VOX PROTOCOL: Chapter One

A Science-Fiction Romance Novel, Now Serializing

Jun 02, 2026

[Author’s Note: Welcome to Vox Protocol! I’m very excited to share this with people, to write as we go along, and to see what readers think while utilizing the serialization process as an accountability tool. With What Remains, I have everything that’s posting now on Ghost written and sitting in a file; when I go to post, all I do is edit and revise the prose, using what I’ve learned in a year of short-fiction drafting for submission. Here, I wish to return to my roots and follow in the footsteps of some friends, and draft a novel as I post. This chapter will be available to non-subscribers, but I’ll be asking that folks subscribe to read from here. No pledge required, however. And of course, I would love and treasure your comments. Speaking to readers and fellow writers has always given me motivation to keep moving. I should note as well that the generous Valkyrie beta pit, as well as my writer friends Parrish Baker and Marissa Marinello beta read the first chapters of this story, and it is stronger for their assistance. Enjoy and thank you for reading.]

This is a Starship Valkyrie story. The Lance first appeared at the live RPG game “Odyssey,” a private campaign ship using the Starship Valkyrie Advanced 2.04/2.5 ruleset, a game written by my husband, Robert Prag (see Starship Valkyrie Mechanics for more). Lance and Andromeda then got their Meet Cute here on this Substack, in anticipation of the publication of their first romance, the short story “Kor’lana Lights” in the anthology Fireworks and Flirtation. That’s live on Amazon, or you could get a physical copy from me at Valkyrie Bookapalooza this summer, or at September Strategicon. I have written a second romance for them, called “Belvarian Nights,” which I hope to see published later this year; that also takes place before this novel. It is not, however, strictly necessary to read either romance short story to enjoy this book, as I will take pains to give context wherever necessary as you enjoy this part of their story. Doing so will simply deepen your enjoyment.

Content Warnings: This is a romance, and it is also science fiction. Our male lead is humanoid, but still an alien. There will be spicy scenes, tagged accordingly, so you can skip ahead if you wish. The science fiction will involve terrible trauma that has already befallen a planet from a super weapon, and the fallout from that damage.

[Image created by me layering stock images and assets in Canva Pro.]

Chapter 1: Vox Protocol

ERCS Phocion, Planet Zehyr, Fa’rujan, Abni-S’zaelyn Sector (STF Space), June 2157

“Republic vessel ‘Phocion’, remain in orbit and await docking instructions. Invoking the Vox Protocol now.”

“That’s the third time they’ve told us to stay in orbit.” Ambassador Masadi folded his arms into capacious professional haori sleeves of silver-blue, straightening his back with irritation. “How many hours are they planning to keep us up here?”

“They’re divided—scrambling and contesting amongst government officials to assign the Vox.” Ambassador del’Kor’en of Tau Ceti opened her milky gray-green eyes, studying the planet below from the Phocion’s observation deck. “I doubt they realize I can read them at this distance, or they’d ask us to wait further out.”

Masadi snorted with satisfaction. “Go meditate, or scry, or… or whatever it is you do. See what else you can get before they deign to let us land.”

Kor’en finally left them, sweeping out in her long vest of pale blue knotwork and homespun alien linen, and Andromeda Kordova released a sigh of relief. She took her partner’s hand at last, feeling Lance relax his shoulders, observing his home world below.

“You alright?” Andri asked softly. “Been a while since you’ve seen home.”

“Of course he’s not alright.” Masadi spoke before Lance could. “Look at the blasted place. It’s worse than the reports made out. I’ve never seen a weapon do this.”

Lance—the Lance, the title of his position, as his people never shared names—made a small sound deep in his throat, somewhere between agreement and suffering. Eyes of deep, steely blue stared down at the planet Zehyr, a pearly, life-sustaining blue-white gem in the Fa’rujan system, over two hundred lightyears from Earth and Sol.

It didn’t take a scientist’s eye to see the scar. Surrounded by the scrubby sage and verdant green of still-healthy biome, a continent the size of Australia lay dead, scoured a lifeless brown, rimmed by a concentric circle of sandy desert at the outer edges of the blast zone. The striated, rough layers of damage grew darker towards the center, progressing to deepest black at its core. Thick and angry clouds still churned restlessly in the atmosphere, blotting out the sun, killing crops, blocking solar light and heat behind ashen volcanic plumes. Andri tasted acid, knowing the lights of population centers in that blast radius now lay dark and lifeless.

“It’s worse than I thought,” Lance whispered, gripping tightly onto Andri’s hand for support—something he rarely did. “When my comrades described the effects of the gamma-ray weapon… I’d never seen its like. Difficult to imagine what you’ve never experienced.” He swallowed audibly, strong Adam’s apple bobbing in a muscled neck, and he leaned toward Andri. “I thought it might’ve improved somehow, once we got here.”

“Nice to know even your people are prone to wishful thinking,” Masadi noted. “Got your work cut out for you down there, Kordova.”

Andri nodded, remaining professional. “Hmm. It looks bad up here… but I guarantee it’s worse on the ground. Nuclear winter across half the planet, altered animal behaviors, food chain collapse…. I don’t think they were honest or complete in their reports. Or they don’t have the labor power to capture and analyze everything… not with so many dead to process.” She had to tighten her grip on Lance.

“While duty may call to them, many of the technical and educated class will have fled to Compact worlds.” Lance’s voice proved difficult to read, soft and introspective. Andri wished he would look at her, but the horror of a blighted Zehyr held him in thrall. She couldn’t blame him.

“Lance.” Masadi sounded urgent, voice low and expectant; he waited for their security contractor to look him in the eye. “What can we expect from the Vox? Do you know?”

“On-planet, I was low-status even before my father’s defection; I’m barely classed at all now. I’m hardly a member of the political elite, and I’ve never seen the assignment of a Vox for the whole planet. A ‘Voice’ is something I’ve only seen locally: the Vox for Lirdah Province, the Vox for the Subcommittee on Education… that sort of thing.” The gravitational pull of his home planet beckoned, and Lance looked back at the swirl of white and dark clouds, churning enraged over its blackened surface. “The Vox for all Zehyr? I cannot imagine such a person.”

Masadi blew out a long breath, hiding his copper-colored hands, probably to keep his underlings from seeing him tremble. Andri didn’t need Kor’en or Masadi’s psychic senses to detect her boss’s nerves. Never before had they received such an important posting or mission; they’d largely shuttled around, entertaining bigwigs in the Skelow Trade Federation, wheeling and dealing for the Earth Republic’s advantage wherever possible... largely on the sidelines of large events. Half-Cetian Ambassador Masadi may be, yet he had a human’s ambition… and a human’s anxiety in the face of overwhelming expectation. Ambassador del’Kor’en revealed no such nerves or doubts, to Masadi’s obvious annoyance.

“Normalizing relations with Zehyr and the Abni-S’zaelyn people is of the utmost importance. Establishing a foundation of goodwill with the Vox and their entourage is the best way to get there.” Masadi fixed Andri with his milky eyes, a Cetian inheritance, along with the singular empathy and sensitivity of his mind—when he chose to use them. “Andromeda, you’ll have one of the best political inroads as Agricultural Attaché. We know the food situation is dire, even with help from the Skelow. Earth is uniquely positioned to help Zehyr with this problem. We must convince them of that, quickly, before the Skelow realize what we’re doing and horn in on the situation.”

“Show them your throat, only to help them from the pit.” Lance sounded thoughtful, thumb caressing Andri’s knuckle, as he recited some lyrical Zehyrian saying. She’d gotten used to the habit by now. “We Abni hate weakness… but we hate being reliant on the Skelow for our daily meat much more. The Vox will be open to your offers of assistance with the hydroponics and radiation—this I know for certain.”

Andri nodded, studying the planet’s scar as it turned into their view below. “Hydroponics I can help with, but we’ll need them to agree to the Cetians building an Acculturation Center to properly pull the radiation down. That’s an extreme ask; even with strontium and cesium contamination across half the planet’s surface, it took humanity years to agree to the Cetians landing and building. And we contaminated the planet all by ourselves. We hadn’t just been attacked by alien priests with an ancient galactic superweapon. They must be feeling utterly exposed and paranoid down there.” She leaned her cheek against Lance’s shoulder, glad to be tall enough to manage it. “I know I would be.”

“We’ll leave that argument to Kor’en and the Cetian mission; Heavens know the Cetians have built their centers on less cooperative planets,” Masadi noted, turning away from the observation window. His mouth twisted, something distasteful swishing around in his mind and hesitating to come out. “I need to talk to the two of you about your relationship, now we don’t have Kor’en breathing down our necks. She should be distracted right now, needling the brains of half the populace down there, instead of poking around in ours.”

Andri’s spine straightened, keeping Lance’s hand firmly within her own. “Do you want us to keep up the engagement ruse? Or something more complicated? Might be tough here….”

For diplomatic purposes, she and Lance had pretended to being in a more involved relationship—engagement, even marriage—when the mission required it, and doing so had initially gotten them together. Since no human had ever married an Abni-S’zaelyn before, and few examples of relationships between them existed, Andri and Lance cruised around as an interesting oddity, amusing celebrities and officials alike. Representing a union between two unaligned (and often antagonistic) humanoid peoples provided “narrative opportunities,” as Masadi called them. He often thought of diplomatic persuasion in terms of storytelling, “dream-crafting,” or “rhetorical weaving” as a means of persuasion.

Andromeda tended to call it “lying,” but she had a boring, scientific bent to her mind. Or so said Masadi.

Surprisingly, Lance answered instead. “There’s no possible way a continuation of our engagement ruse, or anything like it, could benefit the mission. Yes?”

Masadi’s eyebrows disappeared behind his curls, lips tightening in his heart-shaped face. He showed them his hands at last, fists atop his hips.

“That’s right. I’m just sorry you guessed it. You know what I’m going to ask you, Lance.”

Andri’s stomach dropped, and she felt a dreadful shock of cold. Thankfully, Lance didn’t drop her hand, and he answered so that she didn’t have to inquire or speak.

“I understand. I even… well. I cannot say I approve. I don’t disapprove.” Lance looked down at the gunmetal gray of the Phocion’s gleaming adamantine deck. “The planet’s culture is far more traditional than that among Abni abroad. My status is so low on Zehyr that our relationship would present immediate problems… even create controversy.”

Andri’s veins flared back to life with a stream of fire, and she swallowed hot gall. “What? Are you serious? Masadi—you really want us to try to hide it, now we’re in a real relationship? After officials all over the STF saw us together—”

“Zehyr’s a backwater,” Masadi interrupted her, eyes steady and piercing. “The very cultural backwardness and separation from the center of the STF are exactly the source of the problem, and our slim chance at making political inroads. Anyways, no one here cares if some Skelow celebrity gossips about a human attaché and a security contractor a hundred lightyears away. They will care if we flaunt a relationship between our agricultural expert and the son of a deserter—right in the Vox’s face, no less. I don’t want any complications.” He looked between them. “They’re not psychic. They’ve got huge fish to fry down there. Just keep your displays of affection on the downlow, will you?”

Andri glared. “And our sleeping arrangements? Do you want us to room separately when the Phocion’s in-berth at the spaceport? I’m sure the security guys would love another roommate.”

The Earth Republic Consular Ship Phocion, spacious though it was for its size, still housed enough staff for the mission that it threatened to burst at the seams. With no consulates on Zehyr, the only sovereign territories the Earth Republic and Tau Ceti possessed were their ships. Andri or Lance rerooming would cause more than simple grumbles.

Masadi blinked twice, hearing the hoofbeats of consular mutiny in Andri’s tone. “The ship is the sovereign territory of the Earth Republic, and it’s too small to entertain properly. The Zehyrian government will be providing us with borrowed space for dinners and the Acculturation Center Exposition, and I’ll expect you to be nothing more than attaché and bodyguard during those times. On the Phocion, you can room together and engage in inappropriate displays of affection to your little hearts’ content.” He raised a warning finger. “But not a whiff of it in front of the Vox. You understand?”

~*~

“This is rank bullshit,” Andri grumbled, the moment the door to their little stateroom shut. Calling it a state anything made her laugh, since the double bed took up most of its area that wasn’t storage or the shower room, but it did technically provide enough space for both of them. Beat the hell out of a Destroyer bunkroom any day.

The corner of Lance’s mouth twitched. “Your Star Navy is showing again, Corporal.”

The phrase made her laugh—the sort of thing Lance had picked up from her and other ERSN types during his time as a naval contractor.

“I can’t help it. Masadi always makes me salty when he starts scheming like this, putting us up to complicated ruses. Having us pretend to be engaged when he knew we liked each other—and now having us pretend to be unattached the moment we’re cohabitating. It’s perverse.”

Lance considered in silence for ten breathless seconds. “He’s a perverse man. I’ve noticed he’s very effective—and as you say, his star glows brighter and brighter. Masadi was raised on Earth, yes? And without training for his Cetian abilities. At times, I believe his instincts are sharper than yours or mine. He has a sense for what he must do next, and he’s learned to follow it.”

Andri let her hair down, allowing it to fall in a chestnut cascade, and enjoyed seeing Lance’s eyes immediately track its movement. The swirl of guild nanite tattoos across his forehead and cheekbones, all gray and pale blue and crimson, shifted and quivered below his skin with emotional agitation. His eyes hooded as he considered her, while one large hand perched atop the pommel of his ceremonial dagger, sheathed on his bark-leather belt. His dagger—called a mir-s’zaek—acted as a physical focal point for his romantic feelings; Abni-S’zaelyn exchanged them when they intended to be joined.

“I thought I might have slaked myself at the fountain of your beauty, of your affection, by the time I saw this planet again.” His voice emerged soft, almost distant, speaking inwardly. “I’ve tired of an infatuation before—but not with you. I drink of you and never find satisfaction. This is the first of Masadi’s ruses that I’m not confident I can uphold.”

Andri flushed and had to look away from him. Even translated into Earth Standard, Abni-S’zaelyn language had a poetic bent to it. Lance could unleash strange, archaic, and utterly heartfelt speeches entirely without shame… something she often envied.

“It does feel like a lot, even from him. I thought us being together would be a positive here—or at least neutral. I figured our relationship, along with your knowledge of Zehyr and my expertise in xeno-agriculture, were the reasons the ministry sent us along. Not more of this…. Political lying and posturing and rhetorical weaving, tangled up in Masadi’s little webs.”

Lance kept his distance, eyes shadowed. “My knowledge, yes. Your expertise… absolutely. The goodwill you could grow between our peoples, with improved hydroponics and radiation reduction in the food supply… you have no idea how much of an advantage it is. I’ve no political mind, but I know my people possess a horror of radioactive elements.”

Andri nodded, pressing her lips together and processing the information. “There’s a big ‘but’ in that sentence.”

Taking a moment to parse her words, Lance tossed his head quickly. “I know my people. I have a near certainty that the Vox will be male.” His gaze grew intense, darkening as he considered her. “You’re the most beautiful woman in either mission, human or Cetian. Masadi’s commented on your looks before, and the benefit of your attractiveness to our operations. You’re particularly aligned to Abni-S’zaelyn standards of beauty. I’ve made that clear to you before.”

Andri tilted her chin up. “You think he’s hoping I might ‘charm’ the Vox? So… what? Masadi’s asking you to get out of the way?” She shoved her hair out of her eyes, pressing it behind her ears with both hands. “Our relationship isn’t a toy or a tool of the consulate, and it’s not expendable. Masadi better watch himself.”

Lance approached and sat near her, the bed creaking beneath his muscled weight. Like most Abni, Lance sported heavy bones and thick ropes of steely muscle. He gently disentangled one of her hands from her hair and held it within his own, dwarfing her fingers in his warm grasp.

“Our relationship is not expendable, and that’s because we will it so. Masadi’s schemes are not a threat to us. Far from being an insult, they gesture to his belief in our strength. I’m not in doubt of you, especially now. I can watch you entertain and show preference to another, knowing it’s a ruse.”

Caught off guard by Lance’s predictions and reassurances, Andri cleared her throat and bent to pull out her footlocker. The ship rumbled beneath the deck as its stellar thrusters activated; landing instructions may have finally arrived.

“That’s a lot for you to assume, and a lot for even Masadi to predict and plan for.”

She straightened with her own silvery professional haori in hand—before she exhaled in surprise as Lance cupped her cheeks, drew her close, and kissed her. After gently taking the haori and setting it aside, he kissed her down and down to nestle among the sheets, then chased tendrils of chestnut hair with his lips, over her throat and into the dip of collarbone.

“I have traveled to the deepest places inside of you, and you have seen the most secret parts of me, accepted them without flinching. We belong to each other; details beyond can wait or rot.”

Andri laced her arms over his shoulder blades, holding him close. She didn’t entirely agree that the details of fully joining their lives together could wait—certainly not that they could rot—but she understood that the difficulties of his status, his place in his culture planet-side, might weigh on him… even weigh him down.

Hiding inside her footlocker, she herself could feel the weight of a dark, unassuming box, bound and wrapped in safe confinement for the journey. Andri tightened their embrace, wondering already when the right time would come to give it to him… and declare her own damn preference, once and for all.

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