Page 112 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

As we ascended, our trio lapsed once again into silence.

We burned through the atmosphere, and for a moment, our vessel hovered at the boundary between our past and our future. Then it shot outward to the nearest acceptable distance from Earth’s gravitational pull before stilling once more.

Silently, we gathered around the pod carrying the precious samples.

“Navigation coordinates verified,” I confirmed, checking the pre-programmed destination in the pod’s guidance system. “Estimated arrival time: three-hundred and forty-two Earth days.”

By then, we would be well-established in our new life at Sunflower Hills Ranch. By then, there would be no going back, even if we changed our minds. I tried to picture my mother receiving news of my “death.” I imagined the ripples of mourning that would spread through the community of my youth. The guilt was sharp but manageable, because it was balanced against the hollow emptiness I’d felt every moment since leaving Tammy behind. I knew even if our future waters turned murky, our deep bond would give us full visibility to press onward.

The vessel slowly rotated, Earth’s curvature becoming visible through the view screens. The blue, green, and white planet seemed small and fragile from this far away. It was so different from our home world with its vast, unbroken oceans and crystalline cities beneath the waves. Few land masses. Only the domed cities above surface which could not be seen so far away. Yet somehow, impossibly, this foreign planet had become a place I could not imagine abandoning.

“Are we ready?” I asked. That was a loaded question. Ready to send the samples. Ready to truly say goodbye to our planet. Ready to return to her.

Both of my crew brothers flashed an affirmative.

I disconnected the clamps below the pod which kept it grounded to the ship. Pressing a digital sensor, I initiated the conveyer belt. We all watched as the world-saving samples drifted into a cavity in the wall. The blue-tinged vessel hummed with contained energy, its bioluminescent markings pulsing with the rhythm of internal systems checking and rechecking their functionality. And then the transparent door was closing, a barrier between us and the choice we were making. I swiped a tentacle across the launch icon.

No turning back.

“For our people,” Vantor intoned, his deep voice carrying the formal cadence of a sacred ritual back home.

“For their future,” Cyro added, his tentacle glowing with soft blue light.

“For a tomorrow of many waters,” I concluded.

The exterior hatch slid open, revealing the vast darkness of space beyond. For one breathtaking moment, the pod sat motionless in its cradle, bioluminescent markings pulsing like a heartbeat. Then the cosmic slingshot activated, propelling the vessel forward in a burst of energy and light.

We watched in silence as our delivery pod—carrying both our world’s salvation and our final farewell—shot away from us, its blue glow diminishing rapidly until it was just another point of light among the stars. The distance between us and our past growing with every second.

“It’s done,” Cyro whispered, his tentacles curling inward with emotion.

I nodded, unable to speak past the constriction in my respiratory chambers. We had made our choice. We had acted on it. Now there was only forward—only Earth, only Kansas, only Tammy. Only home.

VANTOR

I returned to the bridge with hard, determined steps. Allowing my training to take over, I kept focused on the goal. Analyze. Assess. Execute.

The ship felt emptier somehow, as if the delivery pod had taken with it some essential part of our vessel’s soul. But emptiness could be filled with new purpose. My tentacles moved across the navigation console with renewed determination as Kalith input the coordinates—not the unfathomable distance to our ocean home, but the ones that would bring us back to Kansas. Back to Sunflower Hills Ranch. Back to Tammy.

“Course plotted and locked,” Kalith announced. He sounded like his old self: eager, almost boyish in his excitement. “Estimated arrival time: seventeen minutes.”

Cyro passed, as if he did not know what to do with himself. His entire existence had been devoted to studying lifeforms and then, to endless ways to save our world. His life’s mission was currently on a journey without him. I wondered if he would regret choosing this path.

But I could not focus on Cyro, not now that my mind was filled with thoughts of her.

Seventeen minutes. Less than one-twentieth of an Earth day separated us from the woman who had somehow become the center of our shared existence. My skin rippled with deep burgundy waves that betrayed my emotions. I was bursting with anticipation, hope, and a sharp twist of fear that kept me grounded. Not fear of danger—my security training had prepared me for physical threats—but fear of rejection. What if Tammy hadn’t wanted us to stay after all? What if our return was a complication instead of a joyful event?

No, she wanted us. I knew that by her expressions, her body language, her Omega smell.

Our vessel cut back through the atmosphere quickly, seeming as eager as we were to get back to Kansas.

“I am abandoning my duty,” I said aloud. The words should carry shame, but instead I felt lighter than air. I turned to face my brothers. “Everything I was trained for. Everything I swore to uphold. Why do I feel no remorse?”

Kalith’s tentacles had paused, hovering above the main command station, and Cyro’s silvery eyes quickly found mine across the bridge. Neither spoke immediately, understanding the weight of what I was acknowledging.

“I also feel content with our choice,” Cyro finally said, his colors pulsing with soft blues of compassion. “I believe, as Tammy once said, the heart wants what the heart wants. It is often impossible to understand.”

“And we have three of them,” Kalith added, a glint in his eyes as his shorter tentacle curled against his chest. “So, we’re triple confused.”