Page 16 of Legacy for the Alien Warrior

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.

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