Last Man Out (Poor Man's Fight, #5)

by Elliott Kay

“I may be beating a dead horse, but xenoarchaeology requires a constant wariness of ethnocentrism.

It sneaks up on the best of us. We must not judge other species by our own examples.

“I take it nobody’s figured out how to open the magic door yet?” “Not sure if they’re trying. I thought about saying ‘friend’ in Elvish, but I figure if that works it’s better to leave the thing shut.” “What?” “Literary reference.” Naomi shrugged. “Sorry, I’m not that kind of nerd.”

“Alicia says ‘wow’ often.” Magenta looked around the hangar bay. Crewmen and marines ran to and fro. Lights flashed. The warning buzz of the bay doors sounded off. “The Nyuyinaro bring warning to the humans, and the humans answer. Yes. Wow.”

Elise shook her head. “This is exactly how I picture your wedding reception someday,” she said. “Right before everything catches fire.”

The other face, uncomfortably close to the first, drew gasps across the bridge. “Oh, thank fucking Christ,” he sighed. “Tanner?” asked Naomi and Gina. Over the net linking captains among the task force, Khatri heard a familiar drawl: “Told ya.” “Who’s in charge there?” asked Tanner. “Sorry, I don’t recognize you.” “Mister Malone, I am Admiral Khatri of the Union Fleet. What is going on?” “Admiral, this is Empress Amara of Minos. Her people claim this planet. They were here before us. I’ve negotiated a cease fire in exchange for a complete evacuation and withdrawal from the planet.” Khatri said nothing. She leaned in, seemingly at a loss for words. “We’ve got as long as I can stay awake holding this grenade,” said Tanner. “You might want to call in help.”