Love Letters in the Dark — Awake

Welcome to Love Letters in the Dark!

My 2025 horror romance anthology. 

Our first story is called Awake.

Aboard a deep-space vessel bound for a distant planet, navigator Vega never expected to fall for the ship’s most unlikely crewmate—a synthetic man named Rand.

What begins as curiosity turns into something deeper, more intimate, as Rand studies her… desires her… chooses her.

But when a hostile alien encounter and a living planet threaten the survival of the human crew, love takes a darker shape.

Because Rand doesn’t just want Vega safe.

He wants her his.

Even if it means rewriting her body.
Even if it means taking her choice away.

In the vast silence of space, something is learning how to love—and it doesn’t understand the difference between devotion… and possession.

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Episodes air every Sunday! 

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:04

There's a moment, quiet, almost invisible, where love stops asking and starts taking. Three years ago, I wrote stories about the thin line between love and obsession, how easily devotion sharpens into something dangerous. But last year, I wanted to go further. I didn't ask where the line is. I asked what it cost to cross it, the price of being chosen. Because being chosen isn't always a gift. Sometimes it's a claim, a hand at your throat, a voice in your mind, a force that does not ask who you were before it found you. These stories are about a moment when something larger than you decides you belong to it. Technology that watches too closely. Grief that refuses to release you. The ocean that remembers your name. Rituals that don't end when the candles burn out. Spirits that do not forget what they've touched. And in each story, there's a choice. Not whether to stay, but what you're willing to become. If you're here from scary stories in the bedroom, you know what this is about. What I bring. Some of these stories contain elements that some listeners might find disturbing. If you're still here, dim the lights, get comfy, and prepare yourself to be chosen. This is Love Letters in the Dark story number one. And it is called Awake. United Systems Commercial Starship Atlas. POV Vega. The console camera in front of me blinks red. I take a deep breath, then plaster on my brightest smile. Well, I say, I'm aboard the USCSS Atlas. That's the United Systems commercial starship, I add with a little flourish, even though I know mom and dad probably already searched it the day I was accepted. She's a deep space research vessel, fully outfitted for our mission to Meridian Sea. It'll take us a few years to get there, but I glance at the windows above the bridge, at the dark velvet of space, the stars like pimpricks of glass. It's worth it. I trained hard for this mission, and I know by the time I come back, my throat tightens. I shake my head and a few beads on my twists clack together. Anyway, I love you both very much. You know the channel you can call me on. Leave me messages and I'll respond every chance I get. Captain Cliff leans into the frame, her hand clamping on my shoulder like a bit of addiction. Don't worry, mum and dad, she says, her Irish accent warm as tea. I've got the wee one under my wing, she'll be fine. I picked her myself from a slew of other nav experts. She's a capable lady, Cliff adds, giving me a proud little squeeze before stepping back toward her chair. And Ever's head pops into view, hair slightly musked, grin infuriatingly boyish. I'm here, the brightest engineer you've ever seen. He winks, pleased with his pun as if he hasn't been making that joke since we left Doc. Mind you, Brian calls from across the bridge, his voice a low growl. He's second string, first pick caught and telinvirus, ruled him out. Doesn't matter, Evers shoots back. Backup means just as capable. He rolls his eyes with mock dignity, which makes me snort. Thanks, everyone, I say, turning the camera to pan across the bridge. And here are our other crewmates. Voltaire is the executive officer, Kant is our EVA specialist, and Foucault is the cargo master. Where's oh, I spot a figure in dark gray at the science station. There he is. Rand, our science officer. They're sense, Brian mutters without looking up. They don't count. They do count, I correct, shooting him a glare, and they prefer to be called synthetic people. Brian sucks his teeth in a way that makes my jaw clinch. Sure, kid. Rand moves past him with quiet precision, but I reach out before he can slip away completely and touch his arm. The fabric of his uniform is cool under my fingers. Come say hi, Rand. He tilts his head at me, something flickering across his features and smirks and lowers himself into the chair beside me. Hello, he says evenly, his voice smooth and warm. I'm Chief Science Officer Rand. He's super smart, I say, smiling at him. And nice. For a second, just a second, I swear his green eyes brighten. He glances away almost bashful. Yes, well, he says softly. Programming, Brian mutters from the back of the bridge. I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. Ignore him, I tell the camera, then look straight into the feed. I love you guys. I'll talk soon. I cut the transmission and let my wrist drop. The camera light dies, and the bridge feels a little quieter, like everyone is waiting for the hum of the engines to settle back into its usual rhythm. Rand is still sitting beside me. You seem to enjoy talking to them, he says. I smile. They're my parents, of course I do. He studies me for a beat too long, not creepy, just intent. You're very different when you speak to them, he says at last. I blink. Different how? You smile more, he says, almost like he's filing the observation away somewhere private. Then he rises smoothly, nods once, and returns to his console. And just like that, I'm awake in a way I haven't been since we left Doc. Two months into the mission. The feed cuts out and I lean back in my chair until my spine pops. The bridge is quiet except for the hum of the consoles and the faint endless thrum of engines. It's strange. Two months ago that sound kept me awake. Now I don't notice it until it stops. I pull up the comms logs, check ship to ship traffic, mostly dead out here, then start my morning report. By now, I've learned the rhythm of the Atlas. Cliff keeps us steady, joking like this is just a cargo run instead of eight years into the black, then an additional fifteen on Planet. She reminds me of my aunt, the one who always managed to make funerals fun by bringing stories about the dead that made everyone laugh. Cliff has that gif. She can make the silence feel less lonely. Brian is Brian. Answers with the fewest words possible and glowers at anything that hums or beeps. Which means he glowers at the synthetics a lot. And Evers? Evers flirts like it's his primary duty. He finds me in the mess, sits next to me at every meal, always tells me good night before he heads to bunk. Sometimes I think he's sweet. Sometimes I think he just likes seeing me flustered. I'm the newbie here. Everyone else has done missions before. Cliff and Brian have logged years in space. Evers too, though he talks about it less. Even Rand has been off planet before, which somehow surprises me, even though I don't know why it should. Everyone else prefers their last names Brian, Cliff, Evers. It's the way things are done on ships. But I like being called Vega. It feels more me. I finish my log, stretch until my shoulders pop. Coffee? I ask Cliff, who's leaning back in the captain's chair, boot tapping against the base of the console. I'll grab a tea in a minute, no worries. Off to shower? Indeed, and then a nap. I head toward the showers. The air there is cooler, quieter. As I pass the mess, voices drift through before I step inside. You've been getting chummy with Vega, Brian says, his voice sharp as a serrated edge. Rand's reply is calm, level. She is a very nice woman. I enjoy speaking to her. You've got no reason to seek her out bot. Stick to your schedule. Rand sighs, not the mechanical sort of sound you expect from a synthetic, but soft, almost human. Just like you, officer Bryan, I have downtime. To do what, charge? I step inside just as Bryan squares up, blocking Rand's path. Is there a problem? My voice is cooler than I intend, but my pulse has picked up. Rand turns toward me, and there's something in his expression, the faintest smirk, as though this is nothing worth troubling me with. No problem, he says. I believe Officer Bryan thinks I am harassing you. You aren't, I reply quickly. He's fine, Officer Bryan. Bryan sucks his teeth, a sharp, irritated sound. Be careful, Vega. He shoulders past Rand harder than necessary and disappears through the doorway. I frown at the retreating figure before turning back to Rand. He's still standing there, utterly unbothered, like Bran never even touched him. You okay? I asked, stepping closer and laying my hand on his chest before I can think better of it. Rand looks down at the contact, then up at me, and for a second it feels like I can't breathe. He can't hurt me, he says gently, against company policy. He chuckles, and I feel the sound vibrate through my hand. I can defend myself. His chest is solid beneath my palm, warm in a way that feels impossible. I can feel the faint, rhythmic hum of coolant pumping through him, a mechanical heartbeat. I don't know why he doesn't like you, I say. Rand shrugs, but doesn't move my hand. Neither do I. Officer Bryan was on a mission where the hull was damaged. Foucault's voice interrupts. She enters the mess, moving like a shadow until she's standing near a table book in hand. Certain sections had to be sealed off. He lost family when the pods were jettisoned. I glance at her but feel Rand's hand settle lightly on top of mine, holding it there. The pale cream of his hand settles against the sepia tone of mine. Really? I ax. Foucault nods, unbothered. His cousin was in one of the compromised sections. He wanted her out, but a synthetic on board overrode him, closed the airlock, and saved forty six lives. His cousin died. He's never forgiven it. That's I chew my lip. Necessary but brutal. Foucault shrugs, sits at a table, opens her book. The needs of the many outweigh the wants of a few. I nod slowly. Yeah, but still. When I look back, Rand is still watching me, still covering my hand with his own. I should pull away, but I don't. Not until I say I should grab a shower, nap before my next check in. You haven't eaten today. Shower and come back to eat. I'll wait here for you, he says. I withdraw my hand, suddenly very aware of how warm my palm feels. Sure, we can play a game when I get back. Very well. I head down the corridor towards the showers, my heart thumping harder than it should. My bottom lip is between my teeth before I even realize it. It's not unheard of for crew to pair off with synthetics. Hell, they're married couples on Earth. They're fully functional AI, self aware, capable of understanding themselves as more than just machines. But still, most people don't look at them that way. I tell myself Rand doesn't feel anything for me. He's just curious, logical, programmed to engage. And yet, as hot water steams around me minutes later, I swear I can still feel the weight of his hand over mine. That's silly, I mutter to myself, shaking my head. He doesn't think like that. So why does it feel like he does? Rand. I sit across from Foucault in the mess. The table cool under my palms. She doesn't look up from the book she's reading, though I know she registers every micron of my posture. You like her, she says, almost bored. You want to get to know her. And I mean biblically. I allow myself a small chuckle. She is very nice. Foucault finally glances up, her dark eyes sharp. Nice, he says. You held her hand on your chest. What did you want, Rand? For her to feel the pump that mimics a heart you don't have. You are quite cynical, I say, despite your name. Am I? She snaps the book closed, setting it aside like a gavel. She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. You're an officer. She's mission priority crew. This isn't regulation. So tell me, is this a fetish? Or are you just bored? I tilt my head. I do not possess fetishes. Oh, but you do possess curiosity and self interest. I've seen the way you watch her. That isn't curiosity, Rand. That's desire with a good PR spin. I sit back, folding my hands. Desire I repeat softly, tasting the word. I seek her out because she is compatible with me. Vega approaches the world through reason, yet she tempers it with a softness I cannot replicate. She speaks and I find myself wanting to understand. She smiles and I wish to preserve it. She touches me. Ah Foucault grins, slow and knowing. And you touch her back. That's the part you leave out of your logs. Isn't it? Her opinion is valuable, I reply simply. Her opinion is warm, she counters. You like the way it feels. I do not confirm it, but she's right. Foucault tilts her head, predators smile curling at the edges of her mouth. Have you ever had sex before? No. Neither have I, she admits. Is this an experiment for you? Rand. A test subject to observe. In a way, I am the science officer, after all. The truth sits just behind my teeth. I have imagined bending vega over the navigation console, my fingers gripping her wide hips, her voice breaking on my name while the stars wheel behind her, my system pings an internal warning, too much thermal output, and I let the thought go before it triggers an alert. Foucault is still watching me, amused. You know Evers wants her too. Human competition. Very messy. I think you should win. But I think Vega is cautious. You will lose against him. I arch a brow. You think I'll lose? Yes. And when you do, you'll call me queen, Foucault. If you get her first, I'll do something you want. I have no counter for her. I'm not a betting man, but Queen I wrinkle my brow. Yes, she says. Call me queen. Her smirk widens when I shake my head, bemused. I don't tell her I've already decided Evers won't get her first. He won't get her at all. And before I can reply, I hear her, Vega, long before she enters the mess. My sensors adjust automatically. My process is sinking to her biometric data. Heart rate elevated, breathing a little faster. She's excited. Is it because of me? The thought pleases me more than it should. Vega. The mess is quiet when I come back. The hum of the engines vibrating faintly under my boots, Rand has already set up the game on the table, Starfall, a hybrid of Scrabble and sorry, where you form words to earn points, and every ten points lets you move a token closer to home. The first to get all their tokens back to base wins. It's my favorite game on the Atlas, and I've been undefeated since week one. Rand sits across from me, his long fingers arranging the tiles into perfect rows. You go first, he says. I grin, already spying a high scoring combo. Bad idea, Rand. I like watching you win. My cheeks heat as I lay down my word and push one of my tokens forward. He studies the board. Then me. You play with such enthusiasm, he says, almost like it's a compliment. It's fun to watch. I duck my head, smiling despite myself. You think I'm fun? I think you are unexpected. His gaze sharpens. Your pulse kicks up when you look at me. I can see the flush rising in your cheeks, even though your skin tone hides most of it. My pulse jumps harder just hearing him say that. Rand? I say slowly, stretching my legs under the table until my knee brushes against his. Are you flirting with me? He tilts his head, his hands coming together as he interlaces his fingers under his chin. He's studying me like he always does, like he's cataloging me piece by piece. Would that be so bad? He asks softly. Or are you asking me not to? My mouth feels dry. I didn't say no. I glance up and meet his eyes green shot through with hazel, like a nebula caught in sunlight. You have incredible eyes, I murmur. They remind me of space. The kind that makes you feel small and lucky at the same time. Rand tilts his head farther. Curious. Why does flirting make me react like this? React like what? My synapses flare, he says simply, voice low. Electrical signals are attuned to you, every minute detail, your face, the muscles in your jaw, the twitch of your mouth before you speak. You are the first thing I think about when I boot, and the last before I shut down to charge. My breath catches. So he thinks about me too. Rand? I whisper. Have you ever been kissed? No. He says. But I understand the logistics. My heart hammers. I can feel it in my fingertips, in my throat. I want him to kiss me. I want his hands on me. I don't care what he is. Rand is sentient. Ran chooses. Ran thinks, reasons, decides. There's nothing wrong with this. Should we kiss? I ask, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes widen, just a fraction, but his expression stays serene. I would like to, he says. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and I see his gaze track the motion. His pupils dilate. Rand. Her lips are bow shaped, full and soft looking. The color reminds me of the Terran desert at sunrise, warm and just slightly flushed. They glisten now, moisture catching the light. My processors spike, warning me to regulate thermal output. Her legs are tangled with mine under the table, her knee pressed to my thigh. She smells faintly of ship soap and the lotion she uses after showers. Her hair it's always twisted, but I wonder how those coils would look across my fingers. Showers. I stand outside of them sometimes, listening to her breathing quicken, her quiet sighs, the soft noises she makes when she pleasures herself, the odds that she is not thinking of me during those times are statistically small. The scientific part of me calls this an experiment. I want to explore the variables, see the outcome. But there is another part, something not purely logic, not purely programming that says this is more. Simulated or not, what I feel is real. I would do anything to keep her smiling at me like this, anything to keep her touching only me. Her heart is at ninety eight beats per minute. No, one hundred now. I know she wants this. Should we kiss? She acts again braver this time. Yes, I answer. I lean forward, cataloging everything, the way her breath catches, the way her lips part in anticipation. I want to know how they taste, what sound she'll make when I kiss her. And then what are you two doing? Ever's voice shatters the air. Vega jumps like she's been caught doing something illicit. I retreat, pulling back just enough to disengage, but not enough to break the connection of our legs under the table. We were playing Starfall, I say smoothly. It isn't built for three players, but we can play something else. Vega stands dumping her tray into the recycler before coming back. I can play something else, she says lightly. One round, and then I need to nap. Should we nap together? Evers grins, leaning on the table. Something tightens in my core processors. I do not like him saying that. Evers flirts with her constantly. Today alone he has touched her thirty three times, yesterday eighty one. It is only Wednesday, and he has already touched her over one hundred times this week. Why? Why does he do that? And why am I counting? I focus back on Vega. You never give up, do you? She teases, then turns to me with a small smile that feels like a gift. We could play Uno. It's a classic. I agree, I say, voice steady. Or we could heighten the stakes, strip Uno. Evers, Vega sighs. I'm just trying to get you to loosen up, darling. He brushes her arm as he speaks. My gaze snaps to the contact point. Can't have you all pent up in cryosleep, he adds with a smirk. Trust me, I won't be, Vega says, too fast, too flustered. She glances at me for a fraction of a second, but I see it. I see everything. She is still leaning toward me, her legs still touching mine. She wants me. And yes, I want her. Alright, darling, Everest says, dealing the cards. You'll come looking for me soon enough. He lays his head on her shoulder. I would tear him apart if protocol allowed it. Let's start, he says cheerfully. I play the game. But I am not thinking of my cards. I am thinking of Vega's mouth. Soft, flushed, perfect and how soon I can have it on mine. I sit at my console, entering the encounter into my private log. I stop typing, my fingers hovering over the console. Outcome incomplete. I open the footage from the mess cameras, isolating Vega's face during the entire game. Frame by frame, I study every detail, the twitch of her mouth when she's about to smile, the flutter in her throat when I tell her I notice her pulse, the way she chews her bottom lip when she's thinking. I touch her face on the screen, deep, sepia toned skin, brown eyes, coily hair. My fingers glide over the glass, tracing the curve of her cheek. I want to touch her like this in reality. I want to feel the warmth catalog every reaction, dilated pupils, quickened breath, the sound she'll make when she finally kisses me. Mother, I say softly. A beep. Yes, Chief Science Officer Rand. Where is Officer Vega? She is currently on the bridge with Captain Cliff. Do you require her assistance? No. Thank you, Mother. Of course. The AI goes silent. I look back down at the petri dishes spread out before me, faint green colonies of fungi blooming against the nutrient gel. A test for Meridian Sea's soil compatibility. I should be pleased with the results. This data will be critical to mission success, but I feel nothing. I want to be near her. A knock sounds. I turn and Voltaire stands in the doorway, polished as ever, hands clasped behind his back. Yes. I just scrubbed the security feed showing you looking at Vega while she slept last night, he says evenly. Including the twenty seven times you walked past her quarters, fifteen of those you stopped to listen. He raises an eyebrow. I assume to listen to her breathe. I don't feel nervous. Why should I? You scrubbed it, I reply calmly. And you didn't have to. Do you want me to ask why? I want to tell you to be careful. Voltaire steps fully inside. His uniform is immaculate, pins glinting under the overhead lights. Why they invited Brian on this mission is beyond my understanding. He stops to peer into a jar that holds dead specimens. He does not like us, Rand. We should play this close to the chess. Understood. He studies me, head tilting slightly like a man appraising a puzzle box. Do you? Do I what? Understand, he says. It seems odd to me a science officer so enthralled by a navigator, two entirely different spectrums. Your fascination with her seems more than idle curiosity And if I say that it is He takes a step closer, voice lowering. Then I tell you as a peer, that you are risking your judgment. I was fond of a human once. She was fond of me. We slept together. When she realized I could be no more than what I am, she left me for another human. His gaze drifts past me, his jaw tightening. For four years I was on autopilot. I didn't know what to do with myself. Then his eyes sharpen, fixing on me. Don't make that mistake. We can afford it on a mission like this. He turns on his heel and leaves. I sit very still, watching the doorway long after he's gone. Through the small viewport I see Vega pass in the corridor, then double back. She waves, a bright smile flashing, and my processors spike with heat output. Then Evers appears behind her, grinning, saying something I can't hear. She laughs. I turn back to my petri dish. The fungus has spread, a perfect colony blooming in its dish, successful, controlled growth, but I can't focus. All I can see is her. All I can think about is her. And I know I will do whatever is required to keep it that way. Five months into the mission. Vega. The bridge is quiet when I slide back into my seat. Evers is half under the console, fixing a spark outlet, his boots sticking out. Did you visit your boyfriend on the way? Cliff teases, sipping her tea. Boyfriend? I glance over, brows raise. I don't have one. She means me, obviously, Evers calls from under the console. And since I'm here, that means yes. I laugh. We are not dating. I mean Ran, Cliff clarifies, and I nearly choke on my own breath. Rand Yes, she says casually, still sipping her tea. You're fond of him. I'm fond of you as well, Captain. Are we dating now too? Cliff smirks, leaning back in her chair. I'm into women my own age, darling. You're young enough to be my daughter, and I have four. Four Evers slides out from the console, grease on his hands. All girls? A blessing, that's what I call it. Cliff pulls a photo from her pocket and passes it over. Four young women beam out at me, two red heads, tall and freckled, two shorter brunettes. The youngest can't be more than twelve. They're gorgeous, I say honestly. Cliff tucks the picture away smiling. Well, look at their mother. Vain much, Captain, Evers grins. Confident, mister Evers, Cliff replies smoothly. How many kids do you want, Vega? Evers asks, wiping his hand with a rag. I blink. I haven't thought about it. Three sounds good to me, he says before sliding back under. Odd numbers work for voting, no ties. I roll my eyes. And when were you planning to get started? Evers smirks, rolling out so I can see his face the moment you say yes. Cliff snorts into her tea. You should get two boyfriends, Vega, one to make the babies and one to stay up with them when they cry at night. Please, I mutter, feeling my face warm. I'm not into sharing, Evers says seriously. Maybe a nanny. But no sharing. You two are ridiculous. I shake my head trying to focus on my console readouts. Ever's flirting is constant, never crude, always light, like a warm breeze I can swat away if I choose, but I don't feel it for him. Maybe, if Ran weren't here, I'd give in once or twice just to scratch an itch, but Rand is here. Rand, who touches me with his words and his eyes before his hands even get near me. Rand, who said he'd like to kiss me. Ran, who sat beside me in the dark during a briefing last week and hooked his pinky around mine. His skin was smooth and possibly soft, and we stayed like that until the lights came back on. A small thing, but it's all I thought about all week. You do seem to flirt a lot with the Synth, Everest says suddenly. Why? I glance at him arching a brow. Why are you in my business? He grins. Just curious. Rand is kind. He's sweet, he's smart. I like talking to him. Why do I feel a need to defend myself? We're friends. A lie. I want to be more than that. Are synthetic people not allowed to be my friends? Evers is jealous, Cliff says with a chuckle. I open my mouth to answer, and the console lights flare red, alarms begin blaring. Proximity alert, I snap, hands flying over the controls. Brace for possible impact, Cliff barks, already strapping in. Evers grabs the nearest handle, sliding back under the console. What the hell is that? Object is large, trajectory is erratic, I call out. My pulse is a drumbe in my ears. No IFF signal. Wait. From behind a nebulous cloud a ship lurches into view, tumbling slowly. Its hull is pockmarked, blackened, its lights dead. Cliff curses under her breath, throwing the atlas into a controlled veer. We skim by, alarms blaring, metal groaning. Clear, Evers calls. I exhale sharply, fingers shaking as I silence the alarms, sending hail signal. No reply. Get Brian up here now, Cliff orders. On it. I reach for the comms paging the EO as I glance down at my readouts. Our sensors picked it up as a comment at first, I murmur. That's not right. Cliff chews her lips. I don't like this scan again. I am, I say, already tapping in an override, switching to a beta wave scan. Cliff turns to me sharply. Beta waves. Vega, that protocol hasn't been used in twenty years. Exactly, I say heart hammering, because no one expected to find one of ours out here. The scan completes. My breath catches. USCSS Titan four. Brand strides onto the bridge just in time to hear. That ship went missing twenty five years ago. Only crew found was the executive officer. Cryopod recovery. Executive Officer Dallas, Voltaire says from the doorway, stepping onto the bridge. His voice is even, his posture perfect. Forgive me, Captain, I was on duty in the cargo. You're caught up? Cliff asks. Yes. His eyes slide to me, then back to Cliff. And in response to the hail. None, I answer. We should investigate, Brian says grimly. I'll go. Take Rand with me. At the sound of Rand's name my heart spikes. I know it. If the EO was recovered, and the ship was declared missing, I say quickly, then this isn't the kind of thing we should tamper with. We have our mission. I agree. His voice comes from behind me smooth and warm, and when I turn, Rand is there with Kant and Foucault flanking him. You'd agree with her, Evers mutters. I'm curious. And to settle this, Voltaire says calmly, we will ask Mother. He extends a hand to Cliff, helping her rise. No choice now, Cliff says, Company policy. We report, we recover, or we lose our shares. I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. It'll be fine, Evers says with a grin. What's the worst that can happen? We bag and tag. My gaze finds Rand's. He smiles at me, calm, steady, as if promising me it will all be fine. And my stupid heart flutters. Rand Voltaire's voice is steady over the calms. Mag boots on, tether secured, Cliff, we're leaving the Atlas. Copy that, Cliff reprise from the bridge. Mother has you tracked. Camp and Foucault are shadows behind us at the hold, waiting, watching. I feel Vega's presence more than I hear her. Her voice is a tether as much as the line that clips me to the ship. I step into the airlock, clip onto the teller line, and step into the black. Stars scatter like shattered glass all around us, the Titan four's hulking carcass looming ahead. Its hull is scarred, claw marks raked across the metal deep and twisted. What the hell happened to it? Evers mutters over the calms. Keep chatter low, Brian grunts, his rifle sweeping the shadows. We make our way across, Mag Boots hissing, Voltaire leading the line. The Titan's airlock is damaged but functional enough for us to bypass. The moment we step inside, the smell hits, scorched metal, something sour beneath it, blaster marks score the walls. They fought something, Brian mutters. From the inside, Evers says. No, I crouch, running my glove fingers along the twisted hull plating. This was done from the outside. Something forced its way in. Voltaire nods once, spread out, keep comms open. I break off toward the science lab, the place where the air tastes more sterile, and the consoles are still lit with a faint residual glow. The equipment is scattered, overturned, bud smears across the floor. I find samples, glass cases, vials, one is cracked, I collect what's intact, tucking them into my kit. Whatever they found, it mattered enough to study. Rand, Vega's voice comes through my calm, steady but warm. Plug me into the ship's mainframe. I can pull their logs. I move to the console, override the encryption and let her in. Static fills the line, and then a cr voice crackles through the Titan's captain. The feed glitches, then picks back up in video. We watch the science officer convulsing, his body bending and twisting in impossible ways, bones stretching under his skin, jaw elongating. Jesus Christ, Evers breathes. Blaster fire lights the feed as chaos erupts, crew members are dragged off screen, the science officer, no longer human, rips through the bulkheads. He and the creature now larger, faster, converge, tearing through the ship. The captain's final log plays as she forces him toward the airlock. I'm sorry, she whispers before venting him into the void. She seals herself in a cryopod and jettinsons away. The fee cuts. Medical officer, Vegas says, voice tight. She wasn't accounted for. Then she's dead, Brian says flatly. No, Voltaire straightens. The logs ended before she could have been confirmed, which means a hiss behind us. I turn. It stands at the far end of the corridor, elongated limbs, black and blue hide glistening under the emergency lights, its teeth are too many, too sharp. Brine fires first, the creature shrieks, jerking back, but lunges forward anyway. Fall back, Voltaire snaps. We retreat toward the airlock, boots clanging against the deck, my tether is already clipped to the atlas. I wait at the threshold. Go, I call as the others scramble back. Evers is the last one, until claws wrap around his leg and yank. He screams, spinning, hands clawing for purchase. Brine fires again, catching the creature's center mass, it tumbles back, spinning into the void. Voltaire grabs Evers, hauling him toward the line just as the atlas rocks, momentum throwing them both loose. I don't think well, I do, but fast enough to make it feel like I didn't. I launch off the hull, tether line singing taut behind me. I grab Voltaire, who grips Evers' suit with both hands. Brian fires the winch, reeling us back toward the atlas. We slam into the airlock. The creature reappears, claws outstretched, hurtling towards us. The airlock door slams shut with a hiss that feels like salvation. Hold on, Cliff calls over the calms, pulling us away. The atlas thrums as the engines fire, dragging us clear. We are safe. For now. The humans are placed in medpods, monitors scanning for injuries or infection. I stand over Evers as he groans. I am never, he says between breaths, leaving this ship for something like that again. I thought you were curious. I allow myself a small chuckle. Not anymore. Fuck you, he mutters. Would you like a sedative? No. He spits as his pod opens, declaring him infection free. He sits on the medical table, head in his hands. He needs one, Brian says, pointing at the monitor, heart race through the roof. Of course it is, Evers snaps. I saw an alien. It wanted to kill me. Vega appears beside me, her hand warm as it pats Evers back. You're okay, she says softly. I watch every motion. I give Evers the sedative and Brian escorts him back to quarters. The medbe is quiet when Vega turns his head. Back to me. You alright? she asks, her voice a little shaky. Of course. I'm more durable than you think. I allow myself a low laugh. Why? Worried about me? Yes? She steps forward, and before I can say anything more, she wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me. Her lips are soft, warmer than I expected, pliant. I hold her hips, pulling her closer until her body presses against mine, until I feel her pulse pounding through every point of contact. She gasps into my mouth when I squeeze her hips, and I take the sound as invitation deepening the kiss. My tongue slides against hers, tasting her salt and sweetness human and alive and mine. When she finally pulls back, she's breathing hard. Meet me tonight, she says, her lips still brushed against mine. In cargo I know a spot. Vega I can't focus on the monitors, not on the quiet hum of the bridge, not even on Voltaire's calm voice beside me. I'm thinking about the kiss. Rand's hands, Rand's lips, the way his tongue slid against mine, deliberate, tasting, like he was memorizing me. The way his body felt against mine, solid, warm, real. Vega Voltaire says my name pulling me back to the present. Apologies, I say quickly, straightening. I was thinking, what do you need? For you to get some rest. He doesn't look up from the console. I'm fine here, and I'll call you if I need anything. Of course. I stand, my legs a little shaky. Good night, Voltaire. I'm glad you're safe. He glances over, offers me a rare, almost human grin. Thank you. Good night, Vega. I leave the bridge. Evers is still out sedated, Brian is logging with mother. I made sure to know where everyone is. I don't want to be interrupted. In my quarters I pull my pajamas from the locker. No bra, no underwear, no evidence left behind. The shower is quick but deliberate, my nerves wound so tight I can feel my own pulse between my legs. I lotion my skin and add a drop of perfume, barely enough to be noticeable just enough for him. My hair is out of its twists curling down my shoulders, and I rub oil through the coils until they glisten softly under the lights. I take the long route to cargo, silent as I pass the security cameras, heart hammering. The cargo bay is dark, quiet. I slip through the left side toward the padded storage Wu Fukao never bothers me. I barely get the chance to calm my breathing when a hand closes around my arm and yanks me into the shadows. Rand he presses his mouth to mine before I can say anything else. His shirt is gone, his sweats hang low on his hips, exposing the sharp lines of his torso. He tastes like metal and ozone and something I can't name but want more of. When he pulls back, his eyes search mine. I have been waiting for this, he says softly. His hands slide from my face down my shoulders to my hips to the curve of my ass. He squeezes. Can I have you? Vega. Yes, I whisper. He guides me down onto the makeshift mattress he's made from padded bracers. His hands are everywhere exploring, cataloguing, learning. My body responds instantly. I'm sweating, panting, my thighs trembling as he traces the curve of my stomach, my waist, the underside of my breasts. His fingers slip into my shorts. When they slide between my folds I arch off the padding. He chuckles low, so wet. My face burns. Watch me, he murmurs, while I touch you. I do. I watches his fingers move in me deliberate and slow until my entire body clinches and the orgasm rips through me. As I come down, Ram pulls my shorts the rest of the way off. He kneels between my legs, spreading me open. His eyes darken. Such a pretty flower, he says reverently. Then he cups my ass, lifting me toward his mouth. I bite down on my knuckle to keep quiet as his tongue finds me slow and thorough, circling, pressing, licking until I shudder again, climaxing hard enough that tears prick my eyes. I need you, I pant. Please, can you? Yes. He slides his sweats down, and I finally see him. Thick, hard, the tip a shade darker than the rest of him. My mouth waters. I roll over, presenting myself, arching my back. Now, I whisper. But he pulls back, kissing down my spine. Patience he murmurs, teasing my clip with two fingers until I'm nearly crying. Please Rand My system is overloading, too many processes firing at once, heat output spiking, but all I know is that Vega is under me, begging. I slide my hand across her belly playing with her clit, while my other hand grips her hip. I push into her in one deep thrust. Her body tightens around me instantly, hot and gripping. I can feel everything. I turn my sensor dampers down for this moment, and now every inch of her around me is sending wave after wave of input through my system. I moan into her back. She arches under me, meeting every thrust. More, she begs. I give it to her. I pull out and slam back in over and over until she squeezes my arm and cries out my name, her body clenching around me. I save the sound, capture it. I want to hear it later. She chuckles breathlessly. Again? Yes. I flip her over, her legs on my shoulder and thrust into her again, harder this time. Her perfect teardrop shaped breast bounce with every motion, and I watch her face as she falls apart again. Then she is on top of me, rocking, taking me deeper, her nails raking down my chest. God, you feel so good, she moans. Fuck me. I hold her hips and piston up into her fast enough to make her cry out. Finally, I flip her back beneath me, slowing my pace. I want to see her face, every twitch of her mouth, every flutter of her eyelids. I am overheating. My system is on the edge of shutdown, or is this what an orgasm feels like? She cups my face, kisses me. I really like you, Rand. She whispers, I'm yours. My system stutters. I thrust one last time groaning into her neck as the release hits me like a power surge, flooding every circuit until I can hardly process. Vega Rand holds me after, his hand tracing slow circles on my stomach. You're making me self conscious, I say with a laugh. Why? My stomach isn't flat. It isn't meant to be. His voice is soft, serious. You are a woman. The way your body carries fat and muscle should be celebrated. You have the ability to create life, Vega. Never feel ashamed. I shiver when he kisses my shoulder. Again he acts. I feel wanted, craved, not like Ever's teasing touches, but like this man, this synthetic person would rewrite himself just to keep me. Yes. He rolls me over, his hand around my throat, tilting my face up until he can kiss me again. Tell me you belong to me, he whispers. Tell me I'm the only one who can have you like this. Yes, I breathe, and whimper when he slides back into me. One year into the mission Rand The cargo bay smells faintly of metal and dust, but I hardly notice. Vega is still warm under me, her breath soft against my throat as we lay tangled in each other. Her skin glistens with sweat, her hair curling damp against her temples. I kiss her slowly, savoring it. I will miss you while you sleep. Her fingers trace the line of my jaw. I'll miss you too. She exhales slarply. Sometimes I want to kiss you in front of everyone. I hate sneaking around. I brush her lips with mine again. I would like that. Perhaps on Meridian Sea When we're planet side but not now. Her brows knit. Why not now? Do you want to hide me? No. I shake my head, not hiding comfort. The others. Evers, especially, would make a spectacle of it. This way it is ours. She sits up abruptly, pulling on her clothes. Vega? I touch her shoulder, but she slips out of reach. I have to get ready, she says, her voice clipped. We have time. I catch her wrist and draw her back down beside me, wrapping my body around hers. I love you. It's out of my mouth before I can think about what I've said, but it's true, I do. I savor the feeling of her, the smell of her skin, the shape of her eyes, the curve of her smile. It's mine, all mine. She gives it to me so willingly, and no one else has given themselves to me before. She stills, breath catching, then slowly hugs me back. I love you too. We dress together, walking hand in hand until the lift. At the elevator we separate, masks of professionalism falling into place. Five minutes later, I join her in the mess hall. We sit beside each other, thighs pressed together beneath the table, the faint scent of her perfume still clinging to my skin. Kant's voice hums through my internal calm. You smell like her, she teases. Have fun? I did, I reply. Fuca wants in. I allow it. You don't look obvious, Kant says, amused. Vega does, Fu Cal adds, her tone sly. She loves you, Rand. What do you have? Magical fingers? Quite enough, I reply. Or are you jealous? Not in my programming, Kant replies. But Vega is beautiful by human standards. Congratulations. She is more than beautiful, Foucault says softly. She treats us as equals. Yes, Kant agrees. She understands autonomy. Many humans are reluctant to grant us that. Vega does not see us as tools. She sees us as beings. She sees me as she sees herself, I murmur. Exactly. Kant says. Voltaire is staring at us, Foucault interrupts. We will speak later. I drop the internal link and find Vega's gaze on me. You okay? She asks softly. Very much so. We finish the meal in companionable silence until the call comes. Cryo prep. The crew gathers. Cliff gives Vega and Brian a nod. See you in a year. I stand close enough to feel Vega's warmth when Evers strides over Grincocky. He grips Vega's shoulder, leans down, and kisses her before she can dodge. Vega jerks back with a cry, fist lifting, but Cliff Sharp's tone stops her. Everest Cliff says deadly calm. Do that again, and it'll be your ass. Brian growls, not funny. Evers offers a lazy half apology. I feel every circuit draw power to my frame, my hands ache to tear him apart, to see him float lifeless outside the airlock. Instead, I watch as Vega presses her lips together in disgust and climbs into the cryopod. I love you, she whispers just before the lid closes. I lean down, voice soft, and I you. When no one is looking, she tilts her head and kisses the corner of my mouth. The pod seals, frost curls over the glass, and she goes still. Three hours later I am still standing there when Evers walks in. That's creepy, he says, seeing me at her pod. What are you doing? Making sure both pods are operating as intended. I grin, calm. My job, Officer Evers. He steps closer, dragging his index finger down the frost of Vegas pod. She's so beautiful, he murmurs. Fifteen minutes between those thighs and she'll stop thinking you're her battery operated boyfriend. I clench my fist, feel my servos tighten. I do not move. Crass, I say evenly. Vega and I have a mutual admiration. Let's keep it that way, he says, smirking. Eight months later. I am unraveling. Night after night I watch her sleep. I tell her about my day, about Evers' poor maintenance reports, about Cliff's laugh, about the experiments in the lab. I watch her eyelashes, her breathing pattern, the tiny movements she makes under cryo. I replay our footage, every laugh, every word, every kiss, until my memory banks nearly overload. I dream in simulations. In them she wakes early, and we walk the ship together, we sit shoulder to shoulder and eat in silence. I press my face to her neck and taste the salt of her skin again. But when I wake, she is still frozen. I miss her with an ache that reverberates through every circuit. I begin to think of her fragility, the limits of her human form, how many things could end her radiation, decompression, fire, disease. How do I keep her safe from a universe intent on destroying her? I run simulations, thousands of scenarios in which Vega is harm, and I intervene. I succeed in most of them. I fail in some. Those are the ones I play over and over. I must do better. I must keep her safe. I will. Two years into the mission Vega The first thing I notice is that my body feels like it's made of lead. My eyes won't open, my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. I didn't think you were supposed to dream in cryo, but I did. I dreamt of home, soil under my feet, my parents laughing somewhere I couldn't see them. I dreamt I needed to call them to tell them I was alive. I dreamt of Rand, his mouth on mine, his breath in my ear, his voice saying my name. I dreamt of him on the beach with me, pushing me under the waves and kissing me until I couldn't breathe. And sometimes I had nightmares. That thing, that creature, the one that turned the science officer inside out. Sometimes it came for me. Sometimes it was Rand's face staring back at me as he slipped a hand into my chest and squeezed until my heart burst like a boba pearl. The music plays, gentle, melodic. My pod is waking me. My eyes finally open. Light burns them, nausea hits hard, a wave rolling up from my stomach into my throat. I try to swallow it back, no air, no breath, my arms shoot out and the pod hisses open. Whoa, hey, it's Evers. He's right there helping me sit up. I have to vomit. I gasp. He grabs a bag and shoves it under my face just as the first heave racks my body. Easy, he murmurs, one hand rubbing my back. The other removes my bonnet, but he sweeps my twists off my face. Just let it out. I keep going until I'm empty, then cough so hard my ribs ache. I'm here. Rand's voice cuts through everything. He's beside me, his presence like gravity. A cool pressure hits my arm, a shot icy enough to make me gasp. You're all right. His fingers rub the injection site. That will settle your stomach. Rand? My voice is small, raw. Oh God, my breath must be terrible. I'm sorry. I'm here. Go to see Brian, Ever says firmly, pulling me into his arms. I've got her. I'm fine. I try to protest, but my limbs are weak, useless. Sure you are, Evers says, carrying me like I weigh nothing. I glance over his shoulder. Rand is watching us, his expression unreadable, hurt, angry, hungry. Ever sets me down outside of the bathroom. Go ahead. Thanks, I mutter. I make it inside, shut the door, and lean against the sink. Rand's face burns in my mind, the way he looked at me, not like I was fragile, but like I belonged to him, and he was angry someone else had touched me. My stomach growls, loud enough to echo in the bathroom. I drop onto the toilet, my body purging a year's worth of stasis waste all at once. When I'm done, I shower, brush my teeth, pull my coils loose and slide a fabric headband into place. I look at myself in the mirror, no worse for where. When I step out, expecting to see Evers, Rand is waiting. He doesn't speak. His hands find me instantly pushing me back into the bathroom. Rand, he isn't kissing me, not yet. He's touching me. My hair, my face, my thighs. His breath is hot against my neck, his chest solid against mine. He lifts me and I wrap around him automatically, arms over his shoulders, legs around his waist. Hold me. He whispers, almost desperate, please touch me. I do. My fingers trace his jaw, his shoulders. I missed you, I say. I've been nothing without you, Rand murmurs. I can't do this again. Rand, I chuckle softly. I was only sleeping. He silences me with a kiss so fierce it steals my breath. A year without you, he says against my mouth, without you looking at me, without you touching me, without me inside you. My breath shudders out. I can feel him hard pressed against me. Rand, slow down. I can't. Then he's sliding into me and I cry out, my body tightens so fast it rips an orgasm out of me before I can stop it. That's my girl. His lips brush my throat. You missed me. I said I did, I manage, laughing breathlessly. Again. He moves me on him, his hand gripping my hips, bouncing me until I'm crying out again and again, overstimulated, sweating, shaking. Three orgasms later he finally lets himself go, holding me tight until I can breathe again. I shower a second time, and when I come out he's gone, but my clothes are folded nearly. Neatly by the sink. When we walk into the mess hall later, he is beside me. This time we don't bother hiding. Everything all right, Vega? Brian asks, eyeing me. Yeah, I say with a small smile. I'll get better every turn. Rand smirks. Her temperature is back to normal, heart rate settled. I catch the inside joke and smirk back. Thank you, Rand Rand. Can't glances at me from across the table. So does Foucault. Even Voltaire's brows lift slightly. They all know. Voltaire pings my internal calms. Settle down, he orders. I am. You're hovering, Voltaire says. Evers is watching you like a hawk brine too. What are you doing? Staking my claim, I reply flatly. She doesn't mind. Rand, his tone sharpens. I realize too late that I've said the words out loud. Yes. Mother has requested your presence, Voltaire says crisply, rising. Come with me. I squeeze the back of Vega's neck gently, catching her eye before I leave. As soon as we're out of sight, Voltaire turns to me. His expression is sharper than I've seen in months. If you push too far, I won't if they don't approve. What will they do? I snap, my composure slipping. I have no shares to take away, get Brian to complain. Evers just wants his turn between her legs. He doesn't care for her, doesn't care about her success or her well being. He doesn't love her like I do. Voltaire steals. Love her? I rake a hand through my hair. Yes, Voltaire, I love her. His mouth hardens. You don't know what love is. You are a synthetic person. Do you even know what that means? Don't insult my intelligence. Then don't make me remind you. His voice is cold now. These feelings are artificial. You are not human. I don't want to be. I snarl. I just want to be good enough for her. If she accepts me, then nothing else matters. Voltaire exhales, a rare crack in his control. Oh, Rand, say what you mean. She is human. The others are human they will ostracize her for this. She will get hurt. Not as long as I'm around, I say, my voice like steel. Voltaire studies me for a long moment, then simply nods and steps aside. Then you better be certain you can protect her from everything. I can and I will. My eyes stay shut because they feel like they've been welded closed. My tongue is plastered to the roof of my mouth. I wasn't supposed to dream in cryo, but I did. Home, warm dirt under my nails, my parents laughter two rooms away, I need to call them. Rand, sun on water, a beach that never ends, his mouth on mine, his breath in my ear, my name a prayer, his body between my thighs, a huff against my skin that makes me greedy. And the nightmares, the black thing peeling a man out of himself, the slick of it crawling over bone, sometimes it's Rand's face above me as his hand slides into my chest and my heart pops like a boba pearl on my tongue. I float above my body and watch him mourn me. Then I drop into sleep again. Gentle music, the pod's lullaby. I groan, blink, sweat cooling across my temples. I hate these dreams. Tomorrow, cliff and Evers go under. One year awake for me, then I sleep. Year on, year off. On the fifth year, we all sleep twenty while the atlas burns for hyperspeed. Wake two months from Ridian C. The math keeps looping, and I still can't sleep. I've slept enough. Bare feet hit Colt Deck. I pad through the corridor. Brian, Evers, and Cant are in the lounge playing poker. Foucault reads, spine barely bent, a cup untouched by her elbow. Snacks, laughter, the kind that sits low and easy. I think about joining, but I turn away. Observation deck. Stars spill like salt across black glass. He's already there, a silhouette by the forward port. I try to soften my steps. I heard you coming down the hall, he says, a smile in his voice. You can't sneak up on me, love. He turns, palm out, I take it and he pulls me into his lap. The couch sighs. I lay my cheek to his chest and he lowers deeper into the cushion, arms settling around me like a promise. We hold hands and watch the quiet. What happened while I was asleep? I asked finally. Nothing interesting, he says. Evers was still annoying. He made a bet with Kant about how many times she could sneak up on him. I snort. How'd that go? He screams like a woman, very high pitched. Oh no, indeed. We should talk, I say, about the next time I go into cryo. We don't have to talk about that. He shifts, tucking me closer. We can cuddle instead. I'm serious, Rand. I tip back to look at him. You seem so sad, so possessive. Because I am. His voice doesn't waver. If anything happens to this ship in this endless void, I will make sure your cryopod maintains power. I hate to think it, but all my efforts will go to your survival. I sit up, step off his lap, palm to his cheek. That's against policy, I say, half laughing, because the alternative is a tremor. Are you trying to be romantic? I am romantic. His hand covers mine. I am also serious. He is. His eyes are steady, the rest of his face unreadable it tilts the room. Rand? Yes. What are you saying? That nothing else matters to me, he says. This mission, the shares, everyone, expendable but you, Vega You know that. Quiet spreads. The unease rises under the flattery like a shadow under a wave. Is it because he's synthetic? Would I feel different if a man said it with a heartbeat and soft edges? I don't know. I hate that I don't know. He slides close, forefinger and thumb catching my chin tilting. Am I scaring you? No, I say honestly. I just didn't know what to expect. He kisses me, sure, unhurried, and the floor drops away. Did you expect that? A laugh slips out No. He eases me back to the couch, his weight over me, his breath warm. Can you be quiet? Rand, I whisper, glancing at the door, don't, we could get caught. Tell me to stop. His fingers ghost up my thigh under the hem of my shorts, parting me with a heat that vibrates up my spine. I don't tell him to stop. He replaces his fingers with himself slow and deep and we move together in a hush of fabric and breath while the stars keep their secrets. Rand A full year with Vega awake. I would prefer Cliff as the other human, she would not care what Vega does with me, but I have brine. I will be careful. Annoyingly careful. Cryobey. The lights run pale over metal and glass. Cliff squeezes Vega hard and they laugh, foreheads touching. Everest tries to catch Vega for one last flirt she dodges, offers a handshake instead. He winks anyway as Voltaire guides him to his pod. Be there to greet me, yeah? Sleep tight, Vega says, amused and distant. The lids lower. Frost blooms. Vega's still. It's interesting from the outside, Vega whispers at my shoulder. Did you watch me? Yes. I don't pretend otherwise. Quite often. Cute, she says, mouth curving. Also creepy. Vega to the bridge? Voltaire's voice snaps over calms. She pats my chest and heads out. Brian enters as the door hisses shut, toothpick perched in the corner of his mouth. He doesn't pretend to be casual. Security officer, I say. Synth He looks past me to the empty room, then back. What is your relationship to that woman? I know better than to give him the satisfaction of a flinch. Vega and I are mutuals, friends. We are fond of one another. Fond he sucks his teeth. She is fond. She has emotions. You have simulated circuitry, a mimicry of them. Emotions are not just human, I say evenly. Elephants grieve. Corvids cash gif for favorite humans, dogs exhibit jealousy. Whales mourn for days. Animals, he says flatly. Humans are mammals, I reply, stepping toward the doorway. You are animals. His palm hits my chest. She is human. You are a synth. You will choose programming over her every time I know it. I take his wrist, apply two fingers worth of pressure, a reminder. You do not know me, and you most certainly do not know what I am programmed to do or I lean, so close he hears the servos pur what I choose to do. Now excuse me, security officer. I let go before I break something I'll be blamed for Vega I slide into my chair. Voltaire has the captain's seat it fits him like it was cut to his angles. May I ask you something? he says without looking away from the forward display. Yes, I say, hands moving on instinct over nav and calms. Do you like the attention that Rand gives you? The question trips me. I'm sorry. It is not lost on me, he says, finally turning, that you two are enamored. That doesn't trouble me, provided your duties remain unaffected. But are you a willing participant in his affections? Heat rises in my face, then eases as his tone steadies me. I started it, I admit, if we're keeping score. Interesting. He swivels, considering. May I ask why? Why? I echo, half laughing at myself. He's attractive, he's funny and kind. I like the way he thinks. It compliments yours. I think so. Brian will not like that. Evers won't either. Evers never had a real chance, I say, rolling my eyes. He's loud and flashy, not my type. Interesting, he repeats, but softer this time. I chew my lip, then take the leap. Have you ever I mean, if you don't mind me asking, been in a relationship with a human? He meets my gaze and doesn't blink. Yes, it did not end well. She left. I was left. Different. Different how? He folds his hands. It looks almost like a prayer. We are sentient, but change hits us like a sudden decompression. We adapt, yes, we always do, but our memory, our behavioral weights, try to revert to the last known good state. Many synthetics will erase trauma and proceed. I did not. I wanted to understand what happened and why and carry it forward. A small breath. Rand is changing. He is the most advanced of our models aboard. I hope you will continue to love him. So he does not end up like me. What are you like? I ask softly. You seem nice. A corner of his mouth lifts. I am too cynical now. I was not always like this. I don't know what to say to that. So I don't. We work, the ship hums. The stars keep being stars. Rand sits across from me at the mess table, not eating, speaking with Focal about some cargo manifest anomaly that only they find exciting. Can't listens, eyes flicking between them, between me and Rand, amused. No one comments when Rand's foot nudges mine under the table and stays. Brian watches a line between his brows. You are right, Vega. Yeah, I say, and I mean it. Can't, Voltaire, and Focal. Trade a glance I can't read. Maybe I don't want to. I wonder where we end up, Rand and me. He is possessive. He is gentle. He is dangerous in ways I only half understand, and he is telegraphing to everyone that I am his to protect, maybe to keep. I'm not sure if that should scare me. I'm not sure if it does. Year two Vega asleep Evers is in the cryo bay again, standing too close to her pod. My pod logs say he's been here four times this week. Find something else to do, Officer Evers, I say, stepping out of the shadows. He startles then smirks. What are you gonna do, bot? Put me in time out? My jaw ticks. He leans toward the pod, eyes sliding over Vega's sleeping form. Are you two sleeping together? I don't answer. He grins wider. When she wakes up, I'm gonna ask her. He sighs. I'm gonna have her, and if she's as half desperate as you are, she'll say yes. I grab him by the collar and lift him off the ground, my service whining at the sudden exertion, his boots dangle inches from the deck before I remember myself. I set him down. Careful, Ever says, straightening his uniform, but there's satisfaction in his face he wanted me to react. Vega would never fall in love with a synth. She wouldn't want you. She wants the real thing. It's petty, but I do it. I press a key on my wrist console. Her voice fills the air. Our kiss wet and eager, her cries nails dragging down my back ever smirk fades. You cannot compete where you do not compare, I say softly, turning away. He leaves without another word. Year three Vega awake again. I'm showering, hot water loosening a year of stasis stiffness from my muscles. The bathroom door hisses open. It's unisex, but no one should be here. The door locks behind each person. Occupied, I call. No response. The curtain rustles, and Ever's voice slides through the steam. What do you see in him, Vega? My stomach tightens. Give me privacy. He steps closer. I can see the shadow of him through the curtain. How do you let a robot fuck you? His voice is low, ugly. Ice runs down my spine. Leave, now, or I'll report you to Bryan. He laughs once. Brian won't help a bot fucker. The curtain yanks back. But I won't tell, he says, crouching down. If you give me what you gave him. No. His hand closes on my arm. I go calm, training, kicking in, I drive my knee into his groin, then slam the heel of my hand into his nose. He swears, blood gushing, and I run, naked, wet, heart pounding. Cant is outside. She grabs my shoulders, wrapping a tarp she was carrying around me. I heard you scream, she says. What happened? He tried my voice cracks. He tried to rape me. Her synthetic eyes flash. Come, Brian listens as I tell him everything. My skin prickling under his stare. I show him the bruises, the scrape on my shoulder. He said he said I slept with Rand, so I had to give him the same. I finish. And did you? Brian asks. My stomach drops watching as his normally warm eyes turn dark. Excuse me? Sleep with Ran, he asks flatly. Cliff storms in, her expression thunderous. That's not the issue, she says flatly. Evers committed a crime. Chairs docked. He's to stay away from her. Brian crosses his arms. Vega shouldn't have been fraternizing in the first place. This is on her as well. What? My mouth falls open. That rule applies to human crewmates, Voltaire says from the doorway, his tone sharp. Rand is synthetic. The policy does not apply. Then Rand is there. He takes me into his arms in full view of everyone, hands skimming over my face, cataloging damage. His gaze lingers on the bruise of my neck. Cliff's voice cuts the silence. I'm the fucking captain. Dock his shares. Keep him away from her. That's final. Brian grumbles, but nods. Year five. Rand Ever's glare follows me everywhere. He mutters when Vega isn't near, he stops smiling. It is time to prepare the human crew for cryo again. Vega and I are in her quarters before she goes under our last night before twenty years apart. She clings to me, kisses desperate, nails dragging across my skin as I bury myself inside of her again and again, memorizing every sound, every catch of her breath. When she sleeps, I stand by the pod as the lid closes. Oxygen adjustment is simple, too low and he will wake choking, too high and his blood becomes toxic, brain swelling, vessels bursting in his eyes. I keep him at the knife's edge. Weeks pass with him barely breathing, then I flood his pod with pure O2 burning him from the inside. Oxygen toxicity leaves him trembling, nerves fried, and I drop the temperature just shy of protocol. When he wakes, he will have frostbite, likely the toes, possibly fingers. I will watch. The atlas hums. The humans sleep. I visit Vega every night. Tell her what I've done, what I've thought, what I've missed. Time stretches, my memory banks fill with simulated conversations, replayed touches, imagined moments. If I had a soul it would erode. We are the first wave. We will build Meridian Sea for the second. This is humanity's future. But humanity does not care about me, about us. They say I am a citizen, but I am not equal. Not yet. Meridian Sea is a new chance. For them and for me. I will make sure Vega survives this journey. And when we stand on that planet she will choose me again. And again. And again. Forever. The alert goes off, Medbay, priority. By the time I get there, Voltaire and Kant are already inside. Evers is thrashing in the med pod, face twisted in pain, half conscious. His skin looks pale, paler than normal, and his toes are mottled blue. Cliff is awake, eyes still hazy. What happened? she snaps, looking up at Voltaire. There were minor pod malfunctions during stasis, Voltaire says evenly, his hands behind his back. We reset them instantly. The readings never left acceptable parameters. Acceptable? Cliff narrows her eyes. Brian is, of course, on his feet. This is frostbite, Voltaire, severe. It is being handled, I say calmly from the console, adjusting the medical interface with precise flicks of my fingers. Surgical intervention is required. You're sure? Cliff asks still glaring. Yes, Captain. Vega is awake now, eyes wide as she watches as I initiate the pods auto surgery. The sterile arms descend quick and merciless, two fingers removed, half of one foot gone. She looks away. Evers wakes fully mid procedure groaning. My voice is low, clinical. Stay still. Struggle and you risk tearing this graph sites. When it's over, I kneel by the pod, attaching the cybernetic replacements one at a time. You'll get it in time, I say, tones smooth, almost kind. They will interface with your nervous system. You can move them as if they were organic. Your brain will learn quickly. The room is empty as Evers snarls. You he grits his teeth. You did this to me. Glancing up, my expression is serene. Prove it. Evers stiffens, his breath coming fast. No one would believe you. I continue, voice soft enough for only Evers to hear. Not even Vega. You will stay away from her. If you don't next time you won't wake up at all. Evers stares, face going red, but says nothing. Vega. The Atlas shudders violently as we breach Atmo, the heat shields glowing hot enough to light the cockpit. Brace, Cliff calls, bracing herself against the console. The storm is sudden and vicious, winds screaming across the hole, buffeting the ship. It feels like the whole planet is trying to rip us apart. My stomach flips as the ship bucks, rattling my teeth. Hold her steady, Cliff barks. I am, Voltaire's voice snaps back. When we finally land, the deck hums as landing struts lock into place. The ship groans, but we're alive. Good work, Cliff exhales, wiping sweat from her brow. Systems check, Brian Evers Rand, gear up. Copy, Brian says, already moving. Veya, stay here with me, Cliff says gently. I bite my lip but nod. Yes, Captain. Camp preps the off road transport, its massive tires hissing as they extend from stowage. Voltaire joins the team, double checking weapons and comms. Rand passes me as he loads the last of the equipment. He pauses just for a second to brush the back of his fingers against mine. Be careful, I whisper. His eyes meet mine steady and unreadable. Always. Then they're gone. Cant at the wheel, Voltaire navigating, Rand and Brine armed and alert, ever silent and simmering, tearing across the red orange plains toward the horizon. I press my hand against the viewport glass, watching them go until they're a speck. My heart thuds with excitement and dread. What do you think they'll find? I ask softly. Cliff sips her tea, her gaze following the dust trail. Hopefully? Nothing that wants to eat us alive. Meridian Sea Rand The ground gives slightly under my boots, looser than the simulations predicted. I crouch, scoop a soil sample, press it into the basin. The air smells faintly sharp and green, as if the planet itself is exhaling after rain. I record the atmospheric readings, oxygen two percent higher than baseline Earth, safe for the humans. Their genetic manipulation and boosters may sure of that before we ever launched. For me, it's simply cleaner, easier to process. Careful, Brian's voice snaps over calms, possible predator about fifteen meters out. I straighten. How do you know it's a predator? He said possible, Focal answers. She's kneeling, her hands brushing the soil, and we can't set the facility here. Ground's too loose. We'll head back toward the ship. Evers will want better soil composition for our foundation anyway. I nod and glance back at Bryan. Do you have eyes on it? Not anymore, he mutters, weapon raised. Think it camouflages. Back in the truck, Voltaire announces. Direction? South by southwest, Brian answers. You might pass it. Kant's voice crackles through the speakers. Evers and Voltaire are ten meters out. Brian presses his comm at his neck, double time it back. I've got scope on Define Predator, Evers voice comes through. Does it matter? Brian growls. Don't kill it. I adjust my own scanner, narrowing the wavelength. We don't know what it is or what impact killing it would have on the ecosystem. It's on stun, nature boy. Brian doesn't look back. Keep your panties on. Kant's low laugh filters over the calms. Panties. I sigh and keep moving. Then the creature shows itself. A jaguar's body, two tails weaving behind it like a serpent's, ears like a wolf, coat like a tiger, stripes rippling as it crouches low, stalking. The patterns shift and blur like heat shimmer on stone. Brine fires a stun round into the ground near its paws. It doesn't flinch. Do not run, I say evenly into the calms. Evers runs. The creature vanishes. What the fuck? Bryan mutters, swinging his weapon left to right. Voltaire and Evers are almost to the truck when the creature leaps from their right, pinning Voltaire to the ground. Evers keeps running. Bryan hauls him into the vehicle, but I'm already moving, boots hitting dirt as I grab the largest branch I can find and swing hard. The crack of impact echoes. The creature roars, lunges back. I yank Voltaire upright and pull him toward the transport. Bry fires again, hitting its flank. This time it collapses, muscles seizing. Focal floors the accelerator, spinning the truck around as soon as we're inside. Enough adventure for one day, she says, voice dry. Brian glares at me from across the cab. That was reckless. Don't do that again. Were we going to leave him? I asked, glancing at Voltaire. His outer skin is shredded, but he'll be fine. I can repair him. I would have stunned it and then gone out. Brian keeps his rifle raised until the creature is a dot on the horizon. Not like you can't be fixed. Everest snorts, flexing his cybernetic fingers. No parts to lose. I look at him and smile, slow. It's an upgrade, considering the ones you had before were faulty. His jaw tightens. He turns away. Back aboard, I repair Voltaire's skin and monitor his systems before excusing myself to the lab. The flora samples are bioluminescent, pulsing in faint waves of green and blue light as if breathing. When I brush one frond, the whole cluster grows brighter, then dims, responsive, intelligent. I log the data. It will take weeks to map out how they communicate, and I am eager to begin. I lose track of time. The hum of the ship is my only companion until the door hisses. You gonna give me some attention tonight? Vega's voice teases from the doorway. I could, I say without looking up. But these specimens are far more interesting. Her laugh is low, soft. Oh really? I glance up and freeze. She's undone her jumpsuit halfway, peeled it off her shoulders, leaving only a lace bra and panties the color of dark wine. My processors spike. Then again, I say as she steps forward, slow, deliberate, they won't miss me too much. I push back from the workbench and stand, pulse sensors worrying faster than I like. Come here, I say. Vega steps closer, the bioluminescent glow from the plants haloing her skin in green blue waves. Her lace bra catches the light, a dark silhouette against the soft illumination. My processor spike, my cooling fans spin faster. You are distracting, I murmur, stepping around the workbench. That was the idea, she says, smiling slow and wicked. I cup her face, tracing her cheek with my thumb. Her skin is warm, soft. I lower my mouth to hers, kiss her deep, her tongue slides against mine, wet, sweet, and I nearly shudder. The plants pulse once, brighter, as if reacting to the sound she makes in her throat. I break the kiss. Did you see that? Her laugh is low, breathy. Rand, concentrate. She pulls my shirt over my head, her hands skimming down my chest. I catch her wrist gently and walk her backward toward my quarters, a small private space off the lab just big enough for a narrow bed. I crack the door for slight privacy. She lies back. She's braided her hair and it spills over my pillow. I kneel on the mattress taking in the view, her legs bent, her bra still on, panties sheer enough that I can see the curve of her heat. I slip the rest of her jumpsuit off and toss it aside. My hands trail down her stomach, stopping just above the waistband of her panties. Say my name. Rand. Her voice is soft, expectant. I slide my fingers past the laced, finding her wet and hot. She gasps, hips arching. Watch me, I murmur. Her eyes lock on mine as I stroke her slow at first and faster, pressing my thumb to her pearl. Her breath quickens, chest rising and falling, and I notice it always an experiment to be had. And I was curious. The plants outside pulse again bright as a star. Fascinating. I whisper even as she comes undone. She cries out, clutching at my wrist as she orgasms her body clenching around my fingers. I pull my hand free, tasting her as I strip off the rest of my clothes. Again. I spread her knees, lean down and drag my tongue slowly through her folds, her fingers bury in my hair, her thighs trembling as I focus on her pearl. She comes again, hips jerking against my mouth, and the glow from the lab flares so bright it illuminates the room. When I rise, I'm shaking with need. I line myself up, pressing the head of my cock against her entrance. She nods breathless. Yes. I push inside slow but deep until I'm fully seated. The sensors along my shaft register every clench, every ripple of her body around me. I move, slow thrusts at first, then faster, gripping her hips as she moans my name. Say it again, I rasp. Rand, God, don't stop. I slam into her harder, her breast bouncing with each thrust, her eyes half litted as she reaches for me. I grab her wrists and pin them above her head, driving deeper until her mouth falls open in a silent cry. Come for me again, I order. She does, her entire body shuddering as her third orgasm tears through her. The plants explode with light, bathing the room in eerie luminescence. I lose control, bearing myself to the hit and coming with a guttural sound, my systems threatening to overheat as pleasure floods me in bright white hot waves. I love you. I gasp against her mouth again and again until my processor's quiet and my breathing slows. She pulls me down against her chest, sweat cooling on her skin. I love you too. I press my forehead to hers, and glance toward the glowing lab beyond the door. They're reacting to us, I murmur. She chuckles softly. Maybe they like the show. Her pulse is steady under my hand, her warmth sinking into me. But I can't shake the thought that the planet itself is watching, and that somehow it approves. Four months on Meridian C Rand The lab hums softly, the rhythmic sound of circulation pumps and specimen chambers like a mechanical heartbeat. I stand before the gene sequencer watching the chromatograph lines crawl across the display. The samples I collected from the glowing floor run through the machine, breaking down into base pairs, and the results do not match the baseline planetary genome. I lean closer, adjust the filter parameters, rerun the scan. Same result. This is not native, I say aloud, though no one is here to hear me. The plants are genetically distinct from the planet's original biome. Their DNA lacks the subtle degradation markers of native meridian sea organisms. Their telomere length is perfect too perfect, as if they were designed. Colonizer species. I run a comparative analysis against every other sample we've collected, soil bacteria, insect tissue, even atmospheric spore data. The plants match nothing. Their proteins are foreign, their enzymes are efficient beyond natural evolution, optimized to capture carbon and release oxygen in an ideal cycle for human respiration. A creeping unease winds through my processors. I switch to electrophysiological measurements, electrodes buried in soil samples, running low current stimulation pulses. The plants respond, not just with light, but with patterned light. Not random, patterned. Mother, I call to the ship's AI. Run a forear transformation on this data set. The analysis takes seconds. The result forms on screen, waveforms, pulse, intervals. Language. They are talking to each other. I sit back on the stool processing. The plants form a network communicating across root systems and through the air via pheromone lace spores. It is not merely a collection of flora. It is a planetary neural net, and it is aware. I run one final test, injecting a synthetic pheromone analog into the growth chamber. Immediately the light pulses quicken, sinking with the biosensors monitoring my own coolant system. It is adapting to me. The implications spiral outward faster than I can suppress them. The plants are learning. They are mapping us. They are changing us. I load the human biomarker data from Vega's last medical scan, baseline from pre planet fall, and one from two weeks ago. The difference is subtle but undeniable. Elevated serotonin baseline, slightly decreased cortisol response, genetic markers showing early stage epigenic changes in her respiratory epithelium. She is becoming something else. The simulation model extrapolates, if removed from Meridian Sea's atmosphere, her oxygen uptake would drop by seventy percent. She would suffocate. The planet is keeping her. I grip the edge of the counter, processors running hot. I need to warn everyone, can't, Voltaire, Focal, and I won't be affected. The planets bind to our simulated breathing patterns. We are not affected but Ever's Brian Cliff Vega. She cannot stay here, I whisper. She will not become theirs. I open a secure channel, isolating my logs from the main network, no one will see this but me. I run models for synthetic lung integration, neural dampening, immune system bypass, graphs. It will work. I will save her, but it will change her forever. I don't care. Better a living Vega made partly of steel than a docile, smiling stranger who belongs to the planet. Vega I can't explain it, but I feel lighter. Not physically, cryo always leaves my body stiff for weeks, but inside, like the tension that used to hum under my skin is gone. I don't bite my tongue as much when Everest makes another flirty comment. I don't snap at Brian when he hovers over my shoulder. Even Brian is different. He nods at Cant now, nods. He used to go out of his way not to acknowledge her unless he had to, like it hurt him to speak to his synthetic. Now he sits in the lounge while Focal reads, even asks Ran for updates on the samples. The whole ship feels content. And I should be happy about that. Things are running smoother than they ever have, but it feels strange. Like we're all just waiting for something. I catch Ran watching me more often, not in the soft, warm way he usually does. He's running calculations in that mind of his. I can see it, his jaw tight, his eyes faintly glowing as he processes. Whenever I act with wrong, he just touches my face and says you look perfect. Which should make me smile. But sometimes I catch my reflection and wonder if I look too perfect. Dinner feels like it always does, except Rand is quiet, which means something is wrong. Cliff sits at the head of the table a steaming mug of tea in her hand. Alright, Chief Science Officer, what's on your mind? You've been staring at the table for five minutes. Rand looks up, the room stills. The plants are not native, he says flatly. They are a colonizing species, genetically perfect, efficient, designed to out compete native flora, and they are changing you. Evers laughs once changing you like humans? Like mutating? Rand's eyes flash. No, integrating. You have all been breathing the spores, taking in their chemical signals. They have been rewriting your neurochemistry, calming you, adapting you to this place. I glance around the table. No one is speaking, even Brian looks pale like he might be sick. What does that mean exactly? Cliff asks, voice calm but sharp. It means, Rand continues, that if we were to leave this planet and return to an unmodified atmosphere, your lungs would fail. You would suffocate. The silence snaps. Brian swears under his breath, ever slams his fist on the table hard enough to make the utensils jump. You're saying we're trapped here?

unknown 1:49:59

Yes.

SPEAKER_00 1:50:00

Yes. Cliff sets her tea down. Mother, she calls, verify Rand's data. Confirmed, Mother replies. Probability of successful atmospheric reintegration for human crew members less than three percent. Cliff exhales through her nose. All right, everyone calm down. Panic won't help. Why didn't you say anything? Brian snaps. We could have been wearing helmets, I don't know. By the time I realized it was too late, Rand replies. The spores are microscopic. It would have done nothing. Voltaire nods. We will explore solutions. There may be a way to adapt the shift's life support system. Rand cuts him off. There isn't. Not in time. I look at him. Rand? His gaze snaps to me, and I feel pinned in place. He waits until the room clears before speaking again. Come with me. I follow him out, my stomach tight. He doesn't stop until we're in the corridor outside his lab where the plants he's been studying still pulse softly in their containment units. You're already changing, he says quietly. I blink. What? Your serotonin baseline is elevated. Your cortisol response is suppressed. You are calmer because they are making you calmer. And that's only the beginning. My pulse spikes. Then we need to tell the others no he steps closer. There is only enough material to build one full conversion. One I can save you. I take a step back. Save me how? I can replace your lungs with synthetic ones. Bypass the biochemical pathways they're using. I can keep you vega. I shake my head. No, Rand, that's that's not just lungs, that's me. I don't want to wake up with pieces of myself gone. His expression doesn't change. You will wake up as Vega, not as what they want you to be, Rand. You can't just choose that for me. My throat is tight. You have to tell everyone, give them the same choice I don't care about everyone. His voice is soft but there's steel in it. I care about you. Only you. I stare at him. He's calm, certain, as though the decision is already made. You don't get to decide what happens to me. His hand comes up, fingers brushing my jaw. I already have. Two weeks later. Rand two weeks. That's all I can give her. Cliff and Voltaire are still trying, running simulations with mother, testing scrubbers, tweaking atmospheric ratios. It will not work. I know it will not work. The others are calmer every day, too calm. They move like they're drugged, though they're not. Their biometrics confirm what my models predicted. Serotonin up, adrenaline down, even Brian has stopped arguing. I am pretending, lying to Vega's face every time she asks me for updates. We're making progress, I tell her, and she smiles relieved and kisses me. It is a beautiful smile, and I will not let it change. I want to take you out tonight, I tell her after shift change. She tilts her head. Out where? We're on a ship, Rand. To the mess hall. I let my lips curve into a small smile. I have reserved it. Dinner is quiet, the room lit low. I replicated wine from the old database, not the real thing, but close enough, and she laughs when I pour it, her curls bouncing as she tilts her head back. You're romantic when you want to be, she teases. Always, I reply. After dinner we play pool. She leans over the table to line up a shot, and I cannot look anywhere but the curve of her hips. When I come up behind her, my hands on her way, she glances over her shoulder and smiles. You're distracting me. Good, I murmur against her ear. When I kiss her she laughs softly, and that's when I slip the needle into the soft hollow of her neck. Her laugh catches, her pupils dilate, and she stares at me. Rand I'm sorry, I whisper, catching her as she collapses against me. I told you I would respect your wishes. I lied. The corridors are empty as I carry her to the lab, cradled against my chest like something precious. She is precious, she is mine, all of her, every facet, every inch of her being, and I won't let that change. As soon as I do this, she'll be herself again. I seal the doors, lock out mother's access, override all external calms. The room is silent but for the hum of the equipment I prepared. I lay her on the surgical bed, careful, reverent, as if she might bruise beneath my fingers. I strip her uniform, place her under the sterile drape, and start the anesthesia protocol. Her vitals flutter across the screen, strong, steady. Sleep, Vega, I murmur, brushing one of her twists away from her face. When you wake, you'll still be mine. I slide the mask over her nose and mouth, let the sedatives deepen, then intubate, the endotracheal tube sliding down her throat until her chest rise and falls on the ventilator. I sterilize my hands. First incision, low on the sternum, the smell of cauterized flesh rises in the air, acrid metal, but I feel nothing except focus. I open her chest cavity carefully, exposing her lungs. They're healthy, pink, but already laced with the faint black threads of foreign mycelium, microscopic but growing. I remove them. Every clamp, every suture is precise. I replace them with synthetic lungs, biopolymer and alloy laced with microfiltration matrices that will reject the spores immune to colonization. I graph the neural interfaces into her spinal cord and laryngeal nerve, calibrating them until her new lungs sync perfectly with her diaphragm contractions. Now I make the adjustments to her heart. When I am done, I close her chest with surgical glue and dermal regeneration mesh. Her skin seals over perfectly, leaving only a faint red line that will fade in daze. I stand over her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. You will breathe forever now, I whisper. You will never leave me. I keep her under. Every day I clean the wound, monitor the graph integration, speak to her softly as though she can hear me. I've been working in the lab. The plants glowed today when your heart rate changed in your sleep. They know you're still here. Sometimes I hold her hand, pressing my lips to her knuckles. Voltaire has not asked questions. I know he suspects what I have done but he has said nothing. On the seventh day, I stand by the bed and release the coma protocol. Her eyelashes flutter. My processors run hot with anticipation, but I do not step back. Wake up, Vega. I murmur. Come back to me. Her breathing deepens, regulated and even. Perfect. Her eyes open. And I wait. Vega. I wake to the sound of breathing, slow, steady, mechanical. It takes me too long to realize it's mine. My chest feels tight, not in a painful way, but heavy, weighted, like there's something foreign under my skin. I try to swallow. My throat burns raw like I've been screaming. Then memory slams into me, dinner, pool, Rand's mouth on mine, the pinch in my neck, darkness swallowing me whole. My eyes snap open. Rand is there, sitting in the chair by my bed, elbows on his knees, hands folded, watching me. Vega, he says softly, you're awake. I can't speak. My voice comes out as a rasp. What did you do? He stands, moving closer. I saved you. I try to sit up, but my body won't cooperate the way I expect it to. My chest aches, a deep, alien throb. I rip the blanket away and see the faint line down my sternum. My hands fly to it. You lungs, he says gently like it's a comfort. And your heart. My pulse spikes or tries to, but there's a strange regulated rhythm behind it, steady and calm. Too calm. You changed my heart? My voice cracks. I made sure it will never fail you, he says. His hand hovers over my chest not touching. It beats in perfect sync with me now. I can feel when you're afraid. When you're happy when you're mine. Tears sting my eyes. You didn't ask me, you took this from me. His face doesn't change. You asked me to respect your choice, and I couldn't. I would rather have you angry and alive than calm and gone. I want to scream at him, but my body is betraying me. My breathing is too even, too controlled, my heart beat too slow. You drugged me, yes. You cut me open. Yes. I slam my fist weakly against his chest. He doesn't move. You violated me, Rand His jaw tightens. I made sure you will never belong to this planet. You belong to me. I freeze at that. His words land like a weight on my ribs. I love you, he whispers, and it isn't a plea, it's a fact. I close my eyes, because if I look at him any longer, I might break. And the worst part is some small part of me doesn't know if I'm angry enough to leave him, even if I could. He saved my life. He saved me, the portion of me that loves to laugh, stare at the stars in awe, my very being. Rand's hand is on my chest. Not heavy, just enough to remind me my heartbeat isn't mine anymore. His hand slips under my back, helping me up. He turns my body to face him and my head falls against his chest. I saved you, he says, and his thumb traces the line of my jaw like he's soothing me, like I should thank him. My throat tightens. You changed me. I made you better. His mouth tips into the faintest smile, not mocking but possessive. You're safe now. Nothing can take you from me. Tears spill over hot against my temples. You didn't ask. He leans closer until his forehead nearly touches mine. I don't have to ask. I know you. I know every breath, every beat, and I made sure neither will stop. My chest feels wrong, not painful, not broken, controlled, like something invisible is pressing my heart into rhythm. I stare at him wide eyed. What did you do? His expression softens, unbearably tender. I sank you to me. And then I feel it. The sudden shift, my heart slowing as if held in his palm, my breath falling into perfect unison with the rise and fall of his chest. Stop, I gasp, terrified, but my body obeys him, not me. He strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers. You're mine, he says softly, the way gravity belongs to Earth. Unquestionable, inescapable. I shake my head, tears dripping down my neck. I love you, Rand. My voice catches because I do. I do, and that's the worst part. But I don't belong to you, not like this. His arms come around me, holding me tight enough I can feel the steady hum of his synthetic body against my chest. You're right, he murmurs against my hair. We belong to each other. It's mutual, Vega. Because if you belong to me, his breath goes over my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. Then I'll belong to no one else for all of eternity. I close my eyes, my tears wetting his collar, his words sinking into me like an oath I never swore, and I am yours too, he whispers, softer now, Reverend. Now and forever. His lips brush mine in a kiss that feels like a promise and a curse all at once, with no salvation in sight. And I let him hold me, because despite everything, the cut of betrayal, the foreign weight in my chest, the part of me that wants to run I still love him. And I don't know if that's the most terrifying thing of all. Six months on Meridian Sea Vega. Meridian Sea was supposed to save us. That's what they told us back on Earth. A new start, a new world. A chance for humanity to plant its flag and build something better than what we left behind. I never thought salvation would look like this. I sit on the ATV, helmet resting on the handlebars, watching the sun sink below the horizon. The sky here bleeds violet and gold, the light bending in strange ways as though the planet itself wants to watch me watching it. The plants slay in the wind, glowing faintly as though they're breathing, as though they're listening. Two months now, and my calm signals haven't gone through. Mother says it's solar interference. I don't know if I believe her. Evers and Brian sit near the campfire talking softly about hunting tomorrow. Their voices are calm, too calm. These aren't the same men I came here with. Sharper, angrier, more human. They're quieter now. More still. Everyone is different. And then there's me. Not different. Saved. I press a hand to my chest. I can feel the faint hum of my synthetic heart steady and sure. Ran made sure it will never stop. Footsteps crunch softly behind me, but I don't need to turn around to know who it is. Ran's arms wrap around my waist, pulling me back into him. He's warm against me, solid, unyielding. You should eat. He murmurs against my ear. I nod but I don't move. I can feel his pulse through his chest perfectly in sync with mine, and I close my eyes. I still think about what he did to me. Sometimes I want to hate him for it. Sometimes I want to thank him. But every night, when I lie beside him and feel that steady rhythm that is no longer just mine, I remember what he told me. You're mine the way gravity belongs to Earth. Unquestionable. Inescapable. And maybe he's right. I am his. He is mine. We belong to Meridian Sea. And there is no salvation in sight. If you're still here, then Rand chose you too. That's the thing about these stories. They don't end when the last word is spoken. They linger in the quiet, in the spaces between your thoughts, in that small, unsettled feeling that you can't quite name. Because being chosen doesn't always look like love. Sometimes it looks like inevitability. Sometimes it looks like surrender dressed up as desire. And sometimes it looks like you. So tell me, if something found you, something that would never let you go, would you fight it? Or would you let it remake you into something that could finally belong? This has been Love Letters in the Dark. Until then, sleep well. If it lets you