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The lunchtime horn goes off, and I sulk out of the port to the parking lot where my hoverclunker sits, the one I bought so I had somewhere dry and secure to sleep at night.

I hope whatever alien picks me that he has a warm, comfortable bed, someplace filled with lights.

I don’t care if it’s an old castle, a high-tech city skyscraper condo, or a starship.

I just want to feel safe for once in my life.

I would like a view of the stars.

The Alien Bride Race ads that play on the holovids in the breakroom and the minimart down the street claim the alien males they accept for the race are protective. If they are, I’ll be happier wherever I end up than I’ve ever been on Earth.

I’m exhausted from pulling double shifts and sink heavily into my seat for my break, looking up at the big gray military cruiser that’s due for its maiden voyage in two months. I wonder if I’ll ever see her out in space or any of the other Terran force ships I’ve worked on.

I’ve never been out of Earth’s orbit.

I draw my datapad from my satchel to look through the Abr catalog again. Staring at the muscled aliens helps me forget the stale-sweet milky taste of my meal replacement bars. It’s all I can afford unless I get lucky and find something in a dumpster I can scrap for a few credits.

Swiping through the pages of different species and what they can offer as mates gives me hope someone will want me.

Me . Not my stuff, my piddly credits, or my augments.

Not someone who will just use me as a servant or a stepping stone to get themselves to a better life.

I’m tired of other people taking credit for my work and friends and sisters betraying me.

I just want to be comfortable, safe, and needed.

Anything else is a bonus. The Alien Bride Race packet says I will get those things “and more.” They’ve modified a few elements since the last race after Ruby, the original founder, passed.

In the span of a month, they’ve added a pool and are adding more to accommodate all species’ aquatic needs.

I hope they have Abr swimsuits. I don’t own one. There’s no point when I’m covered in gear grease and electrode gel all day, every day.

Don’t have time to relax, anyway.

Beneath each species is a new block of information on mating practices.

The species are wildly different. Nytheralians have mating scales on their cocks that lock them in during release.

Ginarigons often subdue multiple mates with drugging teeth.

And Mindorans claim their mates in a primal ritual in front of the pack.

A handful of species have no information provided. Nytheralians sound interesting. Ginarigons sound like trouble. Mindor… I might like that.

Their possessiveness is intriguing. I want to feel so needed by someone that they want the world to know I belong to them. I’m not looking for obsession, just dedication. It seems like an endangered concept on Earth.

The images of the lush race arena, blooming garden, and sparkling dining rooms make me want to cry. I’ve saved everything I could, worked my ass off, and I’m finally going to get to have something to show for it that my older sister can’t steal.

There are hundreds of male options, from bossy brown Talhuskins to amiable, color-shifting Vinym.

But only some of the species are racing in my heat.

Nevertheless, I’m intrigued by the sheer number of species in the Sol Federation.

I have only ever met a handful of them in the port, and I’ve never been to deep space.

I like the size of the blue Thorians from Alpha Prime, the intriguing glow of Isonians, and the knobby exterior of the pale-amber Derorsin. Beneath the species’ info, in the Mating Practices section, is a schematic of their typical member with special nubs to pleasure female genitalia.

I chew a thumbnail, ignoring the taste of the grease. You know they’ve got to give a good ride.

But there’s a tingle that stirs in me when I linger over the purple species known as Amphir. It’s new to the races this heat. No information is listed under Mating Practices. In fact, there’s hardly anything provided except that they were the first species that made it into space.

I’m certain I’m not the only one who’s going to be watching for him. I just think we might have something in common: an affinity for starships.

But I’m just a grunt compared to whatever boss skills he has to have.

I’d like to at least pick his brain on a few modifications if I can snag him for a moment. But I get zapped enough at my day job that I don’t need it at home, too.

A knuckle raps on my window, startling me.

I immediately lock my datapad and hide it in my bag.

My ex, Elwin, scowls down at me with shrewd dark eyes. He’s in his blue assemblyman jumpsuit with slicked-back brown hair. I’m certain his job has convinced him he’s so slippery that he can get away with anything.

He speaks through the glass. “Verity says you have her datapad. She needs it for work.”

I give him a fake smile, then flip him off. “I haven’t been at the house in three months. She’s lost it. This one’s mine.”

He rolls his eyes and sways. “Don’t be like that.”

I can’t wait to leave this part of my life behind. “You and Verity have to solve your own problems now. I’m not paying your rent, finding the shit you can’t seem to organize, and I’m definitely not helping either of you with anything after you cheated on me with her!”

I am so done with Earth: the two-faced friends and family, the planet getting too political about basic needs, and the toxic rat race I’m stuck in.

If I stay here, in this job, I might make crew foreman in another five years and manager in ten.

But the pay only increases a handful of credits.

If I want a house, health benefits, and retirement, I have to work in the port office or be, at a minimum, a shift manager.

It’s always pissed me off how the jackasses who sit in an office all day can make more than the crews that risk life and limb to build the ships. We get beat to hell and a quarter of the pay. If I had my way, it’d be the other way around.

Fuck this place.

I don’t want to feel like I’m 100 when I’m forty. It’s why I know I have to marry up. My only fear is that whoever he is, he won’t understand me because he's had a good life.

Soldiers only. No royalty.

Elwin’s eyes fall to the datapad I just put away. I know he’s thinking it could be hers and, if it’s not, how he can take it and make it hers. That’s the trouble with people like him and my sister. They accuse others of the things they do. It’s maddening how they deny the truth.

I know their projection and deflection tactics are just to help them cope with the struggles of this life. We all have mechanisms. I can’t blame them for trying to survive the dirt and grime of low-class grunts. Their methods just suck for everyone around them.

“Don’t.” I point at him in warning, flip my datapad over, and show him my code. “And I have a copy of the log on my gauntlets, showing this datapad belongs to me. So don’t get any damn ideas about trying to convince Tool Checkout that it belongs to anyone else.”

Elwin grits his teeth and growls like he didn’t expect me to be so prepared. But I’ve had to be since he turned on me.

I can’t afford my own tech on starship manufacturing pay because every last penny goes to my Alien Bride Race ticket.

I got rid of every bill and picked up a second job so I could afford food and supplies.

No one except Talros, my crew partner, knows I live in my hovercar, shower in the locker room, and haven’t left the port in months except to drive to the minimart for food.

Elwin rests a hand on the roof of my car, hangs his head, and sighs.

“You left me for her. She’s your problem now.”

He scowls at me like I’m the problem.

“What happened to you? You used to be nice!”

How my ex and my sister could betray me together still surprises me. And yet it doesn’t.

He curls a lip and grins. “She gives good head.”

I gag in my seat. “Stars, Elwin! Is that all that matters to you now?”

“In this shit life?” He squints at me and then circles a hand, motioning to the port around us. “Feeling good is all we have. If you’d have been a dirty girl, too, I’d have stayed with you.”

Somehow, I don’t think so. Now, I’m relieved I didn’t give him what he wanted.

Elwin grabs my door with an augmented hand and rips it open, then lugs me out by the chest of my jumpsuit. My body nearly goes airborne as his augmented one—for moving ship parts—frees me from my car.

The sudden weightlessness makes my heart surge in my chest, my gauntlets light up, and panic strangle my yelp.

His eyes cut into me. “You’re loyal to your family. You will help her. She’s stuck here on Earth and doesn’t have the money for Abr!”

I stagger and spread my feet. “She could if she saved! But she’d rather blow it on booze and narcotics! Besides, Abr wouldn’t take her.”

“Yes, they would.”

I think he’s desperate and realizing he got a shittier deal with her. If she gets fired, they won’t have enough for rent. “No, because she sterilized herself so she could play forever without consequence .”

“Even better, then.” He reaches for the bag that’s still strapped across my chest. When I swing it away from him, he grabs me and crushes me against the car.

Pangs punch through my body from the hard metal edges of the hoverpads and old-school angled body. Something about the bodyslam knocks my thoughts to Abr and wondering how they know the males won’t treat us like this—nice at first, then use and abuse us.

It doesn’t matter. No one will arrive in time to help me or any woman on Earth these days. I cannot change him. I won’t be able to change an alien. I have only my defense system and my minimal skills. But at least I have a weapon this time.

“You have become defiant, far too much for my liking. Give me the damn tablet!” Elwin roars, grabbing my throat, and squeezing.

“No!” It comes out more as a squeak.

The lunch horn sounds again.

He laces an arm around me with force and reaches into my bag. I grab his wrist and fight him for control.

“Jovie!” he growls in warning.

“Don’t test me, Elwin!” I am done being controlled, pushed around, and used. I just need to get my hand in the right position so I deter, not harm, him. I can’t afford a trip to jail, or I’ll be wasting the last three months of hellish effort to get me to Abr.

With a pattern of movement of my fingers, I ignite a node in my palm. A defense I wired up reroutes power and dumps an electric load into Elwin’s shoulder.

He jolts, tips backward, and falls.

Serves him right.

I slam my busted door, but it won’t latch. Damn it . “You broke my car, you piece of shit! I don’t ever want to see or hear from you again. I hope you’re happy with your choice. And tell Verity she can eat stardust!”

He groans and writhes. “How did you do that?”

“I’m a Class Five Engineer now, Elwin. If you focused more on your job instead of dipping your pathetic wick in my sister, I bet Terran Starship Engineers would upgrade you, too. Have a nice life.”