Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I’m calling her Ari,” Emma announced as Doren looked up from the replicator controls.
He considered it for a moment, then nodded. “I approve.”
“Thank goodness,” she said with exaggerated relief and he found himself grinning as he turned back to the machine, hovering over the various options. Many of them were heavily spiced, which seemed inappropriate for a female who’d been held captive for days without proper meals.
He finally selected a protein-rich grain dish that the database classified as “suitable for recovering patients.” It materialized in a soft glow, steam rising from the bowl.
He added a second portion, then a third after a moment’s consideration.
She was small, but she’d need calories after what she’d been through.
The baby made a small sound from her drawer-bed, and he glanced over, watching her tiny fist wave in the air before settling back down.
The medical scanner had tentatively identified her as Aurelian, but there was almost no other information associated with her species other than a vague note about their ancient origins and their rarity.
No wonder the Grorn want her. The thought made him uneasy, and he turned his attention back to the food, carrying the bowls to the small table in the cabin.
Emma looked up at his approach and smiled, and something in his chest tightened at the sight.
Her dark hair had come loose from its braid, curling around her face in soft waves.
The thin gown she wore did nothing to hide the generous curves beneath, and he forced his gaze away before his thoughts wandered somewhere inconvenient.
“Food,” he announced. “It’s not gourmet, but it should be edible.”
She leaned forward, sniffing cautiously. “What is it?”
“Grain porridge with protein supplements. The replicator’s database says it’s digestible by most humanoid species.” He shrugged. “I make no promises about taste.”
She took a tentative bite, chewing thoughtfully.
“It’s... actually not bad. Kind of like oatmeal with meat?”
“I’ll trust your assessment.” He settled into the seat next to her, pulling his own bowl closer. “Tajiri palates run different.”
“What are you eating?”
“Meat. Or at least the synthetic version of it.”
“Just meat?”
“Just meat.” He scooped up a piece with his fingers, ignoring the slight burning sensation. “We’re carnivores. Not as rigid as some species, but we function best on a protein-heavy diet.”
She watched him eat, her expression curious. “And that works for you?”
“Has so far.” He grinned around a mouthful. “Thirty-five years and counting.”
She smiled back at him, and he found himself cataloging the expression. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners and the slight dimple in her left cheek. The warmth that seemed to radiate from her despite everything she’d endured.
Dangerous thoughts, he reminded himself. Focus on the mission.
Ari stirred again, making a soft mewling sound, and Emma immediately went to pick her up.
“She’s hungry again.” She shifted the baby in her arms as she opened the box of protein powder and dipped her finger in it. “I don’t think she’d getting enough food this way. I wish I had a bottle.”
“Let me see what I can find.”
He rose, moving to the emergency supplies cabinet and rummaging through its contents. He found a flexible tube and a small pump mechanism, probably intended for transferring fluids in zero-gravity situations. Not ideal, but workable.
“The replicator should have nutrient formulas in its database,” he said, examining the tube. “If I can modify this pump to create a flow-control mechanism...”
“You’re going to build a baby bottle?”
“I’m going to attempt to build a baby bottle.” He pulled out a small knife and began cutting. “No promises on success.”
She watched him work, the baby sucking quietly on her finger. He was acutely aware of her gaze, tracking his movements with an intensity that made his skin prickle.
“You’re very...” She paused, searching for the word. “Resourceful.”
“Necessity breeds invention.” He sealed a connection with heat from a small torch, testing the seal. “When you grow up with nothing, you learn to make do with whatever’s at hand.”
“Growing up with nothing?”
He shouldn’t have said that. The words had slipped out, unguarded, and now she was looking at him with those warm brown eyes full of curiosity and something that might have been compassion.
“My childhood wasn’t exactly privileged,” he said carefully, focusing on his work. “My mother was... not wealthy. Everything she had came from my father and my father had no interest in providing for his bastard son.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He tested the pump mechanism, watching fluid flow smoothly through the tube. “It taught me useful skills. Self-reliance. Adaptability. The art of acquiring things through creative means.”
“Stealing.”
“I prefer ‘creative acquisition.’“ He flashed her a grin. “Much more dignified.”
She laughed, the sound bright and unexpected in the cramped cabin, and he joined her. Ari stopped fussing, her large dark eyes turning towards him with infant curiosity.
“She likes you,” she said softly. “She calms down when you’re near.”
“She has good taste.”
“And terrible judgment, apparently.”
He placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “You wound me, Emma Carter. Here I am, crafting makeshift infant care supplies with my own two hands, and this is the thanks I receive?”
“Would you prefer a medal?”
“I’d prefer acknowledgment of my obvious genius.” He held up the completed bottle-contraption, examining it critically. “This should work. Now let’s see if the replicator can provide formula.”
The replicator required some persuasion since Aurelian nutritional requirements weren’t in its standard database, but he managed to extrapolate from related species data and create something that the medical scanner deemed “probably acceptable.” Not the ringing endorsement he’d hoped for, but better than nothing.
He handed the bottle to her, watching as she positioned it near the baby’s mouth. The baby latched on enthusiastically.
“It’s working,” she breathed. “Oh, thank God, it’s working.”
“Was there any doubt?”
“Yes. Significant doubt.”
He should have been offended, but the relief in her voice was too genuine to mock. She looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“Thank you,” she said. “I know you keep saying not to thank you, but... thank you.”
Something unfamiliar shifted in his chest. He wasn’t used to gratitude, or people looking at him like he’d done something genuinely good.
“Don’t mention it.” He turned away, busying himself with the remaining supplies. “We should figure out the diaper situation next. Unless you want to keep washing that fabric by hand for the next eighteen hours.”
“I was trying not to think about that.”
“Unfortunately, biology waits for no one.” He pulled out a bolt of absorbent material, probably intended for cleaning up fuel spills. “This should work. If I cut it into the right shape and rig some kind of fastening system...”
“You’ve done this before?”
“Made diapers?” He laughed. “No. But I’ve done my share of improvising. Different materials, same principle.”
He worked in silence for a while, measuring and cutting while she fed the baby.
The quiet felt comfortable somehow, domestic in a way he’d never experienced.
His childhood had been a battle for survival and he’d spent most of his adult life alone or in the company of people he didn’t trust. Having someone simply...
present, without agenda or threat, was oddly pleasant.
Don’t get used to it, he warned himself. This is only temporary.
“There.” He held up a stack of makeshift diapers, crude but functional. “They should last until we reach Bragar’s Rest.”
“You’re amazing.”
“I know.”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an ego problem?”
“Frequently. I consider it a feature, not a bug.”
Ari finished eating, her small body going limp with satisfied exhaustion. Emma shifted her to one shoulder, patting her back gently until a tiny burp emerged.
“She’s so small,” she murmured. “So helpless. I can’t imagine what the Grorn want with her.”
“Power,” he said flatly. “The Keys aren’t just symbols. They’re biological components of a security system designed millennia ago. Without all seven present, the Vault remains sealed.”
“The Grorn want to open it, and you want to as well.”
It wasn’t an accusation, not exactly. But he heard the question beneath the words.
“I want to prevent them from opening it. But yes, I want to open it as well,” he said quietly.
“The knowledge it contains... My mother used to tell me stories about her people. They were explorers. Scholars. They mapped the first hyperspace routes and cataloged more star systems than any other species.”
“And that history is in the Vault?”
“Some of it. Maybe all of it.” He looked away, uncomfortable with how much he was revealing. “It sounds foolish, I know. Chasing ancient history when there are more practical concerns.”
“It doesn’t sound foolish,” she said softly. “It sounds like you’re looking for where you come from.”
He’d never thought of it that way, never framed his obsession in such personal terms. But she was right, wasn’t she?
He’d spent his entire life feeling like he didn’t belong—not Tajiri enough for his father’s people, not Markelian enough for his mother’s world.
The Vault represented something more than treasure or power.
It represented answers.
“You’re dangerously perceptive for a human,” he said lightly, deflecting with humor. “I should be more careful around you.”
“Probably.” She smiled. “But I’m too tired to be dangerous right now.”
He glanced at the chrono display. They’d been awake for over twenty hours, and she looked ready to collapse. The circles under her eyes had darkened, and her movements had taken on the sluggish quality of exhaustion.
“You should sleep,” he said. “I can convert the bench seat into a bed. It’s not exactly luxury accommodations, but it should be comfortable enough.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll take the pilot’s chair. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but exhaustion won out. She nodded, letting him help her transfer Ari to the drawer-bed before stepping back so he could work on the conversion.
The seat folded down easily, panels sliding and locking into place to create a flat, cushioned platform. He found a thermal blanket in the emergency supplies and spread it over the makeshift bed.
“Your accommodations, madam.” He gestured with an exaggerated flourish. “I apologize for the lack of room service.”
“I’ll manage.” She sat on the edge of the bed, testing the surface. “This is actually more comfortable than the bed in my first apartment.”
“Now you’re just being polite.”
“I’m really not.” She lay back, her dark hair spreading across the pillow-substitute he’d fashioned from spare fabric. “My apartment was terrible. But it was cheap, and that was what mattered.”
He should go back to the cockpit, settle into the pilot’s chair, and maintain an appropriate distance between them, but his feet refused to move.
“Well,” he said, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile, “if you get lonely, there’s technically room for two. Though I warn you, I’m told I’m a restless sleeper.”
He expected her to laugh and roll her eyes, responding with the same gentle mockery she’d deployed all evening. Instead, she looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.
“Then stay.”
The words hung in the air between them.
“I—” He blinked, certain he’d misheard. “What?”
“Stay.” She shifted over, making room on the narrow bed. “I don’t... I don’t want to be alone right now. Is that stupid? It feels stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
He should say no. He should remember that she was traumatized and vulnerable and in no state to make decisions about who shared her bed, even platonically.
But she was looking at him with those warm brown eyes, and he was so tired, and when was the last time anyone had actually wanted his company?
Not his skills, not his connections, not what he could provide—just him?
“All right,” he heard himself say. “But I’m keeping my boots on. In case of emergency.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“It’s practical.”
She laughed, the sound dissolving some of the tension in the small space.
He settled onto the bed beside her, their sides pressed together due to the cramped quarters.
He could feel her warmth through the thin gown and smell the sweet scent of her hair.
It was both comforting and utterly distracting.
“This is nice,” she murmured, her eyes already drifting closed. “Is that weird to say?”
“Probably.”
“I don’t care.” She yawned. “Thank you, Doren.”
“You already thanked me.”
“Then I’m thanking you again. Deal with it.”
Her breathing slowed, evening out into the rhythm of sleep. He lay still, listening to the hum of the ship’s engines and the soft sounds of the baby in her drawer-bed. The swirling lights of hyperspace cast strange shadows across the ceiling, constantly shifting and reforming.
He should be planning. He should be thinking about Bragar’s Rest and what they’d need, about the Grorn and how to stay ahead of them, about the Vault and what having an actual Key might mean for his years-long quest.
Instead, he found himself watching her sleep. She looked younger with her face relaxed, the worry lines smoothed away. Her lips were slightly parted, and a strand of hair had fallen across her cheek. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed it back, tucking it behind her ear.
She didn’t stir.
This is dangerous, he thought. She’s a complication. A distraction from everything that matters.
But lying here in the half-dark, with her warmth beside him and the baby sleeping peacefully nearby, he couldn’t quite remember why any of that mattered.
It felt... right. In a way nothing had felt for a very long time. She shifted closer, her head finding a resting place on his shoulder, and looking down at her, he felt something dangerously close to tenderness.
I’m in trouble, he thought, even as his arm curled around her shoulders.
But for once it felt like the right kind of trouble. Tomorrow, he would be practical again. Tomorrow, he would remember his priorities and maintain appropriate boundaries and focus on the mission. Tonight, he would let himself have this one small, unexpected pleasure.
He closed his eyes and let exhaustion pull him under.