Page 85 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
Because we have each other. We have this home. We have the story?—
And nothing will take it away.
CHAPTER 24
REKKGAR
Ipatrol the perimeter of the Earth Bites expansion site with more vigilance than necessity demands, but necessity, I’m realizing, isn’t always obvious. The skeleton of the orbital branch—an ambitious open-plan kitchen floating on Tyros VI’s lesser moon—wraps around me in exposed metal and half-installed plating, a jigsaw puzzle of pastel tiles and structural beams. I stalk the edges, scanning shadows where Holonet cam scopes hang like silent watch-dogs. Amber construction lights flicker with unsettling irregularity, and I hear a stutter in the bakery’s transcom line: a muted squeal of feedback, a jolt of static—things I know shouldn’t happen. My instincts tell me the drone of this bazaar-like build is too quiet. Something is off.
I pause, watching my boots echo across the platform. The station’s low hum vibrates through the plating beneath my feet, like distant drums. I close my cybernetic eye and focus: a whisper of movement at the far wall—momentary glitch in the Holonet panel feed. A shudder in the comms. A bird-shaped drone's wing brushed the mixer’s container moments ago, nearly sending it spiraling. That’s all the confirmation I need. Someone’s probing us. Someone’s marking the bakery’sbloodstream for a future strike. The emperor’s detention meant nothing—because his legions still live. And they’re coming.
I turn and find Ruby tying her apron in the bare bones of the kitchen. She hasn’t seen me yet. She draws the knot tight; the hum of espresso modules buzzes around her. She smells like cinnamon and tenacity. God, she looks beautiful—determined hair wrapped up, eyes anchored on the panel, fingers fiddling with the controls. It’s what’ll save us. But I need her safe, inside.
I step forward, voice low: “Something’s wrong.”
She glances up, brow creasing. “You’re just being protective. It’s a soft opening—no enemy’s coming for muffins.”
I inch closer. “A drone nearly crashed into the mixer.” My tone tightens. “And the feed glitch—I saw disruption in the comms grid.”
Her eyes slide to the transcom panel. She walks over, fingers dancing across the controls. Static hisses into the speakers. She rips a holo-connector open to inspect the wiring. She blinks up at me, denial cracking into doubt. “That could have been a malfunction or—look, we’re still hooking up. These things happen.”
I step beside her, hand on the console. “Systems auto-synced. And I intercepted a faint ping in the station net. Someone’s monitoring our signals.”
Ruby’s scarf of warmth tugs tight across her brow. She sets her jaw. “So what do you want to do? Panic and lock ourselves in?”
I shake my head. “No. We prepare. And we stop pretending.” I swallow. “They’re coming.”
We move fast.Rekkgar on full-armor footing, slash-quiet but precise. I see the surge of switches flip in Ruby’s eyes:decisions made. She slams her fist on the console. “Alright. We turn Earth Bites into a fortress.”
For the next hour, we hustle to retrofit the bakery’s tech. Ruby rigs the drone feed into a motion-triggered alarm. She rewires the ovens' thermal shields to channel heat dispersals away from critical points. She threads camera overlays into our pan sensors. Her nimble fingers trace new circuits in pastel neon lines. I reinforce blast shields over the windows, secure anchor points for barricade panels that can drop in seconds. I teach Lyrie how to sweep corridors in pairs, move silently, check airlocks. She makes silly faces in mock-practice while carrying trays of pastries—laughing, but deadly sharp. Vonn grumbles as I bolt armor plates into her apron: “Feels like wearing a suit of armor just to bake bread.” She storms out of the kitchen but returns, grim-faced, and tugs it back on. That armor means safety—and purpose.
We whisper tactical layouts after midnight: secret lockdown zones, safe-rooms, escape routes. "If they come," I explain, "we hold them right here. Laser cut trays, pressurized dough vats, shifting shelves—every corner becomes a trap."
Ruby's eyes fill with heat. She traces the plans with whipped-cream-streaked fingers. "We fight. Right here."
“Together,” I say.
She glances up, hair escaping her scarf like victory flames. "Right here."
Even in the chaos, our palms find each other. I touch her ear softly—still presence. She squeezes my hand, mapping reassurance across my skin. In that touch, shields melt. We’re home, even if the station becomes a warzone.
Amid the preparations,we find time for each other. It's urgent, urgent like breathing when you think the air might goaway. We steal kisses behind pastry counters, grit and flour climbing our skin. Late-night moments in the storage room: rough kisses, soft strokes, lips tracing scars on my cheek—the scars she helped me make sacred, the battles we fought together. She presses her mouth to mine like a prayer, and I cradle her body in my arms—draw in her scents of vanilla, cocoa, lavender. Our love is sanctuary. Our bodies low in candlelight and dusty sugar.
That night, I carve a symbol into the bakery's heavy outer door: Vakutan glyph for eternal bond. I run a small blade across the wood and metal laminate. Ruby watches, heart in her throat. I finish and step back; she adds frosting hearts above it—cheesy, bright, perfect. She dips her finger into the icing and pushes it into my armor. I laugh, thick as molten sugar. I pull her close and taste sweet petals of triumph on her skin.
“This is ridiculous,” she murmurs.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Under the starlight faux-sky of the orbital station, flour and frosting swirl in our hair, light refracts across pastel riffs and cold astro-metal. It's us—warriors and lovers, baking fortress and sanctified hearts, ready for the long fight.
As we standbetween our fortress bakery and the creeping darkness, surveillance pings sputter like enemy whispers. I tighten my armor and tint visor with infrared settings. The time for battle is close. I look at Ruby: whisk in her hand, apron dusted with flour, lips pressed tight in determined line. She looks up, notices me, and smiles—small, defiant. She is wildfire in pink and white. "I'm ready," she breathes.
I step toward her, hand in hers, palm warm against my armored glove. “Then let them come,” I say, voice steady.
She nods, this fierce human woman who fanned stars into flame. I loop my arm around her waist and pull her close. Our breath mingles in salt and sugar. The door to Earth Bites is locked tight; our fortress stands between the world and us, but it’s more than defenses. It’s love—skirted in battle gear, empire of trust and code.
I pull her in close. “If they want us, they’ll have to take us,” I whisper low. Her hair floats on my chest; her heartbeat counters mine. In that close, fierce silence, I feel my mission in echo:
