CHAPTER SEVEN
K ara woke up, feeling surprisingly refreshed.
Her sleep had been free of nightmares for the first time since she’d been abducted, and she had slept peacefully in a cocoon of safety.
The cabin was comfortably warm now, and she was wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of spice.
The pillow beneath her head was soft, and Rory had finally relaxed in his sleep, his face peaceful and untroubled.
She smoothed his hair back from his forehead, allowing herself a moment to simply watch him.
On the asteroid, she’d rarely slept deeply enough to feel rested, always alert for approaching footsteps or voices that might signal danger. Here, despite being on an alien vessel with a being she barely knew, she’d slept more soundly than she had in months.
That realization was both comforting and unsettling.
She didn’t even jump when someone kicked softly on the door. Careful not to wake Rory, she slipped out of bed and went to answer it.
Thraxar stood in the corridor, his massive body nearly filling the doorway. His black eyes met hers briefly before shifting away.
“You require sustenance,” he said softly. “I am preparing a meal.”
She glanced back at Rory. “I should probably wait until he wakes up.”
“The internal monitoring system will alert you if he wakes.” He gestured to a small panel beside the door. “You may observe from any communication terminal.”
She hesitated, then nodded. The idea of monitoring technology was both reassuring and disturbing, but the thought of food was too tempting to resist.
“Thank you,” she said, following him down the corridor.
In the small galley, he prepared a simple meal, his tail moving gracefully as he worked.
“I am afraid there has been a change in our plans,” he said, setting a steaming bowl before her. “The repairs I mentioned have become more urgent. I plan to stop at Outpost Neldra.”
She paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Is it dangerous?”
“The repair is manageable. The delay is… regrettable.”
“I meant the outpost.”
He frowned at her. “Their security protocols are not optimal, but I will not let anything happen to you or Rory.”
She believed him. She also realized that she wasn’t anxious or disappointed about the delay.
Instead, she found herself oddly relieved.
Three days had seemed too short a time to figure out what would happen next.
What awaited them at the Patrol station?
Should they go back to Earth and worry about an explanation later?
How would it work if they decided to stay?
A few additional days to make a decision didn’t seem like a bad thing. Additional days with Thraxar.
“How long will it take?” she asked.
“The repair itself requires approximately one standard day. The journey to Neldra adds two days to our travel time.” His tail twitched slightly. “I apologize for the delay in reaching your destination.”
“It’s fine,” she said sincerely. “We’re safer here than we’ve been in a long time.”
An expression she couldn’t read flickered across his face—surprise, perhaps.
The monitor on the wall beeped softly, showing Rory sitting up in bed, looking around with wide eyes.
“He’s awake,” she said, already moving toward the door.
“Wait.” Thraxar retrieved a small container and handed it to her. “For the child. The protein compound he accepted yesterday.”
She took it, once again struck by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you.”
When they returned to the cabin, Rory was methodically arranging his small collection of metal pieces on the floor. He looked up as they entered, his gaze going immediately to Thraxar. His fingers fluttered in greeting.
“Good morning,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Are you hungry?”
He shrugged, but accepted the food container without taking his eyes off Thraxar. The Cire remained in the doorway, watching them with an unreadable expression.
“I will return shortly,” he said abruptly, turning to leave.
She made sure Rory ate, then helped him wash and dress in the small sanitation unit attached to their cabin. Their few belongings—a spare set of threadbare clothes for each of them, Rory’s small collection of found objects, and the datapad Thraxar had given them—looked pitiful laid out on the bunk.
True to his word, Thraxar returned about an hour later. He carried a large bundle under one arm, his expression almost… hesitant?
“I observed that your possessions are limited,” he said, setting the bundle on the bunk. “These are no longer required for my use. Perhaps they could be modified to serve your needs.”
She unfolded the bundle to find several garments in various shades of green and brown. The fabric was soft but durable, clearly of much higher quality than anything she’d worn since their abduction. The items were far too large—designed for his massive body—but with some alteration…
“You’re giving us your clothes?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
He looked away, but his tail came up to curl around her wrist. “I do not need them and it seems… efficient.”
Efficient perhaps, but also kind and thoughtful.
“This is very kind,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
He shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable with her gratitude.
“I have some tools you can use for alterations.” He gestured for her to follow him.
He opened a small cabinet in the lounge to reveal an array of tools.
“You can use this for cutting,” he explained, demonstrating the controls. “And this one joins fabric without the need for thread.”
She ran her fingers over them, shaking her head. On the asteroid, she’d had to mend their clothes with needles fashioned from wire and thread unraveled from discarded garments.
“I’ve never used anything like this.”
He demonstrated on a small piece of fabric, big hands surprisingly graceful, then helped her cut out the pieces for a shirt for Rory.
Rory had followed them and he observed for a few minutes before settling on the floor nearby with his collection of metal pieces.
As she began carefully assembling the pieces they’d cut, she noticed Thraxar watching Rory. Her son had arranged his treasures in a precise pattern on the floor, humming softly to himself as he worked.
“He organizes objects,” Thraxar said thoughtfully. “There is a pattern to his arrangement.”
She nodded, carefully joining two pieces of fabric. “It helps him make sense of things. The world can be overwhelming for him sometimes. Finding patterns gives him control.”
He considered her words, then sat down next to Rory.
“May I observe?” he asked.
Rory didn’t look up, but his humming grew slightly louder—a positive sign. After a moment, he pushed one of his metal pieces toward Thraxar.
The Cire accepted it, examining the small component with genuine interest.
“This is part of a calibration node from a navigation system,” he said. “An obsolete model, but precisely manufactured.”
Rory hummed absently, arranging the remaining pieces in a spiral pattern. Thraxar placed the piece he was holding at what appeared to be the logical next position in the sequence, and Rory’s fingers fluttered with pleasure.
Her hands stilled on the fabric as she watched them.
Very few people on Earth had ever bothered to understand her son’s behaviors, much less participate in them—his father certainly hadn’t—and they’d been even less forgiving on the asteroid.
They’d called him defective, broken. Yet Thraxar was engaging with her son on his own terms without judgment or frustration. Her chest suddenly ached.
She returned to her work, cutting and shaping one of the smaller garments into a shirt that might fit Rory. The fabric responded beautifully to the tools, edges sealing seamlessly where she joined them. As she worked, she found herself humming along with Rory’s tune.
“This arrangement resembles the Ciresian constellation Verek,” Thraxar said, indicating the pattern Rory had created. “The Hunter’s Spear.”
Rory looked up at him, then back at the pattern, adding another piece to extend one arm of the spiral.
“Yes, precisely,” Thraxar nodded. “That completes the formation.”
She held up the finished shirt, pleased with how it had turned out. The fabric’s original deep green color remained, but she’d managed to shape it to Rory’s proportions. “Rory, would you like to try this on?”
He glanced up, then returned to his constellation, clearly not ready to abandon his project.
“The pattern is significant to him,” Thraxar observed. “It would be disruptive to interrupt it before completion.”
She smiled, setting the shirt aside. “You’re right. I’ll work on something else while he finishes.”
She selected another piece of fabric, this one a soft brown with subtle variations in tone. As she measured it against herself, she realized Thraxar was watching her now, his black eyes following her movements.
“The color suits you,” he said unexpectedly.
Heat rose to her cheeks. “Thank you. I haven’t had anything new to wear in… a long time.”
“The mining colony provided inadequate resources.” It wasn’t a question.
“They provided what kept us alive and working. Nothing more.” She focused on cutting the fabric, not wanting to dwell on those memories. “This is luxury by comparison.”
His tail lashed in what she was beginning to recognize as a gesture of agitation. “Minimal survival requirements are insufficient for optimal functioning.”
She laughed softly, surprising herself. “That’s one way to put it.”
Rory had completed his constellation and was now watching them, his head tilted in the same manner as Thraxar’s. He hummed a different tune, this one rising and falling in a question.
“Yes, we’re talking about the asteroid,” she told him. “But we don’t have to go back there. Ever.”
He scooted over to Thraxar, settling beside him with unexpected familiarity. He reached out to trace the pattern on the Cire’s forearm, his fingers gently following the lines.
Thraxar remained perfectly still, allowing the contact. “The patterns are genetic markers,” he explained. “They identify our lineage.”
“They’re beautiful,” she said honestly.
“They are… merely biological features.” But his tail curled briefly around her ankle.
Rory continued tracing the patterns, humming contentedly, and Thraxar made no move to stop him, his massive body relaxed despite the child’s proximity.
The scene before her was so unexpected, so far removed from anything she could have imagined when they fled the asteroid, that Kara felt a sudden tightness in her throat.
This huge alien had not only rescued them but was now sitting patiently while her son explored his skin markings.
He had given them clothes, tools, food—all without demanding anything in return.
She turned back to her sewing to hide the moisture in her eyes. The fabric shimmered slightly under the cutting guide’s light, transforming under her hands into something new and useful. Like their lives, perhaps—being remade from what had been discarded, finding new purpose in unexpected places.
For the first time in longer than she could remember, she allowed herself to feel something dangerously close to hope.