Page 209 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy
“You are never allowed to do that again.”
“You returned to a collapsing launch cradle.”
“That is different.”
“How?”
“I was right.”
Despite everything, I laugh. It hurts badly. I do it anyway.
The shuttle bucks violently. Brakk’s voice comes from the cockpit, high and furious. “Everyone strap in or become decorative paste! I am doing extremely illegal flying!”
Sira stumbles toward a crash seat. “Can we reach orbit?”
“Ask me when we are in orbit!”
Anita helps me into the nearest restraints, though I should be helping her. Her hands shake as she secures the straps. Mine close over hers.
“Anita.”
She looks at me.
“You came back.”
Her expression crumples, then steadies. “Of course I came back.”
“Of course,” I repeat softly.
The shuttle punches upward through the collapsing launch shaft. The viewport flashes with black stone, white rupture fire, and impossible archive light streaking past in violent bands. Gravity crushes us into the seats, then loosens, then crushes again. Alarms scream. Brakk screams back at them.
“Come on, you beautiful ugly bucket, climb!”
A transmission crackles through the cockpit speakers.
Rolaev ’s voice.
Faint. Distorted. Alive.
“Anita Prentiss.”
Anita twists toward the speaker. “Rolaev ?”
The signal tears with static. “Do not mistake this survival for victory.”
Ghar—myself, wounded and strapped in beside the woman I love—go still.
Rolaev continues, each word cut by interference. “Humanity, Vakutan, Pi’Rell, all of you. Conscious beings are fragile when meaning is wounded. You have preserved a spark. Guard it from worshipers as fiercely as you guard it from executioners.”
Anita presses one hand against the console beside her seat. “Where are you?”
“Elsewhere.”
“Rolaev —”
“Do not follow certainty. Not mine. Not yours.”
The signal shudders.
