Page 88 of Salvation for the Alien Mercenary

Davis shot him a look that would’ve melted hull plating.

“Not exactly,” Jex said, straightening. “I’ve analyzed his genetic structure against the data I copied from K’ell’s lab. You all should hear this.”

Mira pushed herself up, biting her lip as fresh skin pulled tight. Davis reached to help, but she shifted away. Spot pressed closer against her side.

“The unknown DNA in Davis’s makeup,” Jex continued, “shares structural commonalities with Ophiuchian genetic markers.”

Jesh’s head snapped up. “That’s impossible. Ophiuchians are from our universe, not this one.”

“Exactly,” Jex replied. “It suggests our universes connected before we knew about it.”

Davis’s pupils contracted to razor-thin slits. “What the hell are you saying? Where did it come from?”

“I believe it was in your grandmother’s lineage,” Jex said. “The M’Suun didn’t add alien DNA… they just activated what was already there.”

“You’re saying these… Ophiuchians were on Earth before first contact?” Covak scratched his beard. “That’s impossible.”

“Not necessarily,” Jesh said, wincing as she shifted her injured arm. “Our universes might have crossed paths throughout history. Small jumps that nobody recorded. And all it would need would be one Ophiuchian.”

The medbay went dead silent.

“So what am I now?” Davis asked, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

Jex tilted his helmet. “A human-Latharian-Ophiuchian hybrid. One of a kind in any universe. But stable.”

“And he’s not going to drop dead or sprout tentacles?” Ryke asked, crossing his arms.

“The transformation appears stable,” Jex said. “But we’ll need more tests to be sure.”

Mira’s fingers traced each dent and scrape on Spot’s casing, mapping the battle damage.

Davis moved closer to the bed, eyes fixed on her. The others suddenly found equipment readings fascinating. A new scent hit her… metallic and sharp, with hints of ozone and something wild.

“Does this change things?” he asked, voice low enough for her alone.

She studied his face. He’d changed. The angles of his jaw were harder. Sharper. His brow was heavier. But he still had the same odd stubble pattern she remembered running her fingertips over, and the little scar on his temple.

She glanced at the doorway where he’d blocked Covak. The way he’d put himself between her and anything threatening. How the crew had shifted around his new physicality like planets adjusting to a stronger gravitational pull.

She reached for his hand, her fingers hovering just above his skin. His hand waited, palm up.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I need to think about all this.”

His pupils narrowed. He gave a nod, and his hand dropped.

Spot chirped beside her, sensors brightening as his damaged legs stretched toward Davis. He tapped Davis’s arm three times in quick succession.

“Rest,” Davis said, stepping back. “We’ll talk later.”

Mira watched his back as he joined the others at Jex’s console, her emotions tangled like bad wiring. The same hands that had just saved Spot belonged to someone, something she barely recognized. Yet he’d still jumped to protect what mattered to her.

Spot’s sensors flashed his question pattern: three blinks, pause, three blinks.

Her fingers tingled with memory fragments from the neural link. The scrapyard’s cold darkness where she’d found him. That first identification: Not-Enemy, Friend, Protect.

Abandoned. Recovered. Transformed. Given purpose again.

Just like Davis.