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“I know what astronomical units are,” she says, numb-lipped and frozen.No kidding. The temperature at that distance would be 50 Kelvin. Negative 360 Fahrenheit. Thismustbe a dream.

“Then you did hear me.”

“That means we’re in space.Interstellarspace.”

“True, in a sense, though you could not survive in space.”

She glances around her, disbelieving, recontextualizing, rejecting the conclusions that follow.Impossible.Objectively. “So, this place is?—”

“I believe you would call it a starship.”

Play along. Maybe he’s a spy. Some foreign power wants our rocket science, and this is all a ruse to get the intel.That sounds more believable than a fuckingstarship.“What doyoucall it?”

“I call it home,” he says softly. “And I hope that someday, so will you.”

* * *

From all thedata he collected while she lay in stasis, he expected fear would feed her passion, but instead she getsangry.She awakens strong, spirited, full of unexpected defiance, forcing him to recalibrate swiftly.

He assigns an aspect more compatible with her chemistry, with promising results. Her pheromone levels tick up. She stops yelling at him and waits to find out more.

But as the small truths she asked for take hold, she staggers where she stands. A flush painted her cheeks when she looked at the form he chose, but the color drains away now, leaving her skin pale. Even her lips lose their color.

She sinks like he’s cut her legs out from under her. On her knees, head bowed, she braces herself against his surface with hands icy as the void outside. He registers a precipitous drop in her electrodermal activity.

The human-bodied individual rushes to her side. Specialized in both form and function, this one performs a particular role in service to the colony’s reproductive imperative: a gonozooid, defined by his adaptive ability to protect his mate, comfort her, provide for her, and please her. Meanwhile, the collective’s core neural network races through the human medical databases acquired in orbit around her world.

Her home,the one by her side murmurs.We took her from her home.

Lowered skin conductivity can indicate an onset of negative mood states, reduced capacity for pleasure, even loss of personality coherence. The data doesn’t offer any certainty—how do humans live with such imprecise understanding of their own biology?—but it doesn’t allay their collective concern, either.

His chosen mate cannot fear him in this moment, but she can still experiencedespair.

You told her too much, too fast.

She asked.The individual gonozooid’s response has a strangely frantic edge of emotion, as though human feeling somehow follows human form.She left me no room to prevaricate. It would have made her angrier.

The warning throws the colony into an unfamiliar state of conflict. Yet every part of him knows that this moment, this meeting, is essential. It must go well, or they—hewill lose his last chance to fulfill his mission.

He could offer her euphoria, but she already accused him of drugging her. He’s studied the language enough to understand the connotations, and he will not steal her autonomy.

All his focus turns to her chambers, to the two individuals at the edge of the small circle of light. The gonozooid kneels before her, reaching out with tentative tentillae—fingers—to move aside the matted tangle of keratinous filaments—her hair—that’s fallen across her face. He needs to see her.

She looks up with dull eyes, uncomprehending, but she doesn’t shy away. She lets him brush her hair back with a gentle hand.

We’ve already broken her.

I’m not so sure. The one at her side offers a surprisingly vehement counter.She’s already proven more resilient than expected.

“You’re an alien,” she whispers.

He sits back, considering this. “I suppose I am, to you.”

“This isn’t a dream. Or a lie. Or a trick.”

“No, Kaitlyn,” he says softly. “You asked me for the truth.”

“I...” She clears her throat, wiping a wrist across her face. “I don’t even know your name.”