Phil undulated against her skin, and she tilted her head as if listening. The neural connection between her and the junglewas strengthening by the hour—another complication I hadn’t anticipated.
“And the portal I came through?” she asked. “The one in the abandoned military bunker?”
“A rift gate. Old Legion technology, supposedly deactivated after the Helixian incursion.” I leaned back against the trunk, letting my tail curl comfortably beside me. “Communication with Legion command is...inconsistent during this part of the solar cycle. Signal degradation in the upper atmosphere makes transmission difficult.”
“So we’re cut off?” She didn’t sound frightened, merely calculating.
“Temporarily. The atmospheric conditions will improve in a few rotations.” I met her eyes directly. “When they do, I can contact command. Arrange for your return.”
The words felt like acid in my mouth, but I pushed through. “You have my word, Miri. I will get you home.”
Something flickered across her face—relief, yes, but something else too. Disappointment? The bond between us was still forming, not yet strong enough for me to read her emotions with certainty. But the echo of it reached me, a faint dissonance that matched the ache in my own chest.
“A few rotations,” she repeated. “That’s...good.” She looked down at Phil, who had gone suspiciously still against her skin. “How long is a rotation exactly?”
“Approximately thirty of your Earth hours.”
She nodded, absorbing this. “So I’m stuck here for what, a few days? Maybe a week?”
I translate the impressions of her words. “At most.” I shifted, uncomfortable with the conversation but determined to see it through. “Once communications are restored, extraction should be relatively simple. The rift gate can be reactivated from Legion command.”
“And then I just...go back to my life? Pretend none of this happened?” Her voice was steady, but I caught the slight increase in her heart rate, the subtle shift in her scent that indicated emotional distress.
I wanted to reach for her, to pull her against me and promise that I would never let her go. The urge was so powerful it made my claws extend involuntarily, digging into the moss beneath me.
Instead, I said, “You have people waiting for you. People who would miss you. A ward. Your…brother, correct? Your podcast listeners.” The words felt hollow, but I pushed on. “I would not be responsible for separating you from your family.”
Her expression softened, a vulnerability showing through her usual defenses. “That’s...surprisingly considerate of you, Furball.”
I inclined my head, not trusting myself to speak. The thought of her leaving—returning to her world, her life, a life without me—carved something raw and bleeding inside my chest. But I would not be selfish. I would not be the reason she lost her connections, her purpose.
Even if it meant losing my own.
“What about you?” she asked suddenly. “When do you go home?”
“When my mission assignment is complete.” The half-truth came easily. “I am still needed here.”
“To protect the jungle.”
“Yes.”
She studied me, as if trying to read beyond my words. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
I held her gaze, unflinching. “Many things. As there should be. We have known each other for less than two planetary rotations, Miri.”
“And shared two extremely explicit Unity dreams,” she countered, a flush creeping up her neck at the mention.
The memory of those dreams—her taste, her heat, the way she had surrendered to me—sent a pulse of hunger through my body. I tamped it down, focusing on the matter at hand.
“The dreams are...significant,” I acknowledged. “But they do not erase the reality of our situation. You belong on Terra Prime. Earth. I have duties here.”
Something in my tone must have reached her, because she didn’t press further. Instead, she changed tactics.
“So what happens now? While we wait for your space radio to start working again?”
I straightened, grateful for the shift in conversation. “I need to perform my rounds. Check the perimeter sectors, monitor the jungle’s status.”
“Great. I’ll come with you.”
