Preparing my suit is easy enough on my own. I stretch and suck in as much as I can, but my new measurements are odd and tight in places that have never been tight before. In this suit, without the regular gear, I protrude from the middle where all the material has gathered. The whole suit is too snug. I can move, but barely. It's not the freedom from before – it's restrained. But I'm not going out on a mission. Not a real one. This is for fun.

And science.

No one will miss me if I'm gone for a few minutes.

When my helmet snaps into place, my finger hovers over the comms switch. The procedure is second-nature. Maybe this time I shouldn't. If I turn on the communicators, they'll know I'm leaving. I only want to be gone long enough to get food and come back. A quick run. Before they realize I'm gone, I'll be back, blissfully enjoying my spoils.

I don't want anyone to see me without my plates. My belly is on a spotlight in the BDUs without it. The black and gray emphasize the bump, making it appear like a bubble in a pile of dirty glass shards. I don't care anymore. I need to leave. No one is coming with, so there's no one to notice it's there.

I step over to the panel near the hatch and close the airlocks. They don't hold the same tension as before. Now that I know what's on the other side of the door, I wait with building excitement. The port lowers and the same light builds until the entire airlock is filled with the alien sun. Looking back one last time at the door to the main passageways, I check to see if anyone followed me.

Nothing.

No one.

Flipping through my PHALM, I activate my timer. I'll be back in an Earth hour. That's it. Just one hour. In and out. Food and gone.

The clouds swirl around my knees as I step further away from ARC10. I check back every few seconds to make sure it sits unmoving. I don't want Warren's twisted imagination to be right — don't leave me here.

Strange enough, the world under the clouds is mid-twilight. A hazy reflection from a light-source I can't see casts shadows on the town from the massive mountain pillars holding up the sky. I have a hard time catching my breath after seeing how the town transforms with a teal background reflecting the gold of the sun and mountains over the flat building surfaces. They glimmer as if they are made of stars.

The guards are still at the foot of the structure. When I pass them, their necks twist to keep me in their sights. They twist and cinch farther until they're looking directly behind their backs at me as I walk away. They stare me down with wide-disks as if shocked at my appearance. Their bodies are calm, relaxed as if they had been wondering when I'd be back. After a few paces, I look forward, losing them, not sure if they kept their post or spun around to tail me on my journey.

It's bizarre knowing that I have no one on my side to check my own back for me.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

The roads are much wider now that the crowds are less dense. The creatures move about leisurely like they're off the clock. I remember the way people roved the Rotunda and how it was the same aimless ambling. The pointlessness of sociability is universal.

I return to the main hall of the official hub and step up to the massive tablet. A symbol that I immediately recognize flashes at the top corner. A dish with steam waves emitting from it. That has to be the universe's symbol for eateries. My stomach rumbles to get me moving faster. It's dinner time. I tap the icon.

The same high chime sounds, directing me to the eatery. It guides me through a long hallway without doors. I hear the resonant beep and another noise joins it. The clamoring is loud and slurred. It's a cacophonous mixture of too many people in one room. It's reminiscent of drained mugs, laughter, and full bellies.

I know these sounds.

Stepping in front of the slate, it slides away, revealing a massive room in mess hall-style seating. Smattered around are different groups dining in harmony. The giant bulls sit with some pink disk-eyes. Other species, ones from the early ARC briefings appear. The Grays huddle together just as a few of Kai's precious Meltronians gather a few tables down.

Kai.

Even his name lolling around my brain sends shockwaves of loathing to the surface. Kai. The desire for food vanishes, replaced by a hollowness I don't know how to fill.

I touch the bump where my son rests.

Our son.

No.

Shaking the thoughts away provides little aid. When I jostle the turmoil and clear my head enough to return to my mission, I realize I've become the center of attention. The chatter stops and many have contorted in their seats to face me. A small sweat beads on my forehead despite the cooling functions in my suit. I wave at the table of Meltronians, hopeful that the whole race is privy to what some of them are up to in Earth's drama. Their attention returns to the dish between them as they pick at it with tiny fingers.

The bar. That seems normal – I know what happens here. There are no seats, but that doesn't matter. This whole experience isn't bad until I realize I have no idea how to order anything. My mind races around, trying to remember if anything had been given to us in the way of alien communication.

A pink creature with disk eyes appears in front of me. "Sustenance?"

It speaks. A miracle. "Oh thank the Lady! You speak English too."

"Sustenance?"

It's identical to the two from the mountain. It's smashed face may have a different wrinkle or tissue puff here or there, but for the most part, they're duplicate anomalies of the same bizarre-o world.

"I just want food. Do you have a menu?" My stomach screams out against the neglect as I lean on my elbows, getting closer to the creature.

"We serve a singular dish in our eating establishment. Melfifla meat. Do you desire sustenance?"

I look around at the beasts hunched over tables in the center of the room. I can't get a good view of the shared platter beyond the colorful array of bulk hiding it. The voracity with which some of the pink things are inhaling it must mean the caliber is similar to Simon's potpie surprise.

"What can I get for," I hold up my PAHLM and flash a symbol. "That much credit?"

"You have enough to purchase liquid sustenance."

"But I'm hungry. Don't you have anything small you could cut up in back? A sample plate? Appetizers? Sharables? A tin of peanuts? Anything?" I'm beginning to whine. Was this whole thing a waste of a good night of sleep?

"You do not have enough for Melfifla meat. You must leave." The bulbous pink formations above his orby eyes gurgle.

The menacing way in which he looks at me startles me for only a second before I realize that, despite my starvation, I must be diplomatic. I'll find food elsewhere. "Fine. But I'll remember this." I stare it down as I squeeze between the tables, returning to the entrance.

That was useless.

Back outside, the golden glow of the buildings have gone dark and the teal shimmers brighter than before. It's mesmerizing. I'd love to write it down, try to describe it with words that sound pretty so I could share it with Dean later, but I don't have the capacity for that. Or the patience.

My stomach roars.

Across the road, four pink natives congregate. They speak in sounds that remind me of bristles scrubbing against a wet, titanium floor. Nothing that comes from their small mouths is familiar, but there's something about the way their arms swing leisurely around — something about how they tilt their heads back slightly, carelessly, with casual flippancy that I only know from working so many years at the Sink. I know what this is. It's the universal sign of people in-transit to a better place where they'll be able to relax, let loose, and talk shit about the idiocy of their world. They're revelers on the prowl. They're on the hunt for a good time. They're on their way to a bar.

When they pass, I whirl around to follow behind them at a distance. I see them, all four, swaying in their graceful, floating steps as they move around a pair of up-right toads in rubber suits.

The teal shimmering off the mountains deepens to black, enshrouding the world in darkness as if the lights were flicked off somewhere in a control panel. Around me, helmet lights in varying colors illuminate. The orb eyes of the pink creatures glow like full moons in deep sockets. They pepper the street, floating as if detached from the ground. I power on my own night vision filter.

The four continue their jaunty run down the road. They're the only ones that seem to have nothing else important to do in the night as their gait is quick and lively. The rest have no kick in their step like these chumps. I can almost smell the good time seeping out their bright eyes.

They turn to the bottom of a pillar. The darkness does little to hide their destination. Following at a distance, I watch as one pushes aside the sand that pulls back like a curtain. A bright interior welcomes them. When the curtain shuts, the pillar returns to its original stone facade.

There's no reason to follow them immediately. I can sit and wait here for a few seconds before—

"You're not actually thinking about going in there, are you, Neeks?"

Moyra's voice invades my helmet. I spin around, started, and find her standing behind me with a contemptuous glare.

"I'm doing research."

"Research?"

"Yeah. Research."

We watch the door together. "Any particular reason you've switched career tracks from esteemed militia commanding officer to amateur scientist?" Moyra's voice is curt. Her words nip at my heels as I rush to leave our hiding place, just to get away from her.

"The bigger question, White, is why you're out here following me." I step up to the door. I feel around the rock and catch the snag in the fabric that tricks us into thinking its gravel and stone. When I hold a fistful of the material in my hand, it pulls back, revealing the bright room from before. I switch my night filter off.

Her voice resonates clear through my comms. "When a crew's commander suddenly abandons ship without a word to anyone — a girl can get a bit suspicious."

"You don't need to be suspicious."

"Then she worries."

I snort. "That's the last thing you should probably concern yourself with. I can handle myself. I don't know how much brainwashing or whatever they've done to you, but if you remember correctly, it was usually me saving your ass."

Warmth and lively chatter accost us at the door. A few patrons show marginal interest in the two humans who have wandered into their establishment, but other than that, we're ignored.

"You're still holding onto that? What was it, ten years ago? I was a kid. You were my hero. I was stupid. You were a showoff."

We walk to the large stone bar in the center. One of the fleshy, pink moon-eyes approaches and speaks through the mask. I turn away to address my stalker. "A showoff?"

"Yeah. A showoff. There were a thousand other ways you could have gone about getting things done, but you somehow ended up choosing the one that got you nearly killed. Don't think I didn't notice that you always somehow managed to escape death by pure luck and live to tell these epic tales. I ate it all up. Why would you tell that to a kid?" She leans on the stone slab as the orby eyes bounce back and forth between Moyra and me. It speaks again.

"What if I didn't save your ass at all? Huh? What if all those times you needed me, I ran to Simon, or Jacob, or Colonel, or someone else to go solve your problems, huh? How much trouble would you have been? I never would have known you because you would have been in detention hall a majority of your idiotic youth. For such a brilliant kid, Mo, you were a huge idiot." I point my finger right between her eyes. "Especially when it came to boys."

She curls a lip at me. "Why do you have to bring that up?"

The creature attempts to interrupt again.

"Because it's half the reason why I had to follow you around, cleaning up your messes all the time. You shouldn't have been trusted with HEL-SR and definitely not HEL-HOC. It should have been me."

Moyra's anger slips into a slinky smile. "You're not mad because I was dead."

"What? Of course I am. That was fucked up."

"You're jealous." She backs into the bar and leans against it, folding her arms across her chest. "You're pissed because I'm what I am and you're what you are. You're pissed you didn't get picked. That I, for once, was better at something than you."

I fish for words.

There are too many things to tell her, but there's no way to say them all right here, right now, when we're far from our ship, but smashed together with these other strange species of the universe. The moment feels too personal to share with strangers, only a few of which I'm assuming can speak our language. "You're delusional."

"Am I?" she throws back. "Tell me you're happy for me. Tell me you're proud that your sister achieved something no one in her age-bracket has. Tell me that this has nothing to do with being special ops for HEL technology and I'll walk right back up to the ship and cover for you until you decide your field-trip is done."

My clenched fists and jaw painfully remind me that I need to open my mouth to say the words she wants to hear. But I can't. They're stuck. They won't come out.

"I'm glad you're alive. I was happy when they pulled you from the wreckage. I still think you were too young and too inexperienced. It has nothing to do with what I want or how much I think I should have been given the HEL technology. I have it now, don't I?" I tap my weapon at my side.

Sudden movements startle the two of us out of our intense conversation. Creatures, small creatures, ones with long, yellow faces and three sets of black, bubbled eyes surround us, their own guns out and swinging up into their webbed hands.

They gargle something rapid and incoherent. They point their weapons directly at us.