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“A handshake is good enough,” Vegas said. “Galaxars don’t do small talk or pleasantries. So long as we don’t insult their battle prowess, there’s not much we can do wrong.”

“I wish they liked to talk,” Heather said. “I like sharing with my man.”

Vegas smirked. Heather was such a romantic. “Did you find Earth men good at sharing?”

“They were dreadful.” Heather’s nose wrinkled. “I had one boyfriend who threatened to tape my mouth up if I kept talking.”

“How kinky.”

Heather swatted Vegas’s arm. “There was nothing kinky about it, more’s the pity. And he was so vanilla in bed. I used to drop off to sleep before he’d finished. Or I would sneak the TV on with the remote and watch it over his shoulder until he was done.”

“What did you watch?”

“Repeats of Knightrider. And I loved the A-Team. I would have done a lot of illegal stuff to get my hands on Murdock. I even got myself off a few times just staring at that gorgeous man while my idiot boyfriend pounded into me with his weird-shaped ding-dong.”

“I was more a Face fan.”

“The charming one?”

“The one who could charm his way out of any situation. He was smart, he just hid it well.”

“Anyway, my loser boyfriend said my tone of voice sounded like an angry bee in his ear. He said I made his brain itch.”

“It seems to be a trait across whichever galaxy we end up in. Men don’t like to talk.”

“I’m determined to find one alien race who likes to talk,” Heather said. “I’m settling for nothing less. And I’m not giving up my precious eggs until I do.”

That was a caveat about working for My Single Alien. If you worked here, you couldn’t go bonking the clients and getting pregnant. Vegas had signed up for a three-year contract and was at the end of her first year—the weirdest and freakiest year of her life.

She’d never had the urge to have children. Not that she would have done while on Earth. The number of birth defects following the radiation spikes meant most children were born with abnormalities. At least in the recycled air of the space station, you guaranteed yourself a healthy child. A part alien part human child, but at least no one had to worry about their baby’s health.

“I want a virile, talkative, musclebound alien,” Heather said. “Someone who will sweep me off my feet and fertilize my eggs until I can’t walk in a straight line. And if he’s good with his tongue, I’m all in.”

“You’re making me feel sick.” Vegas turned the corner, leaving the education rooms and the offices. The space station had three main areas: the hub in the middle contained the fusion power core and engineering; the walkway, a series of loops providing safe movement between sectors, and the operational area—this included flight crew, security, and the offices of My Single Alien.

There was a separate area for crew and visitors to sleep in, connected to the station by crossover bridges. At the far end of the station was a docking bay suitable for most alien spaceships. If you ever got lost, the easiest thing to do was return to the circular hub area and start again. Otherwise, you’d go round in circles in the wrong part of the station. It was a good workout but frustrating as space dust in your bra if you were in a hurry.

Vegas ran her hands over her fitted green jumpsuit. She always felt a thrill of excitement at meeting a new intake of aliens looking for a mate.

The aliens who came through the Glory Hole were a mixed bunch. Some were suspicious of My Single Alien. When Earth had established the agency on the space station, there had been accusations they were trying to steal alien DNA. Not true, they were just desperate and needed something appealing to aliens.

Other races who had flown through the Glory Hole were in favor of the agency and couldn’t wait to drop their alien shorts and get down to business. It was always a careful balancing act when meeting a new race. Would they be hostile and cautious or horny and too touchy-feely?

“Maybe there will be a friendly Galaxar in the Colonel’s troop,” Heather said.

“If there is, you’d better not go resigning,” Vegas said. “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t working in this place. What with Hardwick’s increasing demands for reports, and her insistence we decrease the time to do each alien induction, I’d end up in an evac pod, punching the red button and sucking on space.”

“Don’t you dare go on a space walk without a suit! I’m not going anywhere. Even if I found my dream alien, I’m not leaving my job.”

Vegas shot her a sideways glance. “You sort of have to.”

“I’ll ignore the rules about not dating an alien. I’d just keep quiet about him.”

Vegas slowed and looked at her. “Heather, you can’t even keep quiet about what you had for breakfast. How are you going to keep a hunky alien lover a secret? I know you’d have to tell me all about your hot nights of passion.”

Heather grinned. “I would keep quiet if it means we keep working together.”

Vegas felt the same. Despite the fact Heather could talk non-stop about any subject of her choosing, she was a great friend. They’d started at My Single Alien on the same day, both terrified and wide-eyed, still uncertain what they’d signed up for. They were the guinea pigs of the space station. The Earth crew who’d blasted them into space weren’t even sure they’d get here. All of this was still a huge experiment. Sometimes, it felt like a successful one. Other days, when the air filtration broke and the water froze, Vegas wondered how many days she had left before she discovered just how easy it was to die in space.