here.” He secures the door behind her.

“When did what we’ve done before become too dangerous for me? We’ve been on this path together, and you’ve left me.” She strips off the top half of her uniform.

“You left me.”

Nytalyan marches from the living room. “How did I leave you?”

Saltāl follows her.

“I’ve shared so much with you. You held me when I lost my children.” Nytalyan reaches for the shower controls.

“I’ve fallen in love with you,” he confesses.

Nytalyan’s hand fails to reach the knob.

“Saltāl, our species’ physicality won’t allow a mating.”

“Love isn’t about mating.”

“It certainly is. No matter how much I care about you and you for me, biologically we could never meet certain needs you’ll have.” She flips the water on. The cracked skin softens under the steaming rain. “I have a biological need to lay eggs.”

“If your feelings are sure, then I know my next choice.” He pulls on a tactical armored vest.

“I need your assistance to deliver our information to Admiral Kantian. Return with me to command.”

“I’ll return with you,” he says.

“We need your Shalenotun rebel contacts to…What happened to your shadow?”

“The Mokarran have revoked the security clearances for many of the Shalenotun. I don’t need to make contact. I have a mission.”

“I need to know when they plan another demonstration. Svetlana says that with such an incident as at the school groundbreaking, she’ll make the transmission undetected.”

“Does she have the data crystal?” He secures the vest designed to protect against a plasma bolt.

Nytalyan notices the vest seems thicker than standard for plasma reflection. Maybe he fears projectiles. “I keep it with me. In the pouch where my children died.”

Saltāl slips on a uniform top.

“I am unable to mate with you,” she says again as an apology.

“Moisten your skin. I need you to get me into Command.” He buttons his top over the vest.

“You never wore armor before.”

“While you’ve been hidden in Command the death of Micah Donkor splintered the insurgents. He held many different political factions in check. Besides the large number of Mokarran supporters, there are an equal number of anti-Mokarran rebels and a third faction who want to run the government for Shalenotun only. Making anyone working for the Mokarran a target.”

“Which group have you chosen affiliation with?”

Saltāl adjusts his uniform, concealing the vest.

“Extreme factions won’t bring down the Mokarran. You’re a part of the propaganda machine. You know the truth,” Nytalyan says.

“I know I’ve stood by while entire planets have been slaughtered and done nothing. On Bea V billions died for standing against them. I observed. Cadon Prime children marched onto the battlefield. The rebels choose slaughter over murdering their own babies. Rubicon IV,” Saltāl says.

“I’ve translated many of those orders. I’ll not escape falling through eternal darkness when I die, but I will die having done all that is possible to prevent a future Bea V.” Nytalyan allows all the water beads to hang on her skin.

“If we report to Command, how much time do you need to slip Svetlana your crystal?” Saltāl asks.

“As long as she’s on duty—minutes,” Nytalyan says.

“Mokarran officials are moving off command to oversee planetary issues from orbit to prevent any attacks on the leadership.”

“Did you get transfer orders?” she asks.

“Rebels intercepted a coded transmission. None of the support staff was to be informed, preventing a planned attack. They suspect disloyalty. Too many of us have interacted with the Shalenotun to remain in trust,” he says.

“They assigned many of us to deal with the citizens to prevent the insurrection.”

“It failed. Mokarran don’t understand the control of the masses won’t keep people in fear forever,” Saltāl says.

Nytalyan takes her uniform from the closet. Once she passes the crystal to Svetlana, she’ll need hours of soaking to restore her skin. Once in the station the artificially-controlled environment won’t destroy her epidermis. “Do we have a time frame? Svetlana doesn’t want to remain in possession of the data long. They shake down her quarters and person randomly since the last attack.”

“If they have lost trust in us since arrival I fear we may be replaced with certified loyalists.”