Slipping on an apron, I grabbed a pair of tongs and plunged them into the container. Instantly, the prawns fired a coordinated blast of ink, turning the water into a boiling, murky mess. I flinched, leaping back by instinct, but a stray splash caught my forearm. I rushed to the sink, cranking the faucet to high, but the damage was already done. The dye had locked onto my skin. Soap and a scrubbing brush did absolutely nothing; my entire right arm was now a vibrant, shocking shade of blue. Zargo buried his face in his hand, biting his lower lip to stifle his amusement. “Does that wash out?” I frantically pulled up the planetary network on my link, only to discover that my arm would be rocking this smurf-blue look for the next seven to ten days. While I was at it, I looked up the actual instructions for cooking the damn things. As it turned out, the process was incredibly simple—I was just supposed to drain the water first. “You knew, didn’t you?” “I did suggest you watch the tutorial.” The Sibian chuckled, crossing his legs and flashing me a smug grin. “And I’m still waiting on dinner.” Frustration welled up, and I genuinely wanted to burst into tears. I had never cooked anything like this before. Shiian shell-wings were a luxury ingredient; my mother certainly never bought them, and they obviously weren't on the menu back at the academy. Still, I forced myself to watch the recipe video. Zargo kept snickering in the background, cutting his eyes toward the empty dining table with dramatic emphasis, while I had to keep my eyes glued to the screen, paranoid about what other traps might be waiting for me. Two agonizing hours later, dinner was finally served and the table was set. Zargo sat across from me, taking a bite with the severe, discerning air of a professional food critic. “Not bad at all,” he conceded. I took a bite myself. The flavor was completely unexpected—rich and tangy, like white fish marinated in wine and lemon. Suddenly, my mother’s old complaints made perfect sense: buying these prawns was a massive waste of money. Wine, lemons, and actual fish combined were cheaper than a single container of these flying crustaceans. “Let’s establish some ground rules,” Zargo said, his tone abruptly shifting to something calm and transactional. “No one can know we are sharing this house.” Relief washed over me. “Suits me just fine. That was my plan too.” I had zero reasons to go around blabbing, but a laundry list of reasons to keep my mouth shut. Sanbili was a restricted-access planet. You only got here under two conditions: either as a recognized planetary defender and researcher, or as their partner. If a researcher chose to bring a partner, one of the single scientists currently on the planet had to pack up, terminate their career in this sector, and leave. Because of that, "couples" were deeply resented here. If anyone found out we were sharing a roof, I’d be treated like a social pariah. “Don’t invite guests over,” Zargo added. “And if I have people over, make yourself scarce.” “Fine,” I ground out through clenched teeth. I had expected something along those lines, but it still stung. For the first time in my life, I had a place to live that was officially assigned to me by the paperwork, yet I had fewer rights here than I did back at my parents' house. At least there I was allowed to have a friend over. “I’m glad we're on the same page. Your onboarding files should have been sent to your inbox. Make something light for breakfast tomorrow.” Zargo stood up and sauntered off to his room, leaving me with the distinct honor of washing the dishes for our local "prince". Did he honestly think I was his maid? I downed the rest of my juice, cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and began my nightly trek up the stairs. Back in my room, I collapsed onto the bed and tapped my comlink. The notification confirmed my shift started tomorrow, with a starship departing from Platform Two. It was a bit bizarre that they were using an interstellar starship instead of a standard planetary vessel, but then again, nothing on this planet followed normal rules. Shaking off my exhaustion, I walked over to the window. This world really was breathtaking. Right outside my glass wall stood a massive, adolescent Zelgalo tree, sporting a pale blue trunk and vibrant violet foliage. Its crown dissolved into a milky-white sky, while its roots plunged deep into a lavender-tinted ocean. Brilliant. Tomorrow, as a certified nanobiologist, I’d be flying straight up into that canopy to collect genetic samples, finally getting to see it up close. My daydreaming was cut short by an interplanetary call from my mother. Before accepting the video feed, I carefully positioned my chair so the fairytale landscape outside would be prominently on display behind me. “And here I thought she’d be slaving away, but she’s living it up at a resort,” my sister chimed in, her voice dripping with envy. “It’s a job. I start tomorrow.” “Are you sure you don’t want to just come home? It’s already been a year,” my mother said softly, a familiar ache in her voice. “I have a grant obligation to fulfill, Mom.” “I still don’t see why you needed that thing. You could have gone to the university right here on our planet. You would have graduated, found a job, and stayed close to home.” My mother had been having this exact same conversation with me for seven years straight, every single time we spoke. She never gave up hope that I’d return. There were four of us kids, and if she had her way, none of us would have ever left the nest. “Mom, it’s just a work assignment. I’ll come back for holidays. Here, just look at how beautiful the scenery is.” I stood up, panning the camera to show off the Zelgalo in all its glory. My sisters gasped in awe, while my brother merely frowned. He wasn't thrilled about one of his younger sisters flying off across the cosmos either—especially since I was currently six galaxies away. “It’s already late here, and I have work in the morning. Let’s talk tomorrow.” “Wait, what about the house? Aren't you going to show us around?” my sister interjected, alarmed. “Tomorrow is better.” They had already seen the bedroom, which left only the main living area downstairs—where Zargo was currently lounging. I doubted he’d appreciate being featured on a family video call. In fact, he’d probably just use it as an excuse to mock me. I hurriedly disconnected and climbed into bed for real. Sleep eluded me for hours. First, I tossed and turned, and once I finally drifted off, I woke up every hour on the dot, terrified of oversleeping. When the alarm finally blared, it felt less like an interruption and more like a rescue mission. I dragged myself to the shower, but the water did nothing to cure my grogginess. To cap it all off, I nearly took a nosedive down the stairs, leaving me with a nasty bruise on my knee. My right arm remained stubbornly, defiantly blue, making me keep tugging at my sleeve in a vain attempt to hide the stain. “Breakfast isn't ready?” Zargo looked thoroughly rested. His hair was styled into a sharp, textured crop, and he looked imposing in his crisp white jumpsuit. In my lime-green uniform, I felt like a walking neon eyesore. “Hide,” he commanded suddenly. A sleek, matte-black shuttle was descending right outside our house. I dropped to the floor instantly, ducking behind the kitchen table. Zargo snorted in amusement and stepped outside. The rear door of the craft slid open, revealing pristine white seats. From my hiding spot, I watched him climb aboard and rocket away. Once the ship vanished from view, I scrambled out of the house, quickly firing up my navigation app. I followed the transit pass the lab had issued me. To my surprise, the route led me to a minor spaceport, where I boarded a commuter shuttle. The vessel tore through the atmosphere almost immediately, entering open space and charting a direct course for a space station orbiting the planet. Anxiety spiked in my chest. Before deploying, I had analyzed my placement orders with microscopic precision, and I was positive I was supposed to be stationed planetside. Swallowing my pride, I marched up to the pilot. It was humiliating to admit I was lost on day one, but the alternative was being late. “Excuse me, I think I might have boarded the wrong shuttle.” I reached into my pocket to pull up my digital ticket for the pilot, but the hologram was snatched right out of my hand by an Interion woman. She belonged to a humanoid race characterized by rigid, fiery-red hair braided into dozens of tight cornrows atop a cone-shaped skull. Her three-fingered hands featured a striking red manicure. She stood a full head taller than me and was so impossibly thin and angular she resembled a walking twig. “Are you Astra? Our new recruit? The senior Tan approved your transfer up here late last night. Come on, or we’ll be late.” The Interion grabbed my sleeve and yanked me along. Senior Tan—I assumed she meant Zargo. No doubt he just couldn't stand the thought of me eyesoring his personal space during the day, so he exiled me to the orbital station. “I’m Morana,” she introduced herself. “Senior Research Associate.” She fell silent as we crossed the threshold into the main deck, and I finally saw the facility in its full, staggering scale. It was a massive, semi-circular hall housed under a transparent dome, with colossal projections of a genome sequence rotating dead center. “Impressive, isn't it? Look over there. There’s a breakroom in the far corner. It has a coffee machine.” Morana nudged me toward a lift, and I reluctantly stepped inside. The explicit mention of the coffee machine did not bode well; it looked like my grand scientific career was going to kick off with a classic game of fetch and carry. We descended onto the main floor. There were about thirty entities working here, representing a dozen different species, and every single one of them completely ignored me. Safe to say, my arrival was met with overwhelming enthusiasm. “I brought her,” Morana announced. A Diangosan turned toward us and began to rise. Members of his species possessed three brains interconnected by dense neural webs. They were freakishly intelligent, capable of holding a conversation, analyzing complex datasets, and daydreaming all at the exact same time. He stood nearly ten feet tall with four arms, bearing an unsettling resemblance to a hybrid between a grasshopper and a cockroach. Every biological instinct in my body screamed in terror around his kind. I took a step back, caught myself, remembered my manners, and froze. I really needed to ask where the restrooms were. Like, urgently. “Our Senior Lab Director,” Morana introduced him. “I’ve reviewed your placement orders and your academic transcript,” the Diangosan vibrated, his voice echoing. “Remarkable performance... for a human. Morana, take her under your wing.” The Director turned away, stepping up to a primary console. The genomic projection flared with a bright blue hue, and a massive hologram expanded across the ceiling, initiating a digital simulation. A Zelgalo tree, a mere sapling no older than a hundred cycles, struck its roots into barren, rocky soil. Portions of the genetic strand began flashing blue as it adapted. Everything progressed flawlessly until the root system fully anchored; then, a critical chromosome flashed a violent crimson. The entire genome collapsed like a house of cards, and the simulated tree withered and died. I knew it was just a computerized model, but I still felt a pang of genuine sorrow for the tree. “Isolate the mutation,” the Director commanded. The fractured genome began reconstructing itself until it paused on the first corrupted sequence, which migrated to a secondary display. “Come along,” Morana said, tapping my shoulder. “You know how to operate a genetic scanner and a nano-printer, right?” “Of course.” “Good. This is the secondary terminal linked to the mainframe. The empirical data from the trial is logged here. I need you to print the schematics onto holographic drives. There’s a specific sequence. I need all six volumes.” She walked away, entirely confident I could handle it. I took my post at the machine, positioning myself so I could observe the rest of the crew. Directly ahead of me, a Sibian woman lay flat on the floor, rapidly flicking through floating interfaces. Not a single person walked over to introduce themselves or offer a basic greeting. Morana was my sole point of contact, checking in on me a couple of times just to ensure I hadn't broken the printer. As it turned out, lunch breaks weren't a concept observed in this sector of the lab—a harsh reality I only discovered after explicitly asking. After powering through a chunk of the workload, I slipped away to the breakroom. I discovered that alongside the coffee, the dispenser offered low-molecular sustenance bars. They were completely devoid of flavor, though they suppressed my hunger pangs efficiently enough. By evening, my eyes were crossed; the endless columns of data were blurring into a single, agonizing smear. Marshaling my remaining strength, I finalized the files, loaded the heavy holographic tablets onto a grav-platform, and wheeled it over to the Senior Lab Director. He dismissed me with a casual wave of one hand. His lower left one, specifically. I left the platform and hurried down to the spaceport. The return shuttle to the planet was sparsely populated; only four of my colleagues were making the trip down, even though the morning flight had been packed. Morana slid into the row adjacent to mine. I couldn't tell if the staff was just naturally antisocial or if they had collectively blacklisted me. Granted, certain species despised unnecessary vocalization on principle. Take the Diangosans—they were so hyper-intelligent that interacting with other races probably felt like trying to hold an intellectual debate with a goldfish. By those standards, the Director had been practically chatty this morning. Just as I was convincing myself that it wasn't personal, the girl sitting in the row ahead turned around, handed Morana a device, and whispered something. They exchanged a few quiet words and burst into laughter. That killed any remaining doubt. I was being intentionally ostracized. It looked like my very presence on this station had crossed someone’s line.