Page 72 of Alien Blueprint

"Dana's making progress on the communication buoy," I said quietly. "Real progress. She thinks she'll have a working prototype within six months."

"I know. She discussed the technical specifications with Er'dox."

"If it works, if we make contact with Earth?—"

"You'll have to choose," Zor'go finished. "Yes. We've established this."

"I don't want to choose."

"I know."

"I want both. I want to know what happened to Earth, to know if humanity survived. But I don't want to leave Mothership. Don't want to leave this." I gestured at the stars, at the ship, at us. "Don't want to leave you."

"Then don't."

"It's not that simple."

"It's exactly that simple. If rescue comes and you don't want to go, you don't go." His hand found mine again, threading ourfingers together despite the size difference. "I won't pressure you either direction. Whatever you choose, I'll support. Even if you choose Earth."

"You'd let me go?"

"I'd hate every moment of it. I'd be devastated and furious and probably redesign Mothership's entire operations structure out of spite." His markings pulsed with dark humor. "But yes. If returning to Earth is what you need, I'd let you go. Because love means wanting someone's happiness even when it conflicts with your own."

I turned to face him fully, craning my neck to meet his eyes. "What if I told you I've already chosen?"

His markings went very still. "Have you?"

"Yeah." The word came out steady, certain. "I choose Mothership. I choose the expansion project. I choose building something that matters with someone who understands my vision." I squeezed his hand. "I choose you. Even knowing it means I might never see Earth again. Even knowing it's terrifying and complicated and completely irrational."

"Love is categorically irrational."

"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said."

"The bar remains concerningly low." But his markings were pulsing rapid-fire now, that brilliant crystalline blue that meant joy. "You're certain?"

"As certain as I've ever been about anything." I smiled, feeling the truth of it settle into my bones. "The best buildings aren't planned. They're discovered in the building. Like love. Like home."

He lifted me then, ignoring the startled looks from nearby crew members, pulling me close enough that I didn't have to strain to reach him. His kiss was gentle and thorough and full of promises neither of us could guarantee but both of us meant.

When he set me down, his expression had gone soft in a way I'd never seen before.

"I love you, Jalina Chauncy."

"I love you too." I adjusted my glasses, straightened my shirt, and tried to pretend my hands weren't shaking. "Even though you're terrible at romantic gestures and you lecture me about structural mathematics at inappropriate times."

"Those aren't flaws. Those are fundamental aspects of my personality."

"I know. That's why I love you."

Behind us, the stars continued their eternal dance through the dark. Ahead of us, Mothership's corridors stretched toward a future we'd build one design at a time, one day at a time, one impossible choice at a time.

We turned toward our quarters, our shared space, designed collaboratively over three months of compromise and creativity, and I felt something settle in my chest. Not quite peace. Not quite certainty.

But close enough to both that I could breathe without the constant weight of grief pressing against my ribs.

"1900 hours," Zor'go reminded me as we walked. "Dinner with your friends."

"Our friends," I corrected.

"Our friends." His markings pulsed with warmth. "Our life. Our home."

"Yeah," I said, leaning into his side despite the height difference making it awkward. "Our home."