The rest of the crew’s silent, but everyone’s eyes are alert, their body posture signaling that they’re ready.

“First contact, ladies. This is their show. We are here to do a job. We follow their lead, we play nice, we get the tech, we go home. We don’t have language capabilities, so we will be at a disadvantage until they decide to gift us with their translators. Assume they know what we’re saying, and don’t fuck up by saying something stupid. The last thing we need is an intergalactic incident.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.” They say it at once, with not a hint of irony.

“Ship is secured and ready for departure. Alien lifeforms approaching,” the ship says.

“Release restraints,” I tell the ship, and they immediately zip back, releasing our bodies. Several crew stagger, then right themselves.

“Bex, lock it down,” I continue. “We’re here to play nice, but there’s no reason to make it easy for them to slip something on board we don’t want.” With their level of equipment, it’s all too likely we won’t have a clue if they do, but taking precautions is better than doing nothing at all.

Bex launches herself at a nearby terminal, her fingers flying over the key screens. The nervous energy is palpable as everyone removes their helmets, Carmen’s hair fanning about her like cotton candy. Mmm, sugar.

I should have put some candy in my pockets. For safe keeping.

“We ready?” I ask, knowing it’s the last time we’ll be able to speak freely until we’re spaceside again, hopefully sooner than later. Then I can get my promotion, some glory, and secure Earth’s future. No biggie.

“Ready,” they chorus.

“Open doors,” I tell the ship. “Let’s say hello, shall we?”

I fix my best smile to my face, and the loading dock door hisses open, descending into a ramp.

Nothing I studied could have prepared me for this.

“Holy shit,” someone says, probably Bex. Another whistles in appreciation. We’ve landed in a clear area, but dense, verdant jungle crowds all around us. That’s not the cause for their unprofessional but warranted exclamations, though.

This place is incredible.

Humidity blasts through the door, viscous fingers of steam that curl across my face. Sweat begins sliding between my breasts, but I stand straight, leading my crew down the ramp and onto Suevan ground.

The first humans on Suevan ground.

My heart flutters a little. This is easily the biggest mission of my career, and for a second, I’m giddy with it. I’ve dedicated my entire life to the Earth Federation, spent so many nights lonely and tired, but it’s all worth it now.

They’ve finally found me fit to lead an entire mission.

Lights dance above the ground, shedding warm light into the dusky evening. Massive trees cage in the clearing, and more bobbing lanterns float around them, illuminating what appears to be a city carved into the trunks of the trees themselves.

The Suevan welcoming committee approaches, and I instantly go on high alert. My heart rate picks up, hammering against my chest. We knew they were huge, we’ve gone over what we know of them over and over again in Carmen and our intel officer’s daily briefings, but it’s one thing to see the Suevans in vids and an entirely different thing to have the over seven foot aliens gliding up to you in real life.

Thank goodness we at least had the vids, our ability to tap into alien comms streams thanks to tech leftover from the Roth invasion of Earth over a decade ago, the invasion that completely changed the course of Earth’s future.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to remain calm. That ability, at least, is thanks to the years of training the Federation’s put me through.

Several of my crew suck in noisy breaths, shifting uneasily behind me.

Daunting even from a distance, the huge lizard people are a meld of recognizable human features too. Talons jut from human-like five fingered hands and larger than human feet. Fangs flicker in the overhead lights, pressing against mouths that are otherwise like ours. A huge tail sweeps from the back of each Suevan, thick and flexible.

But it’s their skin that truly sets them apart: glossy scales in different shades of green that fade to orange and creamy yellow on their exposed chests and stomachs.

“Do you think they have Crossfit here?” Gen asks, and Bex laughs quietly.

I shoot her a warning glance, but she’s right. The Suevans are packed with hard muscle, muscle that’s all too on display with their lack of clothing, other than the pants they wear. Their bodies look built for this planet… and for war.

My own clothes are stifling in the sticky heat, and I fight the urge to adjust them, the urge to show any discomfort at all, in front of these primal predators.

“Oh, shit,” Gen says breathily, and I zero in on the cause of her discomfort.

These aren’t just any Suevans.

I recognize at least three immediately, from the few vids we have of them in battle. Though the footage we’ve studied over and over is garbled, there’s no mistaking the ragged scar knifing down the lead alien’s face. It starts at the top of his head, cuts down the side of his face, barely missing his eye.

Draz of Edrobaz, First Warlord and right hand of the monarchy. It’s about all we know about him, thanks to the communiques they sent to Earth. That, and that this alien, Draz, is a butcher. I repress a shudder as I recall what those huge arms are capable of, what his hands did on the field of battle as he protected a small Suevan settlement on a nearby moon. His scales are a dark, mossy green which fade to a warm yellow across the hard ridge of his pecs and abdomen, muscled far beyond what any human would be capable of achieving. A body spent in a lifetime of honing it into a weapon.

He is dangerous.

And I can’t look away. When his gaze skates over me, his diamond-shaped pupils dilate, and his eyes widen slightly. I lift my chin, refusing to show anything but strength. Some animal sense in me screams to do otherwise would endanger my whole crew.

Behind me, Gen tenses, her hand brushing my forearm.

“Stand down,” I mutter. We have to play by their rules. If they wanted us dead, they would have shot us down in space. They would have closed the temporary wormhole they set up on the edge of Earth designated space as we went through.

They don’t want us dead. I inhale, stiffening my shoulders. Now I just have to figure what, exactly, they do want.

Piece of cake.

The approaching Suevan males slow, and dread settles deep in my belly. Strange music cues, and First Warlord Draz flicks his long, powerful tail in time to it. Right. Warlords in relaxation mode. Sure.

I clear my throat, trying to be calm and collected. “Thank you for welcoming us to your beautiful planet,” I manage. “We hope to learn much of your culture and take your teachings back to Earth with us.” And your tech.

Carmen insisted I make some kind of opening remark, that they likely have some sort of translator implant for human languages. But Draz frowns, and I wonder if I’ve said something culturally offensive.

He rumbles something, their language guttural and full of a strange throaty hissing, and the huge reptilian males behind him exchange glances.

“Right,” I say, trying to gauge what the hell is happening here, and how I’ve misstepped.

We don’t have a lot of information to work with regarding their people, and frankly, Federation top brass seemed beyond surprised that the Suevans even agreed to entertain our negotiations, considering how closed off they are. They intervene in few galactic skirmishes, mostly to defend their territories and settlements in the surrounding moons and small planets, where they mix with other alien species. It’s the only way we found out about their weapons and defense capabilities; the videos of their fighters are some of the most streamed on Earth.