26. Josie
JOSIE
I wake with the memory of engine hum pounding in my skull, and the soft glow of Obelus Station’s ancient lights filters through the bulkhead window.
We’ve docked in total silence—save for the occasional hiss of decompression valves catching atmospheric cycles on their own.
Dayn’s arm wraps around me, still warm, breath even.
For a beat, we’re suspended in peace. Then the comm chirps with a single tone: official summons.
In the briefing module, walls lined with mottled metal and ghostly murals from a precursor age, the IHC lead researcher slides a datapad toward me.
His expression is clinical. “These were unearthed in the lower vaults,” he says.
Behind us, files transferred into holo-projectors flicker to life—charts, notes, cross-species gene sequencing, cold data etched by Vortaxian hand.
My stomach clenches as the words “Column: Hybrid Compatibility Index” scroll across the panel.
Dayn stands beside me—silent sentinel, chest moist with his presence.
I swallow hard. “Show me Kernal’s dossier,” I say, voice level but brittle as ice on glass.
The researcher taps through folders. Soon, Colonel Kernal’s face appears above scrawlings: date of deployment, world of origin—Drexar Seven—followed by genetic markers.
“He’s named in the chain of command for the black ops unit,” the scientist says without empathy.
“The Vortaxian files suggest they researched numerous species, but identified certain individuals as ‘potential hybrids.’ Shorcu genes were initially dismissed… until Agent DS-491—Dayn’s identifier—shows up.
” His voice trails off. He expects me to interpret the rest.
Dayn’s fists clench at his side. “They bred me,” he whispers. “They bred me for you.”
My muscles shift—wave crashing against rock.
I draw in a breath as racks of data illuminate his tension lines.
“No,” I say, stepping closer and placing my fingers gently on his chest. The Shorcu scales under his image-inducer armor give a faint rumble.
I tighten my hold. “They bred hope . Or something like it. But they underestimated what love can do—what we can do—when we’re real. ”
His eyes glimmer—anger, betrayal, sorrow. “You think me anything but a monster?” he asks quietly, voice fraying.
“I know what you are,” I answer, low and certain. “You’re more human than they ever gave you credit for.”
He trembles. Just then, the holo-projector shifts to display beams of neon-green cells labeled “DS-491—Mated/Compatible: Homo sapiens F.” The words seem to glow with malice.
My breath hitches. The scientist clears his throat awkwardly. “These files show breeding trials with infants, adult subjects… some dormant, some failed.”
Dayn’s head dips like he’s listening to pain echo inside his chest. “They tried with more humans?”
I nod, feeling bile rise in my throat. “They saw us side by side. They tried to replicate—to control that. But they didn’t count on us , Dayn. We broke them.”
He pushes away, steps back, shaking his head. “I hate them. I hate that I may have been a tool in this.” Blood surges—anger, fear, regret. “I thought I chose you. Maybe I was chosen.”
My pulse pounds in my temples. “We choose each other every day,” I say, urgency threading through my words. “Not because of birthright—not because of their fucked-up science—but because of us . They tried to make me your bait. They messed with the wrong spark.”
He studies me—hard eyes glossed with conflicting emotions. “So what now?”
I step forward, clasping his hands. “We burn it down.”
He lets out a sharp breath. “Burn everything?”
“Every file. Every archive. Every twisted experiment.” I grin with fierce joy. “Then we leak it to the galaxy. Expose them. Make sure no one can deny what they did. And we build a future on us , not on their sick blueprint.”
He squeezes my hands. “It’s dark,” he murmurs. “But it feels… righteous.”
“That’s why we can’t step back.” I lean up, brushing my lips against his jaw. “You’re not a monster. Not to me. Not to anyone who matters.”
He closes his eyes, taking a moment to center himself. Then he pulls me into a hug that rattles rib plates. His fibers shimmer slightly—the image inducer adjusting, perhaps recalibrating chemically. I press my cheek against his chest, scent of metal and midnight mixing with him.
He whispers, “God, I love you.”
My voice cracks. “Always.”
The scientist clears his throat again. Data flickers behind us. “How quickly can…?” he begins.
I give a small nod. “Now.”
That night, the extraction team assembles near the vault’s entrance. The corridor is silent except our boots on ancient stone and the hum of data bursts within leaning consoles. I key in commands while Dayn stands guard, his posture rigid and watchful.
“Got it,” I whisper as files cascade into the comm uplink. Deletion code follows, eating through decades of secrets with unyielding promise.
He watches me work. His jaw tightens. “Watching you rip apart your work—it’s brutal.”
I pause, every fiber of me trembling with rage and exhaustion. “Not the work . The twisted lie they built around us.”
He caresses my hair. “Then let’s burn it faster.”
We pull the keycard together. I insert it.
He stands behind me as circuit breakers within the vault ignite miniature pyrotechnics across the terminal.
The room floods with light. Smoke curls.
Wires spark. Servers flicker and self-destruct.
The machine labors beneath our assault like a wounded beast.
We bolt. I taste smoke in my mouth, warmth against my back. Dayn catches my arm. “They’ve sent guards.”
We wedge open the ancient double doors through cascading embers into the docking bay’s stale vacuum-cycled air. The strike team covers us. Ships thrumming. Alarms screaming. Fire pushing upward, lighting our backs with hellish luminescence.
Dayn loads me into the shuttle’s passenger ramp. Dark metal frames his silhouette. “Josie?—”
I twist around within the hatch. Sparks whirl like firefly storms. “We did it.”
He nods, face set. No words needed.
And as we launch from Obelus’ gravity well, the station collapsing behind us, I feel something shake loose in my soul—rage reborn into purpose.
Dayn folds me into the cockpit as we enter hyperspace. I lean forward, watching the stars smear into lines. “Now they can’t hide,” I murmur.
He reaches between the two of us, pressing his fingers gently to my lips. “Together,” he affirms.
I inhale—a fresh breath after cleansing flames. “Always.”
In the hush of the control center, we hold hands, silent yet unbreakable, as Obelus crumbles behind us and the galaxy tilts forward into dawn.
I wake in the semi-darkness of our shuttle’s bunk, tangled in Dayn’s arms, his breath warm against my ear.
There’s no music tonight, no pretense of normalcy.
Only the steady hum of life support systems and the faint thrum of hyperspace.
We’re safe—for now—but sleep refuses us.
He’s gripped my hand tight, knuckles white enough to leave a mark, and I can feel the weight of what we did today pressing against us, like a storm cresting on the horizon.
I break the silence first, the words soft as a promise.
“What if it wasn’t just Dayn targeted—you know, by the Vortaxians?
What if they wanted more?” My voice wavers, carrying every ounce of fear I’ve managed to suppress.
The vault wasn’t just a tomb of secrets—it was a cradle of horrors.
I still hear the static behind the screens, smell the waxiness of old plastic, taste the acrid burn of data-ash on my tongue.
He tightens his grip, but I’ve never felt more fragile, more exposed to the truth we found. “I keep thinking there are layers we haven’t peeled yet,” I say, tracing languid circles on his chest.
His voice is gentler than any lullaby. “We’ll peel them together,” he murmurs. “You’re not alone in this.”
I shift slightly, fumbling for courage. “Are you sure?” My voice cracks. “No matter what else they did—who they made me think you were before we met?”
Dayn hesitates. The line of his jaw tightens under the image inducer, and I realize he feels as exposed as I do.
But he answers steady, grounding. “I don’t care who engineered what behind the scenes.
Even if someone in their labs thought they could control us by messing with our genes, they were wrong.
Because right now, here, we choose each other. That’s what makes us real.”
A warmth blooms inside me, radar chasing shame and regret away.
He’s not dismissing the horrors—we both know they’re real—but he’s anchoring us in the only thing that matters: us .
I press a kiss to his collarbone, tracing the scar that’s been our token of battle and survival.
I feel his heartbeat echo beneath my fingertip.
“I love you,” I whisper. The words are iron and petals, brittle but true.
He folds me closer. “I love you too.” His lips brush my temple. “No secrets worth hiding—not from us.”
We lie that way, voices falling into a quiet cadence as we map out worst-case scenarios: what if Dowron didn’t secure the other vault floors?
What if hidden data caches were left behind?
What if we’re being watched right now? Each scenario is a thread that could unravel the fragile peace we’ve built, but we weave new promises in their place.
I run my fingers through his hair, tasting the copper sheen of sweat from exhaustion and adrenaline. “Promise me something?” I murmur.
He shifts so his lips brush mine, anticipation shimmering in the air. “Anything.”
“That whatever comes—we’re in it together. Not just surviving, but living. No more hiding in bunks, no more night after night of damage control.”
He hesitates, then says, “I promise.” His voice is a vow. “We live. Not just survive.”
The difference is seismic. It reverberates through me like a bell. Because lately, survival has meant bombs, hacks, betrayal, reprisals. But living … living means hope. It means risk. It means us unmasked, unbroken, unafraid.
We rest our faces against each other’s shoulders, breathing in sync.
Outside, somewhere deep in Obelus’s ruined corridors, the remains of that vault still hum with undiscovered horrors.
Files unattained. DNA samples frozen in vats.
Blueprints of minds they tried to control.
Every potential echo of evil pulses in the station’s heart.
But here, in our cabin, those dangers fade as the present folds into promise. He shifts his hand until our fingers lace—and I never want to let go.
Finally, exhaustion wins. My eyelids grow heavy with relief rather than dread. I whisper, “Good night,” and he responds with a soft hum, a melody warming the stillness.
The vault’s secrets may linger in the bowels of Obelus like sleeping beasts, our next mission waiting in the shadows. But tonight, we live. Because we choose each other. Our choice is the light they cannot extinguish.