“I see,” he said slowly. “And this safer location… it wouldn’t happen to be on the supply shuttle that’s currently prepping for departure, would it?”
His blood went cold.
“I’m not sure what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything.” Veyalor took a step forward, then stopped. His hands rose slightly, palms out in a gesture of non-aggression. “I’m merely observing that the shuttle’s manifest doesn’t include any personnel transfers. Only standard equipment returns.”
“Manifests can be updated.”
“They can.” Veyalor’s voice softened. “Captain… Becsul. I’ve seen how you are with her. How you are with the child. I’m not blind.”
Melissa tensed beside him. He could feel her preparing to run, to fight, to do whatever was necessary to protect her son. He squeezed her hand once—wait—and faced the doctor fully.
“What do you want?”
“I want the same thing you want.” Veyalor’s expression twisted with something that might have been regret. “A future for your people that doesn’t require them to become monsters.” He glanced over his shoulder, checking the corridor behind him, then lowered his voice. “Use the secondary access tunnel. It will get you to the landing pad without passing through any security checkpoints.”
He stared at the other male. “Why?”
“Because Naran is insane. Because this project was never about saving your species—it was about his legacy and his ego.” Veyalor’s jaw tightened. “And because I’ve seen the data, Captain. The real data. The mate bond isn’t something we can manufacture or control. It happens or it doesn’t. Pagalan understood that. Naran refuses to.”
“You could have said something sooner.”
“I could have.” The admission cost him something—Becsul could see it in the way his shoulders dropped. “I didn’t. I told myself that the ends justified the means, that the situation was too desperate for ethical niceties. I was wrong.” He stepped aside, gesturing towards a narrow doorway that Becsul had assumed was a storage closet. “The tunnel is through there. It comes out twenty meters from the landing pad. Go. Now. Before someone less… sympathetic… comes looking.”
He hesitated. Part of him was convinced that this was a trap, that Veyalor was buying time for reinforcements, that trusting him would get Melissa and Robbie killed. But the instinct for danger that had kept him alive through a hundred battles was quiet.
Trust your instincts,his old commander had taught him.They know what your mind hasn’t figured out yet.
“If this is a trap?—”
“It isn’t.” Veyalor met his eyes steadily. “I’ve done enough harm, Captain. Let me do this one thing right.”
Melissa tugged on his hand. “We need to move.”
She was right. Every second they spent here was a second closer to discovery, to capture, to failure. He gave Veyalor a sharp nod—acknowledgment if not thanks—and pulled Melissa towards the hidden door.
“Captain.” Veyalor’s voice stopped him at the threshold. “For what it’s worth… I hope you make it. Both of you. All of you.”
He didn’t look back.
The tunnel was narrow, dark, and smelled of moisture and rust.
He went first, one hand trailing along the rough stone wall to guide him, the other still clasped firmly in Melissa’s. Even his night-adapted eyes could barely make out shapes in the darkness of the tunnel, but she followed without complaint, her footsteps steady behind him.
Robbie made a small sound of protest, probably disturbed by the jostling, and she murmured something soothing that he couldn’t quite catch. The sound did something to his chest, making it ache with a longing he couldn’t name.
This is what I’m fighting for,he reminded himself.
The tunnel angled upward, then leveled out. Light appeared ahead—a thin crack of grey that widened as they approached. He slowed, pressing Melissa back against the wall, and crept forward to peer through the exit.
Landing pad three spread out before him, a wide circle of ancient stone updated with modern landing beacons and cargo equipment. The supply shuttle sat at its center, a boxy utilitarian craft that looked about as threatening as a delivery vehicle.
Because that’s exactly what it is, he thought. Which is exactly why no one will look twice at it.
He scanned the area quickly. Two maintenance workers near the fuel cells, heads down, focused on their work. One security guard at the far edge of the pad, but he was watching the main entrance, not the service tunnel exit. No sign of pursuit, and no sign of alarm beyond the distant wail still echoing from the main facility.
“Clear,” he said quietly, and led Melissa out into the open.
