Chapter 9
Niki
The Bardaga swallowed me whole. Corridors stretched forever, ceilings vanishing into shadow, everything pulsing with faint bioluminescence—organic metal that looked alive. The air tasted clean but wrong, ozone mixed with something herbal I couldn't name.
Enslak was here. Alive. Safe.
The medical bay sat deep in the ship's belly. Getting there meant riding lifts that moved in directions my inner ear couldn't process—sideways, diagonal, up and down simultaneously. By the time I reached the right level, my stomach was doing flips.
Twelve days, fourteen hours, twenty-six minutes since I'd last seen him.
They'd transferred Enslak into a Garoot Healer the moment we'd docked, the same kind of machine that had saved my life. I'd gone through medical too—standard protocol for checking injury, infection, lingering effects from Merisalle.
The physical exam took an hour. Deactivating my implants took three.
The technician had too many joints in their fingers and apologized while powering down the tech embedded in my skull. "Asad protocol," they'd explained. "Recalibration periods between operations."
I'd wanted to argue—the implants had become part of me, an extension of my senses I hadn't known I needed until they were gone. Without them, the world felt flat and muted, like losing a dimension of perception.
But I'd nodded, agreed, let them shut everything down.
Because none of it mattered if I couldn't see Enslak.
I'd tried every day, sometimes twice, camping outside medbay with my back against the wall, waiting for scraps of information while the staff stayed kind but firm: isolation protocols, no visitors, no distractions.
I'd caught glimpses when the doors opened. Through those gaps, I'd seen the chamber—massive, cylindrical, glowing with soft blue-green light, his silhouette suspended in gel or fluid or something I didn't have words for.
Still—so terribly still.
Each time, my heart clenched. Each time, I wanted to run to him, press my hands against that chamber and will him to wake up.
But I'd stayed back, waited, hoped.
Twelve days, fourteen hours, twenty-seven minutes.
"Detective Nguyen?"
I looked up to find a small nurse with lavender skin. "Enslak?" I asked my go-to question.
"The Prime requested your presence first." Her expression was sympathetic. "She's waiting for you."
The Prime, her mate Cullen, and her other son Kavak had arrived ten days ago.
I'd seen them only once, from a distance—three figures moving through the corridors with an entourage of guards and advisors.
The Prime had walked with purpose, her robes flowing behind her like liquid gold.
Cullen, tall and broad-shouldered, stayed close to her side, his hand occasionally touching the small of her back.
And Kavak—older than Enslak by a couple of years, his pelt a darker shade of bronze—moved with the controlled grace of someone trained for combat.
Charick, chieftain of the Bardaga, was often with them.
I'd seen him more frequently than the others. He moved through the medical wing like he owned it, which I supposed he did. This was his ship, his crew, his domain.
They hadn't acknowledged me. Hadn't sought me out.
I'd told myself it was because they were focused on Enslak, on his recovery. That they had more important things to worry about than the human detective who'd barely managed to keep their son alive.
But part of me wondered if they blamed me. If they looked at his broken body suspended in that chamber and saw my failure written in every wound.
Now, apparently, I was about to find out.
The corridors twisted until we reached ornate doors flanked by guards who could tear me in half without breaking a sweat. They didn't stop me, just watched as the nurse announced my arrival.
The chamber beyond wasn't what I expected—warm, almost comfortable, with furniture that looked nearly Earth-like. Standing at a massive viewport, gazing at the stars, was Alliance Prime Serna.
She turned.
On Calpa, she'd been composed and regal. Now she looked like she hadn't slept in days. Her golden eyes—the same shade as Enslak's—were bloodshot. Her pelt was matted. The robes that should have shimmered with power just looked heavy.
When she looked at me, I saw it all at once: relief, anguish, desperate hope, and something that looked a lot like fear.
"Detective Nguyen." Her voice was softer than I remembered. "You came."
"Of course, Lady Prime."
Something in her face cracked. "You promised to bring my son home." She paused, her voice catching. "And you kept that promise."
The gratitude should have made me feel proud. Instead, it tightened my chest with guilt.
"I brought him back," I said quietly. "But I don't know if—"
"If you saved him or condemned him?" Serna finished. She gestured to the seating area. We sat close enough that I could see the fine tremor in her hands. "Tell me what happened. Everything."
So I told her. About landing on Merisalle, watching Enslak return from the pits, the way the Negita had treated him like an animal.
About removing the collar and our escape through the sewers, how he'd carried me to keep me safe from the filth.
About the guards who'd attacked us, how he'd fought them all while bleeding and dying because protecting me mattered more than his own life.
About that moment before he'd lost consciousness, when he'd touched my face and said a single word: safe.
Serna listened without interrupting, her expression growing more pained with each detail.
"He spoke to you," she said finally.
"Yes."
"He hasn't..." She stopped, pressing her hand to her mouth. "Seven times we've tried to wake him. Seven times he's attacked anyone near him. Confused. Terrified. George has tried everything."
She wrapped her arms around herself.
"His body healed. The augmentations are mostly gone. But his mind..." Her voice cracked. "A century of torture. I don't know how to reach him anymore."
"But he was calm with me," I said. "On Merisalle. He held my hand. He protected me."
"I know." She turned back to face me, tears streaming down her cheeks. "That's why I wanted to tell you before you saw him. Before the family decides."
She sank back into her chair.
"We're going to try one more time. Tomorrow at dawn." She looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. "If he's unchanged... if he's still trapped in there... we'll grant him the koa ukufa. A warrior's death. It's what he would have wanted."
The words hit me like a blaster bolt to the chest.
"You're going to kill him."
Not a question. A statement. Flat. Disbelieving.
"We're going to release him from suffering," Serna said, though her voice carried no conviction. "The Enslak I knew wouldn't want to live like this. Trapped in his own mind, unable to recognize his family, existing only in sedation or rage."
"The ceremony will be tomorrow at dawn." Her voice was heavy with grief. "You're welcome to attend if you wish. You brought him home. You deserve to say goodbye."
She moved toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "Thank you, Detective Nguyen. For everything you did. For bringing my son home, even if only for a little while."
Then she was gone.
My legs gave out. I sank into the chair, hands shaking, vision blurring with tears I refused to let fall.
They were going to kill him. Tomorrow. At dawn.
The isolation room sat at the end of a long corridor, separated by multiple security checkpoints. The final door slid open.
Every crew member I passed looked away.
A Vaktaire warrior turned his head as I approached, suddenly fascinated by the wall panel beside him.
Two females in engineering uniforms stopped their conversation mid-sentence, their ears flattening as they studied the floor.
A young male—barely more than a cub—met my eyes for half a heartbeat before his gaze skittered away, shame coloring his features.
They knew.
They all knew where I was going. What tomorrow would bring.
The silence followed me like a funeral shroud. No one spoke. No one acknowledged me. They simply... moved aside. Created space. Let me pass as though I were already a ghost, already mourning, already saying goodbye.
The final door slid open.
Serna, Charick, and Kavak were already inside. The healer, George, stood at the medical console, his large eyes somber as he monitored the equipment. In the center, on a bed that looked too small for his frame, lay Enslak.
My breath caught.
The Garoot Healer had done extraordinary work.
The patches of scales that had covered his skin were gone.
The grafted tissue from other species, the hybrid modifications that had made him look like something stitched together from nightmares, had been removed.
His pelt was uniform now, deep cream that caught the light in soft waves. Pure Vaktaire.
But he was still massive. Considerably larger than his brothers, his frame taking up nearly the entire medical bed.
His claws were long and prominent, curved and sharp in a way that standard Vaktaire claws weren't. His fangs, visible through slightly parted lips, were longer than typical for his kind.
These weren't remnants of the Ulkommenian's experiments.
They were simply part of who he was now, woven into his healed body at a cellular level. Part of his natural form.
He looked Vaktaire. He looked beautiful.
But he also looked broken.
His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and steady. Sedated, I realized. His massive frame was relaxed, but something about the stillness felt wrong. Like the calm before violence. Too empty. Too ready to snap.
Like looking at a body without a soul.
"The Garoot Healer did remarkable work," Serna said quietly beside me. "The technology reversed nearly all the physical modifications. His body is whole again."
"But his mind isn't," I said.
"No." The single word carried the weight of worlds. "His mind is fractured. Shattered. George believes the torture and experimentation damaged him beyond what physical healing can repair."
I moved closer to the bed. My hand reached out before I could stop myself, my fingers brushing Enslak's arm—warm pelt, solid and real.
Alive.
He was alive.
"What happens when you wake him?" I asked.
Serna's silence was answer enough.
"Lady Prime." I pressed. "What happens?"
"He rages." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Violent. Uncontrolled. He doesn't recognize us. Doesn't respond to his name. He attacks anyone who comes near."
My hand tightened on Enslak's arm.
Serna moved to the opposite side of the bed, looking down at her son with such profound sadness it made my chest ache. "Each time is the same. He wakes, and within minutes he's trying to kill everyone in the room."
"There has to be something—"
"George has tried everything." Serna's voice was firm but not unkind. "Every technique, every treatment, every therapy the Garoot possess. Nothing reaches him. Whatever the Ulkommenian did to him, whatever walls Enslak built to survive... they're too strong. Too deep."
I looked down at Enslak's peaceful face, remembering how he'd looked at me in the cell. How he'd held my hand. How he'd carried me through the sewers and fought a dozen guards to keep me safe.
"He's in there," I said. "I know he is."
"Perhaps." Serna reached out, her hand hovering over Enslak's face but not quite touching. "But even if he is, we may never reach him."
"Mother," Charick said, his voice deep and resonant. "It's time."
Serna nodded, her expression hardening into something that looked like resolve. "Thank you, Charick."
"Time for what?" I asked, my gaze darting between the three of them.
"Detective Nguyen." Serna's voice was soft. Final. "We're going to try one last time. If he's still—" Her voice broke. "If he's still lost, then tomorrow at dawn, we grant him the koa ukufa."
My stomach dropped. "Lady Prime—"
"This is his last chance," Charick said, moving to stand beside the bed. "And ours."
George appeared from the corner where he'd been monitoring equipment, his large eyes somber as he approached the medical console. "I'll reduce the sedation gradually. But if he becomes violent—"
"We know," Kavak said quietly.
George's fingers moved across the controls. The soft hum of the medical equipment shifted pitch.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then Enslak's body convulsed.
His eyes snapped open—wild, unfocused, burning with primal rage. A sound tore from his throat, something between a roar and a scream, and his massive frame lurched upward against the restraints.
The medical bay erupted into chaos.
Enslak thrashed, claws raking the air, teeth bared in a feral snarl. The restraints groaned under the strain. One snapped with a metallic crack.
"Enslak!" Serna's voice cracked with desperation. "Son, please—"
He didn't hear her. Didn't recognize her. His free arm swung out, claws extended, and Charick barely dodged backward in time.
"George!" Kavak shouted. "Sedate him!"
But I was already moving, pushing past Charick, stepping into Enslak's line of sight.
"Enslak," I said. Not shouting. Just his name.
His head whipped toward me.
For one heartbeat—one impossible, crystalline moment—our eyes locked.
The rage drained from his face like water through a sieve. His expression shifted—confusion, then recognition, then something that looked like wonder. His gold eyes softened, focused, saw me with perfect clarity.
Then George's injector hissed against his neck.
Enslak's eyes rolled back. His body went slack, collapsing onto the bed as the sedative flooded his system.
The silence that followed felt like a physical weight.
"No," I whispered. "No, he was there. He saw me. He—"
"He saw nothing." Charick's voice was hollow, agonized. "He's too far gone."
Serna moved to Enslak's bedside, her hand hovering over his face but not quite touching. Tears tracked down her cheeks. "The ritual will be tomorrow at dawn." Her voice was barely audible. "There's no hope left."
She turned and walked toward the door, shoulders bowed under the weight of her decision.
Charick and Kavak followed, neither looking back.
The door slid shut behind them.
And I was alone with Enslak.
I sank into the chair beside his bed, my legs suddenly unable to hold me. My hands were shaking. My vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall.