“That should be all you need, Mrs. Zorik,” Martinez smiled while handing the Buolmeric woman her medicine.

“Are you sure? That seems a little simple,” the gold-furred Chiropteran asked, looking hesitantly at the pill bottle clasped in her chest-sized wing hand.

Mrs. Zorik was one of the Bulmeric, a bat-like species with a good history with Humanity. The Bulmeric were humanity's closest allies in the GU, their nearest galactic neighbors, and constant military allies.

She specifically was not a part of the species' short-furred warrior cast, white-furred religious sect, or soft-faced and plush bodies trader class.

No, Mrs Zorik was just a run-of-the-mill citizen of the GU and, according to her, had never even set foot on any of the Bulmeric planets. That was one of the things that aided Martinez with his treatment of her; it narrowed down a few dozen possible diseases.

“It will work, but I still recommend you eat more food nutritionally similar to what is on Bulmeric planets. You should also drink more water and exercise more. The medication is not a miracle drug,” Martinez explained, pushing the body scanner toward the ceiling.

Martinez leaned over and looked at his datapad, reviewing the long-term effect simulation he had created based on her medical information, history, and genetics. After quickly confirming his initial diagnosis, he set it back down and looked back toward her.

“So long as you do those things, your risk of hypertension should fade, and you won't need to take the meds every morning,” Martinez assured.

“I suppose this is the cost of eating all that Ovelin,” Mrs. Zorik sighed while pushing the pill bottle into a pouch attached to the belt holding up her loose-fitting trousers.

Ovelin was a snack common throughout the GU and trendy among carnivorous species. It made sense that it was. The snack came in little cubes of fat, meat, and salt; it would be difficult to construct something a predatory species was more wired to want to eat. It might as well be as addictive as sugar is to humans.

“I suppose some extra flights around the park would be nice. I could even drag Monul along,” Mrs Zorik giggled while standing and grabbing her bag.

It had been one month since Shiksie had entirely vanished from their lives. Her absence changed the entire dynamic of the shop, their workload, and the overall vibe. Gone was all jovialness; it was now all business all the time.

Martinez had not noticed while Shiksie was here. Her stoic, by-the-books nature, in a way, permitted for the others to joke around. She struck the balance in the shop, reigned them in when things were getting out of hand, and poked fun at them occasionally for little things.

The sparse moments when she did join in were some of the best moments at work. Martinez could actively recall when the tall Farun’se had decided Martinez had been overeating cake from the chow hall and swapped out his slice for an odd alien purple fruit, a Weekur if he remembered correctly.

Was it directly funny? Not really, but the cheeky grin on her face and the way she halfway folded her ears in almost guilt were adorable.

Now, all Martinez could do was regret that he had not appreciated it as much while she was here. At least he was not alone in that.

The entire shop had been worried about her for almost half that time. Ivorn could hardly stay on task and was distant with Martinez, snappy at him whenever he had to interact with the Human.

Doctor Harnsis had not kept his scales up for several weeks, and they had lost all luster. Martinez had to admit that this was odd for the usually extremely well-to-do Doctor. He hated seeing the insectoid man overworked and unable to groom himself.

Even Therin seemed shocked the Farun'se woman had not returned. Despite the avian aliens' usual laid-back and flippant attitude, he seemed concerned about his former co-worker and teacher.

The other big difference was the shop's workload. Shiksie had been doing the mainstay of labor. Without her to take patients, teach them what to do, and double-check Martinez’s work daily, it was a fresh hell every time a patient arrived.

Their work performance had lulled so severely that the Director had signed off on giving Martinez a circumstantial license until he finished his cross-species licensing in a few months.

Was that legal? Martinez had no idea, and even Harnsis had never heard about it before. But the Director assured them that it would be alright as long as Martinez was working with class green species.

Still, he missed having Shiksie around. Had he known Shiksie would have abandoned everything after he violently rejected her, trying to force herself on him, he would have thought of anything else.

Now Martinez was just stuck with his guilt eating at him like a pack of dogs.

He had seen Shiksie more than once in his nightmares over the last month; she gracefully joined his usual repertoire of haunting failures with little issue. While the others were from combat, filled with dying Marines and the aliens, GU allies or not, hers was the image of her crying on her floor when he had split her head open fridge.

She would wail and cry about how alone she was, how she wanted to be there for him. But he crushed her and left her abandoned. Her voice would grow more quiet with each utterance until she bled out on the floor.

He wanted to assure her it would be alright, save her, hold her, and say he would make it up to her somehow. But that was just a dream. When they met again, the Human had no idea what he would do once they were in front of one another.

Martinez slumped into his chair once Mrs. Zorik was gone, and he had completed the last of the reports on her. Languidly, he scrolled to the waiting patient's tab on the data terminal and felt relief for the first time in seven hours.

There was not a single patient on the list. At long last, Martinez could stay seated and relax—hopefully for another three hours, and his shift ended.

Moments later, Ivorn ambled past him, his hulking Gorila-like frame barely fitting through the entrance to the nurses' station. Martinez glanced up as his friend passed, but the alien did not spare a glance. Instead, he wiped the sweat from the loose skin on his brow and sat in his chair to start filling out reports.

Where Harnsis and Therin were at the moment was a mystery. They likely were down at radiology or one of the other countless specialty centers within the hospital. Lord knew they all had been pushing patients from one test room to another and back daily for the last few weeks.

Looking back to the data terminal and opening the file on Bulmeric biology to study, Martinez gave his back to Ivorn. He had done this for several reasons. The first was that he still needed to study for class and his job, and Shiksie had instilled in him a work ethic the Human Navy had failed to do for years; it was also because Ivorn and Martinez were hardly on speaking terms at the moment.

After Ivorn blew up on Martinez after he returned from Celna, they only spoke once or twice, and that was just for work. Other than that, there was an awkward, not quite hatred or anger, but an air of mistrust between the two.

Both were too stubborn to be willing to admit their fault and reach out. Without third-party intervention or one swallowing their pride, they had a difficult journey going forward.

Martinez knew Ivorn was right. Once Shiksies' attempts at a relationship reached inappropriate points, he should have asked for help or told someone, but he did not.

Ivorn, on the other hand, had drastically gone overboard. He screamed and looked like he was about to wallop Martinez when he returned. Martinez was aware that his feeling was not just his paranoia again because Sursee, Ivorn's petite feline-like alien girlfriend, had messaged the Human explaining how torn up Ivorn was about the ordeal.

Thankfully, their awkward silence did not last long, not because of them, but because the Director of all sentients arrived and drew their full attention.

Martinez shuddered, seeing the Director. Something about the Alien's build sent off every aspect of his survival instincts. Despite Martinez knowing the Director was a reasonable and polite man to have as a boss, his instincts still did not like the man's presence on arrival.

The Director stood three meters tall, weighed as much as a small car, and shook the ground with each step. None of that got to the Human; what did was his rows of dagger-like teeth, thick ash-grey armored plating, and, of course, the four sets of yellow-green viper-like eyes.

Martinez had yet to find out what species the Director was and had no plans to ask anytime soon. After all, lessening interaction with someone that high up was the goal of any good low-level enlisted man.

“Good afternoon, day crew,” the Director sneered, his teeth glistening and eyes scanning the pair.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Ivorn replied, undeterred by the Director's appearance. They had been working together for nearly a decade at this point, so they were used to one another.

“For you nothing,” the Director replied, pointing at Ivorn and then shifting his long claw toward Martinez. “You, however—we have business to discuss,” he finished with a deep, pressure-filled hiss.

“Oh, uhhh—what for, sir?” Martinez swallowed his spit, horrified that the Director wanted him.

Having anyone high-profile looking for you by name was never a good thing in the Human Military and likely was the same throughout the GU. The Director looking for him might as well be the equivalent of an admiral knocking on your barracks room door.

“We will discuss that in my office. Just follow me.” The Director replied firmly.

While the Director's voice usually bounced between gargling gravel and a man who had smoked three packs a day since they were two, something was off about that tone. Martinez had only ever heard the alien be that direct when he had Chloe breathing down his neck.

If that was the case, this meeting could only be bad news. Chloe was the Human governmental representative here in Draun. She was for the entire system, but the effect was the same. That and she was not a representative like on earth.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Chloe was, in reality, some kind of vile spook sent out here by the Human government for some reason. While Martinez had never gotten her to admit it, he could tell. She kept tabs on his every move, knew his schedule by heart, was able to pull strings to keep Martinez out of trouble, and scared the Director shitless.

If there was one word that could summarize the short, brunette bombshell, it was dangerous.

“All alright, sir,” Martinez stood to follow.

As they were about to round the corner to the hallway, Martinez glanced over his shoulder at Ivorn. The man looked back with almost a regretful note on his brow, but it faded to a scowl once they locked eyes.

They would have to work on that as time went on. Maybe they could recover their relationship someday.

Turning back, Martinez followed the director down the pristine white hallway, trying not to compare the man's booming footsteps to the sound and feel of what seemed like grenades going off in adjacent rooms.

While Matinez was able to keep those thoughts at bay, others crawled to the forefront of his mind.

What did the Director want him for?

Was it for what happened with Shiksie? Martinez had not been reprimanded for beating up his mentor. The Director had mentioned he would not get in trouble while the investigation was ongoing.

Could Chloe be in the Alien's office and want to meet to strong-arm them into something? Lord knew she was not shy about that she could get the Director to do what she wanted.

Or had something else come up? What if a patient had complained and they filed litigation against him and the hospital? With how sketchy Martinez’s role was, that could spell disaster.

Either way, Martinez felt like a man being led to the gallows as they went through the hospital, a looming feeling of doom flowing off him. It was funny; Martinez had been shot, stabbed, blown up, and faced the horrors of the GU’s enemies and did not blink. But reprimand from his allies and friends—horrified him.

It was not like that was something tangible he could draw a blade on, beat with a fist, or shoot.

If the Director noticed how nervous Maritnez was, he did not comment on it. The man simply did his duty and greeted each staff member they passed, asking them about their day and ensuring all seemed well. Martinez trailed behind him and stewed in endless possibilities drumming at his heart; was the Director just putting on an act until they reached his office, where he would lay into Martinez?

The Human certainly hoped that was not the case.

At least Martinez did not have to dwell on paranoia long. Before, it felt like he blinked, but they were already entering the Director's immaculate office. Lining the walls were shelves of books four meters tall. Spaced between the shelves, paintings of the station's directors dating back hundreds of years looked stalwart down at the protein of their collective work, the Director.

Martinez did not envy the man's station in the slightest. It was all politics all the time. The Director was either putting out fires around the hospital, meeting with local delegates, or members of the galactic union and its militaries to arrange mutual support.

Yes, there was a standing order on all GU medical facilities to aid military vessels when needed. However, the rule of politics dictated that it was still polite to ask and try not to overload the local facilities.

So far, Martinez had not had to deal with any military craft strong-arming the station for aid, other than when the Human military used that rule to get him into surgery almost two years earlier.

“Please have a seat,” the Director said while settling into his massive chain on the other side of the desk. The evening light of the Draun winter poured in behind him through the enormous window overlooking the city, making the director look like a demonic beast surrounded by a halo.

If Martinez could not feel his bones shivering with nervousness, he might have joked about it but now was not the time.

Without saying a word, Martinez settled into one of the chairs between the desk and the doors, escaping what felt like a cage.

The director sighed and pulled out several dossiers. Neither was incredibly large; one seemed to be only a few pages deep, while the one the Director unsealed was far more extensive but still likely did not exceed fifty pages.

“I would like to start by saying that I am very proud of the work you have been doing on the accelerated training program the GU Medical Director and the Human Government worked out to enroll you in,” the director praised several moments after reviewing the papers in front of him, then switched to another.

Martinez was not aware that many people had signed off on the Director's plan to turn Martinez into an asset for the GU medical service and an example of what Humans were capable of. Sure, he assumed the approval had to roll across the desk of someone from the Human Navy, but that was just because he was still technically on contract for another year.

“You have received top marks on each test and milestone so far. You have even pushed ahead of all my expectations and could likely finish the program within the next five months,” The Director continued, placing a set of transcripts in front of Martinez.

“Thank you for that,” Martinez picked them up and looked them over.

Scrawled across it was every class he had taken over the last four months. Despite that length of time, he had covered almost an entire year's worth of class time.

“Save for the last few tests, you never scored below ninety,” The Director continued after nodding acknowledgment to Martinez’s comment, but did not mention anything about a reason behind the drop in scores.

Both Martinez and him were well aware of how much Shiksie had aided him in studying. The director did not need to mention it, and he did not refer to that incident. He told Martinez that this meeting had nothing to do with her.

Martinez had to admit getting some vindication for all the effort he had put into studying and weekly tests felt warm and comforting. Something he never thought would be possible when interacting with the Director.

Praise from this alien made Martinez feel almost as much pride as the moment he passed the training school to become qualified to work with Marines.

But that did not last long.

The director closed the dossier and held the other one. He looked at the closed folder and sighed, appraising it like a vile poison. “Because of your capabilities, I hate that this has happened.”

Holding the dossier out, Martinez grabbed it, but the Director held it tightly, not letting him take it just yet. “Henry, I just want to be clear—this was not my idea; my hands are tied, and you will still have full credit for all your work,” He finished his frustration evident in how one of his long claws dug into the paper stack they both held.

Martinez swallowed his spit. Few things could order the Director around Chloe, the Human Navy when Martinez was involved, the GU medical service director, or possibly the police. But otherwise, the man was infallible and unopposed in his power over the station's occupancy.

Martinez had seen him stand stalwart against an angry Kurlatra father who had been abusing his daughter. The father envenomed him, struck at his hide, and even tried to harm staff. But the Director and security used their bodies to keep the little girl safe from him, while Martinez and Ivorn used the slight legal grey area they had to subdue the man for the time being.

That he had no options was never a good sign.

When he opened the documents, Martinez knew exactly what he was looking at based on the symbol at the top of each page and the subject delineated beneath it.

The Human Navies crest of the Solar system and the galaxy core were stamped on the top in filigree-like gold. Below the simple words, three words, stop loss orders, told Martinez what these were.

The Navy was ending his exiting the military in nine months, extending his contract by a full four years, recalling him from his current orders to Draun, and were going to shove him out to fight on another distant world.

Martinez quickly scanned the document for the rest of the information relevant to them. He skipped all the prose that was not highlighted. The Human Navy Correspondence Order assured that all nonclassified orders had the most relevant details highlighted for quick reading by commanders.

Martinez had five months until he was to report back to the HNS Jericho and rejoin his old unit before deploying to the Kushar system and repealing a fresh enemy threatening the Humans' closest allies, the Bulmeric.

Without even realizing it, Martinez’s hands started to tremble. This was unprecedented. Why did they have to stop-gap him? That was reserved for only when the Human government or the GU brought their full might down on someone.

He had finally found a life, something other than fighting, killing, and war. Yet they were going to force him back. His nightmares were controlled here. He had no wants, a bright future, and good friends, and he did not want to go back.

Most of all, a knot formed in his stomach, writhing like an untamed Hutel worm, spikes lacerating his insides.

What was he going to tell Lysa?

He loved her. Seeing her smile, with four ruby-red eyes, made his heart flutter. Hearing her husky yet oh-so-womanly voice yanked any worries he had out of him.

Martinex had met plenty of Marines who had been married or in relationships while in service, but those never ended well. Marines had a nearly 100% divorce and separation rate. Their orders were just too fluid, and deployments were too frequent to keep anyone waiting.

While Martinez wanted to believe he and Lysa were different—he knew better. She knew exactly how violent the Marines were. She had heard all of his war stories and would know exactly how likely his death would be.

Even leaving the prospect of death out of it, the Navy did not have to return him here. They only assured him they would return him to the port at which he enlisted—in his case, Earth—half the galaxy from her.

The Navy might drop him off at a port on the way, but that was never guaranteed. Hell, his friend Dee planned on doing that and getting off the Jericho here.

Oh god, Dee. He likely faced the same issue as Martinez and would not be able to get off the ship. He would be retained as well.

“Sir—” Martinez started, trying to be cordial as he had been taught to be with others. But right now, emotionality got the better of him.

“What in all the stars is this bullshit!” Martinez barked, slamming the dossier on the desk. “What the fuck happened to keeping bullshit off us? Keeping your people safe?”

The Director sighed and looked down at the desk. His four eyes softened to near vulnerability. But he did not chastise Martinez for the outburst, understanding that something like this scenario would, of course, raise emotions.

“Henry, I’m sorry. It is out of my hands. I want to keep you here,” The director started, but Martinez continued.

“I want to keep learning, getting my certifications, practicing with patients, becoming a nurse. Why can't you keep me?” Martinez said, his rage broiling to near begging.

“They still have a contract with you. I even asked Chloe, and she told me she would only talk to you about it,” the director groaned, looking up at Martinez with near anguish in his eyes. I just can’t help you.”

Martinez deflated in the chair and looked at the dossier on the table. His mind pulled up the haunting images of dying Marines and other aliens' orders just like that had caused him.

Going back to war was off the table. Martinez would sooner suck start the pistol Kyroll gave him than go back to a fresh hot zone. The two would almost assuredly have the same fate. But he could not do that to Lysa or anyone he knew here.

They did not need to bury him, even if it felt like his life was falling apart in an instant.

“Sir, I don't want to go back,” Martinez whimpered, the entirety of the weight of his past drowning any semblance of manhood he had. He did not care if the Director saw him cry.

To his shock, the Director reached across the table and rested his massive hand on the Humans shoulder. “I know.”

“Sir, can I go home?” Martinez asked, looking back up from of the deck at the massive alien.

“Of course. I know you likely have a lot to process. I will talk to Harn and give you the next few days off to settle,” the director sighed, pulling back his hand. “Just please don't do anything rash.”

The director did not rush Martinez out of the room. He let the Human sit in silence, read and reread his orders, each time watching as Martinez rolled back through the idea of bargaining and desperation, not able to accept reality.

Once Martinez had settled enough to no longer argue with himself about the Navy’s demands, he slinked out of the room. He was limping, and a hollow void filled his gut. It was like his heart had just been ripped open.

But Martinez knew this was just the start of his agony. He still had to tell Lysa—and her reaction would either make this a tolerable fate or something that would grind his will to dust.