Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“You want to go back to the ice.”
Alina’s words weren’t a question. She stood at the small kitchen counter of her quarters, hands wrapped around a steaming mug, brown eyes watching Jaz with the kind of quiet intensity that suggested she’d already worked out most of what Jaz was about to say.
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’ve been staring at the northern windows since you arrived.” Alina smiled—a gentle expression that illuminated her pretty face. “And Adjar looks like he’s about to crawl out of his own skin every time Rhyx walks within fifty meters of you.”
She winced. “He’s trying to control it.”
“I know. Rhyx says it’s instinctive. Territory, mate-bonding, all of it hardwired into their biology.” Alina took a sip of her drink. “It doesn’t make it comfortable to watch, though.”
“No.” She moved to the small table that dominated Alina’s living space, running her fingers along its edge.
The quarters were modest but well-organized—data pads stacked in neat piles, geological samples arranged on shelves, a small flowering plant that somehow thrived despite the artificial lighting.
It felt like a scientist’s home. A place where someone had chosen to put down roots.
Not for me, she thought. Not here.
“We talked about it last night,” she said. “About what we want. Where we belong.” She forced herself to meet Alina’s gaze. “I know it probably seems crazy. You’ve offered us safety and resources and a place in your network. And we’re planning to go back to the most hostile region on Mars.”
“It doesn’t seem crazy at all.”
Jaz blinked. “It doesn’t?”
Alina set down her mug and crossed to join her at the table.
“Jaz, I spent most of my career in a lab with nice facilities, proper funding, and colleagues who respected my work.” She shook her head.
“And then I found Rhyx and we had to run. Even though I loved him, I worried about my work. But I found the freedom to pursue questions without someone looking over my shoulder every five minutes. I’ve never been happier. Or more productive.”
“Is that why you came here?”
Alina laughed. “We don’t actually live here, although we visit quite frequently.
We have a home and a lab in the middle of nowhere and I love it.
” She leaned against the table, her expression growing serious.
“I understand the pull of a place, Jaz. The way certain landscapes settle into your bones and refuse to leave. If the polar ice is that place for the two of you, then you should go.”
Relief washed over her, stronger than she’d expected. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been dreading this conversation, afraid that Alina would see their decision as a rejection.
“We’re not abandoning the alliance,” she said quickly. “We still want to help. With the emergence sites, with protecting others who wake up, with everything you’re building here. We just—”
“You just need to do it from a place that feels like home.” Alina nodded.
“I understand. Truly.” She was quiet for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought.
“The question is how to make it work. GenCon is still watching a lot of the polar territory. Your claim is compromised. If you go back as Jaz Kour, they’ll find you within a week. ”
“I know.” She had spent most of the morning wrestling with that particular problem. “We talked about using the ranger network stations as staging points and staying mobile, but—”
“Too risky. And too limited.” Alina drummed her fingers against the table. “You need a legitimate presence. Something that gives you a reason to be in the territory and access to supply channels.”
“I had all of that. Had being the operative word.”
“Then we create it again.” Alina’s eyes had taken on a familiar gleam—the look of a scientist who’d spotted an interesting problem. “Not under your name. Under a new one.”
She frowned. “Identity fraud? That’s—”
“Not exactly uncommon.” Alina waved a dismissive hand. “Half the settlers on Mars are operating under assumed names. For everyone who came here looking for a chance to build a new life, there is someone who was running away from the old one. We just need to provide the appropriate documentation.”
“Documentation I don’t have.”
“Documentation I can provide.”
The offer hung in the air between them. She stared at Alina, trying to process what she was hearing.
“Really?”
“With the help of my friends.” Alina’s smile was almost impish. “My original research grant come with extensive administrative access. And I have developed a rather extensive network of contacts.”
She laughed despite herself. “You’re full of surprises, Dr. Falkner.”
“Alina. And yes, I am.” She pushed away from the table and moved to one of her data terminals.
“Here’s what I’m thinking. Jaz Kour died in the avalanche that blocked the valley pass—the one Adjar triggered to stop the GenCon pursuit.
The cyborg rangers recovered debris from the site, and found evidence of a snow crawler caught in the slide. Tragic accident. Case closed.”
“But I’m obviously not dead.”
“Obviously not. But as far as the official records are concerned, Jaz Kour is. Which means a new prospector with a different name and a different history can file for a new claim and have a perfectly legitimate reason to be exactly where GenCon doesn’t expect you to be.”
The elegance of it was almost breathtaking. A clean slate. A fresh start. All the advantages of her previous life without any of the baggage that GenCon could use to track her.
“What about Adjar?”
“What about him? With any luck GenCon will believe that whatever they were looking for was also buried in that avalanche.”
“I was thinking more about hiding him. He can’t exactly blend in. Even when he hides his wings, he’s…” She gestured vaguely. “Over seven feet tall. Covered in scales. Obviously not human.”
“He’s not human,” Alina agreed. “But as long as he’s registered as your partner and stays out of populated areas, no one will look too closely.”
Partner. The word sent an unexpected warmth through her chest. That’s what he was, wasn’t he? Not just whatever a mate meant in dragon terms, but a true partner. Someone she was choosing to build a life with.
“This is a lot,” she said slowly. “The documentation, the registration, covering up my ‘death’… You’re putting yourself at risk.”
“I’m helping a friend.” Alina’s voice was matter-of-fact, but her eyes were soft.
“And it’s not as much of a risk as you think.
The cyborgs have been hiding things from GenCon for years.
Also having someone in the polar territory who may be able to identify emergence sites before GenCon does?
Who can reach survivors and bring them to safety? That’s not risk, Jaz. That’s strategy.”
“Strategy that could get you in serious trouble if anyone looks too closely.”
“Then we make sure no one looks too closely.” Alina turned back to her terminal, her fingers already flying across the interface.
“I’ll need a week to get everything in place.
The claim registration, the identity documents, and the supply chain access.
In the meantime, you and Adjar should stay here and keep a low profile. ”
“A week of Adjar trying not to murder Rhyx every time he walks into a room.”
“A week of the two of them learning to coexist.” Alina glanced over her shoulder with a wry smile. “Consider it diplomatic training. They’re both going to need it if more dragons start waking up.”
She had a point. Multiple dragons, each with their own territorial instincts… The coordination required would make colony politics look simple.
“Alina.”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you. For everything.” Her voice was rough with an emotion she didn’t quite know how to express. “I’m not… I’m not good at this. Asking for help. Accepting it. I’ve spent most of my life making sure I didn’t need anyone.”
Alina stopped typing and turned to face her.
“Choosing to trust someone, choosing to let them help you—that’s not weakness. It’s the hardest kind of strength there is.”
All those years alone on the ice, telling herself it was freedom. All those walls she’d built, convinced they were protecting her. Adjar sees through them, she thought. He sees me. And he stays anyway.
“Found family,” she said quietly.
“What?”
“Something Adjar and I talked about last night. Building connections by choice rather than circumstance. Creating a family because you want to, not because you have to.”
Alina’s smile was luminous. “I like that. Found family.” She turned back to her terminal. “Now let me work. You have a new life to prepare for.”
The week passed faster than she expected.
There were documents to review, signatures to forge, and cover stories to memorize.
Her new name was Jasmine Allende, and her backstory was appropriately dull.
She was a former equipment technician from the southern mining belt, looking for a fresh start after a corporate restructure eliminated her position.
Nothing that would attract attention or invite questions.
The claim itself was a masterstroke of bureaucratic misdirection.
Located in a remote sector of the polar territory, far from any established operations, it had been registered and abandoned three times in the past decade.
Each previous owner had given up within months, unable to make the harsh conditions profitable.
No one would be surprised when yet another optimistic prospector tried and failed.
No one would look closely enough to notice that this prospector had no intention of failing.
Alina had also arranged for supplies. A small but powerful mining rig that was nowhere near as sophisticated as her destroyed equipment, but functional and reliable.
Thermal gear, emergency provisions, and communication equipment with access to the cyborg communications network.
They had everything they needed to establish a basic operation.
“It’s too much,” she protested when she saw the inventory list.