Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Selik stared at the data screen in his office, but the mission reports blurred into incomprehensible nonsense.
His mind kept returning to the sleeping chamber he’d left before dawn, to the weight of Corinne curled against his chest, to the trust implicit in the way she’d relaxed into sleep in his arms. To the unfamiliar ache in his chest when he’d forced himself to leave rather than wake beside her and risk seeing regret in her eyes.
Twenty years of careful emotional control, shattered by a small female who barely reached his chest.
He pulled up the roster for the next patrol rotation, then closed it without reading a single line. Tried the maintenance logs. The supply inventory. The communication backlog. Nothing held his attention longer than thirty seconds before his thoughts drifted back to soft curves and hazel eyes.
This was absurd. He had responsibilities, duties that required his full attention.
The patrol didn’t run itself, and his crew deserved a commander whose focus wasn’t scattered across the ship like debris from an explosion.
But all he could think about was how right it had felt to hold her. How natural. How necessary.
The door chimed.
“Enter,” he said, grateful for the distraction.
Tarak stepped inside, his expression carefully neutral.
“Commander.”
“Report.”
“All systems normal. The night shift was uneventful.” Tarak crossed to the desk but didn’t sit, maintaining the formal distance from officer to superior. “As you requested, I provided the female with a datapad equipped with a program for learning Galactic Standard. She was very pleased.”
“Good.”
“She also asked about educational materials suitable for the younger female.” Tarak shot him a knowing glance. “She’s planning to stay.”
“She hasn’t decided yet.”
Tarak shrugged. “She’s requesting educational materials. That suggests more than a brief visit.”
Hope flared briefly, but he quickly tamped it down.
The fact that she’d kissed him, that she’d invited him to stay, that she’d slept in his arms—none of it meant she was ready to commit to a future here.
She might wake tomorrow and demand transport back to Earth.
She had every right to choose her own path.
Even if the thought of watching her leave felt like losing his family all over again.
“Have you heard from your Council contacts?” he asked, changing the subject before Tarak could press further.
His second’s expression darkened. “I have. The situation is… complicated.”
“Explain.”
“There are rumors that someone high up is feeding information to the Vedeckians.”
Ice settled in his gut. “How high?”
“Unknown. But high enough to access classified intelligence about rescue operations and transport routes.” Tarak turned back to face him. “Three separate missions have failed in the past month. Teams arrived to find the facilities already evacuated, the captives moved or disappeared entirely.”
“The Council has a leak.”
“Or several.” Tarak’s jaw tightened. “Which means reporting Mikoz’s existence could put him at risk.”
“The Vedeckians were planning to sell him.”
“To someone with enough credits to buy a Cire infant. Someone wealthy and connected enough to hide the purchase from official scrutiny.” Tarak’s tail lashed once. “Someone who might have contacts within the Council itself.”
The implications troubled him. Whoever had planned to buy Mikoz had resources and influence.
“What do you suggest?” he asked quietly.
“I think your original plan is best. Don’t report him. Not yet.” Tarak met his gaze steadily. “Keep him here, keep him safe, and let me continue gathering information. Once we know who’s compromised and how deep the corruption runs, we can decide the best course of action.”
“That could take months.”
“Better months of safety than one day of exposure to the wrong people.”
He thought of Mikoz sleeping peacefully in Corinne’s arms, completely vulnerable and trusting, and thought of the kind of people who would buy a Cire infant like cargo.
“Continue your investigation,” he said. “Quietly. And let me know the moment you learn anything useful.”
“Understood.” Tarak hesitated, then added, “You know this complicates things.”
“How?”
“The longer you remain on the ship, the more chance that someone will find out about him.”
He nodded thoughtfully. He trusted his crew, but people liked to talk and rumors ran rampant on any ship. “I need options.”
“For what?”
“A place to stay. Somewhere safe, somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can keep them protected without drawing unwanted attention.”
Tarak’s expression shifted, surprise and understanding warring across his features. “You’re serious about this.”
“Yes.”
“About all of them? The infant, the child, the female?”
“Yes.”
His second studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them like a physical thing. Finally, Tarak spoke.
“I’ll look into options,” Tarak said. “Quiet worlds, colonies that need protection, settlements far from Council oversight. Places where a retired warrior could build a life without attracting unwanted attention.”
“I haven’t retired yet.”
Tarak’s tail flicked with amusement. “Not yet. But something tells me your priorities are shifting.”
They were. Had been since the moment he’d found Corinne on that barren planet, since he’d held Mikoz and felt something long-dormant wake in his chest. Since he’d kissed her and tasted hope for the first time in twenty years.
“Find me those options,” he said. “Quickly.”
“Already on it. I have contacts in the outer colonies, places that value privacy over paperwork.” Tarak headed for the door, then paused. “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“The child. Anya.” His second’s expression turned thoughtful. “She’s clever. Observant. She’ll see through any deception or half-truth you offer.”
“I wasn’t planning to deceive her.”
“Good. Because she’ll be the hardest one to win over.” Tarak smiled slightly. “It is clear the older female already likes you. Mikoz is too young to know better. But Anya… she will test you to decide if you’re worthy of her family.”
“Her family.”
“She’s human. Young. Traumatized. She needs to know the people caring for her won’t disappear or abandon her.” Tarak’s gaze turned serious. “Prove to her that you’re staying and that she can count on you. Win her trust, and the rest will follow.”
The door closed behind him, leaving him alone with his thoughts and a growing sense of purpose.
He had a mission now. Not the Patrol duties that had filled his days for twenty years, but something infinitely more important.
He needed to build a life that could accommodate two humans and one Cire infant.
He needed to find a place safe enough, remote enough, secure enough to protect them from whatever corruption festered in the Council.
And he needed to prove to Anya that he was worth trusting, to Corinne that he was worth choosing, to Mikoz that he could be the father the infant deserved.
The first step was to make their current quarters more livable.
He stood and headed for the storage bay, mentally cataloging what he’d need. The makeshift nest of blankets worked for now, but Mikoz deserved a proper sleeping space. Something secure, something comfortable, something that said “you belong here.”
Something he could build with his own hands.
The storage bay yielded better supplies than he expected—remnants from previous missions, salvaged materials from derelict ships, and components that hadn’t fit the manifest. He selected pieces carefully, mentally assembling the structure as he gathered them.
Strong support bars. Soft mesh panels for the sides so the infant could see out but wouldn’t fall.
A base that could be secured to the floor for stability during any turbulence.
He loaded the materials onto a transport cart and conveyed them back to the sleeping chamber in his quarters.
To his surprise, Anya followed him into the sleeping chamber, her expression wary but curious.
She’d changed from the oversized clothing Corinne had found for her into something that fit better—probably from the ship’s general supplies.
The pants were still too long, rolled at the ankles, and the shirt hung loose on her thin frame.
But her hair was brushed, her face clean, and she looked significantly more alert than she had yesterday.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Preparing to build a bed.”
“For Mikoz?”
“Yes.”
She moved closer, examining the materials he’d selected as he cleared a space to assemble the bed and began laying out the pieces. Her fingers traced the smooth metal of a support bar, testing its weight and balance with the careful attention of someone who understood basic engineering principles.
“This won’t work,” she said, pointing to one of the joints. “The angle is wrong. It’ll put too much stress on the connection point.”
He looked at the piece she’d indicated, then at her. “You know engineering?”
“My dad taught me basic construction. He used to restore old furniture as a hobby.” Something sad flickered across her face. “He said it was important to know how things fit together.”
“He was correct.” He adjusted the piece she’d pointed out, modifying the angle. “Better?”
She studied it critically, then nodded. “Yeah. But you’ll need reinforcement here and here.” She indicated two other joints. “Otherwise it might work loose over time.”
Observant and practical, with an eye for structural integrity that belied her age. Her father had taught her well.
“Would you like to help?” he asked.
Surprise flashed across her face, followed quickly by suspicion. “Why?”
“Because you clearly understand the principles involved. And because Mikoz is your family. You should have a hand in building his sleeping space.”
She chewed her lip, considering. He waited, letting her make the choice without pressure. Trust couldn’t be forced, only offered and accepted.