“Come on, engineer,” I tell him quietly. “We need to get you to daycare.”
The daycare sectorsits behind two security gates and a cheerful mural of cartoon astronauts holding hands with smiling alien animals. The entire place smells like powdered milk, disinfectant wipes, and the faintly sweet scent of synthetic fruit snacks.
Jesse waves solemnly at the receptionist when we enter.
She waves back.
He immediately attempts to climb onto her desk.
I catch him mid-scramble before he can demonstrate his Vakutan strength on corporate furniture.
“Be good,” I tell him firmly.
He studies my face again, those golden eyes narrowing.
“You sad?”
The question lands squarely in my chest.
“I’m fine,” I say.
Jesse considers that answer for a long moment before nodding with solemn acceptance. Then he takes the caretaker’s hand without complaint.
As I walk away he calls, “Bye Mama!”
My chest tightens painfully.
“Bye, baby.”
The rally arenasmells like fuel, hot dust, and overheated engines.
Rows of lean ground vehicles sit on the starting grid like coiled predators. Their frames are skeletal and angular, built entirely for speed and endurance rather than comfort. Fuel cells glow faintly beneath armored plates.
Above us the audience roars with eager anticipation.
I spot Bron leaning against our assigned vehicle.
His arms are crossed. His expression is thoughtful.
That alone makes my nerves spike.
Bron thinking is rarely a reassuring development.
When he notices me approaching, he straightens slightly.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
For a moment neither of us mentions the child.
Captain Photonic’s voice booms across the stadium as a holographic course map ignites overhead.
“Contestants! Today’s challenge will test navigation, endurance, and fuel discipline!”
The map expands, revealing a vast desert route filled with steep ridges, twisting canyon passes, and long flats of open terrain.
Fuel indicators flash red.
