Mattie had gone absolutely still, her face drained of color. Jeb was on his feet, his body between his mate and the window, every line of his posture screaming threat assessment.
“What,” Jeb said very carefully, “is that?”
“That’s what I was trying to explain.” Alina stood, holding her hands out in what she hoped was a calming gesture. “His name is Rhyx. He’s… he was in the pod. The one you found. The one wrapped in gold leaves.”
“The pod was empty,” Mattie said, her voice barely a whisper.
“It wasn’t.” Rhyx had moved to the habitat’s entrance, his bulk filling the doorway. He had to crouch to fit, which somehow made him look even more massive. “I was sleeping. Waiting. Your mate’s blood woke me.”
Jeb’s hands had shifted—subtle movements that Alina recognized as weapons being primed, targeting systems coming online. The cyborg’s eyes never left Rhyx.
“You’re saying he was made?” Jeb’s voice was hard. “From my nanites?”
“Not made. Awakened.” Alina stepped between them, which was probably the stupidest thing she’d ever done but also the only thing that felt right. “There was something already there—something ancient, from before. Your blood, your technology—it was the catalyst, not the cause.”
“Ancient.” Mattie had found her voice again, though she hadn’t moved from behind Jeb. “You’re saying he’s—what? Old Mars? From before the planet died?”
“His memories suggest it. The bits and pieces he can recall—they’re from a time when Mars had atmosphere, water, life.” Alina risked a glance back at Rhyx. “He was one of them. The species that lived here before.”
“One of them,” Jeb repeated. “And how many more are there? How many more pods waiting to hatch?”
“I don’t know. Maybe none. Maybe dozens. I haven’t had time to fully explore the cavern system.”
“And what does he want?” This from Mattie, who had edged out from behind her mate, her gaze fixed on Rhyx with something that looked almost like wonder underneath the fear. “This… Rhyx. What does he want?”
Rhyx looked at Alina. Something passed between them—the same wordless communication she’d seen between Jeb and Mattie.
Then he turned back to the couple, his expression solemn.
“To understand what I am. To protect my mate.” His eyes flicked to Jeb. “To meet others who might share my… condition.”
Jeb’s combat stance didn’t relax. “Your condition.”
“The healing. The blood that repairs itself.” Rhyx held up his hand, and in a movement almost too fast to track, dragged his thumbnail across his palm. Golden blood welled up—and then, as all of them watched, the wound sealed itself shut in seconds. “This is not something I remember from before. It is something new. Something we share.”
The silence that followed seemed to stretch for an eternity.
Then Jeb let out a long, slow breath, and the tension in his shoulders eased—not completely, but enough.
“Well,” he said. “That’s not something you see every day.”
Mattie made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a sob. “He’s real. He’s actually real. Jeb, are you seeing this? He’s real.”
“I see him, sweetheart.”
“This is what Mars used to be. What it used to have.” Mattie’s eyes were bright with tears. “Life. Real, intelligent, beautiful life.”
“I am not sure about beautiful,” Rhyx said, and there was a hint of humor in his voice that made Alina’s heart clench. “But I am real. And I need help.”
“Help,” Jeb repeated.
“There are humans who hunt for what Alina found. They would take me apart to learn my secrets. She believes your people—the cyborgs—might be willing to help protect me.” Rhyx paused. “She also believes you might have answers about what I am. Why I exist.”
Jeb and Mattie looked at each other again. This time, Alina could read the silent conversation: Can we trust him? Can we afford not to? What does this mean for us, for everything?
“I’ll need to contact some people,” Jeb said finally. “This is bigger than anything I can decide on my own. But…” He looked at Rhyx—really looked, his enhanced eyes probably cataloging a thousand details that human vision would miss. “You came to us openly. Showed us your vulnerability. That counts for something.”
“Thank you,” Alina breathed.
