Page 70 of Alien Guardian's Vow
The workshop buzzed with a unique energy—the focused hum of Nyxari working with living crystal alongside the sharp tang of ozone from my salvaged human power converters. For the past week, I'd thrown myself into the shield generator repair project, finding solace in the familiar logic of circuits and energy flows. It was easier than processing the chaos of the past month.
"The resonance matrix aligns," I confirmed, making a final adjustment to the focusing crystal Varek had explained. "But the power coupling needs a dampener. The human tech pulses energy; Nyxari tech flows. We need a buffer."
Keth, the Nyxari artisan I'd been paired with, examined my modification with interest. His lifelines, intricate patterns of deep bronze against dark brown skin, pulsed faintly as he assessed the energy signature. "Your solution is... unconventional," he said, the translation stone clipped to his tunic relaying the words. "Yet the energy balance appears stable. It may function."
"It'll function," I replied, securing the final connection. Working with Keth was a study in contrasts. He shaped crystalline components with intuitive grace, sensing flaws and strengths through his lifelines, while I relied on schematics, calculations, and trial-and-error modifications. Yet, somehow, our approaches meshed. We were learning a new language together—one of hybrid technology.
Project complete for the day, I cleaned my tools, the routine motions soothing. Finding purpose here, using my skills, had been crucial. It anchored me, gave me something solid to hold onto when memories of the explosion or thoughts of Zara threatened to overwhelm me.
I stopped by the healing chambers on my way back to my quarters. Claire was awake, sitting propped up against cushions, sipping broth Selene offered her. The vacant look was gone from her eyes, replaced by a weary awareness. Her markings remained faint, barely visible silver traceries at her wrists, but they were present.
"Rivera," she greeted me, her voice weak but clear.
"Hey." I pulled up a stool, keeping my tone light. "Heard you were awake. Giving Selene and Kavan a run for their money?"
Claire managed a weak smile. "They're taking good care of me." Her gaze drifted around the chamber, taking in the softly glowing walls, the quiet efficiency of the Nyxari healers. "It's... different here."
"Different good, I hope."
She nodded slowly. "I remember... fragments. Hammond. The lab. The pain." A shudder ran through her. "And Varek... he was there."
"He got us out," I confirmed. "Both of us."
We sat in silence for a moment, the shared trauma an unspoken presence between us. I didn't press her for details, just offered quiet companionship until Selene shooed me out, insisting Claire needed rest.
Leaving the chambers, I almost collided with Varek. He moved with less stiffness now, the healing compounds and his natural Nyxari resilience accelerating his recovery.
"Becca." His voice was a low rumble that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. "I was just..." He seemed momentarily unsure, a rare occurrence for the stoic warrior.
"Heading back from the workshop," I supplied. "Shield generator interface is ready for testing tomorrow."
"Good." He fell into step beside me as we walked toward the settlement's central area. "Your work is proving valuable."
"Just doing my job." We walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the bond between us a quiet hum of awareness. It wasn't the overwhelming psychic connection Mirelle described with Lazrin, or the intuitive medical link Selene shared with Kavan. Ours felt... grounded. A shared understanding built on mutual respect and the undeniable fact that we'd saved each other's lives multiple times.
"How are the injuries?" I asked, nodding toward his bandaged side.
"Healing." He glanced at me. "Kavan's skills are formidable. As are Selene's."
"They make a good team," I agreed.
We reached the entrance to my dwelling—a simple, functional space assigned to me near the workshops. I hesitated at the threshold.
"Thanks... for the consult yesterday," I said. "On the schematics."
"My knowledge is available if it aids the settlement's defense," he replied formally. But his eyes held a different message, a warmth that belied the stiff words.
The air between us thickened. The memory of our escape, the shared danger, the moments of unexpected closeness—it all converged in this quiet moment. He hadn't pushed, hadn't pressured me since our return, respecting the unspoken need for space as we both processed the trauma. But the connection remained, undeniable.
"Varek," I began, then stopped, unsure how to bridge the gap.
He solved the problem for me, stepping closer, his larger frame filling my doorway. His hand came up, calloused fingers gently tracing the silver markings that curled near my temple—markings that had become more prominent since the escape.
"These grow brighter each day," he murmured, his gaze intense. "You are... adapting."
"Or being assimilated," I countered, though the words lacked their former heat.
"Never." His certainty was absolute. "You remain Rivera. Enhanced, perhaps. Changed, yes. But fundamentally yourself." His thumb brushed my cheekbone, sending sparks along my nerves. "Fierce. Resourceful. Stubborn."
