A Stranger Among Stars, Chapter Nineteen: Kordain Impasse
Lunch arrived before Max even realized how much time had passed. He had expected to grab a quick meal and get back to work, but Malinar had other plans.
She sat with him and the Tecks, joining in on the suit discussion. At first, Max found it amusing how her tail curled lightly around his arm while they talked. But then he noticed something—whenever Xiphian spoke, Malinar’s tail squeezed just a little tighter.
Huh. He kept the observation to himself.
Xiphian was unfazed, continuing her analysis, but Malinar eventually added her own input.
"A medgel auto-dispenser would be wise," she noted, her teal eyes flicking toward Max. "Considering his recklessness."
Xiphian made an approving noise. "For once, I agree."
Max huffed. "I’m not that reckless."
Three pairs of eyes stared at him. Even Ava, despite having no physical form, somehow managed to project a distinct Really? energy into the air.
"...Fine. Whatever."
Malinar smirked but said nothing, simply letting her tail flick against his wrist before they finished eating.
When they stood to leave, she leaned in suddenly, pressing a firm kiss against his lips before whispering in his ear, "I am possessive, Max." before leaving.
By the end of the day, the schematics had been fully broken down, and Ava had started fabricating the first set of parts for tomorrow’s assembly. Max exhaled, rubbing his eyes as he stepped out of the Engineering Bay, ready to get some rest finally.
That was when he heard it—heated voices in Kordian.
Pausing, he turned back toward the workshop and spotted Xiphian and Zildjian engaged in a rapid-fire argument, their tones sharper than usual. Arguments between them weren’t uncommon, but something about this one felt different.
Especially since they were dropping his name more than once.
His brows furrowed, and he stepped forward, intending to mediate—only for both of them to snap their heads toward him with identical expressions that screamed. "Turn around and leave, or we will throw tools at you."
Max raised his hands in surrender and promptly left.
He had no idea what that was about. But something told him he was going to find out soon enough.
Max had barely escaped the crossfire of whatever heated argument Xiphian and Zildjian were having when he decided that food was his next priority. Engineering had been exhausting—between translating old human design choices into something the Council engineers would accept and ensuring Ava’s fabricators had the right parameters, he hadn’t had a moment to breathe.
But just as he rounded the final corner toward the mess hall, Malinar appeared out of nowhere, pressing him back into an alcove.
Her teal eyes locked onto his, intense and searching, and her nose twitched rapidly, as if she were trying to catch a scent.
Max swallowed hard, momentarily stunned. “Uh… Mal? What exactly are you doing?”
Her expression flickered with something unreadable before she suddenly smiled, dismissing his question with a wave of her hand. “Nothing important.”
That wasn’t convincing. Not in the slightest.
Max reached out instinctively, catching her wrist before she could turn away. He wasn’t normally aggressive—it wasn’t in him. But this… this felt different. He couldn’t let it go.
“Malinar,” he said firmly, his grip gentle but unyielding. “What was that?”
She hesitated for a second, then let out a slow breath. “At lunch… I sensed something.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Something?”
She sighed, folding her ears back slightly, her tail twitching. “Xiphian.”
He blinked. “Xiphian what?”
Malinar gave him a look like he was the densest being in the galaxy. “She’s attracted to you, Max.”
For a moment, his brain outright refused to process the information. “Wait. What?”
Today had felt like any other workday with Xiphian—aside from her usual exasperation at his design quirks, nothing had seemed off. No weird tension, no flustered reactions, nothing.
Malinar must have seen his confusion, because she sighed again, slower this time, like she was explaining something painfully obvious. “Kordians don’t express attraction like you or me. They’re… structured. Courtship for them is about intelligence, compatibility, and the potential for offspring.”
Max’s mind reeled, pieces clicking together—the way Xiphian had argued with him but ultimately accepted his design choices, the frustration that felt oddly personal, the way she had insisted on building the new suit as perfectly as possible.
Then, of course, there was Malinar’s behavior at lunch.
The way she had wrapped her tail around his arm. The firm, possessive kiss in front of everyone. And now, the sniffing. It hit him like a brick.
“You were being jealous.”
Malinar scoffed, but her ears flicked in irritation. “Valkirie aren’t jealous, Max.” She leaned in, her lips barely an inch from his. “We’re possessive.”
Max exhaled slowly. This was going to be complicated.
And if Xiphian was interested in him, he had a feeling his work days were about to get a lot more awkward.
Max had needed air. Or at least the closest thing to it.
After dinner, he and Malinar had spent some time stargazing from one of the observation decks, an unspoken understanding between them that the quiet was needed. She had leaned against him, her tail flicking lazily, and he had let the stars calm the chaos in his mind.
But now, as he trudged toward his quarters, the lingering questions wouldn’t leave him alone. He needed answers. And there was only one person aboard who he figured could actually explain what the hell was going on.
Ilvar.
With a reluctant sigh, he shot a message to the Kordian pilot.
Max: Need your insight on something. Common Room Three?
Ilvar: You’re learning. Be there in five.
Max smirked despite himself. Common Room Three wasn’t so much a lounge as it was a bar—a favorite retreat for certain crew members looking to unwind. When he arrived, Ilvar was already there, sitting with his usual drink in hand. The Kordian’s four arms made for an impressive ability to multitask, one gripping the cup while another idly tapped at a data pad.
Max slid into the seat across from him, exhaling. “I need your help understanding something.”
Ilvar took a sip before responding, “It’s about Xiphian, isn’t it?”
Max groaned. “How the hell did you know?”
Ilvar chuckled, shaking his head. “Because I saw Malinar stake her claim in the mess hall. Bold move.” He leaned forward, clearly enjoying this. “You’re lucky. If Xiphian were serious, she’d have already started the process.”
Max frowned. “Process?”
Ilvar set down his drink. “Kordian relationships aren’t monogamous, Max. It’s all about intelligence and compatibility—hoarding intellect, so to speak. As long as Malinar doesn’t outright reject Xiphian, then you’re fair game.”
Max’s brain stalled. “What?”
Ilvar grinned. “Before Xiphian can even approach you with an offer, she needs two things—her family’s approval, which means her father,” he held up one hand, then raised another, “and Malinar’s permission, since she’s your current partner.”
Max blinked. “So… she needs both of those before she even talks to me about it?”
Ilvar nodded. “Only then can she formally present a relationship plan.”
Max rubbed his temples. “And this plan… would include—”
“Potential offspring, yes.” Ilvar smirked. “You’re not just attractive to her, Max. You’re an intellectual asset.”
Max groaned, leaning back. “It’s like some weird transactional entanglement.”
Ilvar shrugged. “That’s Kordian courtship. Efficient, no?”
“No,” Max deadpanned. “No, it is not.”
Ilvar chuckled again and took another sip. “Malinar, by the way, knew exactly what she was doing when she kissed you at lunch. That wasn’t just a kiss. She made sure Xiphian saw it.”
Max exhaled slowly, putting the pieces together. “So that means Xiphian now knows she needs more than just her father’s approval.”
Ilvar pointed at him with his drink. “You’re catching on.”
Max groaned again, his mind reeling. “I’m only eighteen.”
Ilvar raised an eyebrow. “Is that too young for humans to have offspring?”
“Yes,” Max said, exasperated.
Ilvar smirked. “Would it help if I told you Xiphian is seventeen?”
Max let out another long groan. “No.”
Ilvar sighed, sipping his drink. “If you really aren’t interested, just let Malinar know. She’ll handle it.”
Max scoffed. “I don’t need to. Malinar is possessive.”
Ilvar nodded in agreement but then countered, “True. But Xiphian will argue with her for approval.” He took another sip and grinned. “And Kordians are very good at arguing.”
Max dropped his head onto the table.
This was going to be a nightmare.
Max wasn’t entirely present that morning. He wasn’t distracted, exactly—his body moved through the motions of his usual routine: morning workout with the Outhiadons, shower, fresh uniform. But his mind was occupied, tangled in a problem he wasn’t sure how to solve.
Xiphian.
Her apparent attraction to him made no sense. There was no logical reason for it, and yet, Kordian culture dictated otherwise. Transactional entanglement. That’s how Ilvar had put it. It was about gathering intelligence, securing advantageous partnerships, and compatibility. It had nothing to do with love or emotions. And yet, it still nagged at him.
Did he even care? Malinar was his priority—what they had was already fragile, already uncertain. He had barely figured out his own emotions; now he was being dragged into a cultural mess he didn’t understand.
The thought lingered as he strode onto the bridge. His eyes flicked to Malinar, who had just turned toward him. Her large teal eyes narrowed slightly, and he instantly knew—she felt something.
Right… empathic, possessive girlfriend.
A terrible idea formed. One that he acted on before his brain could fully process the consequences.
Max walked straight up to Malinar, ignoring the glances from the bridge crew. Without hesitation, he cupped the side of her face and kissed her, firm and deliberate.
Malinar froze, caught completely off guard. But after the briefest hesitation, she melted into the kiss. The warmth of her fur against his skin, the subtle hitch in her breath—there was something grounding about it. Something right.
When he pulled away, she blinked up at him, her expression unreadable. Then, ever so slightly, her lips twitched. A suppressed smile, a faint blush beneath her fur.
Her tail snapped against his side. “Max,” she hissed, voice low. “We are on the bridge.”
He shrugged, fighting the grin threatening to spread across his face. “Good morning, Malinar.”
Behind them, someone cleared their throat.
Max turned to find Captain Kabo watching him with an expression that was caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement.
“You’re late, Science Officer Williams.” Kabo’s yellow eyes narrowed. “And if you plan on distracting my medical officer during her shift, I will throw you in the brig.”
Max straightened, forcing himself into something resembling professionalism. “Apologies, Captain. Just wanted to assure her of something. It won’t happen again.”
Kabo grumbled something under his breath, but let it go. Instead, he turned toward Ava’s holographic projection. “Ava, give him his assignments before he finds more ways to disrupt my bridge.”
Ava smirked. “Certainly, Captain.” She turned toward Max, her tone laced with amusement. “Your first stop is engineering to check on the progress of the new suit. Then, you’ll report to the tech wing to test the new firewall security updates. After that, you’ll be in the science department for the rest of the day, working on a containment protocol for the bioweapon sample.”
Max nodded. Straightforward enough. “Understood.”
Ava folded her arms, the teasing glint never leaving her expression. “Also, while you’re in engineering, try not to attract any more admirers. I think Malinar has enough competition as it is.”
Max groaned. Malinar huffed beside him.
Kabo just sighed. “Get moving, Williams.”
Max didn’t need to be told twice.Engineering was always a place of motion—humming machinery, flickering holo-displays, and the rhythmic tapping of Kordian engineers as they moved between workstations with calculated efficiency. Max walked in, posture relaxed but mind alert, trying to act as if nothing was amiss.
But they were watching him.
Xiphian and Zildjian stood side by side, both pretending to be focused on the exosuit prototype in front of them, but Max could feel their scrutiny. Zildjian’s upper arms were crossed while his lower set of hands tapped against a console, a rhythmic tic that suggested restrained impatience. Xiphian, on the other hand, had her mandibles tucked close, her eyes sharp.
Max knew exactly what they had been arguing about yesterday. That didn’t make this any easier.
Suppressing a sigh, he walked up to the workbench and looked over the suit components. Alright, play it cool. He exhaled, then let out a feigned sigh of tiredness. “Looks good,” he said, rubbing his neck. “But… didn’t we agree on a different layout for the support joints? These parts weren’t in the plan from yesterday.”
Xiphian’s mandibles clicked once in clear approval. Zildjian, however, let out a slow, measured huff of subdued annoyance.
“Yes,” the Chief Engineer admitted. “That was the plan.” He glanced at his daughter, his tone carefully neutral. “It seems we should verify the adjustments before we continue assembly.”
Xiphian nodded. “I’ll run diagnostics on the updated schematics.”
Max had no doubt they’d get to the bottom of it. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it,” he said, stepping back.
He turned and made his way toward the exit, doing his best to ignore the weight of their stares. The moment he rounded the corner—
A sharp exchange in Kordian erupted behind him.
He didn’t need a translator to know this one was heated.
Max kept walking, rubbing a hand down his face as he muttered, “Ava… what the hell just happened?”
The AI’s voice chimed in his earpiece, far too amused for his liking. “Zildjian was testing you.”
Max groaned. “And?”
“And you passed with flying colors.”
Max stopped mid-step, staring at the ceiling as if that would somehow make this less ridiculous. “Ava. Why didn’t you warn me?”
She chuckled. “You didn’t ask.”
Max groaned again, rubbing his temples. He really needed to start thinking three steps ahead when dealing with Kordians.
This day was going to be so much worse now.
The tech department had been easy. Straightforward tests, controlled variables—nothing Max couldn’t handle.
He sat at a terminal, fingers gliding over the holographic interface as he probed the new firewall system they were developing. The task was simple: try to break it.
Max had to admit, while it wasn’t exactly fun, it was something he understood instinctively. He ran a few simulated attacks, testing for weak points in the firewall’s structure. Within ten minutes, he’d already found two glaring vulnerabilities. Another five minutes, and he had workarounds for both.
“Found two holes,” he reported, leaning back in his chair.
The lead tech officer—a lanky, reptilian Skelv named Drovan—huffed, his nostrils flaring. “Already?”
Max smirked. “They weren’t hard to find.”
Drovan muttered something in Skelvian, probably a curse, before nodding. “I’ll patch them. You’re free to go.”
And just like that, Max was out the door.
But even as he walked toward the science department, his mind was still stuck on her.
Xiphian.
The whole situation was… weird. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts, running over the previous argument, the test Zildjian had sprung on him, and the way Xiphian had reacted, that he didn’t even register where he was going until—
Thud.
He collided straight into a wall of orange fur.
Tash’ar.
The Zitrain let out a very put-upon groan, ears twitching in irritation as he took a step back. “Focus, deathworlder.”
Max shook himself out of his daze, blinking. “Right. Sorry. I was just…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been stuck on a complex problem. Not even sure if it’s viable biologically.”
That, at least, caught Tash’ar’s interest. His tail flicked once. “Let me guess. This is about you and Malinar?”
Max blinked at him. “What? No. We’re fine. It’s, uh… actually about Xiphian.”
Tash’ar groaned, pinching the bridge of his snout. “Oh, for the void’s sake.”
Max raised his hands. “Hey, I just found out she’s apparently interested in me, okay? And now I have questions.”
Tash’ar’s ears flattened as he exhaled sharply. “You’re overcomplicating this, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know if I am!” Max shot back. “I mean, is it even possible?”
Tash’ar’s expression shifted from irritation to something far more amused. His lips curled, his sharp teeth flashing in a smug little grin. “Ah. That’s what’s bothering you.”
Max frowned. “What?”
Tash’ar’s smirk grew wider. “You’re wondering if offspring would be viable.”
Max hesitated. “…Yes?”
Tash’ar’s tail flicked again, this time in open amusement. He folded his arms. “That’s Council-standard biological knowledge.”
Max stiffened slightly. He didn’t like being out of the loop on things that seemed obvious to everyone else. “…And?”
Tash’ar let the silence stretch, clearly savoring this moment before finally leaning in slightly, his voice dripping with condescension.
“Kordian biology is adaptive and predatory.” He tilted his head, his tone far too smug. “Any offspring Xiphian has will be Kordian, regardless of her partner’s species.”
Max froze.
His brain stalled for a full second as he processed that. Then—
“…You could’ve just said that,” he grumbled.
Tash’ar snorted, clearly enjoying this far too much. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten to watch you squirm.”
Max let out a long, slow sigh. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” Tash’ar replied smoothly, already turning back toward his workbench. “Now, if you’re done being idiotic, I actually have work to do.”
Max ran a hand down his face. He wasn’t sure if he felt better about this whole situation or worse.
The brainstorming session had stretched on for what felt like hours, with the science department caught in a cycle of overcomplicating the problem. They were running simulations, running through theories, and ultimately getting nowhere. Max leaned back in his chair, listening to the back-and-forth.
They needed a way to break off a sample of the bioweapon, store it safely, and keep it from spreading. The problem? The substance actively converted organic matter into more of itself, meaning any containment that wasn’t completely inert would eventually be compromised.
Max frowned, running through materials in his head. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous the discussion seemed.
"Why not just use a hardened glass container and seal it with synthetic material?" he finally said.
Silence.
Tash’ar’s fur bristled, his ears flicking back in irritation. The rest of the team looked at him as if he had just spoken in an unknown language. Ava was the first to break the silence, materializing her hologram with a smirk.
“Ah, that classic human problem-solving. Too bad synthesizing nonorganic material is something only humans have ever done,” she quipped, arms crossed.
Max blinked. “Wait… what?”
Tash’ar sighed, rubbing his temples. “We don’t have the time to wait for a shipment of synthesized materials, Max. We need something we have on hand.”
“No, no, back up,” Max said, holding up a hand. “You guys have rubber, plastics, composites—hell, even some of the circuitry in this ship relies on synthetic polymers. How do you not synthesize nonorganic materials?”
“We acquire them,” Tash’ar corrected, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We have manufacturing techniques to refine and shape them, but actual synthesis? That’s a deathworlder technology. And considering how few of you there are in the galaxy…”
Max sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It always came back to that, didn’t it? Humanity had done so many things out of necessity that the rest of the galaxy had never even considered.
“Well, good thing I’m here then.” He stood up, already running through what he needed in his head. “I’ll be in my lab.”
“Lab?” Tash’ar scoffed. “You mean your corner?”
Max shot him a grin. “My corner’s about to save us a lot of trouble.”
He turned to leave, but not before calling out over his shoulder, “Ava, update the bridge. Tell Kabo I’m applying my ‘human solution’ to the problem.”
Ava chuckled. “Oh, he’s going to love that.”
As Max walked down the corridor, he couldn’t help but shake his head. The sheer difference in technological philosophy between humanity and the Interstellar Council still amazed him. But if they weren’t going to do it, he would.
Time to put his corner of the lab to good use.
Max worked methodically, the rhythmic sound of his tools and the hum of the fabricator filling the air. Creating the glass storage boxes had been relatively simple once he acquired the sand. Fortunately, the ship carried a supply meant for certain species who slept in it. The requisition had gone through without much trouble, and by the end of the day, he had successfully crafted seven one-foot-square containment boxes, each with a tightly sealing lid.
Some parts of the process required him to head down to engineering to oversee the fabricator’s settings, which, to his mild amusement, meant dealing with Zildjian Teck. The Chief Engineer had watched him with a skeptical expression, arms crossed as Max calibrated the system.
"You're fabricating storage containers?" Zildjian had asked.
"For the bioweapon sample," Max replied, not looking up from the interface. "Needed something non-organic, inert, and sealable. Glass and synthetic composites work."
Zildjian had grumbled but ultimately let Max continue without further argument.
Now, back in the common lab, Max stood in front of his work, double-checking each container for any imperfections. Tash’ar arrived just as Max was placing the last lid onto one of the glass boxes. The Zitrain's sharp eyes studied the containers before flicking back to Max, his tail giving a single irritated twitch.
“This is impressive," Tash’ar admitted, though his voice carried an unmistakable edge. "Annoying, but impressive."
Max smirked. “Annoying?”
“Yes,” Tash’ar huffed. “Because now I have to address a problem that shouldn’t exist. We still need to retrieve the sample, and I’ve determined the best method.” He straightened up, his tone shifting into a more official stance. “You’ll use a plasma saw to cut out sections of the frozen bioweapon.”
Max arched an eyebrow. He crossed his arms, considering the suggestion. It made sense in theory—plasma saws were precise and would make quick work of slicing out controlled pieces. But something nagged at him.
Instead of rejecting it outright, he turned to Ava. “What’s the estimated resistance force of the bioweapon’s frozen form?”
Ava appeared in her usual holographic form, her expression neutral as she processed the question. There was a long pause before she finally answered.
“Not much more than standard water ice,” she said.
Max hummed in thought. Then he shook his head. “Yeah, no. Plasma saw’s a bad idea.”
Tash’ar’s ears flicked back, his fur bristling slightly. “What? Why?”
Max ignored the irritation in his tone and started tapping on a nearby console. “The bioweapon dies in extreme heat, right? So, yeah, a plasma saw would work, but there’s a catch—it’ll also wake up whatever fragments I’m supposed to collect.”
Tash’ar’s mouth opened slightly before closing again. His eyes narrowed. “…Go on.”
“A plasma saw doesn’t just slice—it vaporizes material at the cutting edge. We don’t know how reactive this stuff is when disturbed. The heat might just kill the outer layer, but the deeper material could still be viable. Worse, if any of it gets airborne before we can secure it, we might have a containment breach.”
Tash’ar folded his arms, contemplating. “And your alternative?”
Max turned back to Ava. “Add a hammer and pickaxe to the fabricator queue. Reinforce them to handle my strength.”
Ava tilted her head. “Upgrading tool integrity for a deathworlder user. Got it.” She vanished to process the request.
Tash’ar exhaled sharply. “A hammer and a pickaxe? That’s your grand human solution?”
Max smirked. “Yup.”
“That is primitive.”
“That is effective,” Max countered. “Instead of melting through and waking up whatever’s inside, I can just crack and smash pieces off while they’re still in their frozen, inert state. Clean breaks, minimal disturbance, and nothing getting vaporized into the air.”
Tash’ar grumbled something under his breath, but Max caught the slight twitch of his tail—the Zitrain equivalent of reluctant approval.
“…Fine,” Tash’ar muttered. “We’ll do it your way. But if this fails, I’m submitting an official complaint to the Captain about your methods.”
Max chuckled. “If this fails, I’ll write the complaint myself.”
Ava reappeared, grinning. “Pickaxe and hammer are in the fabricator queue. Should be ready in ten minutes. Try not to go full caveman on the sample, Max.”
He shot her a look. “No promises.”
Tash’ar sighed. “This is going to be one of those missions, isn’t it?”
Max just grinned. “Only if you let it”
Max had barely stepped into the mess hall when Malinar intercepted him, her hand gripping his arm while her tail coiled possessively around his waist. It was a familiar sensation now, one he found strangely comforting. She didn’t say anything at first, just gave him a look that spoke volumes—she had been waiting for him.
They moved through the line, picking up their meals as they fell into an easy conversation about their respective days. Max recounted his long battle with the fabricator and Tash’ar’s increasingly agitated insistence that a plasma saw was the only logical choice. Malinar, in turn, vented about a particularly stubborn crew member who had ignored medical advice, leading to a minor but preventable injury.
For a brief moment, it was normal. Comfortable. It felt… nice.
Then Xiphian Teck sat down at their table, arms crossed, her expression unreadable but her body language stiff with determination.
“We need to talk,” she said, her four arms tightening against her chest.
Malinar exhaled sharply through her nose, her tail unconsciously pulling Max a little closer. “Unless this is a medical issue, we have nothing to discuss.”
That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.
Xiphian’s mandibles clicked together in irritation. “You need to listen, at least.”
Max felt the tension rise, Malinar’s tail squeezing around his waist with barely restrained annoyance. He lifted a hand, trying to interject. “Do I get a say in—”
“No,” Malinar said firmly.
“Not yet,” Xiphian countered at the same time.
Max let out a slow breath and leaned back, deciding to let the argument unfold before stepping in. If nothing else, he was exhausted and hungry, and he figured that if he kept eating, he’d at least have the energy to mediate this ridiculousness.
The debate between the two women quickly escalated.
Xiphian’s argument was direct, pragmatic, and clinical. She had thought this through in meticulous detail, and it was clear her interest in Max wasn’t about emotions—it was about logic, genetics, and opportunity. Kordians valued intelligence above all else, and Max, in her eyes, was an anomaly worth incorporating into her clan’s bloodline. The benefits were obvious: enhanced cognitive function for her future offspring, genetic adaptability, and, most critically, access to a Deathworlder’s problem-solving skills.
Malinar, by contrast, argued purely from emotion. She despised the idea of sharing, not out of possessiveness alone, but because the concept of managing multiple partners felt overwhelming. She made it clear that she wanted Max, and only Max. No Kordian marriage contracts, no logical genetic pairings, just them.
Max, despite himself, found his curiosity piqued. “Wait—how do Valkirie relationships work?”
Malinar shot him an exasperated look but begrudgingly answered, “Valkirie do allow polygamous relationships. If one partner wishes to bond with others, it’s an option.”
Xiphian immediately latched onto that. “So you could accept this arrangement if you wanted to.”
Malinar’s ears flattened as she gave Xiphian a deadpan stare. “I don’t want to.”
Xiphian’s mandibles twitched. “Why?”
The answer came softer than Max expected. “Because I don’t like how Kordian emotions feel.”
Xiphian frowned. Max, already exhausted from the day’s work and now drained by this conversation, took a moment to step in and steer the discussion toward something resembling a resolution.
“Malinar,” he said, rubbing his temples, “explain what Kordian emotions feel like to you.”
Malinar sighed but complied. “Most species’ emotions feel like stars—bright, constantly shifting, unpredictable. Kordian emotions aren’t like that. They’re… contained, like a star enclosed in a Dyson sphere. They only let out one emotion at a time, and it’s controlled—too controlled. It’s unsettling.”
Max, in a moment of mind-drained idiocy, asked, “So if Xiphian learned to be less rigid with her emotions, would you consider it?”
Malinar’s tail tightened around him so suddenly that he choked on his food.
“No,” she said flatly. “Because I don’t want to share.”
Max sighed, deciding that was his cue to check out of the conversation. He kept eating, doing his best to tune out the ongoing debate as it continued around him.
Whatever this was, he’d deal with it after he had more food and sleep.
Max had long since stopped trying to engage in the debate unfolding in front of him. Instead, he focused on his food, hoping the argument would burn itself out before his patience did. Unfortunately, Xiphian and Malinar seemed to be feeding off each other’s energy, each taking the other’s stubbornness as a challenge rather than a reason to drop the topic.
As he ate, he couldn’t help but absorb what was being said, though. He learned a lot about both Valkirie culture and Kordian relationships—most of it through passive listening, rather than active participation.
Valkirie, apparently, were naturally polygamous, largely due to their empathic sense and cycling breeding seasons. Bonds between partners were fluid, emotions interwoven between multiple individuals in a way that made monogamy more of an outlier than the norm. But Malinar, due to her own history, outright rejected that practice. She wanted one person, one connection—a single source of stability and comfort. Given what Max had already pieced together about her past with Qoda and the pain of losing him, it wasn’t hard to understand why.
Kordians, on the other hand, didn't have set relationships at all. Their culture prioritized genetic exchange based on intelligence. Emotional bonds were secondary at best—family lines were built on intellect, not affection. In Xiphian’s view, Max was a rare find, a prime candidate for genetic contribution. And, much to his horror, she wanted to secure that contribution before the Horizon reached port in a few months.
Then, somehow, the conversation shifted to children.
It started with Xiphian’s calm, pragmatic statement: “I only require one litter from him.”
Max nearly choked on his food. Malinar, however, responded immediately, a low growl vibrating in her chest.
“No. If anyone is having Max’s children, it will be me.”
That was about when Max realized that neither of them had considered his thoughts on the matter. More importantly, neither of them seemed to understand how human families actually worked. He swallowed hard, set his utensils down, and took a deep breath before speaking.
“Okay. No.” His voice was firm, cutting through the heated tension at the table. “We’re gonna slow this conversation down because, apparently, I’ve been demoted from ‘person’ to ‘prized breeding stock,’ and I’d like to put an end to that.”
Xiphian perked up slightly, clearly interested in what she saw as a chance to negotiate. “Then clarify your stance.”
Malinar, however, stiffened. He could feel her tail wrap a bit tighter around his waist, her emotional senses picking up on something deeper than just irritation.
Max sighed, rubbing his temple. “First off, let’s get this out of the way—polygamy exists in human culture, but it’s rare. In the vast majority of cases, relationships are based on emotions, not genetics or societal structures. Having kids isn’t just about making them, it’s about raising them together. It’s a long-term commitment that doesn’t just stop at birth.”
Xiphian tilted her head, mulling over his words, but Malinar’s attention was still on him—her teal eyes searching his face, reading between the lines. He could feel the weight of her focus like a pressure in the air.
“And more importantly,” Max continued, “I’m eighteen. I am not ready to be a father. Not now. Probably not for another ten years, if not longer.”
That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.
Xiphian’s expression shifted into something far too pleased, as if she had just extracted a crucial piece of information. “So ten years, then?”
Malinar, meanwhile, looked… excited. Max had the sinking realization that she had just filed this information away for later.
Max groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “You’re both completely skipping over the part where I get a say in this.”
Luckily, Malinar sensed his exasperation—probably far too acutely—and saw the opportunity to make their escape. She abruptly stood, wrapping her tail around Max in a clear, possessive gesture.
“Well, we’re done here,” she declared, grabbing Max’s arm and pulling him up from the table.
Xiphian crossed all four of her arms but didn’t argue. She simply watched them leave, clearly deep in thought.
Max, still processing the absurdity of the last twenty minutes, let himself be dragged away.
“Food was good, at least,” he muttered.
Malinar huffed. “You’re lucky I like you, deathworlder.”
Max sighed. He had survived shipwrecks, cryostasis, and an entirely new galaxy. But apparently, he wasn’t ready for this.
The door to Max’s cabin slid shut behind them with a quiet hiss, sealing off the chaotic mess of conversation that had left his mind spinning. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and ran a hand through his hair, exhaustion weighing down on him like a lead blanket.
Before he could fully register it, Malinar wrapped her arms around him from behind, pulling him into the warmth of her embrace. The contact startled him, but he didn’t resist—her presence had become something grounding, something that pulled him back when he got lost in his own head.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his back, her voice thick with guilt.
Max frowned and gently placed his hand over hers, brushing his thumb across her fingers. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he said, his tone quiet but firm.
Malinar tightened her grip slightly. “I let that conversation go too far. I forgot… I forgot your past. I should have stopped it before it dredged up anything painful.”
Max sighed and turned slowly in her arms until he was facing her. He lifted a hand to her face, cupping her cheek as he met her gaze. “The pain is always there,” he admitted softly, allowing his mental barriers to slip just enough for her to feel the tangled mess of emotions beneath his exhaustion—grief, frustration, lingering unease, but also warmth, trust… and something deeper, something still uncertain but undeniably present. “But none of it is your fault.”
Malinar closed her eyes briefly, exhaling as she leaned into his touch. Then, without warning, she surged forward and kissed him, her lips pressing against his with a fervor that made his breath hitch.
When she pulled back, her teal eyes flickered with something more intense, more certain. Before he could question it, she gently pushed him backward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of his bed. Too tired to resist, he let himself fall onto the mattress with a quiet grunt, looking up at her with a mix of confusion and curiosity.
She smiled—soft, but unmistakably possessive—and leaned down to kiss him again, slower this time, lingering as if committing the moment to memory. When she pulled back, she murmured, “I’ll stay until you’re asleep, then slip out.”
Max blinked, his brain lagging behind the situation. “Malinar, you don’t—”
Before he could finish, she straddled his hips, her hands deftly unfastening the clasps of his tunic. His breath caught as she leaned close, her voice a hushed murmur against his ear.
“You’re not ready to share a bed with me,” she reminded him, her tone teasing but undeniably affectionate. “But maybe soon.”
Max swallowed hard, his pulse kicking up for reasons entirely unrelated to anxiety. He knew she meant what she said—this wasn’t some ploy to push him into anything before he was ready. It was comfort, reassurance, and a promise all wrapped into one.
And for the first time in a long while, he let himself believe in the idea of a future where he wasn’t alone.
As exhaustion finally won out, he let his eyes drift shut, his last thought before sleep taking him was the warmth of Malinar’s presence and the unfamiliar but welcome feeling of safety.
*last chapter / *[next chapter]TBR 2/3 ()