CHAPTER 1
SELENA
The coffee tasteslike recycled engine coolant, but I drink it anyway. Standing on the bridge of Deep Space Station Halcyon at 0600 hours, watching the controlled chaos of shift change, I’ve learned that caffeine is caffeine. Even when it’s been filtered through three different atmospheric processors and tastes like someone dissolved metal shavings in lukewarm water.
“Captain, theMeridian’s Gloryrequests priority docking,” Lieutenant Commander Diane Blaine says from her position at the tactical station. Her tone carries that particular blend of respect and barely concealed amusement that means someone’s about to make my morning interesting.
I turn toward the main viewport, where the sleek lines of a civilian transport shimmer against the star field. “Priority for what? Are they carrying medical supplies? Diplomatic cargo?”
“Christmas decorations, ma’am.”
I pause with the cup halfway to my lips. “Come again?”
“Fifteen tons of Christmas decorations, imported directly from Earth’s agricultural colonies. Pine garlands, actual cranberries,something called ‘figgy pudding,’ and—”she checks her display, “a life-sized animatronic reindeer named Dasher.”
The coffee suddenly doesn’t taste quite so bad. “Williams,” I call to the young communications officer hunched over his console. “Please tell me you’re recording this for posterity.”
Tyler Williams grins without looking up from his screens. “Already composing the log entry, Captain. ‘Stardate 2387.358: Station Halcyon officially prioritizes holiday cheer over basic supply logistics.’“
“That’s why I keep you around, Williams. Your sense of the absurd matches mine perfectly.” I gesture toward the transport. “Clear them for Bay Seven. And Williams? Send word to Chief Engineer Mullen. Tell him I want that reindeer in working order by 2100 hours.”
“Yes, ma’am. Should I ask why?”
“Because if we’re doing Christmas in the middle of nowhere, we’re doing it right.”
This whole holiday party idea started three weeks ago, when I caught Ensign Rodriguez crying over a protein bar in the mess hall. Turns out half my crew hadn’t seen their families in over eight months, and the other half were spending their first Christmas away from Earth. The combination of deep space isolation and artificial gravity can break even the strongest spirits if you let it fester too long.
So I made an executive decision. If my people were stuck on this floating metal city for the holidays, then by God, we were going to celebrate.
The bridge doors hiss open, and Dr. Yuki Yakamura steps through, her medical coat pristine despite the early hour. “Captain, I’ve finished reviewing the dietary requirements for our Zephyrian guests. I should warn you—their biochemistry is fascinating, but their reaction to alcohol could be... unpredictable.”
“Defineunpredictable.”
“Best case scenario, they get mildly euphoric and glow like bioluminescent plankton. Worst case, their crystalline neural pathways overload and they slip into a catatonic state that could last days.”
I drain the rest of my coffee and set the cup down harder than necessary. “So what you’re telling me is that I need to keep the punch bowl away from our most important diplomatic guests.”
“I’m telling you that intergalactic incidents have been started over less.”
The humor drains from my voice. The Zephyrian Trade Consortium represents our best chance at establishing stable relationships beyond our solar system. Their technology could revolutionize everything from interstellar travel to medical science. More importantly, their endorsement could open doors to dozens of other alien civilizations currently watching humanity from a careful distance.
No pressure, or anything.
“When do they arrive?” I direct my question to Blaine.
“Fifteen minutes,” she reports. “Their ship just dropped out of hyperspace at the outer marker.”
“And our guest quarters?”
“Prepared according to their specifications,” Dr. Yakamura confirms. “Resonance chambers, atmospheric composition adjusted for their respiratory needs, and temperature maintained at precisely eighteen degrees Celsius. I’ve also stocked their quarters with those mineral supplements they require.”
I nod, pushing down the familiar flutter of anxiety that comes with high-stakes diplomacy. The weight of command never gets lighter, but after three years running Halcyon, I’ve learned to carry it without letting it show how uneasy leadership makes me. My crew needs to see confidence, not the churning uncertainty that keeps me awake most nights.
“Bridge to Docking Bay Three,” I say, activating the comm. “Prepare for VIP arrival. Full honors, dress uniforms, and someone please make sure the welcome mat doesn’t have grease stains.”
“Copy that, Captain,” comes Chief Petty Officer Harrison’s voice. “Bay Three is spotless and ready for inspection.”
I smooth down my uniform jacket and check my reflection in the darkened console screen. Auburn hair secured in regulation style, shoulders straight, expression composed. Captain Selena MacGray, ready to make nice with aliens and pretend that diplomacy comes naturally to someone who grew up thinking the height of sophistication was a military mess hall that served real coffee on Sundays.
