Page 18 of Alien Attachment
“Yes,” I admit, enjoying the way she shivers when I let my voice drop lower. “But I also observe. I listen. I choose to understand you, not just feel you.”
The double meaning in my words isn’t lost on her—I feel the spike of awareness through our connection, the way her pulse quickens. She quickly looks away, but the warmth spreading through the bond tells me everything I need to know.
Silence falls between us again, but it’s different now—charged rather than tense. Kaylee’s gaze returns to the nebula outside, its swirling colors reflecting in her eyes.
“Why were you a failure?” she asks finally, her voice softer. “What made you defective to them?”
The question cuts deep, but I answer honestly. “Too much empathy. I formed attachments to the technicians who worked with me. I refused orders that would harm them. I questionedcommands that seemed... cruel.” I flex my tendrils, watching the patterns shift along their length, and notice how her attention follows the movement. “And I was too independent. They wanted absolute obedience. I gave them... selective compliance.”
“So they were shipping you for ‘decommissioning,’” she says, the euphemism hanging heavy between us.
“Yes. To the Venturis facility. Or perhaps to a client who specifically requested a ‘devoted companion’ with my capabilities.” I meet her gaze, letting her see the truth of what that would have meant. “I don’t remember everything. Just fragments.”
Kaylee studies me, really looks at me, perhaps for the first time since I emerged from that container. “You’re weird,” she says finally, “but you’re not... you’re not a weapon.”
The simple statement fills me with an unexpected warmth that spreads through our bond. “Thank you,” I whisper, meaning it more than she could know.
She shakes herself, as if remembering she should maintain her distance, though I feel her resolve wavering through our connection. “We need a plan. ApexCorp won’t stop looking for us—for you.”
“For us,” I correct gently, watching her face carefully. “The bond makes you as valuable to them as I am. They’ll want to study it, replicate it.”
She grimaces, running a hand through her hair again in that gesture I’m beginning to find endearing. “Great. Just great.” She’s quiet for a moment, thinking, and I feel her mind working through possibilities. “We need to ditch the Nomad. It’s too recognizable, and they’ll be tracking its signature.”
The thought of leaving this ship—her ship, our temporary sanctuary—sends a pang through me. “Where can we go?”
“Obsidian Haven,” she decides after a moment. “It’s a smuggler’s station on the edge of the nebula. No questions asked, plenty of ships for sale or... acquisition.”
“Acquisition?”
A ghost of a smile touches her lips—the first real smile I’ve seen from her, and it transforms her face completely. “Theft, tendrils. We’re going to steal a ship.”
The casual way she says it, the hint of mischief in her voice, sends warmth through me. “I see.” I consider this. “Will my appearance cause problems? I am... distinctive.”
She snorts, a sound that’s almost affectionate. “That’s one word for it.” Her gaze travels over me, and I feel a flutter of awareness that has nothing to do with the bond and everything to do with the way she’s looking at me. “We need to get you clothes, for starters. And figure out how to hide...” She gestures at my tendrils, though I notice her gaze lingers on them.
“They can retract,” I offer, demonstrating by pulling several tendrils closer to my body. The movement draws her attention to the play of muscle beneath my skin, and I feel her pulse quicken. “Not completely, but enough to be less obvious under clothing.”
“And this one?” She points to our bond-tentacle, and I notice how her voice has gone slightly breathless.
“It must remain connected. But it can extend further than the others.” I stretch it experimentally, finding that it can reach nearly three meters before causing discomfort. The demonstration seems to fascinate her.
“This is insane,” Kaylee mutters, shaking her head, though I feel her resignation giving way to something that might be anticipation. “Now I’m on the run from the most powerful corporation in the sector with a... a...”
“With me,” I finish simply, letting the weight of that truth settle between us. “Your bonded.”
“We need a better term for that,” she says quickly, color rising in her cheeks again. “Sounds like we’re married or something.”
The concept intrigues me more than it should. “Married? This is a human bonding ritual?”
Her flush deepens, and through our connection, I catch fragments of images—ceremonies, promises, intimate moments. “Never mind. Just... we need rest before we reach Obsidian Haven. I’ll take first watch, then—”
“No,” I interrupt gently, enjoying the way she shivers when I let concern color my voice. “You need sleep. I can monitor the ship’s systems, alert you to any danger. I don’t require as much rest as you do.”
She hesitates, clearly torn between exhaustion and mistrust, and I feel her weighing her options through our bond.
“Please,” I add, letting my voice drop to that register that seems to affect her most. “Let me serve my purpose. Let me protect you.”
After a long moment—during which I feel her resistance crumble—she nods. “Fine. Wake me in four hours, or if anything—anything—changes.”
