Irked By the Alien Dad

Chapter 1

LYN

Another horrible day in the best bioengineering lab in the cosmos…and I should be grateful, but I'm not.

“He is the actual worst, and I stand by that,” I mutter, reaching my hands up to tug on my curls. “Like you know the old saying ‘those who can't, teach?’ With him it's more like…some who teach shouldn't.”

My best friend Riley snorts as he comes back to the table and slides into a seat next to our other friend, Thalara. “You need another beer,” he says, passing one to me.

“Are you sure?” Thalara asks in a soft, sweet voice. “She's already talking in word sushi.”

“Word salad, Bubbles,” Riley gently corrects her with a playful nudge of his shoulder. “How many have you had?”

She blushes bright pink. “Not that many.”

I take the beer and shake my head, wrapping my fingers around the cool mug and letting the condensation drip over my knuckles.

“It's just…the guy is brilliant, but I feel like I can't get anything right with him.

I'm doing things here that would blow my advisors back at Stanford out of the water—and he acts like I'm playing with blocks in a daycare.

I'm literally trying to rewire brains and he's like, “You're too clumsy for this, Walker, you don't belong here.”

“I'm not gonna tell you you're wrong,” Riley says, holding his hands up in surrender. “He's the whole reason I'm not in Engineering anymore. The guy drove me out.”

“You decided you'd rather build submarines,” I scowl, then cock my head. “Should I switch to building submarines?”

“No,” Riley says.

The last member of our little hang slides into the seat next to me, already in on the conversation. “He's just nervous you'll be better at it than he is,” Orin grins, showing off sharp teeth.

Riley rolls his eyes dramatically. “Wrong. I know she'd be better at it. Like…come on, Lyn, let me have this one thing.”

I laugh, the sound coming out bitter. “You can have submarines, Riley. I’ll stay in my lane. My frustrating, soul-crushing, brain-rewiring lane.”

Orin taps his claws against his glass, the sound like a coin dropped into water. “What’d he do this time? The usual, or did he come up with a brand new way to ruin your day?”

“The usual,” I sigh. “He tore apart my prototype in front of the whole lab, called my interface ‘amateurish,’ then thanked me for the learning opportunity. Like I’m his cautionary tale.”

Riley winces. “Oof. Public dissection. That’s rough.”

“It’s not like I messed up the math,” I say. “We were testing a neural patch built off translator tech—trying to help people whose nerves don’t know how to stand down. Pain’s basically a translation error, right? The body says ‘danger’ when it means ‘habit.’ I’m teaching the signal a new language.”

Riley whistles low. “That’s...actually brilliant.”

“It was brilliant,” I mutter. “Until Professor Dickhead decided to ‘improve’ it by rewriting my entire code string and calling mine na?ve.”

“Everyone’s calibrations are na?ve when you’re a genius,” Riley says.

“I am a genius,” I drawl, grinning despite myself. “He’s probably mad he didn’t think of it first.”

Thalara tilts her head. “Or maybe he respects you enough to argue with you like an equal.”

“Or maybe he just doesn’t like the idea of a human from Oklahoma fixing a problem no one’s solved in fifty years,” I say, taking another drink. “If translator implants can teach a mouth to understand twelve alien dialects, they should be able to teach nerves to shut up.”

“Sounds to me like your nerves need a break,” Orin says. He gestures at my beer. “Drink more, Walker. You're stressed.”

I shoot him a look, and I can see it in his eyes—drinking isn't the only way he thinks I could de-stress right now. Orin and I hooked up a few months ago, and he's been hinting at doing it again ever since.

“I just need some sleep,” I mutter, drawing a line in the sand. “And…a different supervisor. And maybe some very good weed.”

Riley snorts into his drink. “Weed’s cheaper than therapy, but harder to expense on a grant.”

Thalara’s eyes widen, scandalized and delighted all at once. “You can expense therapy?”

Riley winks. “If you’re creative with itemization.”

I grin into my beer. “You are the worst influence I’ve ever had.”

For a few blessed seconds, I just let the noise of the bar wash over me—the hum of the air filters, the clink of glasses, the thrum of bass leaking from the speakers overhead.

Outside, M’mir’s twin moons paint everything in a faint green-blue glow.

It’s easier to breathe out here than in the lab, where every surface gleams and every idea belongs to someone else.

“I know I sound dramatic,” I admit after a moment, tracing circles in the condensation ring on the table. “But when he talks to me, I start to think maybe I really don’t belong there. Like the whole time I’ve been tricking everyone into thinking I’m good enough to be in the same room as him.”

Riley’s teasing drops away. “You belong there, Lyn. Don’t let a man who probably can’t even spell empathy make you think otherwise.”

Thalara nods. “You remind him that brilliance doesn’t always wear a lab coat.”

Orin tips his glass toward me. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll bite him.”

I bark out a laugh. “Thanks, guys. But…honestly Orin, I think turning him Lycan would just make him worse. Rhyss is bad enough as it is—I don't need him feral every full moon on top of that.”

Riley nearly spits his drink. “Can you imagine? He’d probably file a report about his own transformation.”

“‘Subject exhibits increased aggression and improved sense of smell,’” Orin says in a stiff imitation of Kaelion’s voice. “‘Will revisit findings after the next lunar cycle.’”

Thalara hides her smile behind her glass. “And he’d still make you rewrite your code.”

“Exactly!” I point at her. “He’d turn into a literal monster and still find a way to tell me my syntax is inelegant.”

Riley grins. “You think he dreams in equations?”

“He dreams in superiority complexes,” I mutter, then sigh. “And unfortunately, I have to see him first thing tomorrow.”

Riley groans in sympathy. “Morning meeting?”

“Worse,” I say. “Lab evaluation. He’s reviewing my pain-translation patch with the full committee to get approved for live trials. And I swear if he calls it ‘ambitious’ in that tone again—”

Orin raises a brow. “The tone that means ‘this’ll be fun to watch crash and burn’?”

“That’s the one.” I drain the last of my beer. “I’ve got about eight hours to figure out how to impress a man who thinks humility is a scientific principle.”

Riley knocks his glass against mine. “Sleep. Then show him what a girl from Oklahoma can do.”

“Right,” I say. “Sleep. Definitely sleep.”

I stand, gathering my things, but the truth is I can already feel my mind spinning—rewriting equations, retracing logic trees, wondering where he’ll find the next flaw. The bastard’s in my head even off the clock.

Thalara squeezes my arm as I pass. “Don’t forget to eat something before you go back in.”

“I’ll grab a bite,” I promise.

Orin smirks. “That an invitation?”

I roll my eyes. “In your dreams.”

He grins wider. “You’d be surprised what shows up in there.”

Riley groans. “Enough. Everyone go home before this group gets even more incestuous.”

I laugh, pushing away from the table. “Night, you degenerates.”

The air outside is cooler, tinged with the scent of petrichor from a recent storm. The streets glow with light from M’mir Village, and for a moment I just stand there, breathing it in—this world, this chance, this stupid, impossible project.

I'm going to figure this out. I have to. For all the people who need it…who I know would absolutely benefit.

It's a good reminder that I'm not doing this for Kaelion fucking Rhyss. I'm doing it for my grandmother, who struggled with her botched cybernetics her whole life. I'm doing it for all the people who were harmed by that same tech.

So I don't go back to my place in the village.

I go home.

Back to the university.

Back to Kaelion Rhyss’ lab.