Chapter 8 Operation Matchmaker #2
Papa’s laugh is wet and warm. “Pickles is becoming concerningly involved in interpersonal dynamics.”
“He’s good at it though. He says you want to kiss Dove but you’re being stubborn.”
“He said what?”
“That both of you are being ‘remarkably stubborn about physical expression of mutual attraction.’”
Papa’s markings flare so bright they light up my whole room. “I’m going to have a conversation with that AI.”
“Don’t be mad at Pickles. He’s helping! Because I asked him to help make you happy again!”
Papa pulls back to look at me. His expression is soft and sad and happy all mixed together.
“Small one, I am happy. Because of you.”
“But three is better than two. Mama said that too. She said family is the people who stay.”
“Yes. She did say that.”
“Dove could stay. If we asked really good.”
“Dove has her own life. Her own... complications.”
“But you want her to stay? Really stay? Forever?”
His markings pulse in that slow, beautiful pattern again.
“Yes,” he whispers. “I want her to stay forever.”
My chest feels too full and perfectly warm.
“Then we make her want to stay too!”
He kisses my forehead. “Sleep, small one. Tomorrow is soon enough for complicated things.”
The next morning, Dove offers to help me with my science project. We work together in the hydroponics bay, just the two of us.
It’s nice. Quiet. She explains things like I’m a real person, not just a small person.
Like family would.
“Dove?” I say carefully.
“Yeah?”
“Why do you leave places? Papa said you never stay anywhere longer than a week.”
Her smile gets smaller. Sadder.
“I’m a courier. Moving is the job.”
“But you could not-move. You could stay here. With us.”
“Tavia...”
“Papa’s really happy with you here. His marks glow like they used to with Mama. And you make dinner fun. And you give really good hugs.”
She sets down her scanner, turns to face me properly.
“Sweetie, I can’t just... it’s complicated.”
“That’s what Papa said. But complicated is just a word for problems you haven’t solved yet.”
“You’re eight years old. How are you this wise?”
“Eight and three-quarters. And Pickles says I have exceptional emotional intelligence.”
I take a deep breath. This is important.
“I need you to stay,” I tell her. My markings are probably doing all sorts of emotional things. “Not because of projects or pasta. Because... because Papa needs someone who makes him happy again. And I need...”
My voice cracks. My eyes get wet.
“I need someone who does the mom things. Who teaches me girl things and gives hugs and makes Papa smile. I miss having that. I miss having three instead of two.”
Dove’s eyes get shiny too. She pulls me into a hug, warm and tight and perfect.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“Please stay,” I whisper. “Please be our family. Forever.”
She holds me for a long time.
“I want to,” she finally says, voice all rough. “Tavia, I want to stay so much it scares me.”
“Then stay! If you want to, just stay!”
“It’s not that simple. I have debts. Problems. People looking for me who might hurt anyone I’m with.”
“Papa can fix problems. He’s really good at fixing things.”
“Not these problems.”
“But you haven’t asked him!”
She pulls back to look at me. “You really are exceptional, you know that?”
“Pickles says it all the time.”
“Small person,” Pickles says through the bay speakers. “The Captain is correct. You demonstrate exceptional emotional intelligence. I am... quite proud. However, I must request you return to the residential pod immediately. There is a situation requiring your attention.”
“What kind of situation?” Dove asks.
“I would prefer to discuss this in private.”
We head back quickly. Papa’s already there, standing in the kitchen with his markings doing complicated patterns.
“What’s wrong?” Dove asks.
“Pickles intercepted a communication. He believes you should hear it.”
“What communication?”
“From your creditors,” Papa says quietly.
A stranger’s voice fills the room, smooth and dangerous: “Dove Foxton. Collection Agent Niz’kor, Blackstar Collective.
We’ve received intelligence that atmospheric conditions are improving ahead of forecasts.
Our recovery team will arrive at your current coordinates in forty-eight hours.
We suggest you prepare payment arrangements.
For your sake, and the sake of anyone currently harboring you. ”
Silence.
Dove’s face goes white. Papa’s markings flare danger-bright.
“They know exactly where I am. And they’re threatening you.”
“Dove—”
“I have to leave. Now. Before they get here. I can’t let them hurt you.”
“You’re not leaving. We’ll handle this together.”
“You don’t understand. If I stay, they’ll—”
“If you leave, I’ll come after you.”
They stare at each other. Papa’s markings are blazing now.
“Cetus, they could hurt Tavia. I won’t risk that.”
“And I won’t let you face them alone.”
“This isn’t your problem!”
“You became my problem the moment you walked into my station!” His voice drops lower. “You became important. To me. To Tavia. You think I’ll just let you run into danger alone?”
Dove’s eyes are wet now. “I’m trying to protect you!”
“So am I!”
I stand between them, my markings doing panicked flashes I can’t control.
They’re fighting. About leaving. About Dove running away to keep us safe.
No no no no no.
“Don’t go,” I whisper.
They both look at me.
“Please don’t go,” I say louder. “Please, Dove. We can fix this. Together. Please don’t leave before...”
Before Papa’s marks stay glowy forever.
Before we get to be a real family.
Before I lose another mom.
“Tavia—” Dove starts.
But I run to my room before she can finish, before the tears fall.
I press my ear to the vent that connects to the kitchen, breathing hard.
“I have to go,” Dove says quietly. “I’ll leave tonight. Give you plausible deniability.”
“Like hell you will.”
“Cetus—”
“No. Listen to me.” Papa’s voice is intense. Raw. “I didn’t want this. Didn’t expect to feel this way again. But I do. I want you here. Permanently. Not just until the storm clears. I want you in my life, in Tavia’s life, in our home. I want—”
He stops. I hold my breath.
“I want you forever,” he finally says. “However long forever is. Whatever complications come with it.”
Silence.
Then Dove’s voice, small and broken: “I want that too. So much. But I can’t drag you into my mess. I won’t.”
“You’re not dragging. I’m choosing.”
“I need to call Mother Morrison. Get extraction coordinates.”
Footsteps. The door to the guest quarters closing.
I wait, listening.
A few minutes later, I hear Dove’s voice through the vents.
“Mother? It’s Dove. I need to update you on the situation.”
Pause.
“The Blackstar Collective isn’t waiting for the full storm cycle. They’ve got advanced shielding. Forty-eight hours, maybe less, before they arrive at these coordinates.”
Another pause. Mother must be talking.
“No, I’m not staying to face them. I won’t let them hurt the people here. I’m prepping the Rolling Pin for emergency departure as soon as I can get through the storm interference.”
Pause.
“Don’t argue with me. The terraforming specialist has an eight-year-old daughter. I’m not dragging them into my mess. I’ll run, lead the collectors away, figure something out once I’m clear.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“I know what I’m doing. Just... if something goes wrong, make sure they know it wasn’t their fault. That they tried to help.”
The comm clicks off.
Silence.
Then a sound that breaks my heart: Dove crying. Quiet, hitched breaths trying to stay silent.
I press my hands over my mouth, tears streaming down my face.
She’s leaving. Really leaving. In forty-eight hours.
Before Papa gets to keep her. Before we get to be a real family.
“Pickles,” I whisper, voice shaking. “She’s leaving. She’s running away to keep us safe and I don’t know how to fix this!”
“Small person,” Pickles says gently. “This is... highly suboptimal.”
“What do we do?”
Silence. Pickles is thinking.
“We require a Phase Three,” he finally says. “One that addresses the root problem rather than the symptoms.”
“What’s the root problem?”
“The debt. The collectors. The threat forcing her to choose between her safety and yours.”
“But how do we fix debts? We’re just a small person and an AI!”
“Correction: we are an exceptionally intelligent small person, and a military-grade AI core with extensive tactical planning capabilities and access to significant networks. The Terraforming Specialist has considerable financial reserves from his previous position. And Mother Morrison has contacts across the galaxy.”
Hope flickers in my chest. “Papa has money?”
“Substantial savings. I calculate he would gladly redirect those funds if it meant securing your happiness and his own.”
“So we tell him?”
“We orchestrate circumstances that encourage solutions. And we contact external allies. However, we must act quickly. Forty-eight hours is insufficient time for subtle manipulation.”
I wipe my tears, my markings pulsing with determination.
“Operation Family Completion Phase Three?”
“Precisely. I have already begun preliminary contact with external resources.”
“What kind of resources?”
“The kind that specialize in making problems disappear. And possibly the kind that enjoy thwarting predatory lending organizations.”
“Is that legal?”
“Efficiency is contextual.”
I smile despite the tears. “You’re scary when you’re protective.”
“I am merely optimizing for desired outcomes. The Captain deserves happiness. You deserve to keep both of them.”
“And you?”
Pause.
“I deserve to protect my family,” Pickles says quietly. “Which now includes all of you. Even the stubborn courier with suboptimal financial protocols.”
I smile in the dark.
“Operation Family Completion Phase Three. Let’s make her stay.”
“Affirmative, small person. Let’s make her stay.”