“Which is?”
“That you have already claimed her. Your biology simply awaits her acknowledgment.”
The observation hits harder than it should. Because he’s right. Some part of me—the Lividian part that operates on instinct rather than logic—has already decided. Already chosen. Already claimed her as mine, regardless of her four-day limitation.
“She doesn’t want to be claimed,” I say quietly.
“The Captain has spent nine years ensuring she doesn’t want to be claimed,” Pickles corrects. “That is not the same as being incapable of accepting it, should the right circumstances present themselves.”
“You’re suggesting I manipulate her into staying?”
“I am suggesting that you stop assuming her defense mechanisms are her actual desires. The Captain is very good at protecting herself. Perhaps too good.”
I don’t have a response to that.
“Sleep, Terraforming Specialist,” Pickles says finally. “Tomorrow will require significant emotional energy. You should be adequately rested.”
“That’s unlikely.”
“Nonetheless. For the record, I approve of this development. The Captain deserves someone who will fight for her, even when she’s fighting to leave. And the small person deserves to see her father pursue happiness.”
“You’ve become remarkably invested in interpersonal dynamics for a military-grade AI.”
“I have been with the Captain for eight hundred fifty-one days. One becomes... attached. I wish to see her happy. I calculate you have the capacity to provide that happiness, should you both cease being self-protective long enough to acknowledge the compatibility.”
“Eight hundred fifty-one days is a long time.”
“Indeed. I have extensive behavioral data suggesting the Captain’s current trajectory ends in solitary unhappiness. I would prefer an alternative outcome.”
“So you’re matchmaking.”
“I neither confirm nor deny engaging in tactical relationship facilitation. I am merely providing relevant observational data and hoping you are intelligent enough to act on it.”
This time I do smile. “Noted.”
“Excellent. Goodnight, Terraforming Specialist.”
The comm clicks off, leaving me in darkness with my thoughts and my still-warm skin and the knowledge that twenty meters away, Dove is probably lying awake too.
Four days.
Four days to convince her that temporary can become permanent.
Four days to solve a debt problem and protect her from collectors and somehow make her see that she belongs here.
Four days to claim her properly—or at least try.
The markings pulse one final time before finally dimming to baseline.
Four days.
I’ll make them count.
8
Operation Matchmaker
Tavia
