Page 200 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

Sira nods. “That may protect the Pi’Rell as well. If this data is mishandled, species dependent on jalshagar could become targets for reproductive coercion or ideological attacks.”

Brakk’s face twists with disgust. “People are awful.”

“Yes,” Sira says. “That is why good people must think ahead.”

Rolaev ’s gaze drops briefly, perhaps because thinking ahead has been the banner under which she justified horror.

I make the selection. “Jalshagar emergence data preserved in compassionate scientific framework. No deterministic ownership language. No reproductive exploitation vectors. Cultural context included. Sacred interpretations noted as emergent meaning, not imposed destiny.”

The archive hesitates.

Then accepts.

Ghar exhales slowly.

I want to lean into him, but the next quake nearly knocks all of us off our feet. A crack splits the floor down the center of the chamber. White light leaks from below, and the heat that follows smells like molten glass.

Brakk yanks the escape anchor higher. “We are out of time! I have the last surviving shuttle route, and I am saying that with a very narrow definition of surviving!”

“Where?” Ghar asks.

Brakk points toward a low arch half-hidden behind a sliding wall of fractured stone. “Through there, down two levels, across a maintenance spine that may currently be upside down, then into the auxiliary launch cradle. There is one shuttle left if the hangar did not become a philosophy.”

I stare at him. “A philosophy?”

“Abstract and useless!”

Sira grips his arm. “Can you pilot it?”

Brakk looks deeply offended. “I can pilot anything that has not achieved enlightenment and refused thrust.”

Another planetary boom rolls through the chamber.

This time the floor drops several inches and stays there.

The projections flicker violently. The shard spins faster. The archive is forcing finalization now.

Historical proof layer.

This is the heart of it. Not enough to break civilization. Enough to prevent total erasure. Evidence that the Precursors found something older. Evidence that origin mythology is incomplete. Evidence that the full truth exists and has been sealed under stewardship restrictions for good reason.

A map, not the abyss.

A warning, not a weapon.

A door, not an open wound.

I choose it.

The shard flashes bright enough to blind me. Ghar’s arm comes around my shoulders, bracing me as the archive’s acceptance slams through my body. My ears ring. My knees buckle. The chamber vanishes for a second under a flood of cold light, and when it returns, the shard is smaller, denser, and impossibly heavy with selected truth.

Final preservation complete.

The words appear in the air.

Then another line forms beneath them.

PRIMARY ARCHIVE SEALED.