After a long pause, he finally speaks.
“Ileana, you know how much I care about you. I mean, about you and Prianka. This whole situation… it’s just awful.”
He sighs, his tone heavy with regret. “But the truth is, your position here has always been a bit… exceptional. You understand, right? On a small base like BN-35, everyone has a role. Roland and Chandra were both genetic researchers, so they were allowed to keep their daughter with them—even though she was sick. I think that’s why they adopted you after your biological parents died when you were two. So you could stay.”
I feel a chill creep up my spine. I don’t know exactly where he’s going with this, but I have a sinking feeling I already do. Panic starts to rise in my chest.
“What are you saying?” I ask, my voice tight.
“Ileana,” he says gently, “now that Chandra’s gone… you can’t stay on BN-35. Not without someone stepping in to support you. Prianka can’t work, and you’re fully occupied taking care of her.”
“I can help!” I cut in, my voice sharper than I intended. “I’ve completed all the general medicine modules. I know the theory inside and out. I’ve passed every exam they let me take.”
“But you’ve never practiced,” he replies, still calm. “And your time is already stretched thin with Prianka. Realistically, you should be preparing to transfer to one of the terraformed worlds.”
A terraformed world?
I’ve seen the vids. They look peaceful, green, full of light. I’m not afraid of change. I’m not afraid of leaving this place behind. My only fear is being separated from Prianka.
BN-35 was important to our parents because of their research—osteogenesis imperfecta, brittle bone disease. But that mission died with them. Now, it’s just the two of us. And if we can be together, if I can care for her somewhere safe, then maybe it’s time to go.
“I understand,” I finally say, my voice low. “We’ll take the next shuttle—wherever you decide to send us.”
Henri’s expression shifts slightly. He tilts his head, almost pitying. “I’m afraid you don’t fully grasp the situation, my dear.”
He steps closer, his tone soft but firm. “Your sister’s bones are extremely fragile. Over the years, how many times has she needed the regeneration sarcophagi just to recover from fractures?”
I hesitate. “I… I’m not sure,” I admit, thinking back to just a few weeks ago when Prianka broke both wrists trying to lift a box that was too heavy.
“I checked her file,” he says, his voice calm, clinical. “She uses the sarcophagi several times a year. And you know as well as I do—those cycles are limited. They’re not meant to be used this frequently. If you leave for a terraformed world, you’ll be going as civilians. No access to advanced medical tech. No sarcophagi.”
I stare at him, stunned. Without the sarcophagi, Prianka’s already fragile life would become nearly impossible. They don’t cure her disease, but they’ve kept her going—mending the breaks, the tears, the damage her body can’t handle on its own. Without them, her life expectancy would plummet.
Henri watches me closely. His smile is gentle, but there’s something else behind it—something sharper. A flicker of satisfaction.
“I’ve thought this through carefully,” he continues. “There’s a shuttle to Jaga-11 leaving in three days. You and Prianka can take it. Or…”
“Or?” I ask, my heart pounding.
He pauses, then says, “I’ve just been offered the position of Governor of Jaga-18. The new administrator of BN-35 will arrive in about three months. After that, I’ll be transferred to Jaga-18.”
The implication hangs in the air between us, unspoken but heavy.
He’s offering me a choice—but it doesn’t feel like one.
My mind is racing. Is he suggesting we go to Jaga-18? He knows our file—maybe he’s planning to help us there, maybe he’ll make sure Prianka has access to the regeneration sarcophagi?
For a moment, a fragile hope flickers in my chest.
But it dies just as quickly when I catch the smirk he fails to hide. That glint in his eyes isn’t kindness—it’s satisfaction.
“You see,” he says, “as governor, I’d have certain… privileges. I think I could easily secure a dedicated regeneration sarcophagus for your sister.”
“That would be… wonderful,” I reply, cautiously.
“Come on, Ileana. Don’t be naive. I can’t request that kind of favor for just anyone—it would be chaos. But no one would question it if I asked for it on behalf of my companion’s sick sister.”
My stomach turns.
