•••

"I understand your people give gifts on this day," she says. "My gifts to you are the robots in your blood and the suit that will protect you. The robot and the suit will aid you during your battle with the demons. The nanites are active now. The suit, however, can only be worn aboard my ship."

"Ship?" I repeat, my voice almost catching on the word. "So… we're in space?"

The idea that we're in the space sends a jolt of wonder straight through me. Somehow, I've always known that we had to be, but hearing it confirmed still makes my heart pound faster. What geek doesn't dream of going to space? And what geek wouldn't be happy of learning, for sure, that the universe is bigger than the sky above their house?

"We are in low orbit now," she replies calmly. "You would not consider this space, but it is close."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and stared out at the red shoreline and the endless water beyond it. Vage words from earlier circle back in my mind, refusing to let go. I hesitate, then I ask the question that's been pressing on my mind since she first spoke it.

"You said children…" I swallow. "But I thought we weren't compatible. Genetically, I mean."

She nods, and as she begins to speak again, I realize something strange: she isn't pausing when she's talking now, nor was she also hesitating or choosing words carefully. There's no sense of translation at all. We are both speaking in perfect sync, thought flowing to thought without resistance or language barrier.

"Somehow, you changed me," she says. "I felt it at the time, but I did not understand it until I felt my eggs being fertilized. I had been told what to expect… but this was different."

She looks up at me then, and when our eyes meet, I see fear in her large, silvery gaze—real fear, unguarded and raw.

"We do not carry our young the way humans do," she continues softly. "After the eggs are fertilized, it takes only a few days. Then the females lay them and incubate them. That is what you saw me doing in that room. Our children are beneath me now."

She turns back toward the water, staring at the twin moons reflected on its surface.

"But with you," she goes on, her voice quieter, "it took longer. Much longer. It strained my body and left me weak. I am afraid our children may be weaker as well."

The admission hits me harder than I expected. I open my mouth, then close it again, not trusting myself to speak.

"I had to report what happened to my superiors," she says after a moment. "They did not react well. They demanded that our children be destroyed, and labeled them abominations."

Her shoulders tense, just slightly.

"I never believed my race to be violent," she continues, "but fear revealed a side of them I had never seen."

She takes a slow breath before continuing.

"They put us on trial. That is what you experienced with the questions. After deliberation, they determined that the human race is not worth saving—that you are too unpredictable, too wild. I was ordered to submit and allow our children to be destroyed."

Her voice trembles, and I see a single tear slip free, catching the light before falling. Shame burns through me, hot and suffocating. The thought that I played a part in all this, even without meaning to, sits heavy in my chest and won't let me speak.

"Our race is very different from yours in how we treat our offspring," she says. "Once hatched, the children are taken to facilities where they are raised and educated. But with you…" She hesitates. "I feel something for these offspring. What we made together was good. They are not abominations."

She shakes her head slowly.

"I refused to comply. I refused to go. As punishment, they erased all navigational and flight data from my ship. When the demons arrive, they will not be able to use it to locate our new planet. But it also means I can never return home."

Her voice drops to almost nothing.

"They intend to let us die with your planet."

The words settle heavily between us. I step behind Vage and wrap my arms around her, pulling her gently against me. Even here, even within our shared minds, I can feel her—warm, smooth body trembling slightly as she leans into my hold.

"This comforting behavior humans practice," she murmurs, "is… pleasant. There is much we could learn from you. But I fear it will not be enough. Your planet will be used as bait while my race flees to an unknown world."

A chill runs through me. What chance do we have against an advanced alien race armed with superior technology and weapons? I still don't know how I'm supposed to stop them with my switches. The idea of me standing alone against a fleet of demons, with my mind as Earth's last line of defense, feels almost absurd.

Even with the extra power I draw from my sister, I know I'm no match for them.

Loveth, I thought….

"Is my sister one of your experiments?" I ask quietly, dreading the answer even as I force myself to hear it.

"Yes," she replies without hesitation. "She was a failure. You both carry the dormant gene, but when it was activated in her, nothing happened."

Anger flares hot and fast. The casual way she says it twists something in my chest.

"You said some of them die," I snap. "She could've died!"

The words spill out before I can stop them. I know how irrational it sounds, I know she survived, and she's fine now, but that doesn't matter. The risk alone is enough to make my skin crawl.

"What is one life," she asks calmly, "even that of your sister, compared to the survival of the entire human race?"

The logic is brutal, undeniable. I feel dirty for even considering it, but I can't deny its truth.

"She wasn't a failure," I say firmly. "She amplifies my ability."

She considers this, then nods slightly. "Hopefully, it will be enough."

I study her, then, honestly look at her. Abandoned by her people and condemned to die alongside an alien world. And yet, she stands unbroken, steady as stone beneath her luminous exterior.

My thoughts drift back to something safer. Something smaller.

"Our children," I say quietly. "Those are them you're sitting on… in eggs?"

"Yes," she replies. "They are susceptible to light and sound right now. That is why we must meet like this. I cannot leave them, and we cannot speak aloud near them."

She turns in my arms and looks up at me, her silvery eyes glowing softly.

"I do not know how long it will take before they hatch. Humans have a longer gestation period than my species. They will be… different. A new RACE."

She pauses, then continues more softly.

"I used to wonder at how humans mate for pleasure. Why did you choose it? As I have told you, it is mandatory with us. The males derive some pleasure, but it is brutal for the females. It was the only thing I ever considered brutal about my race—until now."

Her gaze holds mine.

"And yet, with you, it was beautiful. I have never experienced such feelings. None of my race has. When I presented this to the council, they called it blasphemous. They demanded that I deny it."

A faint, bitter smile touches her lips.

"The council is mostly male. They are rigid. They do not wish to understand."

She rises slightly in my arms, and I feel her mouth brush against mine. Everything I've learned—about demons, about betrayal, about impossible children—crashes over me all at once.

But when I kiss her back, the weight eases.

For just a moment, in a world of red sand and twin moons, everything feels survivable.

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