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“I know how to handle a petri dish.”

“Do you have much call for them in your matchmaking work?”

Heather glowered at him. “Actually, we do. Ever heard of HLA molecules?”

Loka scratched a horn. “I have not.”

She stifled her smugness. “It’s a particular part of human DNA that codes for human leukocyte antigen molecules. The more disparity between the molecules, the greater the chance the woman will find you appealing.”

Loka tilted his head. “How does it work?”

“It’s all to do with the immune response. If you have a greater variety in your HLA genes, it offers a better possible immune response. It means you produce healthier offspring, and they have better protection from a greater set of illnesses.”

“That makes perfect sense.”

“Not only that, but we measure levels of serotonin, dopamine, and oxytocin. These are markers of how well individuals deal with stress. If you both have similar results, it suggests you’re more genetically compatible. It enhances the chance of a long-term partnership.”

“You conduct these tests on everyone going through your matchmaking service?”

“It’s important the alien and human are as compatible as possible when it comes to genetics,” Heather said. “Sure, we’re primitive, but our genetics are widely compatible with most aliens. We’ve only had a handful of pregnancies that have had problems, and that was because of an alien virus we did not know about.”

Heather stiffened as Loka’s gaze ran over her. It was like he was examining her for defects or deficiencies.

“That is good to know.”

“Are you thinking of finding yourself a mate?” Her voice shot up an octave.

“Perhaps. Although not right away.” Loka tapped a finger on top of a petri dish. “My work keeps me busy.”

Heather turned away, feeling a sense of relief that he didn’t have anyone special in his life. “Me too. All work and no play.”

Loka was quiet for such a long time that she turned back and looked at him.

“You will not mate?”

“No. I cannot be distracted by partners and children.”

“You do not want that?”

Wow. His questions were getting personal. “One day. I expect you have some gorgeous Picar waiting for you back home?”

“Our own females are in high demand. They enjoy the company of those in positions of authority. They rarely spare a glance at the scientists.”

“They should. Scientists are hot.” Heather winced. She was saying all the right things to make her sound like a lonely, desperate nerd. She should just take off her clothes, lay down on the floor, and declare she wanted him.

“I’m glad you think so.” Loka’s tone was amused. “But please, no more touching of the experiments. I can see you have an amateurish interest in this, but it is not—”

“Amateurish!”

“Yes. I’m assuming you do not have an advanced qualification in spatial anomalies. It is not appropriate for you to deal with such sensitive experiments.”

“You’re right. I do have advanced techniques in how to spot uptight idiots, who think they’re better than everyone else, though.” Heather turned her back on Loka.

“I imagine that is useful in your line of work.”

If that was him making another joke, she wasn’t laughing. Heather heard the sound of equipment being moved around. “We need to focus on what’s going on in the station.”

“I did not mean to offend you.” His voice was soft and quiet. “My work is important to me.”