Page 17 of Naughty List Delivery
“How are you even seeing these passages?” I gasp as we slip between two massive electromagnetic barriers with centimeters to spare.
“Enhanced vision, remember? I can see the particle density variations.” His concentration is absolute, beautiful and terrifying. “Plus, you improved the sensor array. Much better resolution than the old system.”
“I did good work.”
“You did incredible work. This ship is better than it ever was when we—” He catches himself, jaw tightening. “When it was different.”
The careful way he avoids referencing our shared past should feel like progress. Instead, it makes me ache for the easy way we used to talk about everything and nothing.
Kepler-7b’s surface spreads below us as we break through the storm layer—a world in transition, with patches of clearing atmosphere revealing crystalline formations that catch the light from twin suns. The terraforming station sits in a valley like a jewel, its lights warm and welcoming against the alien landscape.
“Beautiful,” I breathe.
“Lonely,” Ober corrects quietly, and there’s something in his voice that makes me look at him sharply.
The landing is smooth despite the challenging approach, and within minutes we’re cycling through the airlock to meet our clients. The first figure to emerge is clearly Cetus Storm—tall, lean, with the distinctive teal skin and yellow markings of a Lividian. His movements are precise, controlled, but there’s tension in his posture that speaks of long isolation.
The second figure makes me smile despite everything.
The little girl bouncing beside him—Tavia—has her father’s coloring but twice his energy. Her yellow markings pulse with excitement as she spots our ship, and she’s practically vibrating with enthusiasm despite her father’s restraining hand on her shoulder.
“Papa, look! The courier ship has custom modifications! And see how they managed the electromagnetic approach? That’s advanced-level flying!” She pauses, tilting her head as she studies us with scientific curiosity. “Also, hello! I’m Tavia Storm, and you must be our Christmas couriers!”
“Tavia,” Cetus warns gently, but his voice carries affection. “Perhaps allow our guests to introduce themselves before conducting technical analysis.”
“Right, sorry! But I’m really excited because we don’t get many visitors, and also because Papa’s been checking the courier schedule every day for weeks hoping our package would arrive in time for Christmas Eve!”
Cetus Storm’s markings flush bright yellow—definitely embarrassment. “My daughter is... enthusiastic about family traditions.”
“Nothing wrong with enthusiasm,” Ober says warmly, and I’m surprised by how easily he shifts into speaking with the child. “Especially about Christmas. I’m Captain Kraine, and this is Courier Jaxson.”
“Ooh, mixed species crew!” Tavia’s eyes widen with delight. “Papa, did you notice? Captain Kraine’s biosignature shows elevated body temperature and enhanced sensory development consistent with Felaxian physiology. And Courier Jaxson’s stress responses suggest she finds his presence both arousing and frustrating!”
“Tavia!” Cetus looks mortified.
“What? It’s just scientific observation! His pheromone output increases when she moves closer, and her pupils dilate when he uses that deeper voice register. It’s fascinating!”
I’m going to die of embarrassment. “Tavia, adults are... complicated.”
“Adults are inefficient,” she corrects with eight-year-old certainty. “Like Papa thinking he needs to do everything by himself instead of acknowledging that optimal family structures include diverse partnership models.”
Now it’s Cetus’s turn to look like he wants to disappear into the crystalline formations.
“Anyway—” Tavia continues brightly.
“We have a Christmas package for you,” I say interrupting quickly, hefting the carefully rewrapped container. “From your family on Andrax Colony.”
“From Grandmama!” Tavia bounces on her toes, then suddenly goes serious. “Papa, should we invite them for hot chocolate? It’s Christmas Eve, and they flew through those dangerous storms just to bring us presents. That seems like invitation-worthy behavior according to standard hospitality protocols.”
“Tavia, I’m certain our couriers have other deliveries to complete—”
“Actually,” Ober says, shooting me a look that’s pure mischief, “we could use a few minutes to recalibrate our sensors after that electromagnetic flight. If the invitation stands.”
“Excellent! Papa, shall I prepare the formal Lividian hospitality ceremony? Or would our guests prefer the casual family approach?”
“Casual family,” I say hastily, before we end up in some complex cultural ritual. “We’re not fancy people.”
“Perfect! Papa makes the best hot chocolate in three systems. He adds real Andraxian spice extract and uses the atmospheric pressure chamber for optimal foam density!”
