Oh, put it away.
Seriously. Zip it up. Buckle the belt. Adjust your skirt. Whatever it is you are currently loosening in anticipation of a wet, sticky time, stop it right now.
I see that look on your face.
The disappointment. The pout. You swiped to this chapter expecting to see my legs in the air, or perhaps to witness Vice finally losing her composure in a puddle of her own making. You came here hungry for the flesh, for the... the fluids that stain the sheets and make the pages of this story stick together.
I apologize...
Truly, I do.
As a mother, I hate to see my children go hungry. I hate to send you to bed without your dessert. But sometimes, life isn't about the sweet release. Sometimes, life is about the nasty vegetable stew that you have to swallow because it is good for your bones.
And this chapter? This chapter is that stew. It is fibrous. It is tough. But you have to chew it. You have to swallow it. Because if you don't, the rest of this story won't make sense.
So, sit down. Behave, and listen to Mommy.
We are not on the Xeca anymore.
We are on Mars.
Specifically, we are in the Grand Hall of the Reagalus High Council. It is a terrible room. It is vast, cold, and constructed entirely of red marble that looks suspiciously like dried blood. The air here is sterile. It lacks the humidity of my favorite spot. It lacks the comforting scent of baking bread or the musky, pheromone-heavy aroma of an Inquor in heat.
It smells of bureaucracy.
And fear.
I am standing in the 'Circle of Judgment'. It sounds dramatic, doesn't it? It is. It is a lowered platform in the center of the room, surrounded by tiered seating that stretches up into the shadows.
I am not alone.
My girls... yes, my beautiful, deadly Explorer 7 are standing in a protective semi-circle. Vice is at the front, her posture so rigid she looks like a statue carved from ruby. Chef and Navi are flanking her, their twin faces masks of stone. Prof is tapping nervously on her datapad, a tic she only develops when the variables are out of her control. My sweet Private is chewing her lip, looking small. And my baby... my Fluffy, is holding my hand so tight I can feel her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird against my palm.
And in front of us... alone... stands Capt.
Or should I say, she.
She is wearing a Reagalus prisoner uniform. It is white. Stark white. A cruel color that hides nothing. It clings to her female curves, outlining the breasts that shouldn't be there, the waist that is too narrow, the hips that flare out in a mockery of motherhood.
Her hair, now fully crimson, hangs loose down her back. It looks like a warning flag.
"Ragia Quarso," a voice booms from the shadows above. It is Councilor Vexal. I hate him. He sounds like a man who has never experienced an orgasm in his life and wants to punish everyone who has. "You stand before this Council to answer for your biological instability."
Capt looks up. Her eyes... those vertical, reptilian slits, catch the light.
"I stand," Capt says. Her voice is the soft, melodic alto of a woman, but it carries the swagger of a man who knows he is the most dangerous thing in the room. "Because you didn't give me a chair."
A ripple of murmurs goes through the Council.
"Insolence," Vexal hisses. "You have been in the female state for thirty-two days, Captain. The limit is twelve hours. You are a biological anomaly. A defect."
"A defect that saved the Neptune sector last week," Vice steps forward. Her voice cuts through the room like a whip. "While you were sitting here polishing your gavels, Captain Quarso neutralized a Centaur Hive single-handedly."
"We have seen the reports, Vice Captain," Vexal replies dismissively. "Efficiency is not the issue. Nature is. Look at him. Look at her. Do you call that an Inquor?"
The spotlight shifts, intensifying on Capt. She flinches, just slightly. It is a small movement, but I see it. I am a mother. I see everything. I see the sweat beading on her upper lip. I see the way her hands are trembling at her sides.
She is scared.
Not of them. She could kill everyone in this room with a single teaspoon of her fluids. She is scared of herself.
"We demand testimony," Vexal announces. "One by one. Defend your Captain. Convince us that this... creature... is still fit to wear the badge."
He points a bony finger at Chef and Navi.
"You two. The Twins. The Vanguard. Is she compromised in the field?"
Chef steps forward. She doesn't salute. She crosses her arms under her breasts, pushing them up in a gesture of defiance.
"Compromised?" Chef scoffs. "If by compromise, you mean does she hesitate? No. Does she miss it? Never. She is sharper now. Cleaner."
"She is cold," Navi adds, stepping up beside her sister. "Before, Capt was a sledgehammer. He smashed things. Now? She is a scalpel. She dissects the Krall. It is... beautiful."
"Beautiful?" Vexal sneers. "War is not meant to be beautiful, Navigator. It is meant to be won."
"And we are winning!" Chef snaps. Her Flambe ability flares, raising the temperature in the room by a few degrees. I can feel the heat radiating off her. "We are winning because she is leading us. She is feeding us. Even like this... even as a girl... she fills us up."
I wince at the double entendre. Only Chef could make a military tribunal sound like a prelude to a threesome.
"And you?" Vexal turns his gaze to Prof. "The Alumos scientist. Give us the data. Not the poetry."
Prof adjusts her glasses. She steps into the light. She looks calm, but I know better. I can see the way her Irita is twitching beneath her lab coat... a nervous reaction she usually reserves for failed experiments.
"The data is paradoxical, Councilor," Prof states flatly. "While the testosterone levels are non-existent, the Melios output has increased by four hundred percent. Her pheromone production has shifted from the standard Inquor attraction to a more... aggressive spectrum."
"Aggressive?"
"Dominant," Prof corrects. "Biologically speaking, she is no longer asking for submission. She is commanding it. Her current physiology is more efficient at fuel conversion than the male form. Statistically, keeping her in this state is logical."
"Logic," Vexal spits the word out. "And what of the Healer? The daughter of the Wif?"
My grip on Fluffy's hand tightens. "Be brave, baby," I whisper.
Fluffy steps forward. She looks so small in that big, cold room. Her ears are flat against her head.
"His heart..." Fluffy whispers. Her voice is trembling. "His heart beats differently now. It is slower. But it is stronger."
She rubs her wrist, right over the bracelet where the red light used to blink.
"He... she... heals faster," Fluffy lies.
I gasp softly. It is a lie. I know it is a lie. Fluffy knows it is a lie. We both saw the red light. We both know he is burning himself out. But she lies to save him.
"She does not need my Remido as much," Fluffy continues, her voice gaining strength. "She sustains herself. She is... self-sufficient."
"Self-sufficient," Vexal muses. "Like a virus."
The word hangs in the air.
"And the child?" Vexal points at Arala. "The one with the questionable genetic linkage."
Private stomps forward. She doesn't look scared. She looks angry. She looks like a little sister whose big brother is being bullied on the playground.
"He is Ranyan!" she shouts. "I don't care if he has buburibu! I don't care if he smells like lilies! He is still the strongest! He is giga-giga strong! When we do the... the maneuvers... he is still the one on top! He is still the King!"
"King?" Vexal leans forward, his face emerging from the shadows. It is a pale, twisted face. "Or Queen?"
Private freezes. "What?"
"Enough," Vice interrupts.
Vice walks to the center of the Circle. She stands between Capt and the Council. She looks magnificent. Her red uniform is perfectly pressed, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. She looks like the personification of war.
"You are wasting time," Vice says calmly. Her voice echoes off the marble walls. "You question his form? Look at the rankings. Look at the Global Inquor Leaderboard."
She points to the massive holographic screen hovering above the judges.
"Number one," Vice says. "Ragia Quarso. For the last thirty days, consistently number one. He has surpassed Ziggy. He has surpassed Kerbero. He has done more in this 'female state' than any of your male Inquors have done in a decade."
She turns to face Vexal. She places her hands on her hips, a gesture that emphasizes her authority... and her figure.
"You say you are afraid of his instability," Vice challenges. "I say you are afraid of his power. You are afraid because a woman is doing a man's job better than a man ever could. You are afraid because he doesn't need your rules anymore."
She walks over to Capt. She puts a hand on Capt's shoulder. It is a possessive touch. A lover's touch disguised as camaraderie.
"He is the Captain of the Xeca," Vice declares. "He is my Captain. And as long as he can stand, as long as he can fight, as long as he can... perform... he is the savior of humanity. And you should be on your knees thanking him, not judging him."
Silence.
Absolute, suffocating silence fills the hall.
Capt looks at Vice. Her slit pupils dilate. A flush creeps up her neck. It is a look of pure adoration.
I feel a swell of pride in my chest. That is my girl. That is my Vice Captain.
But then...
Vexal starts to laugh.
It is a dry, scratching sound. Like sandpaper on bone.
"Oh, Vice Captain," Vexal says, wiping a tear from his eye. "You misunderstand. We are not judging him because we think he is weak."
He stands up. The other Council members stand up with him.
"We are judging him," Vexal says, his voice dropping to a whisper that is amplified throughout the room, "Because we know exactly why he is strong."
He presses a button on his podium.
The holographic screen changes. The leaderboard vanishes. In its place, a complex genetic diagram appears. It shows a double helix. One side is blue... human. The other side is red... Krall.
But the red side is consuming the blue. It is wrapping around it, strangling it, turning the entire structure into a pulsating, crimson chain.
"We do not fear the woman," Vexal announces. "We fear the monster hiding inside her skin."
I feel a cold hand grip my heart.
Capt stiffens. She looks at the screen. She looks at her own DNA.
And I know, Capt knew something about this.
"The truth, Ragia Quarso," Vexal replies. "You are not turning into a human female. You are molting."
"Molting?" Vice steps back, her hand falling from Capt's shoulder.
"Look at her hair," Vexal commands. "Look at her eyes. Look at the pheromone readings."
A new chart appears. It shows a spike. A massive, jagged red line that goes off the scale.
"Those aren't Inquor pheromones," Vexal says. "Those are Royal pheromones. Class Alpha."
He leans over the railing, looking down at us like we are bugs.
"Your Captain is not just a gender-bent hero, ladies," Vexal sneers. "Your Captain is showing the early biological markers of a Krall Queen."
The world stops.
I forget how to breathe. I forget how to stand. I clutch Fluffy's hand so hard she whimpers, but I can't let go.
A Krall Queen.
The enemy. The devourer. The thing that eats men and enslaves galaxies.
My boy. My sweet, stupid, joke-telling boy.
I look at Capt.
She is trembling. Violently. Her hands are clawing at her sides. She looks at us. She looks at me. Her eyes are wide, the vertical slits pulsing with panic.
"Mira?" she whispers.
It is the broken plea of a child waking up from a nightmare, only to realize the nightmare is real.
"No," I whisper back. "No."
But the data is there. Glowing in the air above us. The naked truth that no amount of clothing can hide.
And for the first time in my life, I don't know how to fix it. I don't have a soup for this. I don't have a hug that can stop a genetic apocalypse.
Vexal raises his gavel.
"Ragia Quarso is hereby designated a biological hazard level Extreme," he announces.
The gavel comes down.
It sounds like a gunshot. It sounds like the end of the world.
And the worst part?
Capt doesn't argue. She doesn't fight. She just hangs her head, her red hair falling forward to hide her face.
And she smiles.
I saw it. Just for a second. A twitch of the lips. A flash of sharp, white teeth.
It wasn't Capt smiling.
It was the Queen.