Chapter 10 #2
“Maya! Thank goodness. I’ve been monitoring the atmospheric readings from the Sola all night, and the changes are absolutely fascinating.
The gas composition has stabilized into something very close to optimal human and Destran breathing conditions, and the energy patterns are showing increasing coherence.
Whatever bonding process happened yesterday, it’s having cascading positive effects throughout the entire structure. ”
“Good morning to you too, Zara,” I said, amused by her inability to start with pleasantries when there was science to discuss.
“Oh, right. Good morning. How are you feeling? Any residual psychic effects? Changes in cognitive function?”
“I feel fine. Better than fine, actually. The connection is stable now.”
Cleo’s voice cut in, more practical, as always.
“Maya, I need to tell you something about your equipment. The deep-core scanners, the resonance analyzers, all of it—it’s been permanently integrated into the Sola’s physical matrix.
LunarLink’s going to have a fit when they find out their million-credit setup has been absorbed by an alien ship. ”
That news hit me like a cold shock. My equipment wasn’t just damaged or lost—it had become part of the Sola herself, fused so completely that separation was impossible.
“How permanent is permanent?” I asked.
“Think of it like an organ transplant,” Cleo explained. “The Sola’s biological systems have absorbed your scanners. They’re part of her nervous system now, helping her process and interpret sensory data. Removing them is not possible. Thus, the permanent part.”
I felt sick. LunarLink Surveys had invested enormous amounts of money in that equipment, and they’d trusted me to bring it back intact. The legal and financial ramifications of this loss could destroy my career, possibly even result in criminal charges.
“Maya?” Zara’s voice was concerned now. “You’ve gone quiet.”
“I’m just processing,” I said. “This is…complicated.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Cleo said firmly. “Right now, the important thing is that you’re alive and the crisis has been resolved. Everything else can be dealt with later.”
The unwavering support in her voice reminded me how much I valued these friendships.
Cleo and Zara had been more than colleagues over the past three years—they’d been my anchors, my closest companions, the people who understood my passion for discovery and never tried to talk me out of taking risks.
“I love you both,” I said, meaning it completely.
“We love you too,” Zara replied, her voice warm. “Now, I have about fifty questions about the internal structure of the Sola, but Scaron is giving me warning looks, so I suppose they’ll have to wait.”
After we signed off, I sat in silence for a moment, trying to process the full implications of what Cleo had told me. Rykar moved to sit beside me on the edge of the bed, his expression concerned.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“I’m thinking my career is probably over,” I said. “And I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“Why would it be over?” He frowned. “None of this was your fault.”
I chewed on my lower lip. “The company I work for won’t see it that way.”
“Look, nothing like this has happened before,” he said. “Maybe this is an opportunity to study something new.”
He was right, of course. The loss of my equipment didn’t have to mean the end of my work as a geologist. It might mean a chance to study Sola biology from the inside, to understand the symbiotic relationships that made Destran civilization possible.
But it would also mean staying here for longer than I expected, on this world, far from Earth and everything I knew.
It would mean building a new life around the connection I’d formed with the ancient consciousness and, if I was being honest with myself, around the growing attachment I felt to the male sitting beside me.
That is, if LunarLink was feeling generous enough to let me.
“We should check on the heart chamber,” Rykar said. “See if anything has changed overnight.”
The heart chamber had indeed changed. It was now nearly twice the size it had been the day before, with a vaulted ceiling that soared overhead and walls that curved gracefully inward toward the central crystal.
But what caught my attention wasn’t the architecture—it was the interface that had appeared near the heart crystal.
A screen, roughly rectangular and about the size of a large book, had grown from the wall beside the consciousness core. It was blank at the moment, but it looked remarkably similar to the displays that had been part of my original scanning equipment.
“Do you think she’s going to use this to communicate?” I asked, approaching the interface with fascination.
As if responding to my presence, the screen flickered to life, displaying text in the standardized galactic script that was used for interspecies communication:
WELCOME, MY LORD AND LADY. REQUEST DATA.
I stared at the words, my heart racing with the implications. The Sola wasn’t just communicating—she was recognizing both Rykar and me as her partners, her guides. She was asking for information, for guidance on how to proceed. Did that mean the bonding process was complete?
“Oh boy.” I could hear the uncertainty in my own voice. “What do you think she means by ‘my lord and lady’?”
I turned to look at him, seeing my own confusion reflected in his silver-blue eyes.
We were both thinking the same thing—that the Sola’s choice of words suggested a relationship more complex than the traditional lord-ship bond.
That tracked, considering Rykar hadn’t yet lost his memories of his life before now.
“I think,” he said slowly, “she’s telling us we’re in this together. Both of us. Partners in helping her heal and grow.”
Through the connection, I felt a pulse of warm approval from the ancient consciousness. She was pleased that we understood, pleased to finally have not just one guide but two, each bringing different skills and perspectives to the relationship.
REQUEST DATA, the screen repeated, the words pulsing gently.
I looked at Rykar, then back at the interface. We had work to do, a consciousness to help heal, a relationship to figure out. But for the first time since this crisis had begun, I felt like we might actually succeed.
“What kind of data does she want?” I asked him.
He shrugged and let out a small laugh. “No fucking idea,” he said simply.