“Ambassador Jorem demands access to the Matrix artifact. He’s brought what appears to be a neural purging device and claims authority under Zephyrian cultural law.”
Beside me, Zylthar goes rigid. Through our link, I sense his spike of pure terror—not for himself, but for me.
The purging device,his mental voice carries horror.Selena, if he activates it near us, it could sever our bond violently. The psychic backlash would likely kill us both.
Over my dead body.
That may be exactly what he’s hoping for.
I swing my legs over the side of the bunk, reaching for my uniform. “Commander, secure the artifact immediately. No one goes near it without my direct authorization.”
“Already done, Captain. But Jorem is... insistent. He’s threatening to report treaty violations to the Zephyrian Council.”
“Let him report whatever he wants. The artifact stays under Starfleet protection.”
“Understood. Should I have security escort him off the station?”
I glance at Zylthar, pulling on his diplomatic robes with movements that speak of barely controlled tension. Through our bond, I sense his complex emotions—love for me tangled with loyalty to his people, fear for our safety mixed with shame at his culture’s xenophobia.
“Negative. But maintain full security presence in the docking bay. I’ll be down shortly.”
“Aye, Captain.”
I finish dressing and turn to find Zylthar watching me with an expression that breaks my heart. The markings along his temples have shifted to deep purple—the color of grief, I’m learning through our connection.
“He’s going to try to kill us,” he says quietly.
“He can try. Doesn’t mean he’ll succeed.”
“Selena, you don’t understand. The neural purging device doesn’t just sever psychic bonds—it destroys the brain tissue that makes them possible. Even if we survive the procedure, we’d be...” He searches for words. “Empty. Capable of basic functions but incapable of higher emotion or complex thought.”
“Like lobotomy.”
“Worse. Lobotomy leaves personality intact. This would erase everything that makes us who we are.”
I step closer, taking his hands in mine. The physical contact amplifies our mental connection, and I experience his fear as clearly as my own. But underneath the terror, there’s something else—a core of steel that matches my own determination.
“Zylthar, look at me.” I wait until his eyes meet mine. “I didn’t survive three years commanding a deep space station by letting bullies intimidate me. Ambassador or not, Jorem is just another politician trying to use fear as a weapon.”
“This isn’t politics. This is survival.” His hands tighten around mine. “My people consider emotional bonding to be a contagious disease. They’ll do anything to prevent it from spreading.”
“Then we make sure it doesn’t spread to anyone who doesn’t want it.” I lean up to kiss him softly, feeling the electric connection that still sparks between us. “But we don’t let them destroy what we’ve built.”
Through our bond, his resolve strengthens, drawing courage from my certainty. It’s intoxicating, this feedback loop of shared determination—each of us bolstering the other until we seem capable of facing down entire fleets.
Together,he thinks, and the word carries the weight of promise.
Together,I agree.
The corridors of Halcyon are different now, charged with energy I can sense through my enhanced perception. Crew members we pass show the subtle signs of psychic sensitivity—heightened awareness, improved coordination, the kind of mental clarity that comes from exposure to the Matrix’s influence.
Is that normal?I ask through our link.
The artifacts affect everyone within a certain radius. Usually the changes fade once the Matrix goes dormant, but...He pauses, studying the faces around us.These effects seem stronger than historical records indicate.
Because of our joining?
Possibly. We may have amplified the Matrix’s output during the ritual.His mental voice carries concern.Selena, if the crew has been permanently altered...
