Page 33 of Human Reform
Outside my window, the two suns began their descent toward the jungle horizon, painting the sky in magnificent shades of amber and violet.The view from my private office overlooked a section of the colony where residential structures nestled between towering native trees.Cyborg and human colonists moved along the stone pathways, some returning home after their day’s work while others headed toward the night market.
I stretched my arms overhead, wincing as my spine crackled in protest.Five hours hunched over a keyboard, and I had nothing to show for it except an impressive collection of failed approaches and a neck cramp that would probably linger for days.
“Damn it,” I muttered, massaging the back of my neck.“There has to be a way.”
Tim would have told me to walk away, take a break, and let my subconscious work on the problem.But walking away had always been my specialty—walking away from problems, from people, and from connections.Not this time.
I leaned forward again, the glow of the monitors highlighting my determined expression.I couldn’t walk away from this one.Too much was at stake—an entire peaceful society and the future of a species.
And Daxon.Always Daxon, hovering at the edges of my thoughts like a promise I wasn’t sure I deserved.
As if my thoughts had summoned him, Daxon appeared in the doorway of my private office, his broad shoulders filling the frame.The light from the corridor cast a halo around his jet-black hair, and his eyes found mine immediately.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, his deep voice sending involuntary shivers through me.“Would you like to have dinner with me again?At my quarters this time?I could cook something for us.”
My heart skipped several beats at once.Dinner at his place.His personal space.The idea of seeing where he lived, how he existed when no one was watching—it was suddenly the only thing I wanted.
“Yes!”I blurted and then winced at my eagerness.“I mean, that sounds great.”I quickly logged off my systems, my fingers fumbling over the commands in my haste.
Daxon’s lips curved into that rare, genuine smile that transformed his entire face.A low, throaty chuckle escaped him as I practically bolted from my chair and crossed the room to him.
“Eager to escape your screens?”he asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“You have no idea,” I admitted as we stepped into the corridor.“My eyes are starting to cross from staring at code all day.”
He guided me out of the security center, his hand resting lightly on my back.The casual possessiveness of the gesture should have bothered me.Instead, it felt like an anchor in a world that had been spinning too fast since my arrival.
The suns were completing their descent, painting the jungle canopy in shades of amber and gold.The air felt thick with moisture and the heady scent of alien flowers that bloomed only at dusk.
“This place is so beautiful,” I breathed, taking in the stone pathways winding between structures partially hidden by lush vegetation.“It’s nothing like Earth cities.”
Pride radiated from Daxon as he gazed around the settlement.“We wanted to work with the environment, not against it.The jungle provides natural cooling, filtration, and protection.”
We followed a smaller pathway that branched from the main thoroughfare, leading deeper into the residential sector.Colonists nodded greetings as we passed.Many smiled knowingly at the sight of us together, which sent heat rushing to my cheeks.
Daxon’s quarters were housed in a modest structure with a composite facade that incorporated natural materials from the surrounding jungle.Inside, the space reflected his personality perfectly—ordered, precise, yet surprisingly warm.
Everything had its place.Books (actual paper books) lined a small shelf.His furniture was minimal but comfortable-looking.The lighting adjusted automatically to a warm amber glow as we entered.And the smell—clean linen, earth after rainfall, and something spicy that was uniquely Daxon filled the air.
I inhaled deeply, drawing his scent into my lungs without thinking.
“What is it?”he asked, catching me mid-sniff.
Heat flooded my face.“I, uh… it smells nice in here.I’m surprised.”
“Surprised that cyborgs don’t live in sterile metal boxes?”His eyebrow lifted, but humor danced in his eyes.
“Honestly?Yes.”I grinned.“And I’m even more surprised you know how to cook.Do they program that in, or…”
“Learn or starve,” he said with a shrug, moving toward the small kitchen area.“Or spend all your credits at the marketplace.I chose option one.”
I laughed and settled onto a high stool at his kitchen island, watching as he moved with efficient grace around the compact space.His hands—those large, strong hands that had held me so gently—moved with surprising dexterity as he prepared ingredients.
“What’s on the menu?”I asked.
“Synthesized protein with herbs from the hydroponics dome,” he explained, “and fresh vegetables from our gardens.”
The sounds and scents of cooking filled the small space as I watched him work.Something was intensely intimate about being in his personal space, seeing this domestic side of him that I imagined few others ever witnessed.
