Dove’s trying not to laugh now. “Did you just compare us to a science experiment?”
“A successful science experiment. With positive results and recommended continuation.”
Papa’s covering his face with one hand, but I can see his markings pulsing through his fingers. Dove’s definitely laughing now, and when Papa peeks at her through his fingers, he starts laughing too.
This is what I want. This laughter-warmth-family feeling every morning.
Not just for a week. Forever.
After breakfast, I implement Phase One of Operation Matchmaker.
“Papa! The hydroponics sensors are doing weird readings! Very fluctuating. Probably critical. You should probably bring Dove because she’s good at technical things!”
Pickles remains suspiciously silent. We discussed this plan last night.
“Small person,” he finally says, “I have detected anomalous readings in the hydroponics bay environmental controls. Assessment recommended.”
Papa gives me a look that says he knows exactly what I’m doing, but Dove’s already heading toward the hydroponics bay, so he follows.
I wait exactly thirty seconds, then tiptoe after them.
I peek around the corner of the growing racks.
Papa and Dove stand surrounded by tomato vines and herb boxes, examining a sensor panel, standing close because the space is narrow.
“I don’t see any fluctuations,” Papa says.
“Me neither.” Dove glances around. “Wait. Is this a setup?”
“I calculate a ninety-three percent probability,” Pickles announces through the bay speakers.
“Pickles!” I hiss from my hiding spot.
“However, I must note that the door has experienced an unexpected locking malfunction.”
The door hisses shut behind them.
Papa turns, tries the panel. “Pickles.”
“A most unfortunate technical glitch. I estimate repairs will require approximately thirty minutes.”
I press my hand over my mouth to stop the giggles.
Through the gap in the growing racks, I watch Papa’s shoulders relax into that slumpy thing that means he’s given up arguing.
“Your daughter is terrifying,” Dove says, but she’s smiling.
“She learned tactical planning from watching diplomatic negotiations on her educational modules.”
They’re standing really close now. Papa reaches up to check a moisture sensor, and his arm brushes Dove’s shoulder. His markings flare bright. She doesn’t step away.
“Cetus...” she says quietly.
“Yes?”
“Your daughter is watching us from behind the herb boxes. I can see her markings glowing.”
I freeze.
