Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Robbie’s weight against his chest was the most natural thing in the universe.
Becsul shifted slightly, adjusting his position against the cargo crates to better support the sleeping infant.
The child had fussed briefly when they’d first boarded the Celestine’s Mercy, disturbed by the cold and the unfamiliar vibrations of the ship’s engines, but he’d calmed almost immediately when Becsul had offered to hold him.
Now he slept deeply, one tiny fist curled against Becsul’s uniform, his breathing slow and even.
Mine, something primal whispered in Becsul’s mind. My son.
Not by blood, perhaps. But by choice. By bond. By every measure that actually mattered.
Across the cargo hold, Melissa stirred from her own rest, pushing herself upright with a soft groan.
She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, her hair escaping from its braid in wild tangles—but there was a peace in her expression that he hadn’t seen since the day they’d met. The peace of safety, finally achieved.
“How long was I out?” Her voice was rough with sleep.
“Three hours, perhaps four.” Becsul kept his voice low, mindful of the other sleeping occupants of the hold.
Sarah and Katie were curled together beneath a thermal blanket, the child’s head tucked under her mother’s chin.
Wei-Lin sat apart from the group, her back against the far wall, eyes closed but posture alert.
Not truly sleeping, he suspected. Soldiers rarely did in unfamiliar territory.
Melissa’s gaze found Robbie, and her expression softened into something that made Becsul’s hearts ache. “He’s comfortable with you.”
“He always has been.” Becsul stroked one careful claw down the infant’s back, marveling at the smallness of him. So fragile. So precious. “From the first moment I held him.”
“I remember.” She moved closer, settling beside him with her shoulder pressed against his arm. “I thought you were going to hurt us. Instead, you held my crying baby and he… just stopped.”
“He knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I would never harm him. That I would protect him with my life.” Becsul met her eyes. “Perhaps infants can sense these things. The intentions of those around them.”
“Maybe.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, and his tail immediately curved around her waist, drawing her closer. “Or maybe he just liked being held by someone who wasn’t terrified.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a long moment, the hum of the ship’s engines a constant backdrop. Through the small viewport, hyperspace painted the universe in streaks of light—beautiful and alien, a reminder of how far they’d come from everything Becsul had ever known.
“Where are we going?”
The question was quiet, but it carried weight. Becsul had been expecting it.
“There’s a Patrol station at the edge of this sector. Waypoint Seven.” He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Robbie. “It’s a joint operation—multiple species maintaining order in the transit lanes. They have protocols for situations like this.”
“Situations like this,” Melissa repeated flatly. “You mean kidnapping? Forced breeding experiments? Interplanetary trafficking?”
“All of those things.” He heard the bitterness in his own voice and didn’t try to hide it. “The Galactic Patrol takes crimes against sentients seriously. They have the authority to investigate, to prosecute, to ensure that Naran faces consequences for what he’s done.”
“And us? What happens to us?”
“I don’t know exactly. They’ll take statements.
Document everything. There will likely be medical examinations to ensure you’re all healthy.
” He paused. “I’ve already sent a preliminary report through the ship’s communication system.
Captain Trevan helped me encrypt it. By the time we arrive, they’ll have basic information about what happened. ”
Melissa was quiet for a moment. “And after that?”
“After that…” He trailed off, because the truth was, he didn’t know. He’d been so focused on getting them off the planet, on escaping Naran’s reach, that he hadn’t allowed himself to think much beyond the immediate crisis. “We’ll figure it out together.”
“Together.” She smiled faintly. “I like the sound of that.”
Before he could respond, a door at the far end of the cargo hold slid open.
Captain Trevan ducked through the opening—a massive Cire male with skin the texture of weathered stone and a cybernetic eye that glowed faintly orange in the dim light.
He’d been a freighter captain for thirty years, he’d told Becsul, running legitimate cargo through a dozen sectors.
He owed Varn his ship after she’d cleared his name in a smuggling investigation, and he’d been happy to repay that debt.
“Captain Becsul.” Trevan’s voice was a deep rumble. “We’re making good time. Should reach Waypoint Seven in approximately six hours.”
“Thank you, Captain. Your assistance has been invaluable.”
Trevan waved a dismissive claw. “Varn’s the one you should thank. I’m just the driver.” His orange eye fixed on Melissa, then on the sleeping infant in Becsul’s arms. “The human child. He’s healthy?”
“Healthy and strong.” Becsul couldn’t keep the pride from his voice. “His mother has taken excellent care of him.”
“Good. Good.” Trevan hesitated, his expression shifting to something more uncertain. “I should tell you… there’s something you may not have considered. About the Patrol.”
Becsul’s skin prickled with sudden unease. “What do you mean?”
“The humans.” Trevan glanced at Melissa, then back at Becsul. “They were taken from their homeworld without consent. Subjected to trauma. The Patrol has protocols for situations like that.”
“Yes, I know. They’ll document everything, take statements—”
“They can also wipe their memories.” Trevan’s voice was flat, matter-of-fact. “Send them home as if none of this ever happened. It’s standard procedure for first-contact violations.”
The words hit Becsul like a physical blow.
He felt the blood drain from his face, and next to him, Melissa had gone very still.
“What?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Memory modification.” Trevan’s expression was sympathetic but practical.
“The technology exists. The Patrol uses it to protect pre-contact species from psychological trauma. To preserve the natural development of civilizations that aren’t ready for galactic knowledge.
” He paused. “In cases of kidnapping and trafficking, it’s offered as an option to the victims. A chance to forget.
To return to their lives as if the abduction never occurred. ”
Becsul couldn’t breathe.
He’d known about memory modification technology, of course. It was used occasionally in military operations, to protect sensitive information or spare soldiers from the worst of their experiences. But he’d never—it had never occurred to him that it might be applied here. To Melissa. To them.
They could take her from me. Take her memories of me. Send her back to Earth, where she’d never know I existed.
The thought was unbearable. A pain so sharp it felt like his hearts were being torn from his chest.
But even as the agony washed through him, another thought followed on its heels, quieter but no less powerful:
If that’s what she wants. If that would make her happy…
He loved her. He loved her more than he’d ever loved anything in his life. And love meant wanting her happiness, even if it destroyed him.
“I see.” His voice came out steady, which surprised him. “Thank you for informing us, Captain.”
Trevan nodded slowly, his orange eye flickering between them. “I thought you should know before you arrived. So you have time to… discuss.” He retreated through the door without another word, leaving them alone with the weight of what he’d revealed.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Becsul stared down at Robbie’s sleeping face, memorizing every detail.
The curve of his cheek. The tiny fingers.
The way his dark hair curled against his forehead.
Would he remember me? he wondered. If they wiped their memories, would some part of him know that he’d once been held by someone who loved him?
“Becsul.”
He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t bear to see whatever was in her eyes.
“Look at me.”
He forced himself to raise his head, to meet her gaze. Her expression was unreadable, her dark eyes searching his face with an intensity that made his hearts race.
“You’re thinking about it,” she said quietly. “Whether I should choose the memory wipe.”
“I’m thinking about what’s best for you.” The words came out rough, scraped raw. “For Robbie. If you could go home—truly go home, without the weight of everything that happened—”
“Stop.” She pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing him. “Just stop.”
“Melissa—”
“No. Listen to me.” Her hand moved to cup his face, her thumb tracing the texture of his skin. “You’re sitting there, holding my son like he’s the most precious thing in the universe, and you’re trying to figure out how to be noble. How to let me go if that’s what I want.”
“It’s not about being noble. It’s about loving you enough to want your happiness.”
“My happiness.” She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “You think my happiness is on Earth? In a life where I don’t remember you?”
“Your life was there. Your career. Your—”
“My life was empty.” The words were stark, unflinching.
“I spent years building a career I was proud of, helping other people have families while I was too scared to risk building one of my own. I chose artificial insemination because it was safe. Because a baby couldn’t leave me the way my ex-fiancé did. The way everyone always did.”
“Melissa…”