I modified the core with a sublingual contact plate, embedding the power node behind an osmotic membrane, then force-bonded the receiver array with a synthetic polymer I’d invented five seconds ago and hoped would work.
I was sweating now—not from heat, but from processor load. I could feel my body staggering to keep up with my thoughts, my hands three steps behind my mind. Diagnostics ran as I worked. Code scrolled across the screen behind me.
I didn’t have time to breathe. Only time to build.
I was almost done.
If it worked, if I could match the transmission frequency from the leash protocol, and if Kelly could maintain physiological continuity, then Voss could try to transfer Sirena to anyone he wanted.
I’d be ready to steal her back.
“You feel that?” Kelly asked, from his spot beside my work table, where I’d placed him on a stack of laptops. He’d been smart enough not to mouth off when I was concentrating, and I knew in his own odd way, he loved Sirena too.
“What?” I asked—then I noticed that the ship’s engines had stopped running.
Not idling. Not stalled. Dead.
I checked power relays and routing commands, and—nothing. Then I flicked to camera feeds—engine-room level—and found her.
Sirena.
She was standing barefoot on a slick metal walkway, surrounded by stunned engineering staff, her eyes alight with that terrible, beautiful clarity, and singing.
I assessed the damage quickly: manual disconnects thrown. Fuel lines were clamped. Valves were shut.
I should’ve been angry. She should’ve been hiding. Waiting. Staying protected.
My chest went tight—but not from fear.
Because of her.
Because she was brave. And terrifying.
And more unstoppable than anyone was ready for.
I braced my hands on the edge of the table. My mouth parted like I needed oxygen.
“I love you,” I whispered—no one there to hear it but Kelly.
“You’re welcome,” he muttered anyway. “How’s it going?”
I didn’t look up. “Power cell’s stable. Thermal output within range. Frequency sync holding at ninety-nine point eight percent.”
Kelly made an impressed noise. “So we’re doing this?”
“This part should work,” I said, and ran another check on the receiver stack. “The plate stays in contact, the gel transmits, and you stay technically alive—it’s just the transfer over that’s indeterminate.”
Kelly waggled his eyebrows. “Sounds hot.”
I ignored him and tabbed over to the bid ledger, putting the ones that had come in on the screen behind me.
Four of the five contenders had already submitted preliminary access grants—private asset flags, escrow lockouts, rapid-deploy payment tunnels.
Bidder One had just liquidated a chunk of a mineral rights conglomerate in Antarctica.
Bidder Two uploaded a signed contract for full control of a private orbital defense satellite.
Bidder Three had just liquidated their stake in a helium-3 refinery off the Mare Marginis.
