A ripple runs through the cabin. We've all heard the stories about warrior colonies and "custody laws." About protection that looks a lot like ownership.
Dr. Patel’s voice slices through it, steady but hoarse. “Elena? Is the computer saying what I think it is?”
“If you’re thinking genetically modified patriarchal world with an extinction-level woman shortage, then yes.” I swipe the alert away, scanning through the planetary information. “On the bright side, it’s got an advanced ecosystem and excellent infrastructure. We’ll be theirguests.” The word tastes like ash. “Maybe they’ll need engineers.”
But they’ll need mates more.
Sophia snorts. "Guests, huh? Sure. In a gilded cage." Sophia was a soldier back home. She doesn't say much, and when she does, it's usually about exits. If she's calling this a cage, she's already looking for the door.
Quinn leans her head back. “It’s not a prison planet. Just a really enthusiastic patriarchy.”
“What do they look like?” Lila asks, voice small.
Sloane checks her readout, her face bathed in the cold blue light of data. “Mixed biosphere. Genetic records show heavy modification. Even the planet itself is modded. Could be scales. Could be fur. Could be bone plating. Depends on what themodders were fixing before they broke whatever was left of humanity there.”
Lila’s voice thins. "We're supposed to preserve the human race. How can we—" She swallows hard. "—if they're too far gone from human?"
Quinn gives a dry, humorless laugh. “They’ll have the right anatomy for the required act. Most of them will be sterile. That’s the rumor, anyway. They went too far—mixed too many alien lines trying to make perfect soldiers. You don’t get to play God without breaking the toy.”
“I want to hear every secret you weren’t allowed to spill on New Terra, Quinn. When we land,” Maya says.
Quinn’s cryptography work means she probably knows more than any of us. Quinn would be in big trouble for revealing anything. Maya would be in trouble for evenaskingher. But there’s nobody from New Terra to enforce any of that. Not anymore.
Quinn’s expression is carefully blank. “We just have to do our duty and get through this. Even if it means assigned fertility rotations with aliens.”
Sophia mutters, “We’re being remanded for fertility duty to a planet full of half-broken super-soldiers. Stellar.”
“Not broken,” Dana says, twisting her mouth. “Just territorial. And very, very male.”
The way she saysmalemakes my skin tighten.
I run the numbers in my head. The ship’s trajectory, the remaining thrust, and the oxygen levels. It’s a simple equation.
Death or Xytheos.
Lila meets my eyes. “What’s the plan?”
I wish I had one that didn’t sound like a prayer.
“We land,” I say. “We stay together. That’s what this mission was built for. We were chosen to keep the species alive.”
Lila laughs sharply. “You think any other groups got out? That maybe the men made it? That they could claim us back?”
I glance at Dana. She used to deal with interplanetary agreements as a lawyer.
She frowns, thinking it through. “Under the Astra Conventum, repatriation is possible. If the survivors establish a new colony within one stellar year, and they can locate us. Their claim is legal. On paper. If these aliens follow laws, we’ll have some protections in place.”
“On paper,” Sloane repeats, her tone a scalpel. “New Terra’s gone. Even if anyone lived, they wouldn’t find us in a year. They won’t even know where to look.”
Tessa shifts, then says, “Prison planets have laws, but I’ve heard what happens on those.”
“Prison planets can’t enforce their laws,” Dana says.
The ship shudders hard. There’s a sharp sound from the aft compartment, and I hear a hiss. “Right now, it’s the law of gravity that’s being enforced!” I bark. “Brace for crash! Heads down. Shallow breaths!”
Hands grab hands. Instinct. Human. Desperate.
A chain of sweaty fingers and unspoken promises.
