Page 23 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
The admission, small as it is, feels significant. A truth offered, if reluctantly.
“Neither do I,” I tell her, the words carrying more weight than intended.
Her eyes meet mine again, and something passes between us—a recognition, perhaps, of something shared despite our vast differences. For a moment, the barriers of species, of circumstance, of duty seem to thin like the membrane between dimensions during the height of the storm.
The moment stretches, charged with possibility, until a distant alarm breaks the silence. The storm has triggered the fortress’s automated warning system, a standard procedure that nonetheless shatters the strange intimacy of our conversation.
Suki steps back, the movement subtle but deliberate. Her expression closes, the wonder replaced by the guarded wariness I’ve come to expect.
“So,” she says, her tone deliberately light. “About that ship and package you promised to show me?”
I incline my head, accepting the shift. “Of course. The repair bay awaits.”
As we leave the observation platform, the storm continues to rage around the fortress, its energy absorbed and transformed by ancient shields designed for just this purpose. I find myself contemplating the parallel—how some forces, destructive in nature, can be channeled into something sustainable. Something necessary.
The courier walks beside me, her stride purposeful despite her shorter legs. She has adapted to the fortress’s gravity with remarkable ease, another sign of her resilience. Another reminder that appearances can be deceiving.
“Henrock,” she says suddenly, breaking the silence that has fallen between us. “That droid. What was its purpose, really? Before it got old and broken?”
I consider the question, sensing there is more behind it than simple curiosity. “It was a companion,” I answer truthfully. “Created during a time when my people valued such things.When comfort and conversation were considered as essential as efficiency.”
“Before the war,” she guesses.
“Yes.” I lead her down a sloping corridor that will take us to the repair bay. “Before many things.”
She nods, as if confirming something to herself. “I’ll fix it properly before I leave,” she promises. “It deserves that much.”
“It is only a machine,” I remind her, curious about her attachment.
She glances up at me, a hint of that earlier wonder still visible beneath her guarded expression. “Maybe. But even machines deserve second chances, don’t you think?”
The question hangs between us as we continue our journey downward, the storm’s light fading behind us as we descend into the fortress’s depths. I find I have no answer that would satisfy us both.
Or perhaps I do, but am not yet ready to acknowledge it.
Some broken things are meant to remain as they are—reminders of what was lost. Others, perhaps, can be transformed into something new. Something unexpected.
The thought follows me like a shadow as I lead Suki deeper into the heart of my domain, where her ship awaits repair and her package sits unopened, both holding secrets neither of us yet comprehend.
7
The Truth Doesn’t Set You Free
Suki
TheZaterranrepairbayis a cathedral of broken things. Vaulted ceilings disappear into shadow overhead, while massive crystalline support beams catch and refract the harsh work lights. The air tastes metallic, tinged with plasma discharge and engine coolant. My footsteps echo as I follow the silent technician through rows of damaged vessels—some military, some diplomatic, all of them sleeker and more impressive than my battered courier ship.
Which I still haven’t seen.
“Are we actually going to my ship, or is this just another scenic tour of Fortress Brooding?” I ask the technician’s back. He doesn’t respond, just keeps walking with that eerie Zaterran grace. After Henrok left me here with instructions to “observe but not interfere,” I’ve been led in circles for what feels like hours.
The memory of our time on the observation platform keeps intruding—the way he’d looked at me during the ion storm, the vulnerability in his voice when he shared his past. For a moment, I’d thought we were getting somewhere. That maybe this impossible situation could become something more than just warlord and captive.
But now, surrounded by the cold efficiency of the repair bay, that moment feels like a dream.
I’m starting to think they’re stalling.
“Listen, I get that you’re probably under orders to keep the annoying human busy, but I really need to see my ship.” I quicken my pace, moving alongside the technician. “The Rust Bucket. Small courier vessel. Looks like it was assembled from spare parts and prayer? Ring any bells?”
