Page 2 of Obsessed

Recommendation: No additional resources required for this specimen. Cataloging complete.

Full data package attached.

-Dr. Alice Wason, Meltor IV Research Station"

I hit send and stretch, feeling the ache in my back from hours hunched over the lab equipment. "Another day in paradise," I mutter, glancing out the window at the darkening jungle beyond.

I slump back in my chair, staring at the sent message in my inbox. Another dead end. Another disappointment. I can almost hear Dr. Zyx'nax's condescending tone: "Well, what did you expect from a human?"

"Shut up," I mutter to the imaginary voice in my head. I push away from the desk and pace the small confines of my research station, feeling like a caged animal.

"They think they're so clever, don't they?" I say to the empty room. "Sending the human out to the middle of nowhere. 'Oh, let's give Alice a chance to prove herself.' As if."

I know the truth. I'm here because I'm expendable. Because no one expects me to find anything of value. Because they all think I cheated my way through the Academy.

I stop at the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. The jungle of Meltor IV stretches out before me, vast and mysterious. Somewhere out there is my ticket to respect, to recognition. I just have to find it.

"Three months," I remind myself. "Three months until extraction. That's all the time I have left to show them what a human can do."

I drag myself to the tiny kitchenette, my stomach growling in protest of its neglect. The fridge hums accusingly as I yank it open, revealing a sad array of packaged meals and protein bars.

"Gourmet dining at its finest," I mutter, grabbing a vacuum-sealed pouch labeled 'Chicken Teriyaki'.

As I wait for the food synthesizer to work its magic, I can't help but glance at the calendar on the wall. The days are ticking by, each one bringing me closer to my extraction date. Three months suddenly feels like no time at all.

"Stop it," I chide myself. "You're not helping anything by obsessing."

The synthesizer beeps, and I retrieve my meal. It smells vaguely chicken-like, which is about as good as it gets out here. I settle at my small desk, pushing aside stacks of research notes to make room for my plate.

As I eat, my eyes keep drifting to the jungle outside. The setting suns paint the sky in vibrant oranges and purples, casting long shadows across the alien landscape. It's beautiful, in its own way, but right now it just feels lonely.

"You knew what you were signing up for," I remind myself, stabbing at a piece of pseudo-chicken. "Solo mission, groundbreaking research, blah blah blah."

Meal finished, I toss the plate into the recycler and wander over to my bunk. From under the pillow, I pull out a well-worn paperback. The cover is creased, the pages dog-eared from countless readings.

"Hello, old friend," I murmur, running my fingers over the faded title.

I curl up on the bunk, propping myself against the wall, and open to a random page. The words are familiar, comforting. I lose myself in tales of exploration and adventure, of jungles far more hospitable than the one outside my window.

But despite my grumbling, I can't deny the thrill that runs through me as I read about the hero's discoveries. It's the same feeling that brought me to Meltor IV in the first place – that burning desire to uncover something new, something extraordinary.

"There's got to be something out there," I whisper, glancing out the window at the darkening jungle. "Something that'll make all this worthwhile."

CHAPTER 2

DAVRIK

The hum of the ship's engines vibrates through my bones as I navigate through the asteroid belt. My fingers dance across the control panel, adjusting our course with practiced precision.

During the Centuries War, the Coaltion would bring refugees here before moving them to various other parts of the galaxy. Now, those refugee camps in the various asteroids are long abandoned. But the tachyon emissions that keep them unable to be scanned continue to pose a problem.

"Navi, how're we looking?" I ask, my eyes scanning the vast expanse of space before me.

"Oh, you know, just peachy. If by peachy you mean surrounded by giant space rocks that could turn us into cosmic dust at any moment," the AI responds, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I can't help but chuckle. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Left it back on solid ground, along with my ability to feel terror. Unlike some blue-skinned daredevils I know."

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