Page 21 of Aries

“You’re shameless,” I tell it after a particularly dramatic performance involving the Manual’s pages. “Absolutely shameless.”

Spark just preens, then rockets over to where Aries is reading and drops into his lap like a contented cat. Its glow shifts to a deep, peaceful blue.

“Traitor,” I mutter. “I feed you and this is the thanks I get?”

Theshimmerlinglifts just enough to stick out what might be a tongue made of light, then settles back into its chosen spot. Aries’ lips twitch as he pretends to keep reading and tries not to act smug.

“Don’t encourage it,” I warn him. “It’s already developing an attitude.”

“Wonder where it gets that from,” he murmurs, and Spark’s delighted color change suggests it knows exactly who he means.

By evening, our new companion has thoroughly wrapped us both around its luminescent little appendages. The second feeding/singing session goes more smoothly than the first, and the energy exchange during rest time feels less awkward.

Still dangerous, still intimate, but… natural somehow. Like maybe we needed this small being to help us navigate the space between careful distance and necessary connection.

As Spark drifts off to sleep between our palms, its peaceful glow reflecting in Aries’ eyes, I realize something has shifted. The cottage feels warmer, more like a home than a testing ground.

Maybe the Committee knew exactly what they were doing with this particular “reward.”

And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Chapter Thirteen

Aries

“The Memory Reconciliation process occurs in three distinct phases,” the Committee member explains, their crystalline form throwing bands of color across our meditation corner. “Today, Phase One: joint observation. In two days, Phase Two: experiencing the memory through Callie’s perspective. Finally, in four days, Phase Three: experiencing it through Aries’ perspective.”

Callie sits across from me on the meditation cushions, close enough that I can sense her tension. Spark hovers between us, its usual bright colors muted to an anxious green.

“Given the emotional intensity of these sessions,” they continue, “physical contact in the form of hand-holding and non-sexual touch will be permitted during the memory field’s activation and up to fifteen standard minutes after, if both parties consent. This exception applies only during Memory Reconciliation.”

My gaze meets Callie’s. She nods slightly, and I feel an odd mix of relief and terror.

“Today’s memory: your first meeting.”

Theshimmerlingdarts to my shoulder, radiating soothing beams of lavender light. Then it leaps to Callie, providing her with its calming presence.

“The field activates in thirty standard seconds. Remember, you cannot change events, only observe and understand.”

Callie’s hand finds mine as reality blurs. Her fingers are cold, but her grip is sure. Everything dissolves into memory.

The ship’s jail corridor materializes around us—harsh metal floors, flickering red emergency lights, the oppressive line of cells. Past-Callie and the other Earth women are being marched down the hallway at gunpoint by Urlut guards, their tusked mouths twisted in cruel amusement.

Each cell holds a different species of male. A lion-like male, complete with mane, tail, and claws—Zar. A silver male whose skin shines even in the dim light—Steele. Others whose features blur in the red lighting. Past-me stands motionless in my cell, watching the procession with carefully contained rage.

Callie’s grip tightens as we observe Past-her stumbling past each cell, trying not to stare at the alien creatures within. I can feel the terror rolling off her in waves. The metal collar around her neck gleams dully, a constant reminder of their power over her.

My free hand darts to my neck. I wore a matching pain/kill collar. We all did. I can feel the cool metal against my skin even now.

“This one,” a guard grunts, grabbing Past-Callie’s arm. “In withdrackerfrom Dauphus Prime.”

They shove her roughly into my cell. She uses the bars to catch herself from falling, then turns to face Past-me. The terror on her face is heartbreaking, and for a moment, her knees almost buckle. Then her determination wins out. She stands straight and lifts her chin, although she’s visibly trembling.

The other women are distributed similarly, their terrified protests ignored. When all ten cells are occupied with one male and one female, the corridor falls silent except for ragged breathing, quiet sobbing, and the metallic clicking of the Urluts striding toward the exit.

A few standard minutes later, the loudspeaker crackles: “You have onehoarato breed with your cellmate. If you do not complete the act, we will execute both occupants of the cell.”

Past-Callie’s face drains of color. Present-Callie’s hand spasms in mine, and Spark immediately wraps us both in soothing light.

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