Dani #2
Andrek stood, his movements slow, to stand by the window beside me.
Up close, I could see the slight scarring along his jawline, the tired lines around his eyes.
In person, he wasn’t the successful, put-together professional I’d imagined when I’d read his listing.
This was someone who was also struggling.
“I was desperate,” he admitted, his voice rough.
“No one else applied. Yxian childcare specialists won’t work for someone who’s already raising a child,” he continued, staring out at the twin moons.
“They view it as improper. A male raising a child without a partner is already suspect. Humans with actual childcare training took one look at my situation and moved on to easier positions.” He turned to look at me.
“You were the only one who applied, Danielle. The only one willing to take this chance.”
I didn’t know whether to feel validated or terrified by his admission.
“I need help with Pip," he said flatly. “I’m trying, but I’m failing. I can’t give her what she needs while also maintaining the work that keeps us housed and fed.
And if I can’t provide adequate care, the social services board will remove her from my custody even though I have signed formal adoption papers.
” His jaw tightened. “I will not let that happen.”
“So we’re both running,” I said. “Just in different directions.”
“Perhaps.” He studied me with those unnerving gold eyes. “But I have one question remaining.”
“Ask.”
“Are you running toward something, or away?”
I wanted to say toward freedom, toward a new life, toward possibility. But I wasn’t sure that was true. I’d been so focused on escaping that I hadn’t really thought about what came after.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Does it matter?”
“For your sake? Perhaps not. But for Pip’s sake…” Andrek moved back to his desk, pressing his palms flat against the dark wood. “I need you to understand what you’re agreeing to. Yxian young are not like human children. They’re not even like most other species.”
“I’ve been reading the files you sent before I arrived.”
“Reading is not understanding.” He pulled up a holo screen from the desk surface, and an image materialized in the air between us.
It showed a diagram of what I assumed was a Yxian brain, with certain areas highlighted in pulsing colors.
“They are an empathic species, not telepathic, they can’t read thoughts, but can feel each other’s emotions, especially in close relationships.
It’s how they bond, how they communicate on a level deeper than words. ”
He gestured, and the image zoomed in on one particular region.
“Yxian children are born with their empathic centers fully active but completely underdeveloped. They lack the filtering mechanisms that adults have. They feel everything around them, from joy and anger to fear and love, but they don’t have the capacity to distinguish between their own emotions and others. ”
I stared at the pulsing diagram, trying to understand the implications. “So when I’m around Pip?”
“She feels what you feel,” Andrek said. “Not your surface emotions; those she can’t process yet.
But the deep, true ones, the ones we keep hidden from society.
If you’re genuinely content, she feels safe.
If you’re anxious or afraid or resentful,” Andrek let the sentence trail off, the implication clear.
“Oh.”
“It gets more complex,” he continued, shifting the image to show neural pathways forming between two figures, one large, one small.
“As a child grows, they form psychic bonds with their primary caregivers. These bonds are permanent, Danielle. They shape the foundation of who that child becomes. The emotions they experience through these bonds in their first few years will influence them for the rest of their lives.”
I watched the pathways light up, connecting the two figures in an intricate web of light. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying.
“If you become Pip’s caregiver, you will bond with him,” Andrek said, his voice serious now.
“It’s not optional or something you can prevent or control.
Within a few weeks of consistent care, you will feel her emotions as clearly as your own.
Her joy will make you happy. Her distress will hurt you on a physical level.
And she will carry the imprint of your emotional state with her for the rest of her life. ”
He dismissed the hologram and looked at me.
“So I need to ask you again, and I need you to truly consider your answer: why are you here? Because if you’re just running away, if you’re going to bolt the moment things get difficult or when Earth stops looking so terrible from a distance, if you’re using this as a temporary escape rather than a lifetime commitment,” his voice hardened.
“Then you need to leave. Now, before Pip gets attached. Before the bond forms and breaking it causes her real, lasting harm.”
“Holy shit.” Andrek’s words crashed over me like a wave.
If I stayed, it wasn’t just a job or a way to escape my old life.
I’d bond with Pip, feel her emotions, and she’d carry my presence forever.
If I failed her or left, I wouldn’t let down an employer.
I’d be damaging a child’s psyche in ways that no time could ever repair.
I thought about Anthony Louis and the ring I’d left on the kitchen counter when I walked away.
I thought about my family’s disappointment, and of the surveillance cameras on every corner of my old neighborhood, the compliance scores that followed you everywhere; the life that my parents planned out for me in excruciating detail.
And then I thought about earlier when Pip’s eyes lit up, and the small sound of delight when she saw me still there.
“I’m terrified,” I said, choosing honesty.
“Of failing, of not being good enough, of hurting her without meaning to. I don’t have experience with this or training.
In fact, I’m probably going to make a thousand mistakes.
” I met Andrek’s eyes. “But I promise, I’m not going back to Earth.
” I stood up, squaring my shoulders. “I came here looking for freedom. But I’m starting to understand that freedom isn’t just about running away.
It’s about choosing what you run toward and what you commit to.
” I took a breath. “So yes, I’m staying and committing to Pip.
I’ll learn what I need to learn. I’ll be what she needs me to be.
And I won’t run. Not from this. Not from her, or you. ”
Andrek studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
His tail relaxed, and a look of relief crossed his features.
“Then we begin in earnest tomorrow,” he said.
“We’ll get an early start. I’ll teach you everything I know about caring for Pip.
You’ll learn her feeding schedules, sleep routines, and the early signs of empathic distress.
It won’t be easy, and there will be days when you question your decision.
I do. Days when you feel overwhelmed and inadequate. ”
“I’m already questioning it,” I admitted with a weak smile. “But I meant what I said. I’m staying.”
“Very well. Five o’clock standard time. Don’t be late.”
I walked back to my quarters, the twin moons casting strange shadows through the windows across the alien landscape. For the first time in ages, I felt relief. Staying was my choice, my commitment, and my responsibility.
I thought about the psychic bond Andrek had described, the way Pip would feel my emotions and carry them with her forever.
In a way, it scared me, but it was also liberating.
I couldn’t fake anything or put a mask on with her, pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
She’d feel the truth coming from me, for better or worse.
I paused at my door, looking at the room across the hall where Pip slept.
“Don’t screw this up, Danielle,” I whispered to myself. “They both need you.”
Then I went inside my room to prepare for tomorrow and for when running away would become my second step in moving forward.