Page 17 of Alien Attachment
“OOPS Vessel Nomad.” The voice is cold, mechanical, devoid of emotion—everything I was created to be but chose not to become. “This is ApexCorp Security. You are carrying stolen, highly dangerous ApexCorp bio-weaponry. Surrender vessel and asset immediately or be fired upon. Repeat: surrender vessel and asset for immediate retrieval.”
Terror floods the bond—Kaylee’s fear hitting me like a physical blow. Her mind fills with images: sterile laboratories, restraints, pain. She imagines herself strapped to an examination table, scientists probing the bond between us, treating her as just another experimental subject.
Something primal rises in me, darkening my vision. My tendrils stiffen and darken, the bioluminescent patterns shifting from peaceful blues to warning reds. A low, vibrating hum emanates from my core—a sound I didn’t know I could make, predatory and protective.
“They will not take you,” I say, my voice deeper, resonating with protective fury that comes from somewhere deeper than programming. “They will not touch what is mine to protect.”
Kaylee’s eyes widen at my transformation, and I feel her spike of alarm through our bond. But instead of cowering, she straightens, her fear channeling into determination that makes my dual hearts race with admiration. “Then help me get this bucket moving. They’re coming, and they’re coming fast.”
She rushes to the cockpit, and I follow, our bond-tendril stretching between us. Through the viewscreen, I see it—an ApexCorp security vessel, sleek and predatory, emerging from the asteroid field like a hunting beast. Its weapons systems are already powering up, targeting arrays locking onto the Nomad.
“Jump drive at ninety-four percent,” Lila reports with maddening calm. “Recommend waiting for full calibration before—”
“No time,” Kaylee interrupts, her hands flying over the controls with practiced efficiency. “Plot course for the Cassian Nebula, maximum speed.”
“The quantum field is still unstable,” I warn, feeling the dangerous fluctuations in the drive through our ship-bond. “A jump now could tear us apart.”
“And staying here definitely gets us captured or killed,” she counters, not looking up from the controls. When she glances at me, her eyes are fierce, determined. “Can you stabilize it? With your... connection thing?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Extending my tendrils toward the cockpit interfaces, I sink into the ship’s systems again, focusing on the jump drive. The quantum field writhes like a living thing, chaotic and dangerous. I pour myself into it, imposing harmony, creating patterns where there is only discord.
“Charging jump sequence,” Kaylee announces. “Five seconds.”
The ApexCorp vessel fires, a warning shot that rocks the Nomad. Alarms blare as shields strain, and through our bond, I feel Kaylee’s spike of adrenaline and determination.
“Three seconds.”
I push deeper into the system, my entire being vibrating with the effort of containing the unstable quantum field. The strain is enormous, but the knowledge that Kaylee’s life depends on this gives me strength I didn’t know I possessed.
“Jump!”
Space tears open before us, reality folding in impossible ways. The ship shudders violently as we cross the threshold, the unstable field threatening to collapse. I feel myself stretchingthin, my consciousness split between my body and the ship’s systems, both threatening to tear apart.
Protect Kaylee. Protect my light.
With one final surge of effort, I force the quantum field to stabilize just long enough for us to complete the jump. Reality snaps back into place as we emerge into the swirling gases of the Karris Nebula, the ApexCorp vessel left far behind.
I collapse to the deck, my tendrils withdrawing from the interfaces. Every part of me aches with the strain, but through the bond, I feel Kaylee’s relief, her amazement, her grudging gratitude—and underneath it all, something that feels remarkably like affection.
“We did it,” she breathes, slumping in the pilot’s seat. “For now.”
For several minutes, we simply exist in the aftermath of our escape, the Nomad drifting deeper into the nebula’s concealing clouds. The swirling colors outside the viewscreen paint Kaylee’s face in shifting hues of purple and blue, highlighting the exhaustion etched into her features and making her look ethereal, beautiful in a way that makes my chest tight.
Finally, she turns to me, and her expression is softer than I’ve seen it. “Why are you helping me? You could have just... taken over. You were inside the ship’s systems. You could have locked me out, flown us anywhere.”
The question surprises me. “Why would I do that?”
“Because that’s what you were made for, right? To control systems. To ‘harmonize’ them to your will.”
I shake my head slowly, pulling myself upright despite the lingering weakness. “No. I was made to serve. To obey. To enhance systems for my... owner.” The word tastes foul, like synthetic rations left too long in storage. “But I choose now. My programming shapes me, yes. But this—” I gesture to the tendril connecting us, watching how her gaze follows the movement, “—this was chance. Choice. I choose now. Every moment. I choose you, Kaylee. My light. My purpose.”
Disbelief colors her emotions, along with confusion and a flickering warmth she quickly suppresses. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know more than you think,” I counter gently, letting my voice carry the certainty I feel through our bond. “I know you are brave—you faced an asteroid field and ApexCorp rather than surrender. I know you care deeply for this ship—I feel your connection to it, how it represents freedom to you. I know you are lonely—the silence of space both comforts and haunts you. I know you are kind—you could have left me in that medical chamber, but you came back.”
Her cheeks flush, a delicate pink that makes me want to trace the color with my tendrils. She looks away, but not before I catch the way her breath catches. “That’s not fair. You’re reading my emotions through this... thing.” She gestures at our bond, but there’s less heat in the accusation than before.
