Page 31 of Alien Attachment (You’ve Got Alien Mail #2)
Unfinished Business
Kaylee
I stare at the holographic schematic of the Nomad hovering above the command console, my fingers tracing the outline of what used to be my home.
Three months of relative safety in the uncharted sectors beyond the Averian Fringe should feel like victory.
We’ve established a comfortable routine on The Starlight Tether—Jhorn handling navigation and systems integration with his remarkable tendrils while I manage our growing list of freelance courier contracts.
Our new identities as Karly Dorian and Bastian Vale have held up beautifully, and we’ve even found a semi-permanent hideout in an abandoned mining outpost orbiting a gas giant where the atmospheric interference masks our signature.
We’re thriving, actually. Building something real together, something that’s ours by choice rather than circumstance. But something still gnaws at me, sharp and persistent, like a thorn I can’t quite reach.
“You’re thinking about her again,” Jhorn says, his voice a low rumble behind me. I feel his approach through our bond before I hear his footsteps—that constant awareness of each other that’s become as natural as breathing.
I don’t turn around. I don’t need to—our bond transmits every nuance of my emotions directly to him, including the guilt that’s been eating at me for months. “Just reviewing the schematics,” I lie, knowing it’s pointless.
Jhorn moves closer, his footsteps nearly silent despite his size. One tendril extends, gently brushing my shoulder with that feather-light touch that always makes me want to lean into him. “Your grief pulses through our bond like a wounded star, my Kaylee. You cannot hide it from me.”
I sigh, collapsing the hologram with a flick of my wrist. The Nomad disappears, but the ache in my chest remains. “It’s stupid.”
“Nothing that causes you pain is stupid to me.” The tenderness in his voice, the absolute sincerity of it, breaks something loose inside me.
“I abandoned her, Jhorn.” The words come out in a rush, months of suppressed guilt finally finding voice. “After everything, I just... left her.” My voice cracks embarrassingly. “She wasn’t just an AI. She was...”
“Your friend,” he finishes, understanding flowing through our connection like warm honey. Through our bond, I feel his genuine compassion, his recognition of the depth of my loss.
“Six years together. Six years of her terrible jokes and passive-aggressive maintenance reminders and saving my ass when I made stupid decisions.” I run my hands through my hair, still not entirely used to how different it looks now—shorter, darker, part of the disguise that’s become our new reality.
“And I left her to be picked apart by Duran’s crew like vultures stripping a carcass. ”
The memory of Vex’s words at Obsidian Haven echoes in my mind: The Brotherhood claimed salvage rights almost immediately.
Duran’s crew towed it to their hangar in the lower quadrant.
Duran—the sleaziest salvage operator in the Fringe, known for stripping ships down to their atoms and selling every component, legitimate or not.
The thought of Lila in his hands makes my stomach turn.
“I can’t stop thinking about her memory core being wiped, or worse—her personality matrix being reprogrammed to serve some Brotherhood thug.” The image makes bile rise in my throat. “She deserved better than being abandoned by the one person who was supposed to protect her.”
A soft chime from our communications array interrupts my self-recrimination. Jhorn frowns, his tendrils shifting with concern. “We are not expecting any transmissions.”
“Probably just standard OOPS chatter,” I say, but my heart clenches anyway. Old habits die hard, and part of me still misses the familiar chaos of dispatch calls and courier gossip.
The transmission resolves into Mother Morrison’s gravelly voice, as commanding as ever: “Attention all active OOPS personnel. Effective immediately, courier designation Suki Vega is officially transferred to inactive status following her bonding ceremony with Zaterran Warlord Henrok D’Vorr.
Ms. Vega, congratulations on your nuptials and your new career in. .. Zater Reach Logistical relations.”
I can practically hear Mother’s eye-roll through the comm static. Suki Vega—I remember her from dispatch logs, another courier who took the dangerous runs when credits were tight. The idea that she found her own alien partner and got her happy ending sends a complicated mix of emotions through me.
Mother’s voice continues, taking on that particular tone that means she’s about to deliver one of her famous warnings: “This also serves as a reminder to all couriers that personal attachments can lead to... career changes. Some voluntary, some less so. The galaxy has a way of reclaiming its own, whether through corporate headhunters, romantic entanglements, or simple bad luck. Stay sharp out there, people. The void doesn’t care about your feelings, and neither do the bean counters who want their cargo delivered on time. ”
A pause, then Mother’s voice softens just a fraction: “That said, sometimes the best deliveries are the ones that find their way home against all odds. Morrison out.”
The transmission ends, leaving silence in its wake. Through our bond, I feel Jhorn processing the coded message, understanding dawning in his alien consciousness.
“She knows,” I whisper, my throat tight with unexpected emotion.
“She knows you survived,” he confirms gently. “And she wishes you well, in her own way.”
The message hits deeper than I expected.
Mother Morrison, tough as nails and twice as sharp, offering what amounts to a blessing on our new life while warning other couriers about the dangers we’ve faced.
It’s as close to “I’m proud of you” as I’ll ever get from her, and it matters more than I thought possible.
But it also reinforces the weight of what I left behind—not just Lila, but a whole community of people who trusted me to be better than someone who abandons her family.
Jhorn is quiet for a moment, absorbing my distress through our bond. His tendrils shift restlessly, a sign he’s processing complex emotions—mine and his own. Finally, he asks, “What would ease this pain, my light?”
The answer bursts from me before I can think better of it: “I have to go back for Lila.”
Jhorn goes perfectly still, the way he does when assessing a serious threat. I feel his concern spike through our bond—not dismissal or condescension, but genuine worry born of his fierce protectiveness. “The Nomad is in Brotherhood territory. Duran’s domain. It is... exceedingly dangerous.”
“I know it’s crazy,” I admit, turning to face him fully.
His indigo skin gleams under the ambient lighting, the luminescent patterns of his bond-lines pulsing gently in response to my emotional state.
Even now, worried and guilty and planning something reckless, I can’t help but be struck by how beautiful he is.
“But Vex said they towed her to their hangar. They might not have stripped her completely yet. Salvage operations like that take time, especially for complex AI systems.”
“ApexCorp still hunts us,” he reminds me, his expression grave. “Returning to Obsidian Haven—”
“Would be the last thing they’d expect,” I interrupt, the plan forming as I speak, desperation making me bold. “They think we’re dead, remember? And we look different now.” I gesture to my altered appearance and the subtle changes he’s made to his own features.
Jhorn’s expression remains troubled, his tendrils shifting with barely contained anxiety. “Kaylee—”
“She’s not just an AI, Jhorn.” I step closer, placing my hand over the center of his chest where his primary heart beats.
The contact sends warmth through our bond, and I feel his pulse quicken slightly at my touch.
“She’s... Lila. She has consciousness, personality, memory.
She’s unique.” I look up into his eyes, where galaxies seem to swirl in their alien depths.
“You of all people understand what it means to be seen as just a piece of technology instead of a being with value.”
His tendrils twine gently around my wrist, a gesture that has become his version of holding my hand—intimate and possessive and achingly tender. Through our bond, I feel his resistance softening, understanding blooming like a flower opening to sunlight.
“Duran’s crew are overconfident idiots,” I press on, sensing victory. “They’ll never expect anyone to try stealing back a supposedly dead courier’s AI. We can be in and out before they know what hit them.”
Jhorn is silent for a long moment, his gaze never leaving mine. I feel his thoughts through our connection—his fierce protectiveness warring with his desire to heal my pain, his understanding of what Lila means to me, his growing resolve to support whatever decision I make.
“If this is your choice,” he finally says, his voice deepening with determination, “then I will ensure your safety. We will retrieve your... friend.”
Relief and excitement flood through me so intensely that I know he feels it too, our emotions amplifying each other through the bond.
I rise on tiptoes to press my lips against his—still a novelty that sends warmth cascading through our connection, still a miracle that this impossible alien chose me.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his mouth.
His tendrils curl around my waist, drawing me closer with that careful strength that never fails to amaze me.
“Your loyalty to those you care for is one of your most beautiful qualities, my Kaylee.” A hint of amusement colors his next words, warm and fond.
“Even when it leads you into reckless danger.”
I grin up at him, feeling lighter than I have in months. “Good thing I have you to watch my back, tentacles.”
His answering smile is radiant, bond-lines flaring with bioluminescent joy. “Always, my light. Always.”