Page 19 of Alien Healer’s Mate

He slowed down, the frown between his brows deepening as he read through them. It was all new data, information that he hadn’t seen before. Which he wouldn’t. The way they’d set the trials up meant that no sane research group would look twice at it.

But the raw data, the way the subject’s brain had rerouted after bridge rejection, stitching new pathways through gray matter that shouldn’t have carried signal, seemed weirdly familiar. The cascade patterns were chaotic in the way they maintained connections.

Then his breath caught. They looked like Delilah’s scans. He sat up suddenly, pulling up his own patient’s files to compare them.

Then he rubbed at his chin again. Okay, they weren’t identical. The source was degraded, years old, and recorded with equipment that barely qualified as technology by modern standards. But the architecture matched if he looked sideways and squinted a little… that same chaotic, almost impossible remapping. A brain rewiring itself without external instruction, rewriting its own map in defiance of everything he’d been taught. He ran a full cross-reference and looked over the results like a kinerys hawk. No, they didn’t match. The pattern was close enough to trigger his memory, but now he looked at it, the similarities weren’t close enough. Whatever Delilah had done⁠—

Draanth. Delilah.

He’d left her in her room hours ago and lost track of time. He leaned back into his seat with a sigh, rubbing at his closed eyes. He needed to go and check on her, make sure she was okay.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned, the comparison report still glowing on the display behind him. “Come in.”

The door slid open to reveal a warrior he didn’t recognize by name but knew by type. Heavy-world build, shoulders that strained the seams of his leathers, the kind of dense muscle that came from growing up on a planet with gravity that would crush a standard lathar flat. His dark hair was braided back from his face in the traditional style, but only the right side. The left hung loose to his shoulder… half a head of braids. Halfway to sub-commander, then. This was a male who’d seen serious combat and earned every braid.

“Lead Healer.” The warrior’s voice was rough, but steady. “I am Kaar J’Vaas. First officer, weapons and tactical.”

Kellat straightened, his shoulders squaring. The male’s face was calm, but the muscles around his mouth were tight, and there was tension in his shoulders.

“Officer J’Vaas. How can I help you?”

“We’re pausing our journey to dock with the D’Taak,” Kaar said, the words clipped and precise with control. “We carry the body of First Officer Daae. He fell in an engagement three cycles ago. I am—“ The warrior’s throat worked. He didn’t finish the sentence.

Kellat rose to his feet.

“The D’Taak are his birth-clan?”

“Yes, Lead Healer. The captain requests that you officiate the handover ceremony. As the highest-ranked warrior aboard, it would be—“ Another pause, and then Kaar lifted his chin. “It would honor him.”

Kellat inclined his head. “Of course. It would be my honor to serve.”

Something in the big warrior’s shoulders loosened a fraction. “Thank you, sir.”

“How long do we have until we dock?”

“Twenty minutes. Perhaps a little less. The handover will take place in the main cargo bay.”

“I will be there,” Kellat said.

Kaar ducked his head in a shallow bow, then turned on his heel and strode back down the corridor, his boots ringing against the deck plating.

Kellat didn’t watch him go. Instead, he reached for his sash where he’d draped it over the back of a chair hours ago. He’d stripped it off to get comfortable while he worked, but comfort had no place in what came next. He settled the sash across his chest and adjusted it so it hung correctly.

The death of another warrior was always a loss, but not unusual. He’d done more of these ceremonies than he could count… stood on too many decks and spoken too many words over bodies wrapped in clan colors. It was part of his duty. Part of the rank.

He would do it again today, and, as always, he would do it properly and with the honor the fallen warrior deserved.

But first, he needed to check on Delilah.

5

The little robot was so cute it was unreal.

The little machine chittered, low and pleased, as it batted at the loose thread Delilah dragged across the floor. She bit back a grin and flicked the thread the other way. Pouncing after it, all six legs scrambling on the smooth metal, the machine sent her into fits of giggles with its antics.

“You’re so silly,” she whispered, and it chirped again.

She’d pulled the thread from one of the hoodies the LMP had packed for her, royal blue with the program logo embroidered on the sleeve, and she didn’t feel even a little bad about it. The hoodie would survive, and her little robot was having the time of its life.