“Didn’t know they allowed strays around here,” a mocking voice chimed right by my ear. I flinched, snapping my gaze to the guy standing there. Ashen skin, stark blue lips, and platinum hair—a Sibian. He looked young, barely a century old. The hair at his temples was shaved into crisp, clean stripes. Embedded on the left side of his skull was a thin metallic wafer that blinked with erratic orange lights. It was the latest model of a direct AI neural link, and clearly a permanent surgical implant. A certified rich kid. He was one of the three hundred thousand residents of Sanbili. Well, make that two hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine before I showed up, because I was here to claim the three-hundred-thousandth spot. Sanbili maintained a strict cap on its population. For me to arrive, someone else had to leave. I just hoped there were no hard feelings. “I’m calling planetary security,” the guy announced with smug confidence, waving a hand near his ear to wake his comlink. “Go ahead. Just stop loitering around my house,” I shot back, scoffing. I turned my attention back to the structure. It resembled a droplet of liquid metal pooled over a massive saucer of reinforced, double-pane glass. “This is my house,” the guy corrected with a smirk. “Are you an illegal squatter? Because that’s a one-way ticket to a detention facility for a few full cycles.” I threw him a deadpan look. Grabbing my suitcase, I fished the house keycard out of my pocket on the move and headed straight for the entrance. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” he protested. I tapped the card against the scanner, and the doors slid open. “No way...” he muttered, completely dumbfounded. I managed to slam the door right in his face. They couldn't deport me; my credentials were airtight. Honestly, when I signed up to fulfill my work-study grant, I knew it wouldn't be a walk in the park. I just hoped this arrogant brat would be the worst flavor of trouble I’d encounter on this planet. But the house? The house was gorgeous. A semi-circular living area featured a low-profile sofa that curved seamlessly along the contour of the wall. A holographic projection panel was embedded into the ceiling. Finally, I’d get to watch a movie on a decent screen. The kitchen setup was equally top-tier. It had everything. Some thoughtful soul had even stocked the pantry. While I was busy basking in my newfound luxury, the front door slid open and the guy walked right in. “How did you get a keycard to this place?” he demanded, his tone turning sharp. Breaking and entering? Okay, this was getting serious. I frowned, slowly easing my hand into my pocket without making any sudden movements. My comm-node wasn't an implant, and I had carelessly left it off earlier. “Who are you, and what gives you the right to barge into my home?” I countered, matching his stern look. He had to be a neighbor. He probably spotted me from the adjacent platform and decided to get some cheap laughs. Fine, I didn't exactly scream wealthy heiress. My outfit was a little faded, but it was still my favorite—made of a soft, breathable fabric. No matter. Once my relocation allowance hit my account, I’d upgrade my wardrobe. “Hate to burst your bubble, but this house belongs to my mother,” he said, taking blatant pleasure in dropping the bomb. “And as of today, I live here.” “Tana Nimba?” Her actual name was a long, tongue-twisting sequence of syllables that required serious vocal training to pronounce properly. Because of that, Sibian names were traditionally shortened in everyday speech, prefaced with the respectful title Tana. “My mother, yes. So, pack your things.” “This is my assigned lodging,” I insisted, my temper rising. This planet didn't have hotels, meaning I had nowhere else to go. Tana Nimba was incredibly wealthy, so she likely owned several properties. Her spoiled, overgrown son had simply decided to claim this one for himself. Just my luck. I finally retrieved my comm-piece and hooked it over my ear. Pulling up the necessary files, I flicked my wrist to expand the holographic display. “I’m here on a research grant. This property is officially allocated to me. Tan, I suggest you find another house.” The Sibian narrowed his eyes, skimming the text, then tapped his own implant. A sleek silver visor rolled down over his eyes. “Mother, what is the meaning of this?” He swiped a copy of my documents right out of my hologram and forwarded them to her. “Oh, the girl is already there? Doesn't the house have two floors? Why the theatrics?” Tana Nimba disconnected, and his silver visor dissolved back into his implant. Tan shot me a thoroughly annoyed look and began reviewing my placement orders with agonizing care. The longer he read, the more malicious his smirk became. “Astra Vetrova,” he mused. “What a quaint little name. I am Zargo Rek-Reyn. You’ll be fulfilling your grant obligations in my lab. It’s my project, and I run the show.” He let out a sharp laugh, dismissing his floating displays with a flick of his fingers. Meanwhile, the gravity of my situation hit me like a freight train. He was my supervisor! My entire future as a nanobiologist hung on the whims of a guy I had managed to alienate within the first five minutes of meeting him! Still, a few logistics needed immediate sorting: “Are you saying we’re living here together?” “‘Together’ is a strong word, but I suppose that’s the closest human equivalent,” he sneered. “Mother really outdid herself this time. Sending me a live-in maid is a nice touch.” Excuse me?! This rich brat actually expected me to be his personal lackey? I’d seen his type plenty back at the academy. They always flaunted their wealth, their status, and the fact that their tuition was paid entirely out of pocket. Personally, I could never afford the Interracial Pan-Galactic Academy on my own—it cost a fortune. That was exactly why I applied for the grant, fully prepared to log five full cycles of hard labor in some godforsaken outpost. But I hadn't signed up to be a maid! “With all due respect, Tan Zargo, I am a nanobiologist. I flew across the galaxy to work in a laboratory.” “In my laboratory,” he shot back. “I’m the one who pioneered the Zelgalo adaptation process. So you will work wherever I put you.” I ground my teeth. Fine. Okay. The Zelgalo were native trees that formed the literal backbone of the planet's atmosphere. If successful, this project stood to bring in billions of credits. He was right. I needed to fix our dynamic, or I’d be doomed. Right now, he was agitated, so it was best to drop it. Hoisting my suitcase, I marched toward the nearest doorway. “What are you doing? Where are you going?” “I think it’s only logical if I take the ground floor,” I called over my shoulder. “You’ll probably find the upper level more comfortable.” “You’ve got it backward. I’m taking the ground floor.” He smirked again, nodding toward the staircase. Six narrow metallic slats protruding from the wall, spaced a full meter apart, did absolutely nothing to inspire confidence that I could scale them. “And don’t bother me,” he commanded before disappearing into his quarters. I took a series of deep, measured breaths to center myself, then dragged my feet toward the stairs. Tan knew damn well that climbing this thing would be a nightmare for me, let alone hoisting a heavy suitcase. Maybe down the line he’d agree to switch, but that required making peace first. I didn't dare leave my luggage behind to scout the room. Who knew what petty stunt he’d pull next? Lifting the bag, I hooked its handle over the second slat and began my awkward ascent. Now I understood why my academy instructors had been so relentless about physical conditioning. A bit more flexibility and upper-body strength would have been real lifesavers right about now. By the time I finally hauled myself and my suitcase to the top, I was drenched in sweat. Naturally, my grand tour of the room began from a flat-backed position on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. It was a stunning silvery hue, resembling molten metal. After a moment, I scraped myself off the floor and took in my surroundings. Back at the dorms, my room had been a literal capsule. The entire floor space was just the mattress, all my belongings lived on overhead shelves, and you could cross the whole place in three strides. Back then, I’d been thrilled just to have a tiny porthole with a view of the stars. This place, however, boasted magnificent floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows on all sides. A massive circular bed sat dead center. To the right was a sleek workspace; opposite that, a vanity area, with a shower tucked neatly behind a privacy screen. Alright, so I had a roommate from hell, but I couldn't have dreamed of a place like this in a million cycles! Giddy with excitement, I did a few little hops, only to be instantly cut short. “I have sensitive hearing!” a voice boomed from below. “And a voice like a foghorn,” I muttered under my breath. I chose not to dignify that with a loud response. Picking fights with your boss is terrible for your karma, and mine already had a massive stain on it. I was invading his space and ruining his solitude. Besides, he probably had friends here. If they came over, he wouldn't want to introduce me. That was likely why he exiled me to the second floor. If I kept out of sight, I’d remain out of mind. As long as I didn't overstep, he’d get used to me eventually. Perching on a small ottoman, I pulled up my assignment file and stared gloomily at my supervisor's name. I cursed my past self. In the sheer euphoria of getting my placement, it hadn't even occurred to me to look up his profile photo online. If I had just greeted him with the proper Sibian bow and honorifics, half of these problems could have been avoided. My single suitcase was barely half-full anyway; I had ruthlessly purged my belongings before moving. I unburdened the bag, placing a heavy datapad designed to mimic an antique book onto the shelf. People said collectors owned actual paper versions, but I’d never seen one in the flesh. My datapad held all my textbooks, research papers, and lecture notes. Next to it, I set down a pair of little cat figurines. Unpacking the rest took no time at all. The massive wardrobe was built for a significantly larger collection of clothes; my modest wardrobe looked downright pathetic inside it. After a quick shower, I changed into a corgi-print t-shirt and plush gray sweatpants. Clutching my slippers in my hands, I crept tentatively toward the stairs. The lunch I’d bolted down on the transit liner was a distant memory, and my stomach let out a treacherous growl. I had to brave the descent. Going down was terrifying, but still easier than going up. By the second slat, I figured out a rhythm—sitting down, gripping the upper step, and quickly shifting my weight to the next one lower. “Do you always pant like a broken generator whenever you move?” Zargo arched a silver eyebrow—framed by those sharp blue markings—and curled his lips into a mock grin. Great. He was the type to hold a grudge. This assignment was going to be infinitely harder than I bargained for. “I’m a little afraid of heights,” I admitted carefully. “Let’s hope you don’t get space sickness on the orbital platforms, then.” “I don’t,” I replied cautiously. What did orbital platforms have to do with anything? I was a nanobiologist. Our work was strictly planetside. “Perfect. Get down here, I’m starving.” I was already on the final step, but the timing made it look like I was obeying his command on cue. “You know how to cook, right? Actually... who cares? Just pull up a tutorial and make something happen.” I mentally ran through a few calming exercises. “Why me?” “I ordered the groceries. Ergo, you cook.” Why did his logic feel so aggressively human? It was as if he’d traveled through time straight from the caveman era: “Me caveman, me kill mammoth, you cook.” Then again, it hadn't even crossed my mind to order groceries. I’d lived in dorms for so long that I forgot automated houses didn't come with built-in cafeterias. Or rather, I knew they didn't, I just hadn't planned ahead. “Fine.” What other choice did I have? “I want Shiitian shell-wings.” He turned on his heel and lounged back onto the sofa. I knew exactly what he was doing. In Earth terms, they were essentially giant prawns. Except their shells doubled as functional wings. The moment you opened that container, you’d need a literal butterfly net to catch dinner. Worse, the little bastards spit ink that was an absolute nightmare to scrub out of clothes and surfaces. “Coming right up,” I muttered, resigning myself to my fate.