CHAPTER SIX
T hraxar checked the autopilot, then made a slight adjustment to the engine thrust parameters.
The ship hummed around him, a familiar melody of systems functioning in exquisite harmony.
He had spent years fine-tuning every component until the vessel responded to his touch like an extension of his own body.
The quiet efficiency of his routine felt different today. The presence of two unexpected passengers had altered the atmosphere of his ship in ways he couldn’t quite define.
He caught a hint of Kara’s sweet floral scent and knew she was approaching the cockpit. His tail automatically flicked in that direction before he brought it back under control.
“Thraxar?” she asked hesitantly, and he immediately turned to face her.
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. The defensive posture wasn’t lost on him. She was no longer as relaxed as she had been during their meal.
“What can I do for you?”
“I hate to ask when you’ve already been so generous, but do you have a spare blanket? It’s for Rory—the air in the cabin is a little cool,” she added quickly.
He stiffened in irritation—not at her request, but at his own oversight.
“The environmental controls are set to Cire physiology,” he said as he rose from his seat. “An error on my part. I should have adjusted them immediately.”
“You don’t have to adjust them just for us. We can make do with a blanket.”
“You should not have to make do. I want you—both of you—to be comfortable.”
He led her to the environmental control panel near the crew quarters, and quickly adjusted the settings.
“The temperature will rise gradually over the next twenty minutes,” he explained. “You will let me know if it is not sufficient.”
“Really, we can manage with?—”
“The adjustment is trivial,” he interrupted. “And I will not be uncomfortable with a warmer temperature.”
“Then thank you.” She glanced back towards the crew cabin. “I should check on Rory.”
He followed her to the doorway of the small cabin.
Her son was curled up in a corner of the bed, one hand extended into the empty space between them, his fingers twitching as if to grasp something.
She immediately joined him and moved to within touching distance.
His fingers closed on her wrist and he sighed and relaxed, his breathing settling into a slow, steady pace.
“He likes to have physical contact,” she said quietly as she stroked the boy’s hair. “But he wants to be the one to initiate it.”
“I understand.”
He had often felt a similar need to control his interactions with others.
“I think he likes you,” she added.
“I would be honored.”
His words were no less than the truth. He suspected the boy did not give his affection lightly. And as for his mother… His admiration for her continued to increase. She would be a worthy mate, strong, intelligent, and capable.
No. It was impossible.
He did his best to put the thought out of his mind, but when she gave him an inquisitive look, he couldn’t resist the temptation to spend more time with her.
“Would you like to see the rest of the ship?”
“Yes, please.”
The tour was brief—the majority of the Sarex was dedicated to the transportation of goods from the cargo hold to the carefully organized storage compartments.
The living space was only designed for one or two people, but in addition to the lounge area, he had a training room and a tiny but well-equipped medical bay.
She gave the medical equipment a wistful glance.
“This is far more advanced than anything I had at the mines—I could have done so much more with it.”
“You worked as a medical officer?”
“Yes. I told you I was a nurse on Earth. I managed to convince Grentz that it would be more profitable to have me use those skills to keep his workers working than his original plans for me.”
He didn’t need to ask what those plans had been—she was too delicate for the mines which left only one possible profession—but his tail lashed angrily.
“You should report him to the Patrol as well,” he growled. “You should have never been taken, and he should not have kept you once he learned of your status.”
“Maybe. But the mine owners would just send in someone else. Grentz was cheap, but he wasn’t cruel. What if it was someone as sadistic as Drask?”
She had a point, and he nodded.
“We have time to decide.”
She smiled up at him, then yawned.
“You should rest,” he said firmly. “The temperature will be suitable now.”
“You’re probably right. I feel as if I haven’t slept properly in months.”
He escorted her back to her cabin, and she smiled up at him again.
“I know I keep saying this, but thank you.”
To his utter astonishment, she rose up on her tiptoes and pressed impossibly soft lips against his cheek.
He could only stare at her, frozen in place as his skin tingled from her touch, and she smiled again before disappearing inside the cabin.
He stood there staring at the closed door for far too long before he forced himself to turn away.
Back in the cockpit, he settled into his chair and stared out at the vast emptiness of space. The ship’s systems hummed around him just as they had before, but his thoughts remained with the two humans in the crew cabin.
Kara’s protective stance over her son, the child’s silent intelligence, their unspoken communication—it awakened memories he had long suppressed.
His own mother had possessed that same fierce protectiveness. She had fought so hard to protect him and his brother from the Red Death but in the end, it hadn’t been enough. The disease had claimed her, his father, and his brother while sparing him for reasons no healer could explain.
He flexed his fingers, pushing away the memories. Attachment led to loss. This was the truth he had lived by since leaving Ciresia behind. He’d even sold his family’s ship and replaced it with this smaller one. Solitude was preferable to the inevitable pain of connection.
And yet.
The image of Kara kneeling beside her son, their hands joined in silent communication, lingered in his mind. Even in the harshest circumstances, they had maintained their bond. There was strength in that connection, not just vulnerability.
The ship’s warning system chimed softly, interrupting his thoughts. He checked the diagnostic panel and frowned. The thermal regulator issue had progressed more rapidly than anticipated. The fluctuations were becoming more pronounced, affecting the stability of the propulsion system.
He ran a quick analysis to calculate the options.
At current parameters, they could reach the Patrol station in three days as planned, but the risk of system failure increased with each passing hour.
The nearest port with adequate repair facilities was Outpost Neldra, a trading hub with a questionable reputation but serviceable infrastructure.
A detour to Neldra would add at least two days to their journey. Two more days with the humans aboard his ship.
He shouldn’t find the prospect appealing.
With decisive movements, he adjusted their course toward Neldra. The ship responded smoothly, banking into its new trajectory. He would inform Kara of the change in plans immediately.
When he reached the crew cabin, he paused at the door. No sound came from within. He knocked lightly, but when there was no response he frowned and brought up the interior feed to the small monitor beside the door to make sure that nothing was wrong.
The two of them were asleep on the narrow bunk. The child was curled against his mother’s side, one small hand resting on her arm. Her posture remained defensive even in sleep, her body curved protectively around her son.
His hand hovered over the door control, then withdrew. The information could wait until morning. There was no tactical advantage in disturbing their rest.
He remained at the door longer than necessary, studying the sleeping humans. In repose, Kara’s features appeared younger, the vigilant tension temporarily absent from her face. The child’s breathing was deep and even, his arrangement of metal components still intact at the foot of the bunk.
A strange sensation expanded in his chest—an ache that was not entirely unpleasant. He recognized it with reluctant clarity: longing.
For what, precisely, he could not articulate. Not for his lost family—that pain had dulled to a permanent, manageable hollow. This was different. More immediate. More dangerous.
He stepped away from the door, his tail sweeping in an agitated arc behind him. The environmental controls indicated the cabin had reached the optimal temperature for human comfort. At least in this small way, he had provided for their needs.
The notion should not have given him satisfaction. They were temporary passengers, nothing more. In less than a week, he would deliver them to the Patrol station and continue his solitary existence. This was the logical outcome, the only acceptable conclusion to their brief intersection.
Yet as he returned to the cockpit, he found himself calculating the time they would spend at Outpost Neldra. The repairs would require at least a full day. Perhaps longer if parts needed to be fabricated.
The realization that he found the prospect of additional time with the humans appealing was troubling. Attachment was inefficient. Dangerous. It clouded judgment and created vulnerabilities.
He settled into his chair and focused on the navigation display, forcing his thoughts back to the practical matters at hand. Course adjustments. Fuel consumption. Repair priorities.
But beneath these tactical considerations, he was conscious that for the first time in years, his ship no longer felt empty.