Page 11 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced (You’ve Got Alien Mail #1)

Once standing, she quickly withdraws her hand, as if the contact burns. Perhaps for her, it does. Zaterran body temperature runs higher than that of humans.

“Let me just...” She gestures to the partially reassembled droid. “I should at least close him up so nothing gets lost.”

I watch as she efficiently secures the droid’s components, her movements economical and practiced.

There is something compelling about competence, regardless of the task.

In battle, I have witnessed warriors with natural grace, their every move precise and purposeful.

Suki displays that same quality now, in this mundane act of repair.

“There.” She steps back, surveying her work. “He’ll need more attention later, but at least he won’t lose any parts while I’m gone.”

“You intend to complete the repair?” I ask, curious about her investment in a device she encountered only hours ago.

She shrugs again, that casual gesture that somehow conveys volumes. “Seems a shame to leave him broken when I can fix him. Besides, what else am I going to do for three days? Stare at the walls?”

There is something in her tone—a hint of vulnerability beneath the practiced nonchalance. She is uncomfortable with idleness, I realize. Perhaps even fears it.

“There are other diversions available,” I tell her as we exit her quarters. The guards fall into position behind us, maintaining a respectful distance. “The fortress contains training facilities, meditation chambers, and an extensive knowledge archive.”

She snorts, a sound I’m beginning to associate with her particular brand of skepticism. “Right. Because what every girl wants on vacation is a good workout, some quiet contemplation, and homework.”

“This is not a vacation,” I remind her, though I suspect she knows this well.

“Trust me, Henrock, no one is more aware of that than me.” She glances up at me, a challenge in her gaze. “So, are we taking the scenic route to the repair bay, or is there a reason we’re heading toward what looks suspiciously like an observation deck?”

Her spatial awareness is impressive. We are indeed approaching one of the fortress’s upper observation platforms, though I had not announced our destination.

I feel a muscle twitch near my jaw at her deliberate mispronunciation of my name—again.

The human knows perfectly well how to say it correctly, yet persists in this small rebellion. It should not affect me. It does.

“Your ship and package will wait another hour,” I say, not entirely certain why I’ve altered our course. “There is something you should see first.”

Her eyebrows rise, but she follows without further comment as I lead her through a series of ascending corridors. The guards remain at the last junction, understanding without instruction that their presence is not required for this detour.

We emerge onto a crystalline platform extending from the fortress’s upper levels. The transparent floor and ceiling create the illusion of standing suspended in space, with only a narrow walkway of solid obsidian providing psychological reassurance against the void below.

Suki’s breath catches audibly as she takes in the view.

Beyond the platform, the twin moons of Zater Reach hang low on the horizon, their surfaces scarred from ancient mining operations.

Between them, the first flickers of an approaching ion storm illuminate the nebula’s swirling gases in shades of violet and deep crimson.

“Oh my stars,” she whispers, moving to the edge of the platform. “That’s... I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I stand beside her, watching her face rather than the familiar vista.

Her expression is open, wonder replacing the guarded wariness she typically displays.

The storm’s approaching light plays across her features, highlighting the unusual patterns on her skin—freckles, I believe they’re called.

Like constellations mapped across her face.

“The ion storm approaches from the Outer Reach,” I explain, returning my gaze to the horizon. “It will pass directly through the asteroid belt, creating what my people call the Breath of Shattered Stars.”

“It’s beautiful,” she says simply.

“It is also deadly,” I add. “Had your ship encountered this storm during your approach, you would not have survived.”

She glances at me, a flicker of understanding crossing her features. “So the gravitational anomaly that forced me down...”

“May have saved your life,” I confirm. “Though that does not explain why your navigation system directed you to my landing pad specifically.”

She turns fully toward me now, arms crossed in a posture I’ve come to recognize as her defensive stance. “You still think I’m some kind of spy or saboteur, don’t you?”

“I think,” I say carefully, “that coincidences are rare in matters of interstellar politics. And your arrival has been marked by several such improbabilities.”

The first tendrils of the storm reach the outer asteroids, electricity arcing between the floating rocks in brilliant flashes of blue-white light. The display momentarily distracts us both.

“I’m nobody, really,” she says quietly, her eyes fixed on the approaching storm. “Just a courier trying to make enough credits to keep flying. Whatever game you think is being played here, I’m not a player. I’m barely even a pawn.”

There is truth in her words—I can sense it. Yet there is also something else, something unspoken that hangs between us like the charged particles of the approaching storm.

“So was I, once,” I find myself saying, the admission unexpected even to me. “Nobody. Before the war. Before I became First Blade.”

She looks at me sharply, surprise evident in her expression. “You weren’t always... this?” She gestures vaguely at my formal attire, the insignia of my rank emblazoned on my chest plate.

“No.” I turn back to the storm, watching as it engulfs the nearest asteroids in a dance of light and energy. “I was born to the mining caste. My family extracted crystal from the outer belt. I was not destined for warfare or leadership.”

“What happened?” she asks, her voice softer than I’ve heard it before.

The question is simple, yet the answer is anything but. How to explain the War of Shattered Moons to an outsider? How to convey what it means to rise from nothing, to be forged in conflict, to become something both more and less than what you were born to be?

“War happened,” I say finally. “And I proved... adaptable.”

She studies me for a long moment, her gaze more perceptive than I find comfortable. “That’s quite the understatement, I’m guessing.”

Before I can respond, the storm reaches us.

The platform trembles slightly as energy washes over the fortress’s shields, creating a shimmering curtain of light that surrounds us completely.

Within this cocoon of energy, sound itself seems transformed—deeper, more resonant, as if we speak within a crystal bell.

“Whoa,” Suki breathes, turning in a slow circle to take in the phenomenon. “This is incredible.”

“The shields convert the storm’s destructive force into sustainable energy,” I explain, watching as she extends a hand toward the barrier, stopping just short of touching it. “The effect is temporary but... significant.”

“It’s like being inside a rainbow made of lightning,” she says, wonder coloring her voice. Then she laughs—a genuine sound of delight that echoes strangely in our enclosed space. “That made no sense, did it?”

“It is an apt description,” I assure her, finding myself drawn to her unguarded joy. “Few outsiders have witnessed this phenomenon. Fewer still have appreciated its beauty rather than its practical applications.”

She turns to me, her expression curious. “Why show me, then? If it’s so rare for outsiders to see.”

It is a question I have been asking myself since I diverted our path to this place. Why indeed? What impulse drove me to share this private wonder with a human courier who, by all rights, should be nothing more than a temporary security concern?

“Perhaps,” I say slowly, “because you fixed the droid.”

Her brow furrows in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It was broken,” I explain, the realization forming as I speak. “Deemed unworthy of repair. Yet you saw value in restoring it, not for gain or purpose, but simply because you could. Because you saw what it might be, rather than what it appeared to be.”

She stares at me, something shifting in her expression. “It’s just a droid, Henrock. It was making an annoying noise, so I fixed it. It’s not that deep.”

“Is it not?” I step closer, drawn by some force I cannot name. The storm’s energy crackles around us, charging the air between our bodies. “You see broken things and mend them without question. It is... unusual.”

“In my line of work, if you can’t fix what’s broken, you don’t survive long,” she says, but there’s a slight tremor in her voice that betrays her affected casualness. “Self-preservation, that’s all.”

“Is that why you spoke to it as if it could understand? Why you promised to return and complete its repair?” I press, sensing her discomfort yet unable to relent. “Self-preservation?”

She looks away, her profile illuminated by the storm’s ethereal light. “Maybe I just don’t like leaving things unfinished.”

The admission, small as it is, feels significant. A truth offered, if reluctantly.

“Neither do I,” I tell her, the words carrying more weight than intended.

Her eyes meet mine again, and something passes between us—a recognition, perhaps, of something shared despite our vast differences. For a moment, the barriers of species, of circumstance, of duty seem to thin like the membrane between dimensions during the height of the storm.

The moment stretches, charged with possibility, until a distant alarm breaks the silence. The storm has triggered the fortress’s automated warning system, a standard procedure that nonetheless shatters the strange intimacy of our conversation.

Suki steps back, the movement subtle but deliberate. Her expression closes, the wonder replaced by the guarded wariness I’ve come to expect.

“So,” she says, her tone deliberately light. “About that ship and package you promised to show me?”

I incline my head, accepting the shift. “Of course. The repair bay awaits.”

As we leave the observation platform, the storm continues to rage around the fortress, its energy absorbed and transformed by ancient shields designed for just this purpose.

I find myself contemplating the parallel—how some forces, destructive in nature, can be channeled into something sustainable. Something necessary.

The courier walks beside me, her stride purposeful despite her shorter legs. She has adapted to the fortress’s gravity with remarkable ease, another sign of her resilience. Another reminder that appearances can be deceiving.

“Henrock,” she says suddenly, breaking the silence that has fallen between us. “That droid. What was its purpose, really? Before it got old and broken?”

I consider the question, sensing there is more behind it than simple curiosity. “It was a companion,” I answer truthfully. “Created during a time when my people valued such things. When comfort and conversation were considered as essential as efficiency.”

“Before the war,” she guesses.

“Yes.” I lead her down a sloping corridor that will take us to the repair bay. “Before many things.”

She nods, as if confirming something to herself. “I’ll fix it properly before I leave,” she promises. “It deserves that much.”

“It is only a machine,” I remind her, curious about her attachment.

She glances up at me, a hint of that earlier wonder still visible beneath her guarded expression. “Maybe. But even machines deserve second chances, don’t you think?”

The question hangs between us as we continue our journey downward, the storm’s light fading behind us as we descend into the fortress’s depths. I find I have no answer that would satisfy us both.

Or perhaps I do, but am not yet ready to acknowledge it.

Some broken things are meant to remain as they are—reminders of what was lost. Others, perhaps, can be transformed into something new. Something unexpected.

The thought follows me like a shadow as I lead Suki deeper into the heart of my domain, where her ship awaits repair and her package sits unopened, both holding secrets neither of us yet comprehend.