I scan over the briefing stapled to the inside of the folder flap.

The Kar’Kali Research Delegation has been approved to send a five-man team for their proposed exploration of Earth mating practices as they relate to the evolutionary predecessors of Kar’Kal.

“Hmm,” I muse, glancing up at Jen. She’s already absorbed in her computer screen, no doubt drowning in emails. “Dare I ask why they’ll be a handful?”

“Ehhh,” she shrugs. “The Kar’Kali are sometimes called ‘stone cold killers’ by the military personnel I see around.”

I frown. The briefing seems to sugar coat this with the phrasing: Kar’Kali cultural practices demand the suppression of emotion and eschew personal connection via the implantation of local hormone adjusters.

“So they’re boring. Big whoop,” I say. “So long as they don’t kill me…”

“Nah. Just don’t expect them to hit the bar with you like the Oofara,” Jen says with a smirk. I snort, remembering our few nights out on the town. There’s nothing quite like the sight of a pack of eight-foot-tall lizard-people getting down on the dancefloor. My smile fades as one stat from the folder jumps out at me.

“Woah! This says that Kar’Kal is directly in the middle of Sector 5.”

She nods. “They’ve been at war with the Azza for thousands of years. Raise their kids in a petri dish, train them for battle, and send them out when they’re sixteen. No personal relationships allowed.”

Stunned, I stare at the rudimentary map that shows the Kar’Kal planet in relation to the Azza outpost planets where enemy warships are launched towards the Alliance border. The planet sits on the edge of the further reaches of Alliance power.

“But they’re researching mating? That’s odd,” I say, tapping the edge of the folder against my upper lip.

“What, you want me to narrate the whole dossier for you? Read it your damn self. They have an unprecedented drop in population. They need to solve their birth rate problems.” She waves her hands at me, banishing me from her over-worked presence. “Ya know, more babies for the front lines.”

I slide the folder into my bag and leave Jen to her paperwork mountain range. Stone cold killers, I think to myself. That’s gotta be an exaggeration.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 2

Kila

Planet Earth is an odd place with very little technology to be seen, even in the cities. The Alliance has made strides outfitting these barbarians with medical care, transportation, and updates to housing. When we originally descended to the docking bay in the United States, I could see green areas and swathes of sparkling ocean, so I suppose there is a chance I will encounter more attractive parts of the planet. Until then, I find myself in a place called New Jersey. I cannot imagine what the Old Jersey must have been if the modern version consists of ugly black roads and block-shaped architecture.

I arrived only a day ago with my research colleagues. There are five of us, the only Kar’Kali now in Sector 27, a recently neutralized area that is desolate for light-years and light-years of travel space.

There is no structure in this place, a privilege of their distance from war. Instead of receiving schedules, orders, and uniforms, we were simply escorted from our transport vehicle and deposited in front of our new living quarters. We have but a key, a phone number, and a map showing the way to our new office, cafeteria, and bus stop.

It is now what humans call Monday, when they return from their weekly holiday known as Week’s End. I am not certain what there is to do over this holiday, but I will have to find out whether we will be allowed to access the lab during this time. There is no point in wasting two days of every week. We currently await the Head of Research, a female meant to lead us through an orientation meeting.

We wait by a massive gate, which is patrolled by a small security tower. It hardly seems well-manned, but I suppose this is no fortified planet. The only threats we might face are likely human ones. Kiva, the youngest member of our team, is the only one in good spirits following the long journey from home. He is regaling us with the information he gathered while prowling the halls of our residence last night.

“I have been making inquiries with other beings on our floor,” he is saying, gesturing his hands wildly. “They suggested that we conduct some research at the local establishments known as bars. These businesses, which sell mind-altering beverages, are reported to be a common location where humans seek and find a mate. It seems no matter where one goes on this planet there are bars to attend, suggesting just how permeating the human need to locate a mate must be.”

“Kiva, calm yourself. Watching you is making my head ache,” Mori complains. He did not even wish to join this research mission. He was assigned to the team solely based on his excellent standing at his Birth Center position.

Pakka, our team leader, paces by the gate, craning his neck for a sighting of the Head of Research. He is eager to get started and hates to be running late. Kiva frowns but says nothing back to Mori. Even though we are no longer at the capitol city’s military research facilities, our home planet ranks linger over us. Having only just finished his mandated five passings in combat, Kiva is merely a Grounder. Mori, Vala, and myself are all Domestics of various rank, while Pakka is a Cruiser with fifteen passings spent in deep space combat. It won’t matter to humans or the other Alliance species we might run into, but rank is ingrained in our minds.

We will be on Earth for an unspecified number of passings, but I am not sure that time can separate us from the passings we spent in combat. Here in the peaceful outer reaches, I cannot help but feel disconnected from reality.

A crowd is gathered on the other side of the gate, demanding freedom from invading oppressors, but none of these humans have seen the skies blacken from an Azza death fog or watched a fleet gather in the atmosphere like a swarm of angry vakkali. They have not seen males they’ve known since the early passings die screaming and begging for mercy. I suppose they think the Alliance is their enemy.

I watch the crowd with a sickening stomach. I want to tell them that when true war finds them, there will be no time for complaints and arguments. They anger me, but misplaced fury will always be my worst trait. It is as my adolescent supervisor always told me: “Anger does not kill enemies.”

Finally, a female appears that waves her arm at us in greeting. She is called Jen, and she is a small female with golden hair and eyes the color of grass. Her skin coloring reminds me of the inside flesh of a ground tuber, similar to many of the humans I have seen so far. Humans seem to vary in color more widely than Kar’Kali, as I’ve notice they range from Jen’s pale tone all the way to a dark brown.

Jen strides up to us and does not stop walking. “Don’t look so thrilled to be here, folks. Follow me.”

It seems there is no avoiding strange language such as this when it comes to humans. They tend not to say precisely what they mean. Even with translator chips on both sides of a conversation, humans can be indecipherable.

We trail her as though she is our new Commander, through glass sliding doors, past security checkpoints, and into an elevator. We are led down a hallway and into a messy room that must be her office.

Pakka is appalled. “Do you not employ a secretary? How is it you are efficient with all this disaster?”

“There’s a method to the madness. I do have a secretary. In fact, here’s his phone number. He’ll show up at some point and sit over there—” She jabs a finger at the desk area just outside her glass-paneled workspace. “If you need to plan a meeting with me, or even just have a basic question, you can go through him unless it’s urgent.”