Jaxar

Jaxar:

Jaxar followed the sounds of a hammer clanging into metal. He found a female in a dusty orange jumpsuit standing over a pump, tools and machine parts spread on the ground. Not Nakia. Perhaps she had seen something and could point him in the correct direction. This moon was too large.

"Thank God. Are you here to fix the filtration unit?" The female stood, brushing her hands on her thighs. Her dark hair was in a short, practical cut. Thick goggles obscured her eyes and her teeth appeared just a little too large for her mouth. Dirt and grease decorated her Terran face.

He had never seen anyone more lovely.

"Hello? Big purple dude?" She waved a thick-gloved hand at him. "Am I even speaking the right language? Sangrin, right?"

"You are Terran," he said. He wanted to lean in and breathe her scent, but he already knew she was the one for him.

"Nothing gets by you. So... you here to fix the filtration unit or not?"

"Why can't you? Are you not a technician?"

"Yeah, well, it's not the most highly trained position. I took a six-week course to get certified. Mostly I check if the lights are green. If they turn red, I follow the manual."

"Then follow the manual. That must have been covered in your six-week certification."

"Oh, you're a smartass. Turns out there's nothing in the manual for when a great big fucking bomb gets dropped on your Breathe-Rite Mark II." She tossed said manual at him, hitting him solidly in the chest. Smudged fingerprints decorated the pages. "Now help me, or fuck off."

He was in love. Vanessa:

The Mahdfel turned out to be one of the purple ones. Many planets had treaties with the Mahdfel and they're appearances varied wildly, depending upon their mother's planet. Havik had been born on Rolusdreus, red and with a tail like his mother's people. In videos and news footage, Van had seen a green Mahdfel with skin like a chameleon and even some Mahdfel with cybernetic implants.

This one was purple with horns, which meant Sangrin. That made sense, as they were in the Sangrin system. Big, muscular, blah blah blah. That went without saying. The Mahdfel didn't come in flavors like scrawny and weedy and had more brawn than brain.

That was unfair, she chided herself. She had been a child during the Invasion and swallowed the story about the Mahdfel saving Earth. She had been separated from her parents, but the Mahdfel saved her.

And dumped her in an orphanage. In the chaotic months that followed, some kids had been fortunate enough to be reunited with their parents or families. Some were fostered, but there were more kids than willing adults, and Van never had luck on her side. She waited for her mother or father to find her, her certainty they would find her never wavering. When unfamiliar adult voices drifted down the hall of the orphanage, her heart sped up with hope. They came! They hadn't forgotten her.

It was never her parents, and no one wanted to foster an older kid, but she still hoped, long past when she should have just accepted the fact that she was alone.

It was a bad situation, but Van had always been fed, clothed and educated. Cared for? Not so much, but the entire planet shared a mutual trauma. It was what it was. Experience jaded her, but she didn't think poorly of the Mahdfel, per se, just one selfish bastard in particular.

Distantly, she registered that the one standing in front of her, trying to be discreet as he sniffed her, was good looking with a strong jaw, horns curling back from his brow, long hair pulled back into a topknot, and black, white, and gold tattoos. The gold gleamed in the sunlight, vivid against his dark plum complexion. At one time, he might have turned her head, but she'd already had a taste of Mahdfel and didn't crave a second bite.

Van rubbed her aching shoulder.

"See if you can loosen that bolt," she said, tapping the offending bolt with the wrench, then passing him the tool.

He crouched down to examine the machine. "It's melted."

"Partially melted. If we can get the bolt loosened, we can break this down and replace what's been damaged." As opposed to lugging out an entirely new unit and assembling it. Exhaustion went bone-deep in her. A night spent on a half-inch thick foam pad did not make for restful sleep.

The Mahdfel shook his head. "The entire unit has been compromised. You would be better served to replace it."

"Are you carrying a new Breathe-Rite in your back pocket?"

The alien huffed, as if amused. "Give me a few hours and my team could construct a more efficient device." He plucked up a mangled piece of metal that had once been housing for a fan and easily smoothed out the twists.

She tilted her head to one side. Was he showing off his strength? Flirting? He couldn't be able to tell if she smelled compatible or not, like his mate, because she stank of algae. Even her feeble human nose could smell that. "You gonna make a house call when your one-of-a-kind filtration unit breaks?"

The metal snapped in his hands. "My devices are engineered to not break."

Now it was her turn to laugh. Everything broke down eventually. Time, and wear and tear from normal use, had the same effect on a shoddy product like the Breathe-Rite or a well-engineered machine.

But he had a point. She was tired and other people could finish the job. "Okay," she said, standing up. Her lower back protested. "Your team can fetch a new unit from the supply depot and assemble it." The Mahdfel tilted his head, as if surprised that she relented.

"I'm not so stubborn," she said. "Well, I am, but this will take all day and I'm exhausted. I'm liable to make mistakes." Plus, she needed her meds. An irregular sleep schedule and taking her meds later than usual were not doing her heart any favors.

When she got back to her bungalow, she planned to drink a cold sweet tea while taking a hot shower, followed by stuffing her face with the emergency stash of chocolate. Sea salt and caramel. Try to tell her she hadn't earned it. Just try it. "This has to be done pronto," she continued. "Having a breathable atmosphere is non-negotiable and we're drifting into mandatory breather time now." Her own breather mask hung around her neck, where it did her the most good. Obviously. The mask caused her goggles to fog over, so she went without until the atmosphere monitors sounded an alarm.

"Understood.” He nodded and lifted his right arm, displaying the comm unit on his wrist. "Send me the location of the supply depot and the unit you need," he said, then spouted off his contact info.

Van used the sleeve of her coveralls to scrub away the dried-on algae scum on her comm unit. With a barely legible screen, she sent the information. She'd need a toothbrush to clean out all the cracks and crevices in the old clunker. The company refused to replace a functional unit, despite the funky smell and it barely working. It might be easier to just get a replacement, but she didn't want to spend the money.

Or she could smash it with a rock and call it an accident. Not that Van had tried, only to discover that the comm unit was made of some indestructible super material and powered by spite. Nope. She never did that.

"My team will arrive shortly," the Mahdfel said.

"Thanks for your help, Mister..." She stumbled, realizing they had not exchanged names. "Mahdfel?"

"Jaxar Solress." He pushed his chest out and practically preened. The white and gold tattoos caught the sunlight. White fang flashed against his dark complexion. No. He was definitely preening. "Vanessa Acosta," she said.

By force of habit, she stripped off her gloves and extended a hand for a shake. He did not respond but stood there, looking at her hand.

Right. Shaking hands was probably a human thing.

He grinned and enthusiastically pumped her hand. Electricity sparked where they touched, which was probably due to atmospheric conditions and not related at all to the way his work-roughed hand made her dormant libido sit up and take notice.

She swallowed, suddenly thinking of nothing else but how those hands would feel on her skin.

Van jerked her hand away and it took every bit of her willpower not to scrub it on her coveralls like he had cooties. This attraction was nothing more than stress and hormones. A shower and a good night's sleep would clear her head and if that didn't work, she had a fresh stock of batteries for the special toy waiting in her nightstand.

He sniffed and his brow scrunched.

Yeah. For once, Van felt thankful for her disgusting combo of body odor, sweat, and algae funk. She did not need a clingy Mahdfel knowing she felt attracted to him. Nothing could come of it, anyway, so why bother? The Mahdfel wanted babies and she couldn't go through that again.

"I will bring you back safely to the base camp," he said and swept up her tools, stowing them neatly in the bag.

"No. Absolutely not." She grabbed the bag and hoisted it over her shoulder. She flexed her fingers, fighting the urge to double-check that he secured the tools properly. He handled them correctly, with more respect than the average technician. This guy knew the value of tools.

He tilted his head but did not ask why.

"I have my own vehicle. I can't abandon it out here," she said anyway, hooking a thumb to the orange dust-covered transport.

"Very well. I will follow," he said, like he was granting her a special privilege.

"Fine. Whatever," she mumbled, completely aware of her attitude problem, but he started it first with his I'll-allow-you-human-female-to-drive-your-own-damn-car attitude.

Mahdfel. If they weren't stabbing space lizards, they were magnanimous, sexy bastards.

Not sexy! Calm down, Acosta.

The engine turned over on the first try-surprisingly-and the battery indicated that she barely had enough power to make it to the colony-not surprising. Dust during the dry season covered the solar panels and spores took over during the

wet season.

She climbed out and cleaned off the solar panels.

"Do you require assistance?" Jaxar asked.

"Nope. This happens all the time." And it did. Maybe she slammed the rover's door harder than necessary, or maybe the rusty door needed a little extra oomph to close it. It had nothing to do with how her foot slipped and she scrambled to keep her balance or Jaxar chuckling at her flailing limbs. The jerk.

The bad news was that any signs of a paved road had been blasted away by the Suhlik and the company-owned rover had lousy suspension. Van felt every bump and bounce. All-terrain, her bruised ass.

The good news was that she was too busy grumbling to notice the incoming missile. That was probably bad news, too, come to think of it.