Jocelyn could easily list a few things in life that were proven exercises in futility. Wishing upon a star was one of them. She did it every night for the past seven years, since the end of the world, with no success. The stars were definitely pretty to look at out here on the slave planet of Behyru, but wish-givers they certainly weren’t.

Believing in the entire idea of happily ever after was another one: meeting her handsome prince, falling in love, and living out the rest of her days having hot sex and sleeping in on weekends while the children watched TV. Being a slave for the Xaksu alien warmongers and pulling in long hours mining ore and refining its contents made this impossible.

Another exercise in futility was threatening Jocelyn with death. She watched amusingly as the armored guard stepped through the heavy metal doors of the Extraction Facility, a plasma rifle in hand which was aimed at her chest.

There was no logic in pointing a gun at someone who was already dying.

Pulling the trigger was almost a mercy to Jocelyn.

The nights were getting worse with the fevers and constant chills. The poison from the ore that seeped through her skin had turned Jocelyn’s veins black and continued to spread throughout her body. It was only a matter of time before the great, long sleep.

“You can put the gun down,” Jocelyn said in the universal tongue, the language seemingly spoken by all. It wasn’t difficult to learn this new dialect, as most of it had similar phonetics to English.

Jocelyn rose from her chair and walked towards the cloudy white table. On it were several specimens of ink-black ore ready to be cracked open. It was time to work.

“I didn’t ask you to speak,” the guard said—a woman. Her face was concealed behind a black-glassed helmet, while the grey-scaled armor hid her form.

Jocelyn was surprised. For the seven years she was a slave to the Xaksu, she had not once seen a single female solider. Perhaps the Xaksu were offering equal opportunities when it came to marauding and murder?

“You know what those are on the table, don’t you?” Jocelyn asked, gesturing towards the ore.

“Perhaps you’re a little hard of hearing. You are only allowed to speak when I say so.”

“Fair enough, I guess you don’t want to hear how one single piece of ore contains the equivalent energy of a nuclear blast. It has the potential to blow both of us, along with the rest of this camp, to kingdom come.”

Jocelyn was embellishing of course. An explosion would only kill the two of them. The Extraction Facility had been outfitted with an armored shell with the purpose of controlling the blast radius in worst-cast-scenarios. It was Jocelyn’s job—and best interest—to ensure worst-case-scenarios never happened.

The guard lowered her gun for a split second. It was clear that this was news to her.

She must be new.

Jocelyn took another step towards the table. The guard was twitchy and instinctively raised her rifle. “Stop where you are.”

“If I do that, then I won’t be able work.” Jocelyn said. “We both have a quota to fulfill: Eight hundred milliliters of Erobium extract before dusk. If I don’t deliver them, I’ll probably get beaten—which I don’t really enjoy—and you’ll get sent down to the tar pits to exterminate gargantuan rats.”

“I’ve never heard of gargantuan rats here on Behyru,” the guard stated.

“Of course you haven’t,” Jocelyn said. “The Xaksu Overseer wouldn’t tell you about them. Have you ever heard of dinosaurs? They existed on my home world of Earth—known to you as Gaia—eons ago.”

The guard nodded.

“The rats that live on this planet are the size of them. They’re deadly, with claws as sharp as swords and corrosive venom for saliva. These rats enjoy spitting.”

“You’re lying,” the guard said.

“I’m not lying.”

Jocelyn was lying.

“So the way I see it you should put the gun down,” she continued, “For several important reasons. The first being I get nervous when I feel threatened. Nervousness equals shaky hands which equals kaboom.”

“Kaboom?”

“Kaboom,” Jocelyn repeated. “The Erobium extract needs to be removed from the ore in a delicate manner. Spilling a single drop on the floor will blow us both into the next galaxy. I don’t know about you, but I still want to live out what little years I have left.”

Jocelyn rolled up her sleeve as she prepped for work, revealing her black veins that streaked up her arms like tattoos.

“You’ve been poisoned?” the guard asked.

Jocelyn nodded. “It’s inevitable for most of the slaves on Behyru. Some end up dying quickly while others continue to linger on.” She looked at her veins sadly. “I figure I have about three years left. In two, I won’t be able to hold a spoon, let alone extract the Erobium. That’s when you’ll be ordered to point a gun at me and actually pull the trigger.”

The guard said nothing. Eventually she lowered her gun, holstering it behind her back. “You should start working,” she said, as her gloved fingers moved towards her helmet. She released the latches under the chin and lifted it off her head.

She was pretty, with wild auburn hair, kissed by the colors of a setting sun, and eyes the color of a luscious green field. What was really surprising to Jocelyn was that she was human and not Xaksunian.

“My name is Jocelyn. What can I call you?” She thought by introducing herself, she could ease some of the tension in the room.

“Private 407,” the guard replied, pointing to the numbers etched onto her armor. “Now get to work.”

“Work, work, work,” Jocelyn sighed as she walked over to the old music player sitting on a splintered shelf in the corner of the room. She switched it on and immediately the funky sounds of electro-space-pop filled the room.

“What are you doing?” 407 asked.

“Turning on some music.” Jocelyn casually walked back to the white table where the Erobium samples lay.

“You’re not allowed to have music,” 407 protested. “If the Overseer finds out…”

“The Overseer knows,” Jocelyn said. “He was the one who approved it.”

“You’re lying.”

“No.”

This time Jocelyn was telling the truth.

Extracting Erobium was a highly stressful job, one where steely nerves, a steady hand, and laser-focused precision were a must.

Music helped Jocelyn realize all three requirements. Rhythmic pop songs calmed her, and calmness was critical for performing hand extractions of the ore.

“The music box has the Overseer’s seal on it,” Jocelyn said. “You can go over and have a look if you don’t believe me.”

407 went and checked while Jocelyn started prepping the first sample. She bopped her head and whistled to the eclectic tunes of Kat-O-Tron.

“Dance, cause it will save your life,” Jocelyn sang along with the chorus.

“This song is relatively new,” 407 pointed out.

“Yes, it is,” Jocelyn said. “It’s fabulous, isn’t it?”

“The Overseer buys you the latest music?”

Jocelyn nodded, “Straight from Glammora.”

“I’m surprised the Overseer would go out of his way to give gifts to a slave.”

Jocelyn raised her hands and moved her fingers. “These little hands of mine keep one hundred Xaksu warships in flight, daily. The least the Xaksu can do is provide this ‘slave’ a few new tunes a month to keep her working effectively.”

“They have machines for extracting ore, do they not?” 407 asked. “I don’t see why they don’t just use the extraction machines. They’re easy to program and can surely extract fuel at rates faster than you.”

“They sure can,” Jocelyn agreed. “I won’t argue with you there. However, do you know what the failure rate currently is for one of those machines?”

407 shook her head.

Jocelyn leaned in closer, “Twenty percent.”

407 looked shocked. “It can’t be that high.”

“It is.”

“You’re—”

Jocelyn cut her off before she could finish her sentence. “I’m not lying. You have trust issues, don’t you?” She finished her sentence by singing another frame from the chorus of the song. “Dance cause you got no choice.”

“I’m not going to dance.”

“Uptight as well,” Jocelyn muttered. “Twenty percent rate of failure for the extractor machines. Can you guess the amount of damage a single failure causes?”

407 pursed her lips. “I can only guess.”

“Catastrophic kaboom,” Jocelyn replied. “We’re talking about this entire camp’s complete annihilation. Countless lives lost. Now, I know the Xaksu couldn’t care less about us slaves dying, after all that’s what we’re here for, but they can’t risk blowing up the precious extract. Resources have become scarce, fuel is at a premium, and there’s still a war to be won. Every single drop of Erobium counts.”

“And you never make mistakes?” 407 asked.

“If I did, I wouldn’t be here,” Jocelyn said. “You best pray that trend continues, otherwise this entire encampment is gone.”

Jocelyn finished off the discussion with a smile and went back to bopping her head to the beat of the music. The song had just ended and up next was Lady Chrono and her latest hit Love in Oblivion. It was a melancholy tune, but Jocelyn still enjoyed it.

She enjoyed all music coming from Glammora. She’d often wonder what the planet was like, being the nexus of all art and entertainment in this galaxy. With so many beautiful things produced from that world, she figured it must be paradise.

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She’d never get a chance to visit Glammora before the poison got to her and that fact alone crushed her fragile, delicate heart.

Jocelyn sighed and picked up a chunk of ore.

She held it gently in her hands as the vibrational frequencies of the rock sounded like a trembling melody. It was perfect accompaniment to the song on the music box.

She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through every nook and cranny of the ore, formulating a road map of the entire stone. Through her refined touch she was able to detect the vulnerable parts of the rock and pinpoint the most fragile section of it, which she could then crack open like a walnut.

As long as she opened the rock carefully and there was no transfer of kinetic energy between her movements and the liquid within the ore, everything was going to be fine.

Jocelyn grabbed a tiny metal pick, the size of a needle, and slowly began poking at the vulnerable spot of the ore.

Meanwhile the high pitched sound of the stone increased, as if it were wailing. There were times Jocelyn wondered if the stone itself was alive, begging for mercy every time she tried to crack open its’ craggily flesh and drain its blood.

“How’s everything going?” 407 asked, watching with wide eyes.

Jocelyn could practically smell the fear off the rookie guard.

She ignored 407’s question and focused all her attention on the stone. Jocelyn pushed the pick in one inch deeper and felt the surface of the ore open ever-so-slightly.

“There we go.” Gently, Jocelyn cracked the spine of the stone and then split the crumbling shell into two halves. She allowed loose pieces of the stone to fall to the floor. One of the unique properties of the Erobium stone was that once it was structurally compromised, the outer shell became brittle.

“Hand me the containment vial,” Jocelyn ordered, one hand pointing to the container while the other held the half-stone in her hand like a young coconut. She wondered if 407 was the type of guard who resented getting instructions from a so-called slave. A beating was in order if she was.

Luckily, 407 wasn’t.

407 handed the containment vial to Jocelyn, holding it with reverence as if it were some holy artifact.

Jocelyn snatched it with her free hand. “Now here comes the tricky part,” she said, “Getting the Erobium extract into the container.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” 407 asked.

“Yeah, don’t breathe.”

It was a joke, of course, but out of the corner of her eye, Jocelyn saw that 407 was holding her breath.

Jocelyn couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“What’s so funny?” 407 asked.

“You’re cute.”

407 frowned. “I’m not supposed to be cute. I’m supposed to be authority.”

“Hush girl,” Jocelyn said. “I’m about to pour.” She tilted the stone slowly and watched as the viscous liquid drained out of it like syrup and into the containment vial.

“Steady as she goes,” Jocelyn whispered. She began holding her breath as well.

A steady hand was the trick.

It took a good nerve-wracking, sweat-inducing thirty seconds for all the liquid to fill up the vial. When it was done, there was one hundred milliliters of fluid—enough to fuel an entire Xaksu armada for a single week.

Jocelyn set the Erobium stone down and then closed the containment vial.

She heard 407 let out a sigh of relief.

“Intense, isn’t it?” Jocelyn said.

407 didn’t reply.

Jocelyn shrugged. “Well, one down. Looks like eight more stones to go. First pickup is in an hour.”

“How did you manage to do it the very first time?” 407 asked. Jocelyn could hear the quivering in the guard’s voice. “The nerves and the pressure you must have felt, it’s a miracle you didn’t spill a single drop.”

“To tell you the truth, I was oblivious to the explosive nature of Erobium the first time I did an extraction. They took me to a vaulted room, gave me the rock and a containment vial, and told me to get the liquid from inside the stone into the vial. Not a single drop of fluid was allowed to spill. The Xaksu sealed the doors behind them and watched me perform the task from a safe distance, using cameras and monitors. I was ten years old at the time.”

“When did you find out the ore was dangerous?” 407 asked.

“About an hour later,” Jocelyn replied. “They took me back to the Xaksu outpost where I watched Vera—” she swallowed hard as the name escaped her lips. “I watched Vera attempt the same exercise as I had done on those damn monitors. She wasn’t so lucky.”

“Who was Vera to you?”

“A friend,” Jocelyn answered. “In times of war and captivity, those are hard to come by.”

“We’ve been at war for a long time,” 407 stated.

“I haven’t had many friends,” Jocelyn said as she placed the extracted specimen into a veranium carrier bag for transport, “Friends that last anyway. You’re human, aren’t you?”

407 nodded.

“Were you there when Earth was first invaded and then destroyed?”

407 nodded again.

“Why fight for the Xaksu then?” Jocelyn asked.

“I don’t need to answer that question.”

“You don’t need to answer any of my questions,” Jocelyn said, “But I figure maybe you would so I’ll ask again: why turn your back on your own people?”

“Our people are gone, if you haven’t noticed.”

“There’s still a few of us left.”

407 scoffed. “Not enough to matter.”

Jocelyn folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the side of the table. “That’s quite a rotten attitude.”

“Bite your tongue.”

“Or what, you’ll shoot me? You’ll kill another one of our own dying species?”

“With the Erobium in your veins, you’re good as dead already.”

Jocelyn couldn’t dispute that one. “But I’m not dead yet, and neither is the hope of freedom and rebirth. We need to look at rebuilding the human race.”

407 frowned. “So what would you have me do?”

Jocelyn shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m still trying to think of a solution.”

“After living for twenty years with our own kind, I realized that perhaps extinction is for the better,” 407 said.

Jocelyn scowled. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do.” Her eyes smoldered as memories of the past throttled her like cold, wiry hands. “No more talk. Do your damn job, before you get us both in trouble.”

Jocelyn was about to make a rude comment, comparing 407 to Earth’s canine species, but decided to bite her tongue instead. She experienced enough Xaksunian brand punishments during her time on Behyru to know she didn’t want another.

Jocelyn continued her work, humming to the music, pretending that 407 didn’t exist. By the time she reached the last stone, her fingers were aching. Her shoulders could use a massage as well.

Perhaps she could ask for one later, if Jaks decided to sneak off from his duties to see her. She smiled at the idea.

It was the little things these days that kept her going.

“I couldn’t conceive, even if I wanted to,” 407 blurted out of nowhere.

Jocelyn looked up from the table, surprised.

“Huh?”

“Conception,” 407 swallowed, “It’s impossible for me. It’s not like I haven’t tried.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jocelyn asked.

“So you’ll understand,” 407 replied. “When I was young, probably your age, my virginity was forcefully taken from me. The experience also left me sterile.” Her demeanor immediately changed. Her soldier’s hardness had faded and was replaced with heavy bags of emotion draped around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jocelyn said.

“Not as sorry as I was, and still am to this day,” 407 said. “I keep thinking to myself, if only I had done things differently. If only I hadn’t responded to that text message. If only I wasn’t dazzled by the prospect of a cute boy finally paying me some attention. If only I wasn’t so stupid.”

Jocelyn didn’t say anything. Sometimes the only appropriate course of action was to do nothing else but listen and so she did.

“There was no cute boy,” 407 said. “It was a man instead, a violent man who lured me somewhere and forced his filth on me. At that moment, I desperately wanted to die.”

“But you’re alive,” Jocelyn pointed out, “At least you came away with that.”

407 shook her head. “Believe me, death would have been a blessing.”

“Don’t say that.”

407 frowned and took a deep breath. “My father found the man who did it, eventually. He killed him and because of that my father was imprisoned,” she scoffed, “This is human justice at its finest. What kind of world did we live in when a father wasn’t allowed to make things right for his daughter?”

“There’s a difference between justice and murder,” Jocelyn pointed out.

“That’s the human way of thinking,” 407 spat. “The Xaksu, they know what true justice means. Law states that any Xaksu male who forces himself onto a female is punished severely. They are castrated by the victim’s father, branded with the mark of a rapist by the victim’s mother, and then hung by the arms and legs in the Gardens of Justice for days. They are publicly shamed, weakened of their power, and left to wander as outcasts until the end of their days.”

407’s smile as she explained the entire ritual sent shivers up Jocelyn’s spine.

“My father died in that prison,” 407 said, “A victim of accidental circumstances they told me. He was all I had left in this world and the justice he delivered to me ended up costing him his life.”

There was a moment of tense silence between them.

“Did you love your father?” 407 finally asked.

“No,” Jocelyn replied. “He left when I was a baby. My mother ended up raising me…”

Speaking about her mother felt like sharp screws being drilled into her chest. Seven years later and she still hadn’t gotten over her abandonment.

“There’s nothing more beautiful than a parent’s love for their children,” 407 said. “Because of the…” she paused, “…incident, I’m not able to have children of my own. I’ll never know that kind of love.”

“But you want kids?”

407 smiled sadly. “When you get to my age, you can’t help but wonder what life with children would be like. Yes, I’ve dreamed of having children and it’s a cruel fate to realize that I’ll never be able to.”

Jocelyn sympathized. The way she saw it, 407 and her were two girls locked in a room together, desperate to fill their hearts with a silly little thing called love.

“The Xaksu have promised to rebuild my womb,” 407 said as she touched her abdomen gently, “In exchange for the use of my skills.”

“And what skill is that?” Jocelyn asked.

407 unslung the plasma rifle from her back and held the gun out in her outstretched hands, as if offering it to Jocelyn.

“I rarely miss.”

Jocelyn raised her brow.

“Similar to how you show uncanny precision and dexterity in extracting the Erobium fluid, I have sharp eyes, flawless timing, and uncanny accuracy when it comes to firing any type of weapon. I can’t explain how I can do it, but I just can.”

Jocelyn frowned. “How many people have you murdered with your gift?” There was disgust in her voice, emphasized by the last word in her sentence.

407 chuckled. “That’s the funniest thing. I’ve never killed anybody in my life; deer, yes, a few rabbits, and the odd pheasant. When it comes to intellectually superior life forms, I’ve never shot at anyone.”

Jocelyn felt more at ease. “You know, some do consider deer intelligent creatures,” she joked, “Murderer.”

That elicited a soft laugh from 407. “A girl’s got to eat.”

“So basically you serve as a solider for the Xaksu and in return, you’ll have the ability to have children again?”

407 nodded.

“I hate to point this out, but there aren’t many human males left. It will be a challenge to find someone to breed with.”

“They will construct a womb that will be able to accept the Xaksunian seed.”

“They’ll allow you to breed a hybrid?” Jocelyn was astonished.

“Yes.”

“And here I thought the Xaksunian’s were xenophobic: if you’re not one of them, you’re nothing.”

“That’s somewhat of a misconception,” 407 replied. “I agree, they look down on humans and other forms of terrestrial races, but they do have a different philosophy when it comes to interspecies synthesis. They acknowledge that the Xaksu themselves are not a perfect life form. For instance after the very first inter-galaxy war, they were victims of the Genetics Bomb that left all the Xaksunian females with the inability to produce more than one single egg over the course of their lives. This restricts the Xaksunians to having only one child. Humans, on the other hand, regenerate their eggs. They believe that through interspecies breeding and genetic optimization, they can repopulate their race quicker while forming the perfect species.”

“So that’s why the Xaksunians use other aliens to fight their wars for them,” Jocelyn deduced. “They don’t want to lose any more of their own.”

“Yes,” 407 said. “Their species is dying out. Generation after generation, the Xaksu population is reduced by half. This war is not helping them either. They need an answer soon.”

“And your womb will provide them one?”

407 nodded. “I will be the first.”

“What I don’t understand is this: if they can reconstruct your womb, why can’t they do the same with their own kind? Why can’t they synthesize the eggs or reproduce through test-tube babies like we did?”

407 shrugged her shoulders. “Their genetic makeup is much more complex than ours. They’ve tried but failed every time due to some variables beyond their control. They believe humans hold the key to their success.”

Jocelyn shook her head. “This sounds like crazy stuff,” she said. “They’re going to essentially engineer a womb for you, one that accepts alien sperm.”

“Yes.”

“What happens if it doesn’t work? The Xaksu are fairly large creatures. What if the baby coming out ends up forty pounds or something?”

“They won’t come out forty pounds, but should complications occur, then I’d die.”

“Black and white, eh?”

407 nodded. “It’s a reality I’ve come to accept. If I don’t have the ability to have children and become a mother, then I don’t see myself having any purpose. I will accept my death, much like how you’ve accepted your fate.”

Jocelyn shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. I haven’t accepted my fate. I don’t want to die, just yet. I still have hopes that someday I’ll be able to escape from this shithole and see everything else the galaxy has to offer.”

“The entire galaxy is at war,” 407 said. “There’s nothing much to see.”

“Glammora isn’t.”

“Glammora is foolish. They can’t stay neutral forever. Eventually, they’ll need to pick a side.”

“No they don’t,” Jocelyn said. “They can stay neutral. Besides if Glammora goes to war, who will continue making all this sweet music?”

They both listened to the vibrant beats of Savoy Frost’s “Starry Souls” echoing throughout the room.

“I admit, this song is catchy,” 407 said.

“Bop your head,” Jocelyn said. “I know you want to.”

407 refrained. “It won’t be professional.”

“Is it a Xaksunian crime to enjoy music?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Then bop your head or move your hips.” Jocelyn said as she began moving to the beat.

“I…” 407 began.

“Stop being a prude. Grant a dying girl her wish and just dance with her for twenty seconds.”

407 slung the rifle back around her back, took a deep breath, and then moved her hips. She was completely uncoordinated, moving with the grace of a limp duck.

“I’m a terrible dancer,” 407 stated. “I never had any rhythm.”

“That’s okay,” Jocelyn said. “You’re still dancing. I dance all the time like no one’s watching.”

“The Xaksunian’s probably are,” 407 pointed out.

“If they are, then they probably don’t care. As long as I continue to meet the daily quota they’ll let me dance.”

Suddenly there was a loud banging on the door and immediately both girls froze.

“Five minutes until pick up,” came the voice of a crotchety sounding guard. “You better have everything finished.”

407 pointed at the remaining stone on the table. “There’s still one left. They are extremely strict on time. Will you be able to finish in five minutes?”

Jocelyn smiled, “Only if you tell me your name.”

407 thought about it for a moment, brushed her hair behind her ears, and then finally replied, “Rose. My name is Rose.”

Jocelyn finished in three minutes.