But unlike the humans who didn't have a choice in their abduction, I'd given myself willingly as a sacrifice.
For her.
I closed my eyes, and she was there. She was always there.
Hair the color of sunshine fell in waves past her shoulders, soft in a way nothing else in my life had ever been. Gray-blue eyes flecked with gold and green had looked at me without fear, without disgust, just curiosity and something warmer I'd never dared name. Her skin had been pale compared to mine, smooth where mine was pelted, but when she'd touched my cheek that last time, her fingers had been gentle. Reverent, almost.
She'd smiled at me, and in that moment, I'd known what it felt like to be truly seen. The only regret I had about our time together was that I hadn't learned her name.
My heart clenched at the memory. That single, perfect moment when her hand had lingered on my face, when our eyes had met, and the universe had narrowed to just the two of us. I'd have given anything—everything—to know what she'd been thinking. To know if she'd felt even a fraction of what had crashed through me like a tidal wave.
After the Alliance freed me from the pits, after I'd healed enough to think beyond survival, I'd made inquiries. I'd called in every favor I had left, contacted sources I'd thought long dead, traced shipping manifests and slave auction records until my eyes burned.
Since she hadn't been put through the Garoot Healer—a process that drastically extended the human lifespan—she'd had her mind wiped and been sent back to Earth. Back home. She was lost to me. The distance between us wasn't measured in light-years but in impossibility. She was home, probably with a mate and younglings by now, living a life that had no room for memories of an alien gladiator who'd loved her from the moment she'd touched his face.
But she was safe. That knowledge was bittersweet comfort, a knife that both wounded and soothed.
That was enough. It had to be enough.
I knew with certainty that there would never be another female for me. Stranac mated once, if we were lucky enough to mate at all. My heart had chosen, even if circumstances had stolen that choice away. Some part of me would always belong to a female whose name I didn't know, whose touch I'd never feel again, whose smile haunted my dreams and waking hours with equal intensity.
There would be no one else. There could be no one else.
She was safe. That was all that mattered. Even if it meant spending the rest of my life alone, carrying this ache like a second heartbeat, it was worth it. She was worth it.
Forty-five minutes to Tau Ceti.
I could endure forty-five minutes of anything. I'd endured far worse for far less.
After what seemed like forever, the blue-green marble of Tau Ceti resolved in my viewport, growing larger as we approached. From this distance, it could have been Earth—the same swirls of white clouds, the same blue oceans, even the landmasses were similar. But Tau Ceti was smaller, more compact. A jewel box replica.
I'd been to Earth a few times on Alliance business, so I knew better than most how close this small planet came to the real thing. This was Dixa's vision made real. My cousin Siemba's mate, a rescued human who'd refused to have her mind wiped and return to Earth. Instead, she'd done something unprecedented. She'd built a new Earth. Or as close to one as current terraforming technology allowed.
The agreements the Alliance had with Earth's governments allowed for the import of several human things. Animals and plants, mostly—livestock, trees, flowers. Things that made the place feel like home rather than just another colony world. I'd heard Dixa had even managed to get honeybees, though the negotiations for those had apparently taken years and required testimony from seventeen xenobiologists about cross-contamination protocols.
The place was a haven for displaced humans who could never return to Earth and other persecuted species, where they could begin a new life.
Behind me, I heard footsteps moving toward the cockpit entrance.
"Is that it?" The rust-haired woman's voice was barely a whisper. "Is that home?"
I glanced back. They were all pressed forward now, craning to see through the viewport. Even Peanut had stopped rocking, his damaged gaze fixed on the blue-green world ahead.
"That's Tau Ceti," I confirmed. "Your new home."
"It looks like Earth." Another voice, cracking with emotion.
The landing pad was surrounded by fields of wheat that rippled gold in the afternoon sun. Genuine Earth wheat,if my eyes weren't deceiving me. Beyond that, structures that mimicked old Earth architecture—wood and stone, peaked roofs. Nothing like the prefab plasteel boxes most colonies settled for. I'd been to Tau Ceti once, many years ago, when I still worked in intelligence. It hadn't changed much, and part of me liked that.
I brought the Veridian Dawn down gently, feeling the landing struts settle onto the ferrocrete with barely a shudder. Through the viewport, I watched two figures approaching across the tarmac.
"We're down," I announced, killing the engines. "Welcome to Tau Ceti."
Behind me, someone sobbed. Someone else laughed. Then they were all moving, gathering their meager belongings, pressing toward the airlock like it might disappear if they didn't reach it fast enough.
I hit the ramp release, then stepped aside to let them flood past me. Their excitement was palpable. Even Peanut was being pulled along by Charlene, his face still vacant, but his feet moving forward with a suggestion of excitement.
I followed them down the ramp at a more measured pace, my boots clanging against the metal. The two figures had reached the edge of the landing pad by the time I hit dirt.
