10. Hakan
Hakan
The Virdathian transport is ugly, cramped, and smells faintly of unwashed bodies and machine oil — but it's spaceworthy, and right now, that's all that matters.
"Can we explore?" Riz asks, his eyes bright with curiosity despite the trauma of the last few hours. The resilience of children never ceases to amaze me.
I glance at Daisy, who nods with a small smile. She looks exhausted — there are dark circles under her eyes and her red hair is wild from our escape — but she's holding herself together with admirable strength.
“Don't touch anything that looks like a weapon."
They're off like shots, racing out of the cockpit with the kind of energy only young children possess. Their excited mental chatter fills my head as they discover each new room.
*There's a kitchen!* Davi sends.
*And a bed with actual blankets!*
Daisy and I follow at a more sedate pace, and I find myself cataloging the transport's layout with a tactical eye.
The cockpit is cramped but functional, with controls that are crude by Kravan standards but effective.
Behind that is what the boys generously called a kitchen — really just a small open area with a food synthesizer, storage compartments, and a table barely large enough for four people to sit around.
I move to the food synthesizer’s control panel and activate it. The unit hums to life, its display showing a limited but adequate menu of Virdathian standard rations. "It works. The food won't be anything special, but it'll keep us fed."
She runs her hand along the table, testing its stability. "We can make this work."
Her optimism does something warm to my chest. After everything she's been through — wormholed from her home planet, nearly killed by wild beasts and Virdathians, watching me slaughter enemies right in front of her — she's still looking for ways to make the best of the situation.
*The sleeping room is almost empty,* Riz's voice bursts into my mind. *Just one sleeping mat and blankets.*
We join the boys in the sleeping room. “The blankets are soft!" Davi announces, as if he's discovered luxury accommodations.
"It's cozy," Daisy says diplomatically.
I make a mental note to see if Barzella has any pillows.
We continue the tour, finding a small storage room packed with various supplies — mostly weapons and ammunition, along with basic repair equipment. There's also a cramped bathroom that barely deserves the name, but at least we'll be able to wash.
"It's not the farm," I say quietly to Daisy.
"No," she agrees. "But it's ours. For now."
Ours. The word settles into my chest with surprising weight.
Back in the kitchen, I begin pulling supplies from the storage compartments while Daisy explores the synthesizer's menu options. The boys are poking through cabinets, finding various oddities left behind by the previous crew.
"I'm going to prepare food," I announce. “Everyone, sit."
The boys scramble into seats at the table while Daisy helps me navigate the synthesizer. Between the two of us, we manage to produce something that resembles a meal — protein squares, vegetable paste, and a grain porridge that's bland but filling.
It's nothing like the meals I used to cook at the farm with fresh ingredients, but the boys devour it with enthusiasm. Daisy eats more slowly, clearly exhausted but forcing herself to consume fuel.
"After dinner, you should rest," I tell her.
"What about you?"
"Someone needs to monitor our course."
She opens her mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it. "At least eat something substantial. You fought off an entire attack force — you need to recover your strength."
The concern in her voice makes my chest tighten. When was the last time someone worried about my well-being? When was the last time someone cared whether I ate or slept?
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, then Riz — who has been unusually quiet — suddenly asks, "Hakan, do Kravan warriors have games?"
"Many games," I tell him. "Why?"
"Will you teach us one?"
I glance at Daisy, who nods encouragingly. The boys need normalcy, need something to take their minds off the fear and uncertainty. And honestly, so do I.
“One of my favorites is Joressa," I say. "It's a strategy game. You'll like it."
I clear the table and use some of the items we found in storage to improvise pieces — small metal components, screws, bits of wire. The boys watch with fascination as I arrange them in the traditional starting formation.
"The goal is to reach your opponent's side of the board," I explain. "But each piece can change based on the moves you make. A strong piece can become weak if positioned poorly. A weak piece can become powerful if used cleverly."
"Like in real life," Daisy observes quietly.
I meet her eyes. “Yes, like in real life."
I walk the boys through the rules, showing them how different combinations of moves transform the pieces, how strategy and adaptation matter more than raw strength. They pick it up quickly — Andreevans are known for their intelligence, and the boys are no exception.
We play several rounds, the boys growing more skilled with each game. They communicate telepathically between moves, debating strategy, and I don't bother telling them to stop. Let them feel that connection, that bond. They've lost so much — they need each other.
Daisy watches from the side, her head resting on her hand, a soft smile on her face. But I can see her eyes growing heavy.
“All right," I finally say as Davi wins his third consecutive game. "That's enough for tonight. Time for sleep."
The protests are half-hearted — both boys are clearly exhausted, whatever reserves of energy they've been running on finally depleted.
Daisy shepherds them to the sleeping quarters, and I hear her gentle voice helping them settle in, promising that everything will be all right, that they're safe now.
I wonder if she knows she's wrong. We're not safe. We won't be safe for a long time, maybe ever.
But I don't contradict her. Children need hope, need to believe in safety, even if it's temporary.
When she returns to the kitchen, she's moving slowly, her shoulders drooping.
"You should sleep too," I tell her.
"What about you?"
"I'll rest later. Right now, I need to set our course for Crozan and contact the Commander."
She hesitates, clearly wanting to argue, but a yawn catches her mid-breath. "Promise you'll wake me if you need anything?"
"I promise."
She crosses to me, and for a moment I think she's going to kiss me. My body responds immediately to the possibility, my shaft beginning to harden, the memory of her taste still fresh in my mind.
But instead, she just places her hand on my chest, over my heart.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For protecting us. For fighting for us. For ... everything."
Before I can respond, she's gone, disappearing into the sleeping quarters.
I stand there for a long moment, my hand covering the spot where hers was, feeling the warmth she left behind.
Then I force myself to move, to focus on the practical necessities of survival.
I return to the cockpit and run a full diagnostic of the transport's systems. Everything checks out — the ship is old but well-maintained. The Virdathians might be brutal, but they're not stupid about keeping their equipment functional.
As the transport hums through the void, I finally allow myself to think about everything that happened today.
I almost made love to Daisy.
The memory sends heat through my body — the softness of her skin, the taste of her, the way she responded to my touch. The way she looked at me with trust and desire and something deeper that I'm afraid to name.
For five long years, I tried to convince myself that survival was enough. That working the farm, keeping busy, staying isolated — that was sufficient. That I didn't need or deserve anything more.
But Daisy has shown me the lie of that.
She's shown me that I can feel again. Want again. Hope again.
And the boys — Riz and Davi — they've awakened something in me I thought died with my daughter. The desire to protect, to teach, to be a father again.
I want this. Want them. Want a family, a future, a reason to do more than just survive.
But what can I offer them?
I'm a warrior with no world, no home, no certainty about tomorrow. I live in constant danger, always looking over my shoulder, always ready to fight or flee.
Is that any kind of life for Daisy? For the boys?
With a sigh, I activate the comms signal and input the Commander's encrypted frequency.
Within seconds, the Commander’s face appears on the screen. He looks much like he did when I last saw him five years ago — fierce blue features, close-cropped black hair, amber eyes that miss nothing.
"Hakan," he says. “It’s been a long time.”
I nod.
He’s not one for unnecessary words either. “Status report.”
I brief him quickly on everything — Daisy, the lab, the boys, the attack on my farm, our escape.
He listens without interruption, his expression impassive.
“Commander,” I ask, “was the data from the lab useful?”
“Very useful,” he replies. “The data not only confirm the existence of the wormhole technology, but point to the Grokkans accelerating their research. We're seeing increased activity at multiple sites. They're getting closer to perfecting the technology."
"What about the prisoners at the lab?" I ask.
“A team is enroute now to extract the prisoners before they’re killed or transferred to a more secure facility.”
Relief washes through me. Those beings — the ones we couldn't save — they'll have a chance.
"What about the boys' grandfather?" I ask."Were you able to find any information?"
The Commander's expression shifts — something that might be sympathy. "So far, nothing concrete. But we’re looking."
I nod, though disappointment sits heavy in my chest. I'll have to tell the boys we still don't know.
"And the human female?" the Commander asks. "Daisy. How is she handling all this?"
The question catches me off-guard. The Commander isn't usually one for personal inquiries.
"She's ... remarkable," I say carefully. "Strong. Brave. Adaptable.”
“I would like to speak with her.”
“She’s asleep right now. If you’d like, I can wake her.”
The Commander shakes his head. “No need. Call me back when she wakes up.”
“Understood.”
The Commander leans forward, scrutinizing me. ”You care for her."
He can tell? “Yes.”
"How deeply?"
I hesitate, unsure how to put into words what I'm feeling. "I feel a bond with her that I can't explain. It's like..." I search for the right comparison. "It's like my paxana is activating. But that's impossible. She's not Kravan."
The Commander is quiet for a long moment, his amber eyes studying me intently.
"Hakan," he finally says. "There's something you need to know. Something I've recently learned that changes everything for us."
My pulse quickens. "What?"
"The High Council lied to us," he says bluntly. "For generations, they told us that Kravans could only bond with other Kravans. That maintaining genetic purity was essential to our strength."
"I know," I say. "We were all taught that —"
"It was a lie," he interrupts. "I've recovered medical records that prove Kravan-hybrid offspring are just as strong and capable as pure Kravans. Often, they inherit advantages from both parent species."
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. "That's ... that's not possible. Why would the Council lie about something like that?"
"Misguided notions of species purity. Fear of cultural dilution.
Pride." He shakes his head in disgust. "Whatever their reasons, the result was the same — countless Kravan warriors have spent their lives alone, believing they could only bond with fellow Kravans.
And after the destruction of Krava, with so few of our people left, most believed they'd never find a mate at all. "
"But the paxana bond —"
"Can form with compatible species," the Commander confirms. "Including humans. The three human females we've encountered so far have all bonded with their Kravan warriors. The bonds are real, Hakan. As real as any formed between two Kravans."
My mind is reeling. Everything I thought I knew, everything I believed about myself, about my people — lies.
"The glow," I say slowly. "When I'm with Daisy, my eyes glow. My hassana. My —"
"Your cock," the Commander finishes bluntly. "Yes. That's the paxana bond manifesting. She's your mate, Hakan. Your bond mate."
The words settle over me like a physical weight. Daisy is my paxana.
It's not impossible. It's real.
"The other human females," I manage. "They've bonded? They're staying?"
"They are," he confirms. "They've chosen to build lives with their warriors rather than return to Earth. I won't lie to you — it hasn't been easy for them. They've struggled with the adjustment, with the fear, with being so far from everything they knew. But they're making it work."
Hope flares within me. Is it possible that Daisy might choose to stay as well?
"I'm ordering you to take her and the boys to Nazen," the Commander continues. "The other human females are establishing a community there. Daisy should join them.”