Page 4 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

Brakk scratches grease from his chin. “Unofficially, the ground under us is full of holes, the holes are full of doors, the doors are full of things that hum when no power source is connected, and everyone with an ounce of self-preservation is pretending level five doesn’t exist.”

Merrow says, “There is no confirmed level five.”

Brakk points one blunt finger at him. “That right there is why nobody likes you.”

A tremor runs under the platform. It is subtle, but not geological. The vibration has rhythm. Three pulses, a pause, then two more. I grip the rail. “Does it always do that?”

Teren’s joking mask slips again. “No.”

Brakk answers at the same time. “Yes.”

They look at each other.

“That is comforting,” I say. “Very unified.”

Merrow lifts his compad. “All seismic fluctuations are being reviewed by structural specialists.”

“Liaison Merrow,” I say, still watching the ruins, “that was not seismic.”

He gives me the tired smile of a man who has already prepared a dismissal before hearing the evidence. “You have been on site for less than ten minutes.”

“And the planet has been wrong for longer than that, so we are both working from limited information.”

The nearest survey beacon flickers. Its amber grid distorts over the black arch, lines bending where there is no surface to bend them. My pulse quickens. I step away from the overlook and follow the rail toward a side path marked in red hazard bands.

Teren shifts nervously. “Anita, that path is technically restricted.”

“Technically is my favorite kind of open.”

“It leads to the western fracture zone.”

“That sounds academically nourishing.”

Brakk snorts. “She’s going to fit right in until something eats her.”

“Nothing is going to eat me,” I say.

“People say that a lot right before digestion becomes relevant.”

Merrow finally catches up to the fact that I am moving. “Prentiss, stop immediately.”

I do not stop, because the western fracture zone has exposed a section of ruin wall half-buried under sheared basalt, and the symbols along its edge are visible even from here. My heart begins beating in a hard, delighted rhythm. Not Precursor. Not Alzhon derivative. Not early Ataxian ceremonial geometry. The markings are too compressed, built from interlocking strokes that seem to change emphasis depending on my angle of view.

I pull out my scanner.

“Anita,” Teren calls, less joking now. “Seriously, that zone hasn’t been cleared since the last collapse.”

“I am only taking a surface reading.”

Merrow’s voice climbs. “You are violating field restrictions.”

“I am enriching them.”

The hazard gate is half-closed, but there is enough room to squeeze through if one is motivated, limber, and willing to ignore several lights flashing in judgment. I duck under the bent armature and step onto darker stone. The temperature drops at once. My scanner chirps, then warbles as its display fills with interference.

The exposed wall waits ahead.

Up close, the symbols make my skin prickle.