I've finally acclimated to the days' slow trudge. I've learned to estimate the time from the temperature alone. With the long, stretched mornings, there's warmth. Dry warmth. It's luxurious on my exposed skin, not like unfriendly sunshine when Topside – it's a different glow. I enjoy the days.

The planet's nights are different. The warmth diminishes like the air was made of hot ions and, at a specific blip in time, they burst and evaporate into ice particles. 

The nights were uncomfortable until John found an interesting solution. He must have sensed my discomfort. For the past few weeks, whenever the planet's night descended, he'd turn up his own core temperature and warm the room like a boogery space heater. We wouldn't sit any closer together, but I could feel the effort all the way from my side.

This morning, I find it particularly difficult to literally get up. My body has gotten so misshapen from my son's gestation that I can't pull myself off the floor. I'm massive. Part of me wonders if it's prison food or if it's the fact that I've become sedentary long enough that all my muscles have atrophied. In my mind, I'm as large as the moon with stick arms, legs, and head with unwashed brown straw protruding from its surface.

Knuckles should be arriving soon with fresh clothes and, if he knows what's good for him, a hairbrush.

I struggle. Rolling onto my side, I try to use my legs to thrust forward, but my center of gravity is so far from where I'm used to finding it. John scuttles over. He sticks two legs out near where I've planted my hands.

"Thanks, John." I grasp them in tight fists and hoist myself from the ground. "You better not let me get too used to this or I'll start riding around on you if they even think about confining me to this bedrest bullshit again."

The gravel wall scatters and Knuckles emerges with Coodi, McCroy, Flatts, and to my utter shock, Moyra, behind him.

"Ah, Reprimand day. How unfortunate that your restful stay at this luxurious facility has come to its desolate end. I will miss the decor."

He and Coodi have no problem entering and taking their positions at my side, but McCroy, Flatts, and Moyra balk. The Xani stands at his full height behind me, his neck crackling as his head tilts. The popping fills my ears. McCroy lowers his eyes, Flatts stares in unmasked horror. Moyra returns to her unaffected composure.

Knuckles digs into his satchel and pulls out a fresh set of clothes.

"What the hell is this?" I let the cloth unfurl in my hands.

"It's called a dress. I'm sure they were invented sometime before you were born and were sometimes associated with your particular sex. I myself have never worn one, but, I hear they're quite comfortable and breezy. Do tell me if I'm mistaken, but you have seen one before, correct?" Knuckles looks to Coodi who shrugs.

"Where's my uniform?"

"Have you seen how much you've developed in the last month?"

He has a point, but a dress? I can't remember the last time I'd considered it an option. It had to be sometime before Simon gave up on forcing one over my head when I was five.

He hands me a bladder of water, a slice of soap, a towel, and, Lady bless him, a hairbrush.

"We leave in 83 klyks." Knuckles grins, enjoying the math. "We'll be right outside."

When they retrieve me, I'm finally cleared of the thick layer of mustard-yellow dust that covered every inch of my skin. I smell infinitely better, my hair cascades in wet waves down my back, and I'm blanketed with a grass-green dress that emphasizes my middle. In the mix of brown, green, and expansive circumference, I must look like the walking embodiment of the planet Earth.

When they collect me, Knuckles clutches his chest. "I'm not used to this softer side. It's good to see you without such hard edges."

"Don't get fucking used to it." I stride past him into the care of the Tadj escort who places my hands in prayer position, wrapping the blue band around my wrists and elbows.

We follow his lead in a grim procession through a series of hallways that empty into a massive room with a raised dias. I step up to the top. A bright white spotlight points from the high ceiling, darkening the audience of thirty. Most are Tadj, but outlines are other species I vaguely recollect from that first night at the bar. The ones I remember most are the enormous, hairy bulls.

One Tadj stands from the crowd. I squint at him through the spotlight. "Commander Lorn, you are here today to answer for your transgressions against intergalactic port regulations. These are the items of your offense. . ." He points to the table on the platform with me.

Images of the bar fight replay on the surface. It's me and Moyra on mute, speaking with anger screwing up our faces. I am the more hostile of the two. The video follows us through the bar and stops once we enter. A slim box zooms and pauses, highlighting us mid-conversation.

"Offense one," the Tadj announces. "This establishment was not part of the outlined locations you were allowed to visit. As this is your first time on Heedeem, this transgression does not warrant a reprimand."

A thin sweat covers my hairline.

The screen speeds forward as I watch me and Moyra bicker in front of the bartender. The box zooms on my hand tapping the gun at my hip.

"Offense two," the Tadj shouts to the crowd. "No one, in any intergalactic port, may touch a weapon unless assisting Tadj in port defense. Regulation Six-Heedeem-Three Five Nine. This violation is reprimandable."

My muscles clench. A bead of moisture drips down my temple.

The images speed forward again. I cringe as I see my projected image disarm the other being with violence. I'm appalled. My body was tight like a coil as I overpowered him in a few swift movements.

I've never seen myself fight before. The power I held over this creature was immense. I was bigger, stronger, more fierce with all my anger built up. I watched as I beat the creature senseless. My eyes stared deep into its face, but I don't remember seeing what I was doing. I watched my fists make contact as clear flecks like water sprayed from its skin. After a few seconds, the creature stopped fighting back. It went limp.

I kept pounding.

I can't breathe. I can't even swallow my bile. Hot, heavy tears rush to my eyes.

The box zooms on my face twisted in rage, my lip curled back, my hair wild, my eyes bulging with fury.

I'm a monster.

Moyra doesn't move when I try to find her eyes. She saw this. She saw me become this person at the bar. It's no wonder she never returned.

"Offense three," The Tadj growls out. "The most unforgivable. Heedeem ports are locations for sanctuary and refuge. Binding agreements from all parties state that peace must be maintained. Regulation One-Hedeem-Zero Zero Zero Three. This violation is reprimandable."

My head drops. The top of my belly is hard to look at as I imagine my son realizing his mother is a disgrace. I avert my eyes to the floor and squeeze my hands tight together through the bindings.

"Face your victim!" someone shouts from the assembled.

Another few bellow the same.

A figure cloaked in shadows beyond my spotlight approaches. When it steps into the white glow, I falter. The creature's face is blue ground beef. It is mushed and chunky in the same way Simon used to pat the meat together for his special loaf recipe. With shoulders back and donning the strongest resolve I possess, I step forward to the edge of my platform.

"I'm so sorry," I say to it. With all my conviction, with all my pooling tears, I repeat the words. "I am so, so sorry for all the pain I caused you."

It doesn't say a thing, but regresses to the shadows.

The head Tadj speaks again. "You have viewed your offenses and you have addressed your victim." He lifts a long, slim, pink hand above his moony eyes. "You are reprimanded."

Two Tadj step up and meet me at the platform. One cuts the blue that binds my hands together.

I'm free. 

Thirty days in jail seems like such a small price to pay for what I did to that creature. I freeze on the platform, my arms dangling at my side. My team shuffles around to exit their row of seats. I think about running to the creature, flinging myself at its feet, apologizing again and again and explaining that my violence had nothing to—

One Tadj grabs my arm and twists it behind my back.

Startled, I try to push him off. The other Tadj clutches my other arm, and both push down on my shoulders, shoving me to my knees.

"What are you doing?" Knuckles shouts from below.

I twist my head as my aggressors hold me down with excessive force. They shove my head to the table, smashing my cheek against the surface. Through blurry tears of sudden pain, I watch Knuckles, Coodi, McCroy, and Flatts push against Tadj guards. They clamor to get to me. Moyra stands stiff and rigid. For the first time, she watches my eyes. We hold each others' gaze as I whimper through the long fingers that press my face tight against the cold glass.

I smell smoke.

Hot searing pain rips through my body. They're slicing me open from the neck. Screams tear through my body as the fire slits my throat.

The Tadj press harder on my head and shoulders. My belly hangs below the table. My son kicks and spins around so quickly, it hurts. With the pain outside-in and inside-out, I want to die so it will all stop.

It burns. It smolders. It scalds. I scream as they hold it in place.

When whatever they pressed against my neck is removed, the burning persists.

They release my arms and head. I don't feel them behind me anymore, but I stay there, arms spread to the side, my cheek crushed to the table. I stay there and let the tears and air rush from my body in heaving gasps.

I feel Knuckles at my side, pulling me back into his chest where he wraps his thin arms around me.

"There, there, Lorn. You're fine. Please. Bring your heart rate down. For your son. Bring your heart rate down for him." His hand runs through my hair, petting me with a heavy hand as I try to catch my breath. I can't. I cough and sputter as my breathing hitches. The burning on my neck doesn't recede. He avoids touching it.

"What did they do?" I gasp between strangled hiccups.

Coodi bites her bottom lip. "They branded you. Like cattle."

My hands are clenched in tight fists in my lap. I can't move in Knuckle's strong grip. I want to touch it.

With his arms around me, I slump into him. There's no way to relax when the fire eats at a focal point in my hide, but I try my best to calm down so my son will stop moving.

"That's it," he soothes. "That's it, love. Calm down. There, there."

My VIPERs stand around me and watch their commander fall apart. They've witnessed my fall into shame, they've seen all my dirty secrets. I catch McCroy's pity. I sense Flatt's embarrassment.

When my lungs expand and release more slowly, I make up my mind.

I've slipped too far. My VIPERs will never see me so vulnerable again. Never. I close my eyes, tears dripping down my cheek.

Never.

I will die before I give them a reason to ever look at me with those sorrowful eyes or that flaming shame again. They will never see any more of my skeletons.

Inhaling one more time, I let the rest of my emotions shuffle out with the strong exhale. Shuddering, empty, without another single sentimentality to spare, I open my eyes.

"I'm fine," I say.

Knuckles' grip doesn't loosen.

"Let me go."

"Lorn." His voice is soft against my hair as he pulls me closer.

I don't need soft anymore. Soft gets people like me into trouble. "Medic K. Release me. Now."

He backs away and leaves me in a pile on the platform. Using the tabletop for leverage, I pull myself to my feet, shoving away his hands when he tries to help me stabilize.

I deserved all of this. My head is nowhere near where it should have been. Stupid sentimentality, love, emotions, goodbyes, longing, concern. They did this to me. They turned me into a pile of slop. That's not who Janika Lorn is. This is not who I was meant to be.

When I stand straight, my knees tremble, but the rest of me is stoic. I can isolate the burning feeling when I stand tall like this. It's on the middle of my neck just under the left side of my jaw. The smell in the air is meaty and metallic. That's my smell. I lift my fingers to touch the fiery skin, but Moyra's hand intercepts. She shakes her head, her sleek scalp reflecting the white spotlight above.

"We need to return to ARC10," I say, ripping my hand from hers. "We need to make sure all procedures are effective for launch. Coodi, has all cargo been delivered?" 

"Yes, Commander," Coodi states sharply, cutting me a hard salute. She reminds me how good it feels to get back to business. "All assets are aboard and we are ready for liftoff as soon as our remaining team embarks."

I am afraid I will fall down the steep stairs, but I'd rather flatten myself in a quick death than let them see me falter again. "Excellent. Let's get the hell out of here." I take the first few on my own before the world begins to tilt.

My ankle turns. I'm going to fall face-first down the remaining steps until I feel two cold, metal bars under my hands.

John's legs extend from the dark where I see his eyeless face lurking. I stand straight and continue the rest of the way leaning on him. As we traverse the building, he takes the space at my side and jostles in his stocatto crab walk through the streets. He never moves ahead of me, but keeps my slow pace through the roads. Being the first time I've had enough room to do more than pacing, I realize how much my stride has changed. I don't know what my walk looked like before, but it wasn't this. I move like there's a pillow between my legs. I rock back and forth and become exhausted after what feels like an eternity of rigorous marching.

"Let's stop and take a break," Knuckles announces.

"No. We need to keep moving. We need to get off this fucking planet."

"Lorn, you're going to overexert yourself."

"We will keep moving." If I know Knuckles as well as I think I do, he's glaring at my back as I push on. Good. Let him glare.

The Tadj and other inhabitants of the street immediately show their conflicting emotions when we parade through. They gawk at John. The emotions presented in their faces appear the same at first glance, but after spending time with my Tadj guard, I've come to realize how nuanced their emotions are. With the way they gaze at John with their bright eyes, I can tell with the under curl of their bottom lip, they're disgusted by him. My Tadj guards would do this often when they watched Knuckles perform his examinations on me. They look at John the same way. They look at me that way too. They stare and point at the scar at my neck that cools as every minute passes. Their long fingers extend toward my neck and they whisper in the language I've come to understand as their own.

John and I now seem to have more in common than I ever thought before.

He scuttles at my side. I put my hand on his orange, horizontal torso at the same level of my own chest. The Tadj part to give us a wide berth. Out of the way. Two vile aliens coming through.

Knuckles and the rest follow close behind.

When we get to the mountain pillars of the land, I lean back to see how massive the trek will be.

I'm exhausted. I don't want anyone to see me admit it, but I don't know how much longer I can keep up the pretenses. A month on my ass has made me soft.

And I'm not soft.

I hate soft.

Putting my foot on the first step, I hoist myself up. I use his legs curved in perfect angles as a railing to keep pulling myself further. My team never complains about our snail's pace.

The land of Heedeem slips further and further away.

Good riddance.

We weren't prepared to be good guests. We came in, we made demands, we expected compliance. That is apparently not how the rest of the universe works.

I wonder if Dean has had better luck than me.

Dean.

The two ships.

"Coodi," I keep my eyes on the stairs ahead. "Have the other two ARCs arrived?"

"No, Commander," she says from directly behind me. "One might be landing later today or tomorrow. It was very close. The other is still in the distance. And," she pauses, probably reading my mind, "I'm not sure which ARC it is. It was too far away last time I checked."

Today or tomorrow. No time to wait. We have to go. We have to get back on track.

The rock ceiling of the world draws nearer and nearer. I'm exhausted. My arms are sore from using John to pull myself forward. My body is slicked with sweat, my breathing puffs out in rapid gusts as I push on.

Finally, I see the opening. I emerge into the white cloud and take a quick breather while I wait for the rest of my team to emerge. John lets me lean against him. Just having some relief from the pressure in my hips, knees, and feet is sweet, sweet reprieve, even if it's for three minutes. I pat his leg in gratitude. 

"Commander, there's the ship." Flatts points to the pale white sky.

In the horizon, there is indeed a ship. It's long and slick like a finger. It's not a disk, which means it's not ARC9, and, therefore, I don't care.

"They look like they're going to land ETA twenty minutes." Coodi squints at her PAHLM and flashes it to me.

Twenty minutes? Maybe we can spare that. Just to give the Commanders a heads-up on Port protocol. Don't start bar fights—it fucks everything up.

I gaze up at the ship and take another closer look at it. It glistens as it slows down in the atmosphere for landing protocol. It's a beautiful ship.

It looks familiar. Despite ever only being in the presence of ARCs 9 and 10, this one is like an ARC I've seen before.

Or at least its plans.

Fuck.

As it closes in on the ground, blaring blue letters that glisten in the sunlight announce the arrival of ARC4.

Kai's ship.