“Here? On the bridge?”
“In your quarters. The ritual requires privacy, intimacy, and absolute trust.” His markings pulse brighter. “Are you prepared for that level of...connection?”
The question hangs between us like a challenge. I think about what he’s asking—not just sex, but complete merger of consciousness, permanent fusion of two minds that were never meant to touch.
“Will it save the station?”
“If it works, yes. The combined psychic strength should give us enough control to stabilize the Matrix and close the spatial rift.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“We die in the attempt, and the universe ends anyway.”
I study his face, noting the way his breathing has quickened, the subtle tremor in his hands. He’s as terrified as I am, but he’s willing to risk everything—his life, his sanity, his very identity—to save people he barely knows.
“Zylthar,” I say quietly. “Why are you doing this? You could return to your ship, let Jorem take you to safety. Why risk the joining?”
“Because you’re worth risking everything for.”
The simple honesty in his voice takes my breath away. No diplomatic double-speak, no cultural protocols—just raw truth that cuts straight to the heart.
“Bridge to Captain MacGray,” Blaine’s voice crackles through the comm. “The distortion just jumped another twenty percent. Hull stress is approaching critical.”
I look at Zylthar, seeing my own resolve reflected in his eyes. “Computer, transfer command authority to Commander Blaine, authorization MacGray Alpha Seven.”
“Command transfer confirmed. Commander Blaine now has the bridge.”
“Captain?” Blaine’s voice carries confusion and growing alarm. “What are your orders?”
“Hold the station together as long as possible. If the distortion reaches critical expansion, evacuate all non-essential personnel to the inner hull.” I pause, knowing this might be the last order I ever give. “Diane, it’s been an honor serving with you.”
“Captain, what are you?—”
I cut the comm and turn to Zylthar. “My quarters.Now.”
We move through corridors that hum with emergency power, passing crew members who salute without really seeing us. The whole station feels charged, expectant, like the moment before lightning strikes.
My quarters are small and practical—military efficiency with just enough personal touches to remind me I’m human. The bed is regulation size, the lighting functional rather than romantic. Not exactly the setting for an ancient ritual that could reshape reality.
“This is where it happens?” Zylthar asks, looking around with obvious uncertainty.
“Unless you prefer the cargo bay.”
“No, this is... intimate. Personal. It feels right.” He turns to face me, and I see him struggling with something. “Selena, before we begin, you need to understand what you’re accepting. The joining doesn’t just merge our consciousness—it creates something new. Neither fully human nor fully Zephyrian.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“Enhanced psychic abilities. Longer lifespan. Physical changes that will mark you as different from your own species.” His voice carries pain. “You’ll never be able to go home, not really. Earth will seem alien to you, humanity distant and primitive.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be exiled from Zephyr Prime the moment Jorem reports what we’ve done. My people view emotional bonding as contamination, weakness to be purged.” He reaches out to touch my face, fingers cool against my skin. “We’ll have each other, but we’ll belong nowhere else.”
I lean into his touch, feeling the electric connection that’s been building between us since that first handshake. “Zylthar, I’ve been alone most of my adult life. Command doesn’t leave much room for personal connections. If I have to choose between saving two thousand lives and maintaining my place in human society...”
“The choice is obvious.”
“Exactly.”
