Page 15 of Return to Sender
“We need to remove that transponder,” I state, rising from my seat.
Dominique’s eyes widen. “You want to perform surgery? Now?”
“Not surgery. The medical bay has non-invasive extraction tools designed for diplomatic emergencies precisely like this one.” I move toward the exit. “We have 4.7 minutesbefore they establish communication. The extraction will take approximately 3.2 minutes if we proceed immediately.”
She hesitates only briefly before following me. “Fine. But if you paralyze me, I’m going to haunt you for eternity.”
“Gluxians do not believe in spectral manifestations,” I inform her as we hurry through the corridor toward the medical bay.
“Of course you don’t,” she mutters. “Too chaotic for your ordered universe.”
The medical bay, like every other section of my vessel, is immaculately organized. I direct Dominique to the examination chair while retrieving the necessary equipment.
“This will be uncomfortable but not painful,” I explain, activating the extraction device—a slender, precision instrument designed to phase through organic material and isolate foreign objects without damaging surrounding tissue.
“Just do it,” she says, tilting her head to expose the area where the transponder is located. The gesture reveals the elegant line of her neck, and I find myself momentarily distracted by the rapid pulse visible beneath her soft skin.
Focus.
“Remain still,” I instruct, positioning the device carefully, acutely aware of the trust this action requires. Despite her bravado, allowing me—an alien she met less than two days ago—to use advanced technology on her brain stem demonstrates either remarkable courage or profound desperation.
Perhaps both.
The extractor emits a soft hum as it creates a localized phase field, allowing it to pass through the outer layers of skin and muscle without disruption. Dominique flinches slightly but maintains her position with admirable composure.
“AXIS, time remaining until communication shield failure?” I query.
“3.8 minutes,” the AI responds.
“Wi’kar,” Dominique says, her voice suddenly serious, “if they break through before we finish... don’t let them take me back.”
The intensity of her request creates an unexpected resonance within me. “They will not,” I assure her, with a certainty that surprises even me.
The extractor completes its cycle with a soft chime, withdrawing from Dominique’s skin with the transponder safely contained in its collection chamber—a small, crystalline device no larger than a grain of rice, yet capable of broadcasting her location across interstellar distances.
“Extraction complete,” I announce, stepping back. “How do you feel?”
She raises a hand to the spot, finding no mark or sensation. “Fine. Weird, but fine.” Her eyes meet mine. “Thank you.”
The simple expression of gratitude creates an unfamiliar warmth in my chest cavity. Before I can analyze this response, AXIS interrupts again.
“Warning: Communication shield failing. Estimated breach in forty-seven seconds.”
“We need to destroy the transponder,” Dominique says urgently.
I shake my head. “Negative. If it goes offline suddenly, they will know it has been removed. We need to maintain the signal while creating distance.”
“How?”
I extract the transponder from the collection chamber and move quickly to a storage compartment, retrieving a small, autonomous drone used for external ship inspections.
“We will attach the transponder to this drone and program it to follow a divergent course,” I explain, already making the necessary modifications. “It will appear that you are fleeing in a different direction.”
Dominique watches with evident admiration as I secure the transponder to the drone and program its trajectory. “That’s... actually brilliant.”
“It is standard protocol for—”
“For evading royal pursuit while harboring a fugitive princess?” she interrupts, raising an eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt that’s in your official handbook.”
