Page 11 of Salvation for the Alien Mercenary
"Rettnor... he didn't like pets." The words stuck in her throat like shards of glass. "He said he found Spot a new home, but I..." Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. She couldn't force out the words. She knew Dennis had killed her cat, just one more small cruelty among countless others.
She looked back up at Davis. His expression had shifted, hardened into something unreadable again. "He's not a replacement," she added, the words coming out rougher than intended. She shrugged. "But it's something."
He nodded once, a sharp downward jerk of his chin, then turned back to the console, the moment evaporating as though it had never happened.
Reaching for the final connection, she plugged the power coupling into the wall socket, waiting for the click that said it was seated correctly.
"Jex? Are you... busy?" she asked, tapping her comm unit.
A pause, then Jex's voice filtered through, the electronic tones oddly melodic."Processing diagnostic recharge cycle, Mira. Minimal cognitive load. Do you require assistance?"
"Sorry to bother you.” She glanced at Davis, who had moved to a nearby terminal. "Could you patch this rig into the human media network?"
“I can,”Jex responded without hesitation."Creating bypass through tertiary communications array. Reconfiguring firewall parameters."A series of soft beeps emitted from the console. "Access complete. Connection stable."
She blinked. "That was... fast. Thanks."
"You are welcome,"Jex replied.
"What are you doing, anyway?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
"Reviewing archives. Human history."
She paused, certain she'd misheard. "What? All of it?"
"Yes.”
“Oh, I’ll let you get back to it then.”
“Please let me know if you need further assistance.”
She glanced at Davis, who merely raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been amusement.
With the setup complete, she lowered herself into the ergonomic chair he’d set out for her. The seat contoured to her body instantly, supporting her spine in exactly the right places. The neural interface headset slid cool and weightless over her temples, biometric sensors finding contact points along the curve of her skull under her hair.
Her fingers hovered over the console, muscle memory surfacing as she powered up the system. The boot sequence flashed across her vision… faster than normal, which meant that it was optimized well beyond commercial specs. She navigated to her old favorite game, a full-immersion game; NeuroSyn Arena Trials.
The familiar login screen materialized before her. Her callsign ‘Salvation’ appeared in the credentials field. Her password followed automatically, muscle memory guiding her fingers across the virtual keyboard.
The distinctive startup chime, the resistance of the haptic controls against her fingers, the environmental audio fading in—synth-bass and electric percussion that vibrated through her bones.
For the first time in months, she felt like herself. Not Dennis Rettnor's girlfriend. Not the Reapers' charity case. Just Mira Ingram. The person she'd been before everything went to hell.
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she dropped into the first game. She remembered this. Her body remembered this... the exact tension in her forearms, the precise angle of her wrists, the controlled rhythm of her breathing.
Time dissolved as the neural interface anticipated her intentions with minimal lag. The haptic feedback provided exactly the right resistance, neither too much nor too little. Davis must have calibrated it specifically for her, which meant he'd been watching her, studying her reactions and response patterns. A strange warmth uncurled in her stomach.
An hour deep into gameplay, that distinct feeling of being watched prickled along her spine. Without breaking her concentration on the match, she glanced up through her peripheral vision.
Across Engineering, Davis was hunched over an access panel, tools spread beside him on the floor. His attention appeared fixed on the open circuitry, but his body was angled precisely toward her station. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked to her projection field, studying her movements with laser focus.
The moment their gazes connected, he jerked his attention back to the panel, as if suddenly fascinated by its innards. He hadn't laid a hand on her since that first confrontation in Rettnor’s office, but this intense observation felt like a different kind of contact… equally invasive, equally unsettling.
Equally thrilling. Like the feel of his hand around her throat had been.
Minutes later, the distinct sound of tools being gathered reached her ears. Through the corner of her eye, she tracked him as he packed up his equipment, his movements quick and efficient.
He paused at the doorway for a moment, gaze lingering on her before he disappeared into the corridor, leaving her alone with the rig and Spot who had settled beside her chair like a mechanical guardian, occasionally waving his front legs at the screen.
