Chapter 22 #3
“I want to be part of a team,” Becsul said quietly. “Whatever I do next. I want to work alongside others who share my values. People I can trust. People who trust me.”
“Like a crew?”
“Perhaps. Or something similar.” His hand found hers, his claws carefully avoiding her skin. “I have been alone in many ways for a very long time. Even surrounded by others, I was… separate. Holding myself apart.”
“You don’t have to be apart anymore.”
“No.” He looked at her, and there was something raw in his expression—vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. “I do not. And I find that I want… connection. Community. A place where I belong not because of my function, but because of who I am.”
“Then we’ll find that.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Both of us. Together.”
In his makeshift crib, Robbie stirred and made a small sound—not quite waking, but close. Becsul’s attention shifted immediately, his posture adjusting to readiness.
“He’ll sleep another few minutes,” Melissa murmured. “He’s just dreaming.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve learned his sounds. That’s his ‘processing the day’ noise, not his ‘I’m hungry’ or ‘something’s wrong’ noise.”
“There are different noises?”
“At least a dozen. You’ll learn them.”
“I want to.” The intensity in his voice made her look up.
“I want to learn all of his sounds, and all of yours. I want to know when you are happy and when you are merely pretending. I want to recognize your dreams from your nightmares. I want to spend years discovering the small things that I have not yet noticed.”
“That’s…” She swallowed hard. “That’s either the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me, or incredibly creepy. I haven’t decided which.”
“I hope romantic. I was attempting romantic.”
“You succeeded.” She kissed him again, longer this time. “Fair warning, though—my snoring is apparently legendary. My college roommate complained about it constantly.”
“I do not require sleep in the same way humans do. I can simply… appreciate the sound.”
“You can’t possibly appreciate snoring.”
“I can appreciate anything that confirms you are alive and beside me.” His arm tightened around her. “That you are real. That this is real.”
They sat together in the quiet cabin, their son sleeping nearby, the stars streaming past the viewport in rivers of light.
Tomorrow they would arrive at the Patrol station.
Tomorrow the real challenges would begin—the questions, the investigations, the impossible task of building a new life in an unfamiliar universe.
But for now, there was only this: warmth and connection and the fragile, precious certainty that she was exactly where she was meant to be.
Dinner that night was a communal affair, all of them crowded around the galley table while Trevan presided over a complicated dish involving something that looked vaguely like rice and something else that definitely wasn’t chicken but tasted surprisingly similar.
“My grandmother’s recipe,” Trevan explained, ladling generous portions onto plates. “Modified slightly for multi-species digestion. The original would have killed anyone without Cire intestinal flora.”
“Comforting,” Wei-Lin said dryly, but she ate with enthusiasm.
Katie was sitting between Koss and Becsul, demanding that they take turns making faces at her between bites. Robbie was in Melissa’s lap, gnawing contentedly on a teething ring that Sarah had somehow produced from her own meager possessions.
“My son had the same one,” Sarah had said, pressing it into Melissa’s hands. “I kept it for Katie when she was small. She doesn’t need it anymore.”
The small kindness had made Melissa’s throat tight.
Now she watched her strange, mismatched family eat together and felt a swell of something like joy. They were battered and exhausted and traumatized, all of them. They had no idea what came next. But in this moment, they were together, and that mattered.
“Captain Trevan,” she said, during a lull in the conversation. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course, Dr. Desai.”
The title startled her. No one had called her that since before the abduction. “I’m not… I mean, I don’t know if that title even applies out here.”
“You earned a doctorate in reproductive medicine, did you not? The accomplishment does not disappear simply because you crossed star systems.” Trevan’s scarred face creased into something that might have been a smile. “What did you wish to ask?”
“What’s the process like? For someone like me to get… certified? Recognized? Whatever the term is for being able to practice medicine in galactic space.”
“Ah.” He considered the question while chewing thoughtfully.
“It varies by species and by sector. But generally, there are standardized examinations administered by the Medical Guild. Your existing knowledge would need to be validated against their standards, and you would need to complete additional training in xenobiology and cross-species treatment protocols.”
“How long does that take?”
“Depends on the individual. I have known humans who completed the process in two years. Others who took five.”
“Two years.” She processed that. It was longer than she’d hoped, but shorter than she’d feared. “And the cost?”
“Significant, but not insurmountable. There are scholarships for refugees—you would likely qualify, given your circumstances. And some facilities offer apprenticeships that combine work and study.”
“Apprenticeships.” Her mind immediately began spinning with possibilities. “Where would I find those?”
“The Patrol could direct you. They maintain records of licensed facilities throughout the sector.” Trevan’s orange cybernetic eye flickered towards Becsul. “Your mate’s testimony about the Cire reproductive crisis may also open doors. There will be great interest in anyone with relevant expertise.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You have been somewhat preoccupied.” His tone was gentle, understanding. “But consider: you have firsthand knowledge of a crisis affecting an entire species. Knowledge the Medical Guild will want to hear. That has value, Dr. Desai. Significant value.”
She looked at Becsul, who was listening to the conversation while pretending to focus on Katie’s latest silly face. “What do you think?”
“I think Captain Trevan is correct.” His voice was measured, but she could hear the undercurrent of hope. “The situation on Ciresia is dire. Any expert who might offer solutions would be… welcomed.”
“Even a human expert?”
“Perhaps especially a human expert.” His tail found her ankle under the table, a reassuring touch. “The mate bond theory is controversial, but if it proves true—if human-Cire compatibility is real—then human reproductive specialists will be invaluable.”
“No pressure,” Sarah muttered, but she was smiling.
Wei-Lin spoke up for the first time. “The Patrol will want statements from all of us. About everything. The facility, the experiments, Naran’s operation.” Her dark eyes were sharp. “That information is valuable too. We should be strategic about how we share it.”
“Strategic?” Melissa frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we shouldn’t give everything away for free.” Wei-Lin set down her fork, her expression hardening into something that reminded Melissa she’d been a soldier. “We have leverage. Information the Patrol wants. We should use that leverage to secure our own positions before we hand it over.”
“That seems…” Melissa hesitated. “Mercenary.”
“Surviving is mercenary. You think they’re going to help us out of the goodness of their hearts? They’re law enforcement. They want convictions. Closed cases. Public victories.” Wei-Lin shook her head. “They’ll help us as long as we’re useful to them. The moment we’re not, we become paperwork.”
“Wei-Lin’s perspective has merit,” Becsul said carefully. “But the Patrol are not all self-serving. Many genuinely seek justice.”
“Many. Not all.” Wei-Lin shrugged. “I’m just saying we should protect ourselves. Make sure we get what we need before we give them what they need.”
The table fell silent, the earlier warmth cooling slightly. Katie looked between the adults with a confused expression, and Sarah quickly distracted her with another bite of the not-quite-chicken.
“I don’t want to be adversarial,” Melissa said finally. “But I don’t want to be naive either. Maybe there’s a middle ground. We cooperate, but we also advocate for ourselves.”
“That seems reasonable,” Trevan offered. “The Patrol respects those who understand their own worth. Groveling earns nothing but contempt.”
“I don’t grovel.” Wei-Lin’s smile was sharp. “Never have.”
“I had noticed.”
The tension eased, and dinner continued with lighter conversation—Koss’s increasingly absurd stories about his previous ships, Trevan’s dry observations about life as a freighter captain, Sarah’s quiet questions about the worlds they were passing.
After the meal, while the others drifted to their various evening activities, Melissa found herself standing at the galley’s small viewport with Robbie in her arms. He was getting sleepy, his eyes heavy, his small body warm and relaxed against her chest.
“Big day tomorrow,” she murmured to him. “The Patrol station. The beginning of… whatever comes next.”
He made a sound that might have been agreement or might have been a precursor to sleep.
“I’m scared,” she admitted. “I’m scared I won’t be able to do any of the things I’m hoping for. Scared I’ll fail. Scared you’ll grow up in a universe that doesn’t want us.”
Robbie’s hand found her braid, tugging gently.
“But I’m also excited. Can you be scared and excited at the same time? I think you can. I think maybe that’s what courage is—being afraid and doing things anyway.”
“You are correct.”
She turned to find Becsul in the doorway, watching her with an expression that made her heart flutter.
“Eavesdropping?”
“Appreciating.” He moved to stand beside her, his hand coming to rest on her lower back. “You speak to him as though he understands everything.”
“Maybe he does. Babies are smarter than people give them credit for.”
“Perhaps.” He looked down at Robbie, who had given up on the braid and was now yawning enormously. “He will grow up knowing he is loved. That is what matters most.”
“Even if everything else goes wrong?”
“Even then. A child who is loved can survive anything.” Something flickered in his black eyes—old pain, old grief. “I have seen it. The children who thrived despite circumstances. The ones who broke. The difference was always love.”
“You’re thinking about your family.”
“I am thinking about many families.” He shook his head, as if clearing away cobwebs. “But yes. My parents loved me. My siblings loved me. When the Red Death took them, I survived because I carried that love with me. It became… armor. Protection against despair.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“It is also true.” His arm came around her, pulling her and Robbie both into the shelter of his body. “Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever challenges we face, Robbie will have that armor. We will make sure of it.”
“We will.” She leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his hearts through his uniform. “Together.”
“Together,” he agreed.
They stood there for a long moment, watching the stars stream past, holding the future in their arms. Robbie’s breathing slowed into sleep, and the universe turned around them, vast and unknowable and full of possibility.
Tomorrow would bring the Patrol station. Questions. Challenges. The beginning of a new life.
But tonight, there was only this: peace, warmth, and the unshakeable knowledge that whatever came next, they would face it as a family.