Mastered by the Zandians (Zandian Brides 3)

“Wait. How do you know that?” I frown. “And what do you mean, I’ve accomplished?”

“You, meaning humans. Human females.”

“I don’t—how do you know what we’ve accomplished there? I just got back, and I haven’t told you much yet.” I’m confused.

“I’ve been spending all of my time trying to learn about the universe,” he says. He puts down his cloth and leans over to grab a piece of electronics from a shelf, but doesn’t let go of my hand. He holds up a battered scanner. “I can pick up basic information from the galaxy with this.”

“On Zandia, we have…” I start, about to tell him about the new sub-scanners, then break off. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“I’ve been learning.” He taps the device with a finger. “Soaking up everything I can. Schooling myself about the galaxies and the creatures that live in them. Trying to f

igure out what I need to do.”

“And?” I raise a brow.

“It turns out that I’ve learned about the changes in Zandia over the past solar cycles since they defeated the Finn. How they’re stronger, more resilient, more adaptable. I think that’s the result of the human influence.”

“I think you’re right.” Something in my heart starts to lift, spread its wings. “You have no idea! For example, when Domm…” I break off. My smile fades, my insides twisting. Domm’s not mine anymore; nor is Lanz. They never will be again. And I need to listen to my father, because he clearly wants to impart something critical.

“We alone, humans, were too self-absorbed and selfish. Too emotional in ways that were poorly guided. But together, the combination is a powerhouse. That new society is going to thrive and become a star of the universe.”

“I…” I’m not sure what to say. He’s right about humans improving Zandia. But I never thought about the reverse, that the Zandians could be helping humanity as well.

“And who knows where humans have spread in the universe apart from Zandia. It’s a great place, full of wonders. I have a suspicion that humans are doing the same thing in other societies. Filling in the gaps with our wisdom and skills. Providing the talents to make a strong species even stronger. Adapting.”

“But losing our identity,” I argue.

“Don’t you think every group will do that eventually?” He tilts his head. “Millions of years ahead, will there still be Ocretions, for example?”

“I hope not,” I joke.

“Aren’t the Zandians changing as they incorporate human DNA into their genome?”

“Well, of course. But the planet is still Zandia. It’s Zandian society.”

“For now. In the future, if they keep mating with humans, it will be something strange and new. Zandian and human both.”

“That’s true.” I rub my nose, eyes burning.

“And that way, both survive. Yes? Maybe both better for it. Stronger. Something new, that never before existed. Not replacing the old. Just…enhancing it.”

“Yes.” I like the idea. It makes my fear go away and replaces it with a warm feeling in my chest.

He smiles. “Who knows. But if humans take care to move around, our genetic material will carry into the future.”

“Like a virus.”

“Or the cure.” He raises a brow. “The stuff of life, Mirelle. The injection that keeps other species vital.”

“Vital.” I try out the word.

“Jesel is dead.” His eyes are wet. “The Northern raids have destroyed our community. There are no families, no children. The few remaining women of childbearing age have no partners and are in captivity as slaves to other humans. The men of the right age are aggressive and hostile, not amenable to rearing young.” He turns his head away. “We have poor technology. We just don’t have enough beings to start a new human society.”

“But we can get more. We can rescue more.” My voice, thin and hopeful, cracks. “With time, we can make it happen. If not in my lifetime, then…” But I have no one to whom I can bequeath my mission.

“It’s not enough. It will never work this way. And even if we got more beings, more humans, we have no way to protect a growing group. We’d be decimated the second we were found out.” He coughs again, and this time there’s no mistaking the blood that sputters out, flecks of berry red, into his cloth.

“Father, you’re ill.” I stand up, jostling the chair. “What’s wrong?”