“Like the Cire.” Melissa’s hand unconsciously moved to rest on her abdomen. “Did you know that before the Red Death, they had a fertility rate comparable to humans? Families with three, four, five children weren’t uncommon. Now they’re lucky if one in a hundred pregnancies results in a live birth.”
“That’s heartbreaking.”
“It is.” She thought of Becsul’s face when he’d told her about his work at the facility. The exhaustion in his voice. The weight of watching his people die slowly, generation by generation, while their artificial wombs produced failure after failure. “Theywere desperate enough to kidnap us, to try forced breeding experiments. That’s how bad it’s gotten.”
Sarah was quiet for a moment. “You feel sorry for them.”
“For some of them. For the ones like Becsul, who genuinely believed they were doing what had to be done to save their species.” Melissa shook her head. “Not for Naran. Not for the ones who saw us as breeding stock instead of people.”
“The distinction matters.”
“It matters a lot.” She watched Robbie grab a fistful of Koss’s shimmering fabric, yanking it towards his mouth with determination. “Motivation doesn’t excuse harm, but understanding motivation helps prevent future harm. That’s what I learned, working in reproductive medicine. People do terrible things when they’re desperate for children. The answer isn’t punishment—it’s finding better solutions.”
“You want to help them.” Sarah’s voice was thoughtful, not accusatory. “The Cire, I mean. Even after everything.”
“I want to help everyone who’s struggling to have families.” Melissa rescued the fabric from Robbie’s mouth, earning a betrayed look from her son. “That’s what I did on Earth. That’s what I’m good at. And now I have access to…” She gestured vaguely at the datapad, at the ship around them, at the vast universe beyond. “Everything. Every species. Every fertility challenge. Every possible solution.”
“Big dreams.”
“Maybe too big.” She sighed. “I’d need credentials. Training. Some way to prove I actually know what I’m doing. Humanmedical degrees probably don’t translate well to galactic standards.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Sarah said it with unexpected confidence. “You’re the woman who negotiated outside time and fresh clothes from our alien captors. I don’t think bureaucratic hurdles are going to stop you.”
Before Melissa could respond, the galley door slid open and Becsul ducked through, his skin gleaming with the slight sheen that indicated he’d been training. His black eyes found her immediately, and his expression softened in a way that still made her breath catch.
“You’re awake.”
“Have been for a while.” She smiled at him. “You were up early.”
“Captain Trevan wanted to show me the ship’s navigation systems.” He moved to her side, and his tail immediately wound around her waist as if it had a mind of its own. “He has offered to teach me more about piloting.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“It is… interesting.” He settled onto the bench beside her, his massive frame somehow fitting into the small space without making it feel crowded. “I have always operated planet-side. The stars are different.”
“Different good or different bad?”
“Different… large.” His tail tightened briefly around her. “But I find I like it. The quiet. The sense of possibility.”
Katie looked up from her game with Robbie. “Mr. Becsul, can you make a scary face?”
“Katie—” Sarah started, but Becsul was already tilting his head, considering the request.
“I have been told my normal face is frightening to some species.”
“That’s not scary,” Katie said with the authority of a five-year-old. “That’s just your face. I mean a scary face. Like this.” She pulled her features into an exaggerated grimace that made her look like a very determined potato.
Something that might have been amusement flickered in Becsul’s black eyes. He leaned forward, pulled his lips back to reveal his full array of sharp teeth, flared the ridges above his eyes, and let out a low, rumbling growl.
Katie shrieked with delight. Robbie, apparently deciding this was the best thing that had ever happened, began bouncing enthusiastically in his spot on the floor.
“Again! Again!”
“Perhaps later.” But Becsul’s voice was warm, and his hand came to rest on Melissa’s knee with easy familiarity. “I do not wish to frighten the young one.”
“Robbie’s not scared,” Katie reported. “He’s laughing. See?”
He was, in fact, laughing—the full-body, gasping kind of baby laughter that was impossible not to smile at. Melissa watched Becsul watch her son, watched the way his harsh features softened, and felt her heart expand in her chest.
