His lieutenant had volunteered to pursue it, but Selik had taken the assignment himself. He was… restless, a restlessness had been growing worse lately, an itch beneath his skin that wouldn’t settle. He’d been commanding a Patrol ship for the better part of the last two decades but lately he’d been feeling the need to do something beyond sitting in the command chair issuing orders.
Except there was nothing else. The Red Death, the plague that had swept through the Confederated Planets devastating so many worlds, had taken not only his family but any hope thatthe Cire would survive. None of their females had survived the plague and, despite the best efforts of the Cire Council and their attempts at artificial reproduction, his race was slowly dying out.
He had no family, no future, and no desire to return to a decimated planet. He’d taken the job with the Patrol instead, burying himself in his duties. There had been a degree of satisfaction in his work but that satisfaction had been fading. Until now.
This small female from an unknown species had awoken something deep inside him, a protective urge he’d thought long dead. When his tail had wrapped around her waist it had felt like… coming home.She is not my concern,he told himself. She was a survivor of the Vedeckian’s illegal trafficking, nothing more. He would render aid as duty required and return her to the nearest Patrol station for processing. The words rang hollow.
The walk down the ridge was slow, her body clearly unaccustomed to such rough terrain. He would have preferred to carry her, but he did not have the right. He forced himself to remain at her side instead, ready to lend a hand if she stumbled, and did his best to keep his tail from reaching for her.
At the bottom, she led him to a small overhang. A young girl who appeared to be of the same species as his female was asleep, her face smudged with dust and dried tears, and one arm curled protectively around…
A Cire infant, his tail wrapped around the girl’s wrist as he slept. The shock was so great that he staggered, reaching for the rock to steady himself. A living, breathing Cire child, out here alone in the wilderness, far from the Council and the incubators and their failing attempts at reproduction. A child who shouldn’t exist.
“I do not understand?—”
The girl’s eyes snapped open. She saw him and reared back against the rocks, clutching the infant to her chest. “Who is that?”
“It’s okay,” Corinne said soothingly, stepping in front of him. “His name is Selik, and he’s with something called the Patrol. He’s going to help us.”
“What if he’s lying? What if he’s going to?—”
“Anya,” she said gently. “I know you’re scared. I am too. But we can’t survive out here alone and he’s offering to help us.”
The girl’s eyes darted warily from Corinne to him and back again, but before she could speak the infant woke, a piteous cry emerging from the tiny lips. He instinctively tried to reach for it but Corinne was already there, gathering the child against her chest.
“Shh, Mikoz. It’s okay. We’re okay.”
The child quieted, blinking trustingly up at her. A male infant, perhaps ten months old, healthy, from what he could see.
“Where did you get him?” The words came out harsher than he’d intended, and she stiffened, her arms tightened around the infant.
“He’s mine.”
“That is not possible.”
“I don’t care what’s possible. He’s mine. I’ve been taking care of him since—” She stopped, her voice breaking. “He’s mine.”
Of course she was lying—the child couldn’t be hers biologically—but the fierce protectiveness in her voice and the way the infant relaxed against her chest, those weren’t lies. She’d bonded with him and would fight to keep him safe. Just as he would have fought for Lira.
The thought of his daughter sent a spasm of old pain through his chest. Lira should have been an adult now. Instead she was ash scattered across Ciresia’s mourning fields, along with her mother and millions of others. He forced the grief down with the familiarity of long practice. The child’s origins didn’t matter right now. What mattered was getting all three of them to safety before the night temperatures dropped any further.
“I am not going to take him from you,” he said calmly. “I am going to escort all three of you to my shuttle and then the Patrol ship to receive medical attention and proper care.”
She studied his face, searching for lies, but he had nothing to hide. Not about this.
Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”
“I don’t trust him.” The girl—Anya—spoke up. “What if he’s working with the people who took us?”
“What the Vedeckians did is illegal,” he assured her. “The Patrol is trying to stop them, not work with them. I give you my word. I will not harm you or allow harm to come to you.”
He could see the desperate longing to believe him in Anya’s eyes, but she shook her head. “Words don’t mean anything.”
“Anya-” Corinne began.
“It’s true. People say things all the time. It doesn’t make them real.”
Smart and cynical, hardened by whatever she’d endured. He recognized the signs. He’d seen them in other survivors—and in the mirror every morning for the past twenty years.
