I pull on my lab coat—the one the colony’s tech-med-lab gave me, fitted strange across human shoulders but accepted. The sleeves are a little too long, the pockets deep with tools I’m learning: micro-scopes, genetic tracers, Vakutan implant calibrators. I run my fingers over the patch on the coat: the colony emblem, twin moons over sea waves. I press it for good-luck.
In the lab, the air smells of sterile metal and scent-leaf oil—they use the leaf oil to keep instruments calibrated, apparently. The hum of processing trays fills the quiet. I step to the viewportand look out at the settlement. A line of orange sunrise just at the horizon. I smile, quietly.
Today I’m running the micro-repair sequence on a Vakutan neural-link module for an elder scout who lost signal in the radiation floods last year. He’s inside the med bay already; I hear his cough through the shared air system. I breathe in and don the gloves. The yellow glove-light glows against the dark bench beneath me. I bring up the schematic. The module is tricky: human interface, Vakutan precision. I’ve spent weeks bridging the standards. Humans want flexibility, forgiving systems. Vakutans demand exact. But I’m learning to bring both to the table.
As I focus, I feel a presence at the door.
“Need a hand, Doc?” Vael’s voice, softer than mortar but stronger than calm. He leans in the doorway, his uniform neatly pressed, the symbol of local defense on his breast. I glance up, maybe expecting the old drill-sergeant glare, the weapon strapped at his side. But instead it’s something warmer: a smile I’ve come to recognize in private only. Pride.
I nod. “This one’s tricky. Human connector, Vakutan seal. The thermal tolerances have to match.”
He steps in, crosses to the equipment cabinet and pulls out a vial of scent-leaf oil for me. “Here. One drop. Keeps the read-calibration clean.”
I take it and wink. “You know my sweat-metrics are half human, half refuse to die technician, so I’ll need all the help I can get.”
He laughs and leans back against the bench. “And you’ll get it.”
I focus again, the metal traces pin-specific, the micro-engine hum-tiny, the scent-leaf oil soft on the air. The elder scout arrives, his sunt-scarred face showing relief. I wave him in. Hesettles into the chair across. I finish the repair, test the module. Green light. Signal returns. He exhales. I hand him the device. He presses a button, speaks, and the system chirps back.
“Thank you, Doctor Rynn. Vakutans seldom pay humans this much. I… appreciate you.”
I nod, smiling. “Happy to help.”
He stands, nods to Vael too, and leaves. Vael and I exchange a look. I remove my gloves.
“Nice work,” Vael says quietly.
“I like us here,” I admit. “Feels… real.”
Vael kisses my temple. “Itis. You made it real.”
Later, I walk through the settlement toward the children’s learning dome. The air is warm now, midday sun glossing the sand-stone dome with golden light. I smell bread-baking at the kitchen near the common house. I hear the laughter of kids in the youth drills field: Nessa’s voice, high and certain. I pause by the archivist’s stand—he nods to me, I nod back. I’ve traded flash-logs for his old data-bricks: human medicine meets Vakutan field techniques. He trusts me. I don’t take it for granted.
Nessa sees me and waves—a little mischievous. Then she drops her practice sword, fabric-wrapped wood, and snatches a training post with both hands and swings. The post cracks. Twelve wood-rings split, dust sprays. She grins. I jump and clap. The other kids laugh in surprise. She jumps up and down.
“Mama! Did you see that?”
I jog forward. “Yes! You broke it!”
She beamed. “I told you I can hit hard!”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yep. You absolutely can.” I put my hand on her shoulder. She hugs me around my waist. I feel the warmth of her body, the tunic fabric rough at my hip, the pulse of her excitement. I glance at Vael, who’s watching fromthe command post station nearby. He waves. His smile is wide, proud—the kind I always thought I’d never get to see.
Nessa releases me, runs off to retrieve the split post, chattering about “next time I’ll breaktwo.” I watch her go, then turn to Vael.
“She’s thriving.”
He steps closer. “She is. Strong. Curious.”
“My stubborn super-nova,” I say, and he laughs.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
I lean into him. “So am I.”
Afternoon bringsus to training on the ridge. Vael leads defense drills now. I stand on the sidelines, watching. The youth line up: humans and Vakutans mixed. They test coordination, reflexes, not for war, but for guarding the settlement—monitoring external threats, scanning hurricane winds, reef-storms, pirate skiffs. He seldom draws the weapon now; mostly placeholders, holographic rounds. It’s not about killing. It’s about vigilance. Guardianship. He moves between younglings, corrects stance, adjusts grip. I smell leather, ozone from the holo-guns, sea-salt in the wind. I see his face set in determination, his brow relaxed for the first time I can recall.
He catches my eye from across the field and nods. I lift my hand in quick salute—a private one. He returns it.
