Tempted by Celestial Bodies

Chapter 1

chapter one

natalie

Never answer a distress call.

Such a directive was stated in bold at the beginning of every intergalactic freight company’s pilots’ manual. If a cloud of debris or a psychogenic parasite managed to leave one ship stranded in the incalculable emptiness between galaxies, what would stop it from disabling whoever came to help?

The first step in helping somebody else is to not become a victim yourself, after all. It was a lesson taught to me early in the Space Force’s basic training back on Earth.

So, when an orange light began blinking with startling urgency on the proximity monitors of the Gokstad , breaking the thick monotony of another day in the cockpit, my heart stuttered. For months, nothing had interrupted the Stygian gloom outside the viewports as I traversed the long quiet between star systems. Now the pinging light of a distress call cut through the stillness as thoroughly as the chiming of claxons on a Space Force Station.

I leaned forward to inspect the readouts, the worn synth-leather of the pilot’s seat creaking in protest at my movements. My gaze swept over the control panel, checking how close the disabled ship would be to the Gokstad ’s trajectory. My mechanical eye projected a series of calculations onto my vision, indicating the incoming signal originated not far from the edge of a passing galaxy, as if the source of the beacon had spun out of orbit and ended up in the nothingness of space by accident.

If a ship was not built for intergalactic travel, like my utilitarian but sturdy long-range freighter, its crew had little hope for survival.

My fingers drifted to the navigation panel but hovered over the controls. Common sense and manuals warned long-haul pilots away from distress signals for good reason. Pirates often used them as a lure for ships transporting rare commodities. Even if the signal was legitimate, I likely could do little to help.

After all, I was just one person: Natalie Jackson, former Colonel in the Earth Space Force turned lonesome freighter pilot.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the large cargo bay of my ship. The lights in the hold remained off, apart from the dim red running lights, leaving them to reflect eerily off the glass surfaces of row after row of empty stasis pods. I wasn’t sure which was worse: the lifeless faces of hundreds of passengers kept in artificial sleep, looking almost like corpses as they careened through space, or the knowledge that there was no living soul besides myself for a megaparsec.

Except of course, in that moment, others nearby might be in need of aid. If the source of the distress call held any survivors, they would be the nearest lifeform I had encountered in months. The ache of loneliness throbbed in my chest at the thought other beings so nearby, likely also lost and isolated in the icy vastness between planets. However, that ache was pushed to the background by the thought of what the ship’s passengers might be going through, waiting to see if their distress signal would be answered—the panicked desperation that had clutched my own heart after an invading alien ship had disabled my Space Force fighter, costing me my eye and nearly my life. I wouldn’t wish that fear on any being.

The vacant pods in my cargo bay stared at me, their emptiness standing in stark judgement, and my decision was made. I turned to the navigation panel and began making necessary preparations to drop out of hyper speed. Perhaps if I had held the lives of all my passengers in my hands, I would have made a different choice, not willing to risk the safety of those who had no say in the matter on something that might be a trap. But I was deadheading this transport back to Earth—a planet everybody wanted to leave, but nobody wanted to return to.

That’s why this job paid so well. That was why I took it, resigning myself to the suffocating isolation of solo piloting. I would need those credits to start a new life, as far away from Earth as possible.

The floor shuddered beneath my feet as the roar of the fusion engines dulled to a pleasant hum. My ears rang with the newfound quiet, even as my stomach flipped at the sudden change in velocity.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the wave of nausea that rolled over me, acid sloshing in my empty stomach. I should have eaten something, but normal mealtimes had fallen by the wayside several weeks ago. The meaning of the cycling chronometer on the wall, and the ideas of normal social morays and even necessary life-sustaining practices like nutrition had disintegrated against the onslaught of isolation.

When the bile in my throat had eased its way back down to my gut, I opened my eyes, only to be left blinking at the sight in the viewport. The Gokstad approached the edge of a galaxy, a smattering of stars and planets in the distance scattered across the blackness like tossed confetti.

Much closer than the galactic rim, though, was a starship—or what was left of it. What had once been a sleek black hull was split down the middle, cracks running over the reflective surface out from the terrible rent that had cleaved it in two. I squinted, trying to get a gauge on what type of ship it was.

My mechanical eye automatically scanned the shape and design, comparing it to a reference database. Orange letters scrolled across the top of my vision as I stared at the seemingly lifeless vessel: Escalon Class Entari Warship

My eyebrows raised. I had never heard of the Entari before, but the ship, even decimated as it was, was clearly beautiful. If the pieces were joined back together, it would form a sleek, elongated disk, like the body of a stingray. It was much smaller than the reinforced bucket I currently flew, built for speed and maneuverability.

Unfortunately, it was clearly damaged beyond repair.

And even worse, such destruction would have left no survivors.

An unexpected pain pierced my heart, as hope I didn’t realize I had harbored shattered as thoroughly as the ship before me. I’d hope for an interruption to the long quiet nothingness of my current existence. I couldn’t even hope to salvage the ship and sell the parts, hopefully making enough credits to cut a trip or two off my timeline before I could start a new life.

Now I’d just lengthened my journey for no reason. There were no survivors for me to rescue. Unlike when rescuers pulled me from my damaged Space Force fighter, down an eye but still clinging to life, I had arrived here too late.

I had failed.

Getting the Gokstad to fully accelerate the ship to hyper speed again would take hours. I swallowed around the lump of disappointment in my throat, turning back to the control panel and distracting myself by recalculating our flight path.

My finger hovered above the switch that would reengage the fusion engines when the shimmer of starlight reflecting off a piece of drifting debris caught my attention. I lifted my gaze to the viewport once again, and an unmistakable cylindrical shape floated away from the rest of the debris.

An escape pod.

I hurried to run a life-form scan, my heart in my throat as the radar pinged softly through its readout.

One lifeform. Type: unknown.

A survivor.

The type: unknown may have given me pause, but it wasn’t uncommon on a ship equipped by humans. We knew shockingly little about life beyond Earth, despite the fact humans had fled their home planet for distant worlds by the thousands. Unknown was better than what we left behind, and it was better than leaving a survivor to die alone in the depths of space, clinging to the shred of hope that somebody would come.

After days on end of unhurried routine and not enough food, the adrenaline in my blood left me shaky, and my hands trembled as I hurried to engage the tractor beam. The beam locked onto the escape pod, artificial gravity reeling it toward the airlock. With bated breath, I watched the silver cylinder draw nearer until I was sure it approached unhindered by the surrounding debris.

My knees creaked and my back popped as I sprang from my seat, but I didn’t care. Pushing the stiffness in my body from my mind, I strode purposefully toward the airlock. I shoved my faded purple hair from my face and tugged at my navy pilot’s jumpsuit where it pulled tight around my generous hips and chest, trying to set myself in order as I walked. The pounding of my heart in my ears urged me to run, but my latent military training gripped my muscles and I measured my steps.

Several long years had passed since the adrenaline of battle had last coursed through me. The sizzle of energy and survival instinct had somehow kept me functional then as plasma bolts rocketed past my starfighter, allowing me to return fire against the forces invading Earth.

I wasn’t in the midst of war now, though. The ship around me was quiet, not rocked by distant explosions or punctuated by blaring proximity alarms. Still, one overwhelming thought was the same as it had been during my time in the Space Force:

Somebody was in danger, and only I could help them.

I reached the ship’s aft section and stopped at the end of the barren hallway. A painful groan of metal grinding indicated that the bay doors opened to allow the escape pod’s entrance. I bounced impatiently on my toes as I waited for the titanium-composite door between me and the pod to slide open.

As soon as it did, I stepped forward without waiting for the jets of steam from the environmental regulators to dissipate. I had my gun on my belt, but my worry that whatever would come out of the pod would be dangerous was overshadowed by my need to lay eye on the survivor—to assure them that they wouldn’t perish in the vacuum of space, alone and unmissed.

Though the bay was spacious when empty, the cylindrical pod now dominated the area, giving me barely any room to maneuver. I hugged the wall as I inched around the space, inspecting the pod from all angles. A long minute passed, but no signs of life came from the craft.

Uneasiness worked up my spine, and my hand drifted to the plas-gun hanging on my belt.

The pod’s inhabitant should be able to tell they’d arrived onboard a ship by now. The green blinking lights on the edges of the vessel indicated that the external sensors were intact, after all.

Slowly, I eased my gun from its holster, the biosensors on the handle recognizing my palm print and bringing the weapon to life. I gripped it with both hands, the tip pointed at the floor as I inched closer. It wasn’t particularly wise to fire a plas-gun in an airlock, but the weight in my hands steadied me nonetheless.

Perhaps a squad of corsairs lay in wait within, waiting to jump out and hijack the ship the moment I let my guard down. Or maybe, whoever was inside was too injured or scared to come out.

I chewed my lips for a moment in indecision, before taking a deep breath. I had come this far.

“You are safely aboard the Gokstad , Intergalatic Federation License number RG1013,” I said. My voice sounded hoarse from disuse. I cleared my throat and tried to sound professional and reassuring. “I intercepted your ship’s distress signal. You should now be able to safely disembark from your escape pod.”

The only response was the echoing of my own voice through the bay. I frowned. If I wanted to find out who was inside, it seemed my only way forward was to open the pod myself.

Keeping the gun in one hand, I stepped forward and ran my fingers over the panel of blinking lights on one side of the hull. Next to it, I could make out seams in the exterior that marked the presence of a hatch. The symbols on the buttons were in an alphabet I had never seen before, but a large button with a blinking green arrow seemed a pretty universal symbol for “Open.” I pressed it, thinking that after an hour full of gambles, I wouldn’t let fear of this last hurdle keep me from rescuing somebody in need. Not when they had been so improbably thrown into my path.

I was rewarded with a hiss and jets of mist that outlined the hatch as the pod depressurized. The sleek silver panel slid open but still no sound came from inside.

Perhaps the life-form scanner had been wrong. Maybe this escape pod had been jettisoned by mistake, and there really were no survivors.

I wouldn’t know for sure unless I investigated for myself.

Awkwardly, I clambered inside using only one hand, refusing to holster my gun. As the dim running-lights flickered, casting long shadows over the cramped space, a dark shimmer on the floor caught my attention.

I squinted, only for my eyes to widen at the realization that the dappled pattern of shadows was the reflection of light off glossy black feathers. As my eyes adjusted, the pattern of feathers formed themselves into wings, spread across the entirety of the pod floor. My breath caught, startled by an unexpected sight.

Sprawled across the wings was a man.

Or not a man, for he clearly was not human. But my brain helpfully supplied that he was the most masculine creature I had ever encountered, despite his alienness.

Aside from the black feathered wings sprouting from his shoulder blades, the creature’s form was mostly humanoid. What at first glance appeared to be dulled colors from dim light, turned out on second glance to be gray skin, pulled taut over a deliciously muscled torso. An impressive amount of that gray skin was on display, as the alien wore only a loose pair of black pants.

I tore my eyes away from the striking swell of his sculpted chest to look at his face. It, too, appeared mostly human, the features broad but handsome. The only difference was the glimmer of fangs, pressing lightly into a full bottom lip.

His eyes were closed, black lashes fanning over his cheekbones. In fact, he was completely black and gray, including the dark and wild hair that fanned out from his head. I saw only one single splash of color: the tips of his wings shimmered a dark crimson, the feathers there the red of blood spilled fresh from the vein.

I swallowed, wanting to say something, but my voice caught in my throat. Instead, I drifted forward one step, dropping to my knees beside the alien, careful not to tread on his wings. I hovered over him and my fingers trembled as I reached for him.

The pads of my fingers brushed across his cheekbone, but he did not stir. For a moment, my heart plummeted, like a starship shot out of the sky.

He was dead. I was too late.

Tears burned behind my eyes. This was not the first fallen soldier I had encountered, but the sight punched me in the gut, nonetheless. Maybe it was something about the alien’s appearance, clearly speaking of strength and grace, that made his lifelessness so jarring.

Then, a tickle against my inner wrist made me freeze. Another second, and it happened again. A puff of air. Breath , brushing the hand that still gently traced his face.

He was alive, but he needed my help.

* * *

I chewed fiercely on my thumb nail, despite the fact that it was already bitten down to the quick. Under the harsh florescent lights of the med bay, my patient was even more magnificent, but seemingly no more alive. The mechanical aids in the bay had scurried to hook him up to tubes and contraptions, pumping him full of nutrients and hydration within minutes of me arriving with the alien on a hover-stretcher. They seemed unconcerned with him being of an unknown species, apparently finding his anatomy and physiology humanoid enough to proceed with standard protocols. But still the survivor didn’t stir. If not for the strength and steadiness of his breathing, I might think my strange passenger had slipped away already.

Most strange of all, he bore no visible wounds on his body.

I tore my fingers from my mouth, berating myself for falling back on the nervous habit, and stepped closer. I turned my mechanical eye on him, taking in the swirling tattoos painted over his torso and upper arms, the black against the dark gray of his skin not offering enough contrast to be seen without the bright lights of the medical bay.

I zeroed my enhanced vision on the designs, and words began typing themselves across my vision in neat orange letters as my mechanical eye ran the patterns through the database.

Markings of the Entari Warriors. High complexity indicative of great skill or royal lineage.

My brows rose. I mentally focused on the words Entari Warriors with the odd sixth sense that I had gained since my cybernetic enhancement had been installed. At my will, more information began to appear, and I skimmed through it impatiently.

Perhaps the secret to this male’s current state had something to do with his unique biology. While the medical pods of the ship were theoretically equipped to handle most humanoid species, it was mostly tailored to humans. Perhaps it had overlooked some unique needs of the Entari. After all, I had never even heard of the Entari before, and while there were certainly dozens of species common to the Intergalactic Federation that I had never encountered, I was relatively well-traveled.

I frowned at the information from the database flicking before my vision. Little was known about the Entari, as they were a relatively secretive species who tended to not venture far beyond their home planet without need. Given the few attempts to invade and colonize the Entari home planet had been quickly and violently rebuffed, the rest of the Intergalactic Federation decided it was in their best interest to leave them to their own devices.

The sections on culture and biology in the digital encyclopedia were woefully short too, including inconsistent reports of psychic powers that seemed to be unfounded, considering instances of its practice had been documented in a very small number of specific cases. However, my brain stuttered over something at the bottom of the entry:

Entari are known to be blood drinkers. Consumption of blood is thought to be the source of their incredible strength and potentially necessary for use of rumored psychic powers.

Blood. Water and other nutrients didn’t seem to be reviving the male, but blood might be the key. It would explain the fangs, after all.

I hurried over to the cold storage at the back of the med bay, shuffling through the bags of fluids and medications until I found the few small packs of blood kept on board in case the need for infusion arose.

My fingers hovered over the bags, considering if it mattered which type I took. I didn’t even know if human blood would work, after all. I shrugged and grabbed the O-. If it was the universal donor for humans, perhaps it would work for the Entari.

Hurrying back to the male’s side, I spiked the bag with a length of IV tubing. I pursed my lips for a moment before dangling the free end over his lips. Carefully, I eased the clamp on the tubing partially open. A few drops fell from the rubberized end onto his lips.

I held my breath. He didn’t move.

Disappointment fell over my shoulders like a weight, and I sat on the edge of the stretcher, careful to avoid his wings, which laid tucked behind him as neatly as I had been able to manage with his unconsciousness. His enormous body had proved challenging to lift and arrange on a hover stretcher.

Despairingly, I reached out a hand, using a rubber-gloved finger to wipe the crimson droplets of blood off the male’s mouth.

As I pressed my thumb against his surprisingly plush bottom lip and dragged it out of the way, the length of a fang came into view, shining pearly white in the bluish fluorescence of the medical bay. I shivered but didn’t draw my hand away.

The fangs would indicate the Entari had evolved to drink blood directly from the source. An image of those fangs dug deep into my neck, the male’s body pinning me to the wall as he drank his fill, sprang unbidden to my mind. Maybe it was the lack of touch for months on end, but the vision awoke something inside me that wasn’t fear.

Maybe the Entari needed fresh blood, and I was the only available donor.

My hands trembled slightly as I shucked off the protective gloves. Maybe I had really gone delirious with loneliness, but I had no reservations about what I was about to do. For some reason, it felt… right. Like a voiceless whisper in my ear reassured me that I was on the correct path.

With my hands bare, I grabbed a scalpel off a nearby cart. I lined it up at my wrist and paused for the barest moment. I looked away from my arm at the lifeless, handsome face before me and pressed down.

My breath hissed between my teeth at the sharp sensation, replaced in an instant by the warmth of blood gathering in the small cut. Hurriedly, I lifted my arm to his face, a few droplets of blood falling on his exposed chest with the movement. They pooled in the valley between his pectorals, stark against the gray and black whorls of his tattoos.

I pressed the incision to his lips and held it there for a long, pregnant moment. Like most humans after the invasion and near destruction of Earth, I didn’t believe in any higher power, but I found myself praying anyway.

His lips brushed my forearm. A hot, wet tongue licked at pooling blood, and heat coursed up my spine. I almost pulled away at the electric jolt that traveled from the top of my head toward my fingertips. Instead, I stayed frozen in place, staring at the Entari’s face.

Then his eyes opened, fixing me in a glowing red stare.