So we'd built something impossible: a garden suspended in the heart of Mothership's new expansion, where bioluminescent plants from a dozen different worlds created a constellation of light against the dark. Where a fountain recycled water through a system Dana had helped me design, the sound of moving water a universal comfort across cultures. Where memorial stones, smooth black surfaces etched with names, honored those we'd lost.
Three months since the expansion's completion, the garden had become exactly what I'd hoped: a gathering place. Not justfor humans mourning Liberty's casualties, but for Mothership's entire crew remembering their own losses.
I stood at the fountain's edge, running my fingers over Maya's contribution to the memorial, a bronze plaque she'd designed herself, listing the names of Liberty survivors who hadn't made it. Forty-seven names. Forty-seven people who'd deserved to see humanity reach for the stars and found only darkness.
"You're here early." Zor'go's voice came from behind me, warm and familiar.
I didn't turn around. "Couldn't sleep."
"Again."
"Again."
His footsteps approached—I'd learned to distinguish his gait from every other Zandovian's, that specific rhythm of his movements—and then his hand settled on my shoulder. Gentle. Grounding.
"She's settling in well," he said quietly, knowing exactly who I was thinking about. "Maya submitted three different design proposals yesterday. All excellent."
Maya had recovered physically within two weeks of her rescue, just as Zorn predicted. The psychological recovery was ongoing. She threw herself into architectural work with an intensity I recognized too well, that desperate need to prove her survival meant something, to justify being one of the ones who made it when so many hadn't.
I'd hired her as my assistant immediately. Not out of guilt, though guilt definitely featured in my decision-making, but because she was brilliant and Mothership's expansion would continue for years. We needed her skills.
Also because watching her heal helped me believe healing was possible.
"The other two?" I asked.
"Garrett transferred to Engineering. Er'dox reports he's adapting well to Mothership's systems." Zor'go's markings flickered faintly, that soft blue shimmer I'd learned meant contentment. "Prisha requested assignment to the hydroponics bay. She and the botanist Bea work together now."
Fifty-three humans aboard Mothership. Ten months ago, we'd been sixteen frightened women huddled in a cave on a burning planet, convinced we'd die there. Now we were fifty-three, integrated into a crew of thousands, building lives we'd never imagined.
"It's still not enough," I said.
"Nothing will ever be enough to balance what was lost."
"That's a terrible answer."
"It's an honest answer." His hand moved from my shoulder to my waist, pulling me back against his chest. Even after three months of bonding, after sharing quarters and building a life together and navigating the reality of loving someone from a completely different species, the size difference still made my hindbrain panic slightly. Eight and a half feet of solid Zandovian muscle pressed against my five-foot-three frame, and every survival instinct insisted this should be terrifying.
Instead, it felt like home.
"I talked to Dana yesterday," I said, leaning into his warmth. "She's making progress on the long-range communication buoy. Thinks she might be able to send a signal strong enough to reach the Milky Way."
Zor'go's markings stilled. "And if she succeeds?"
The question hung between us, loaded with implications we'd avoided discussing. If Dana sent a signal and someone received it, what then? Would rescue come? Would we go back to Earth, back to the lives we'd left behind?
Did I even want that anymore?
"I don't know," I admitted. "Part of me hopes we'll make contact. Find out what happened to the rest of Liberty's crew, whether Earth survived whatever chaos drove us to leave." I turned in his arms, looking up at his sharp features softened by the garden's bioluminescent glow. "But part of me is terrified. Because if rescue comes?—"
"You'll have to choose."
"Yeah."
His ice-blue eyes studied my face with that focused intensity that still made my pulse skip. "What would you choose? If the option existed."
Three months ago, I wouldn't have hesitated. Earth. Home. Everything familiar and safe and mine by right of birth.
Now?
