Raphael’s estimation of numbers was accurate. There were around two dozen of them, and they stood in a defensive formation, watching the Medusa with solemn expressions. Without exception, they were all armed to the teeth. Various knives adorned their bodies, and the long spearlike weapons they held had vicious looking white blades affixed to one end.

  “They look like a fucking handful,” Zahra remarked, her tone uncharacteristically subdued. “I am not excited about taking them on. Can we please try and avoid that scenario at all costs?”

  Calexa had to agree. “We’ll wait until they initiate communication. I’m not opening the doors without a bloody good reason.”

  There was something strangely primal about the appearance of these aliens. Their features were stark and elegant. High, noble foreheads and sharp cheekbones framed slanted obsidian eyes, and they shared a unique hairstyle. Long, gleaming black hair was drawn into a braid that ran down the center of the head. On both sides, their scalps were shorn, giving them a wild, rakish look.

  Their powerful bodies were encased in dark grey armor unlike anything Calexa had seen before. It was constructed from a series of plates, some large, some small, which were all connected in an organic, asymmetrical fashion. The effect was striking, the armor forming a sculptural sheath around their lean, powerful physiques. Artfully placed spikes and horns protruded from their shoulders, and around the left leg of each warrior, there was a strange looking black coil; a thick, rope-like thing that curled around the limb from thigh to ankle.

  What was most fascinating, however, was their skin. Royal violet was the term that came to mind. The rich hue was accentuated by black markings that varied from face-to-face, forming distinctive striped patterns that coalesced around the eyes, mouth, and cheeks. No two warriors possessed the same facial markings. The intricate patterns appeared to be as unique as fingerprints.

  “What a pretty shade of purple,” Mai remarked. “Not that there’s anything lovely about them…”

  Momentarily transfixed, Calexa could only nod in agreement. For some reason, she got the sense these strange warriors didn’t belong on this enormous spaceship. They didn’t match their surroundings, which were cold and grey and empty.

  A commotion started at the back of the group and rippled through to the front. Slowly, the wall of warriors parted.

  They were making way for someone.

  The leader of this unit, perhaps?

  Two figures emerged through the crowd. The first was a warrior like the others. He carried the same long blade-tipped weapon. The only thing distinguishing him from the rest was the fact that he wore no armor.

  He wore very little at all, save for a pair of loose black trousers. His broad chest was bare, revealing a powerful, muscular body. The pigmented markings on his face continued down his arms and torso, creating a fascinating interplay of color and darkness.

  Around his neck was a thin silver torc. A symbol of rank, perhaps? He wore his state of undress with a regal sort of indifference, as if he expected the Universe to fall into line around him.

  “That’s the boss right there,” Zahra said. “See how they make way for him?”

  “And the other guy?” Mai’s voice held a note of trepidation.

  Calexa studied the second alien, who walked alongside the bare-chested guy.

  Zahra groaned. “Bad news, that’s what he is.”

  She was probably right. Alien number two looked… sinister. Although he was of a similar height and build to the others, he seemed completely different.

  His armor was different. It was dark grey, and it shimmered under the bright lights. It was fluid and seamless, and it appeared to be constructed of thousands of tiny scales.

  A pair of curved blades hung at his side. Strangely, he didn’t carry any sort of gun.

  She could make out nothing of his features. His face was hidden by a very tech-looking helmet which was at odds with the garb of the warriors surrounding him.

  He came to a standstill alongside his companion and looked up at the Medusa.

  A strange sensation rippled down Calexa’s spine. It was as if the alien could see through the reflective surface of the port-hole window. He seemed to be staring straight through her.

  But that was impossible, because the super-reinforced window was one-way glass.

  “There’s something odd about that one. See how the others give him a wide berth?” Zahra’s grey eyes widened.

  “It’s almost as if they’re… scared of him.”

  “Hm.” Between the sinister one and the bare-chested warrior-chief, it was hard to tell who called the shots.

  Warrior-chief said something to the mysterious one. Mysterious One shook his head, crossed his arms, and waited.

  “About fifteen minutes.”

  “What?” Calexa blinked, not quite comprehending Raphael’s warning. The big navigator could be unintentionally obtuse at times. That was one of the drawbacks of supposedly possessing ‘higher intelligence’.

  “That’s how long we’ve got until our backup power supply starts to get seriously low. Pulling out the landing gear sucked up more energy than I thought. The systems are already unstable. I’m going to have to down-cycle the cabin lighting soon, but I’ll try and keep the ventilators on for as long as possible. We’re cycling external air now. Our endogenous oxygen’s completely gone.”

  “I’m guessing the pulse cannon won’t fire, and unleashing a triticore missile in here would be a bad idea, wouldn’t it?”

  “Correct. There would be significant blowback.”

  “So we’re virtually defenseless?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call you three banshees defenseless, but you are between a rock and a hard place.”

  “Huh?”

  “Old Earth saying. Sooner or later, we’re going to have to set foot out there. Preferably sooner, before the ventilator system fails, and before our power gets so low that we can’t open the airlock.”

  “How far has Monroe gone with the repairs?”

  “He isn’t going to get the main powerbank up and running within the next fifteen minutes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “How long?”

  “An hour if we’re lucky, and that’s just because it’s Monroe, and he’s a freak. That sort of job would take an advanced repair-bot half a day to complete, you know.”

  Calexa swore. Full automation had its advantages and its drawbacks. In this case, the Medusa’s seamlessly integrated networks were about to disable the entire fucking ship.

  She turned to Mai and Zahra. “You two get down to the passenger bay and stand guard. I’m going to ask Raf to open the airlock.”

  “What? We can’t open it. Not with those guys just waiting—”

  “Go and guard our passengers. We don’t have too many options right now. The ship’s systems are about to go dead.” Calexa set her PX-45 to live-mode. With her other hand, she unhooked a frag-grenade from her weapons belt. “I’ll handle it from this end.”

  “Cal…” Zahra regarded the frag-grenade in Calexa’s hand with a dubious expression.

  “Relax,” Calexa said in what she hoped was a calm, reassuring manner.

  “Why is it that whenever you say ‘relax’ in that tone of voice, I always get the feeling you’re about to do something downright insane?”

  “I’m going to make first contact, that’s all. Don’t worry. I’ll convince them that the last thing we want is a fight. This,” she opened her fingers to reveal the dull metal grenade, “is just for… insurance.”

  Just in case something got lost in translation.

  Considering there was no way their databases would have a translator algorithm for whatever language these aliens spoke—hell, Calexa didn’t even know what species they were—that was a very real possibility indeed.

  “We’re not leaving you to face them on your own.” Mai swiveled slowly on her heel, aiming her Irradium cannon through the tiny port-hole window. “If Raf’s going to open the airlock, then maybe I could fire a warning sho—”

  Calexa shook her head. “Get down there and guard our passengers,” she insisted, her voice softening. “I’m the gatekeeper, the test case, the sacrificial lamb. We don’t know what they want with us, and they don’t know what we’re capable of, so let me dip my toe in the waters first. I’ll try and buy us as much time as possible so Monroe has a chance to fix the powerbank. That way, we’ll know for sure whether their intentions are hostile or—”

  “You’re not going to give yourself up, are you?” Zahra was aghast.

  “I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I won’t be taken as a helpless captive, and I’m damn hard to kill.”

  “Princess isn’t going to be happy about this.”

  “S has no say in the matter,” Calexa snapped. “My ship, my rules. You two go down there and keep them safe. What you decide to do next depends on what happens to me. Just try to keep everyone on the Medusa at all costs. It’s our only line of defense.”

  “You’re nuts, Cal.” The resignation in Zahra’s voice was mixed with affection.

  Calexa shook her head. “Sanity is a relative thing in our universe. Whatever happens, I trust you both to keep it real.”

  Zahra and Mai nodded grimly, exchanging a knowing look.

  “We have a reputation to maintain, don’t we?” Mai smirked, and her expression alone—a great fuck you to the circumstances they found themselves in—warmed Calexa’s scarred heart.

  Chapter Six

  The airlock slid open with a hiss. Calexa stood behind the wall, not wanting to expose herself just yet.

  “What are they doing, Raf?”

  “One of them is approaching.”

  “Only one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me guess. He just-so happens to be wearing a dark helmet?”

  The Primean’s voice became fragmented. “I’m losing you, Cal… breaking up…”

  “Hey, Raphael?”

  There was the harsh crackle of static, then silence. The connection had died.

  “Shit.” Calexa tensed as footsteps reached her ears. The tap, tap of the alien’s gait was slow and measured; a cold, hollow sound that grew louder with every step. Her neural framework went into overdrive and her enhanced muscles tensed.

  Her body switched into fight-mode.

  Stay calm, she told herself, suppressing the urge to spring from her hiding spot and rush the intruder. Her instincts screamed at her to fight first and ask questions later.

  That method was effective in their usual line of work, but this wasn’t some under-the-table Fiveways mercenary job, and these aliens weren’t just low-rent criminals. This was uncharted territory, and she was way out of her comfort zone.

  The footsteps stopped. Calexa’s breath caught. Her trigger finger twitched. With the silence stretched taut, every passing second became a bizarre kind of torture.

  What was the alien doing? Even if he was standing just below the airlock, he’d have to haul himself up to her level if he wanted to enter the ship, because Raphael hadn’t extended the landing ramp.

  A faint hiss emanated from below, followed by a strange scraping sound. The fine hairs on the back of Calexa’s neck rose.

  The footsteps started again, growing louder and louder until they were almost on top of her.

  What the hell? There was no ramp. The intruder wasn’t supposed to be able to walk up to her.

  She pressed her back against the wall and raised her gun. From what she could hear, the alien was going to come through the airlock any second now, and even though she was supposed to try and negotiate a peaceful arrival, there was no way she was going to let him get the jump on her.

  Maybe she could take him hostage. That would give them some leverage until they got a handle on the situation.

  A booted foot appeared in the doorway, followed by a leg encased in seamless scale-armor, followed by the rest of him in all his sinister glory. He was like a shimmering mirage, moving fluidly like water and teasing her eyes with his strangeness. He was of the same height and build as the warriors she’d seen earlier, and he had the same black snake-like thing coiled around his left leg, but that was where the similarities ended.

  His armor was different. His swords were different. The air around him bristled with dark energy. It was as if the very essence of him was too much for his physical body to contain.

  The Mysterious One. Of course it had to be him. Trouble incarnate. She’d known it the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

  What sort of being is this?

  Calexa froze. Time slowed. In her hyper-alert state, she became obsessed with every little detail.

  The way the light reflected off his armor, splitting into a thousand shimmering points. The way he moved, sinuous and graceful. That damn impenetrable helmet of his.

  She could see herself reflected in its glossy surface.

  In turn, he was staring at her. He inclined his head ever-so-slightly, but she couldn’t read his body language.

  Hostile, or just curious?

  Calexa kept her gun trained on him, her arm perfectly still.

  “Vysh ku agete,” he said. Although it was a little distorted by the helmet, his voice was unexpectedly rich, and it sent a wicked thrill through her.

  “Well, hello there,” she replied, knowing perfectly well that he couldn’t understand a word she said. “I assume you’re not going to try and kill me, because if that was your plan, you probably would have done so already. I don’t know what you want with us, but if you try and harm my passengers or crew, I’ll pump five-thousand negas of supercharged atomic particles up your ass.”

  It was wishful venting. Calexa didn’t really know what she would do if things turned ugly. She was poised on the knife’s edge of danger, and the only useful thing she’d learned in all her miserable years on Dashki-5 was how to fight.

  The alien didn’t react. He just looked at her as if she were mad. She wasn’t quite sure how he managed to give off that impression when she couldn’t see his face. Perhaps it was something in his stance. He seemed completely unperturbed, almost to the point of arrogance. His arms hung loosely by his sides, his hands were open, and he made no attempt to reach for his weapons, even though she was pointing a gun at his head.

  Without raising a weapon in anger, he’d put her on the defensive.

  Movement below captured her attention. Calexa’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

  A metallic grey substance shifted and writhed on the floor, making a soft scraping sound as it slid over the alien’s feet. It wasn’t quite liquid or solid. It was somewhere in-between, and it was identical in hue to his odd scaly armor. The strange matter flowed around his boots as if it were magnetically attracted to him.

  What sort of crazy technology was this?

  The substance extended along the floor and out of the airlock, where it solidified into a ramp-like structure that became continuous with the dark grey floor. Was that how he had managed to get up here without too much commotion? With the aid of that stuff?

  The Mysterious One raised his hand and crooked two fingers, beckoning her in a simple gesture.

  The meaning was universal: come.

  No fucking way. Calexa shook her head slowly, hoping he understood. You’re asking me to trust you?

  She was not going to walk out there at the request of some obsidian-faced mystery alien when she had no idea what she was getting herself into.

  Not when there was an unknown metallic thing snaking around his feet.

  Not when she had no idea what this strange, dangerous-seeming creature wanted.

  He shrugged, as if to say: suit yourself, and muttered something low and unintelligible.

  The solid-liquid-metal stuff started to move. It slid across the floor, becoming fluid and tendril-like. It came straight for her, and it was damn fast. As it coalesced and gained speed, Calexa momentarily forgot about the gun in her hand.

  Fear hit her like a punch in the gut. It was fear of the crippling, paralyzing kind, the sort of dread one felt when faced with the terrifying unknown.

  The kind of fear she thought she’d left behind on Dashki-5.

  If she were young and inexperienced, she might have frozen, but Calexa was intimately acquainted with fear, and she’d vowed never to let it control her again.

  The liquid-metal stuff raced toward her, reaching her feet. Calexa suppressed a scream of horror as it touched her booted foot. In less than a second, it coiled around her ankle, forming a twisting rope that stretched along the floor from her leg to the Mysterious One’s feet.

  It slid up her leg. It engulfed her other foot. It tightened.

  What the hell am I supposed to do now?

  Her options were limited. One, she could wait and let the metal stuff continue to creep up her body. Hell, no. That didn’t seem like a good idea at all. Two, she could surrender and follow the alien, but that would mean leaving her ship and its passengers, and that didn’t sit well with her when she had no idea what his intentions were.

  Three, she could try and overpower him without killing him. That would give her some leverage. It was the only option. Take him hostage. Show them that we’re not toothless.

  When one was completely powerless, one had to carve out an advantage.

  Find something they want and use it against them. If you can’t think of anything they want, create something and convince them they need it.

  She’d learned that in the damp, frigid underground Arena prison on Dashki-5, where no quarter was given and the slightest hesitation meant death.

  It was a huge risk, but Calexa was all about risk-taking. When death was a constant shadow, risks didn’t feel like risks anymore, but more like rational decisions along a thorny, ever-shifting path toward survival. In her universe, inaction was the biggest risk of all.

  But first, she had to deal with this sliding, shifting, living metal-stuff, which seemed to be completely under the alien’s control.

  What the hell was he? Some sort of fucking telepath?