Sexy Space Babes - Mechs, Maidens and Macaroons: Chapter Eleven

AN: Art by "justspicy"

----------------

“Why the fuck am I making breakfast when we have a private chef?” Saria growled, yellow eyes narrowed, ears flicking back in irritation.

Kalia sighed, setting her mug down with a soft clink. “Because, he’s a private chef, not a live-in-chef.”

And there was a significant difference between the two - apparently. Or so Kalia had learned, given her only previous experiences with the concept were with her family’s cooks.

Who were very much of the ‘live-in’ variety.

No, according to Tenir’s droning on the subject, private chefs actually tended to be much more common than their housebound variants. At least, in that most ‘private chefs’ actually had a multitude of clients for whom they cooked on rotation, rather than a single client that they commuted to each day.

An idea that seemed a little strange to Kalia, because the phrase ‘private chef’ would imply they were… exactly that - a private chef.

Instead, it seemed more like private chefs were in fact rented chefs.

Either way, Mark’s contract had more in common with that of a private chef than a live-in-one.

…Though with the caveat that for the duration of said contract, he was not to provide his services to anyone else in a professional capacity.’ After all, it wouldn’t do to pay to have a human shipped all the way from Earth for the bragging rights, only to then have him provide his services to anyone who flashes a few credits in his face.

“So?” Saria whined.

Kalia eyed the motley collection of sausages and eggs her friend seemed intent on both undercooking and burning simultaneously. “Which means that outside the times that we have him scheduled, his services come at a premium. One I’m not particularly interested in paying because you want breakfast and you’re sick of takeaway.”

“Ugh, why didn’t you make him a live-in-chef, Kals?”

Kalia rolled her eyes at her friend’s dramatics. “For much the same reason we no longer have a live-in gardener, cleaner or pool girl. It’s a security risk.”

One she could ill afford at this juncture.

“Oh yeah, totally more risky to have him living here rather than coming and going at random,” Saria shot back sarcastically.

Kalia’s lips twitched, but her tone stayed even. “He gets scanned each time he comes in and spends maybe two hours here each visit. The short duration of said visit means the security team can keep eyes on him the entire time he’s here.”

She gestured to one of the many nearby cameras in the villa, its red light winking faintly. “That kind of constant surveillance would be untenable if he was living here.”

Or at least, far more expensive than the current arrangement. Nothing that her mother couldn’t afford – but Kalia would be damned if she was about to willingly tighten the noose around her own neck.

Hell, she wouldn’t even have a personal chef if it weren’t one of her mother’s ‘requirements’.

Couldn’t have the Vorn heiress living like a pauper now, could she?

“Could just extend a little trust,” Saria muttered, watching the ingredients in the pan let out lazy curls of steam.

…Or maybe that was smoke? Kalia wasn’t entirely sure there was enough oil in that skillet. Or was it too much oil? Truth be told, she had little more cooking talent than her mechanically inclined friend.

 “Yes. Trust.” The Vrekian deadpanned. “Because that worked out so well for us last time.”

Saria scowled, her tail giving a sharp flick, but she didn’t argue. After all, she’d been the one who’d had to spend weeks cleaning out Starkiller’s corroded fuel lines after that last bit of sabotage.

Really, they should have caught onto it sooner than they did.

Krenheim was a viper’s nest after all. And while it wasn’t so dangerous that Kalia risked assassination every time she stepped out of the estate  - that was more a result of the need for at least a thin veneer of respectability on the part of the leagues than any true respect for ‘fairplay’.

So, when it became clear that the ongoing technical faults Kalia’d been suffering were a result of their then ‘landscaper’, she’d had a choice between upping security to ludicrous levels – or simply doing away with the living in staff entirely.

She’d chosen the latter – and ensured that all future visits by contracted staff were staggered so that they could be remotely monitored the entire time they were here.

It was a level of paranoia she’d hopefully be able to repeal when she finally got out from under her mother’s thumb and had the ability to move Starkiller to a dedicated refit facility - one separate from her main residence.

Until that happened though, they needed to get by on the ‘shoe-string’ budget they had.

She shook her head at the absurdity of that thought, even if it was true within the context of her position in leagues.

Saria broke the silence, her tone lighter. “You know, you have to realize that Tenir’s probably enjoying breakfast in bed right now. Using your chef. While you’re watching me burn Uncle Seddard.”

Kalia made to respond to that, before actively cringing back away from the sizzling pan as the latter half of what the Persin had just said registered.

Something that had the awful woman belt out a long stream of laughter, ears twitching as she stirred the collection of meat and eggs around.

“Just kidding,” she snarked. “About Uncle Seddard. We’re saving him for a special occasion.”

Despite the fact her friend had just confirmed that she wasn’t about to dine on the butchered remains of one of her relatives, Kalia still felt vaguely ill about the fact that said friend likely would at some point in the near future.

The Vrekian knew the universe was a big place and it wasn’t her place to judge other cultures for their… more unusual practices, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy the idea that certain species did in fact practice cannibalism.

“Please tell me you’ve never used any of my kitchen utensils to prepare or consume any of your family,” Kalia said slowly. “Or enemies.”

“Not to date,” the Pesrin sniggered.

“Please never do,” Vorn grunted. “Ugh.”

Her friend continued to chuckle, shaking her head at what she no doubt saw as alien ‘squeamishness’ in the face of her race’s absurd obsession with avoiding ‘waste’.

“So, do you think our resident virgin managed to seal the deal last night – and is now enjoying the services of one studly chef?” said friend continued.

Kalia considered the question, glad for the change of topic.  “No, I think it’s unlikely.”

“He’s a human guy,” Saria said, taking her food off the heater. “I mean… fuck, you should have seen the way he just… looked at me on that first day.”

Perhaps that was true. Perhaps her friend was just reading too far into things. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Nor even the seventh.

“Flirty or not, guys don’t put out on the first date. And beyond that… it’s Tenir.”

And as much as she loved the other woman, that statement alone held weight.

“…Point,” Saria conceded, her ears twitching with amusement.

Kalia sighed. Her Nighkru friend’s luck with men was practically a running gag in their group by this point. Now, part of that was a result of the way her poised professionalism tended to crumble into awkward stammering the moment she was outside the rigid confines of a working environment.

Another part of it was that the girl had just been… unlucky a few times. A spilled drink. An inconveniently timed mugging. A hotel burning down. It seemed that each time she’d been about to seal the deal in the past, something went wrong.

Not supernaturally so. Just… bad luck.

“Do you think her apartment burned down this time,” Saria wondered as she idly licked tormak sauce from her claw. “That might explain why she’s late today.”

Kalia paused with her mug halfway to her lips, wanting to dismiss the idea as absurd.

But she couldn’t…

“Perhaps she just chose to come in later today?” she demurred. “It’s not like we have anything planned or actual office hours.”

Indeed, Tenir’s role as Kalia’s manager meant she worked rather flexible hours that tended to ebb and flow with the gladiator circuit’s demands. With that said, she was also a creature of habit. By eight-thirty, she’d usually be here, datapad in hand, rattling off schedules or sponsor updates.

To that end, her absence was intriguing.

Maybe she finally had broken her streak of bad luck and gotten her v-card stamped?

“If she has, it’s probably because she’s sleeping off a hangover,” Saria said, answering her own question with a smirk. “I bet she scared Mark off and then decided to drown her sorrows.”

Kalia wanted to point out that a few minutes ago the Pesrin had been of the belief that their friend was enjoying breakfast in bed courtesy of said chef.

“That’s a you move,” the Vrekin sighed. “Not Tenir.”

The Pesrin wasn’t perturbed though as she speared some more sausage with a long claw. “Then she’s probably sleeping in - after spending all night binging anime and jilling it to 2D guys.”

Kalia wanted to argue, but even she could admit that… wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

If unlikely.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to ponder long as her omni-pad chimed, cutting through the banter. She glanced at the screen, eyebrows lifting.

“Speak of the devil,” she said, scanning the message. “Tenir’s taking a sick day.”

Saria smirked. “Hungover. Or dehydrated from jilling. Or both.”

Kalia ignored her as she sent back a brisk ‘get well soon’.

Whatever had actually happened, they’d find out eventually. Though she could only hope that whatever it was, it hadn’t caused any friction with their newest contractor.

--------------------------

Mark sank into the rumpled sheets of Tenir’s bed, the faint scent of eggs of some kind from the quick breakfast he’d made lingering on the tray nearby.

An act of kindness he’d been ‘repaid’ for in full, given the way his skin was still buzzing from the morning romp that had immediately followed. He shifted, enjoying the way Tenir’s silver body pressed against his.

Of course, all good things had to come to an end. And while his own schedule was entirely open as part of his rather lucrative contract with Kalia, he doubted the same was true for the woman’s manager.

Indeed, she’d literally just fired off a message on her omni-pad.

“Shouldn’t you be heading to work?” Mark asked, propping himself on an elbow.

Tenir shook her head quickly as she cast the device aside. “I’ve got a day off. Kalia’s got a light schedule, and I’m not needed right now.

The words came out quick, like they’d been pre-rehearsed. So much so that some part of him suspected she was lying.

Still, if she was, it was no business of his. She was a grown ass woman. If she wanted to feign illness for the day in the name of skiving off work, that was her business.

And he’d not deny that it’d be fun to spend a little more time with her.

“Well, if you’re not busy, I wouldn’t mind hanging out a little more.” He shrugged. “Though if you want to call it here, I’ve no issue heading back to my apartment.”

 “I’d like that,” she said quickly. “The former thing, I mean. I had fun too.”

She blushed a little at those words, eyes roaming over his body.

“S’fine by me,” he said, deliberately stretching in a way that her eyes widen – much to his amusement. “Do you want to head out somewhere or… spend the day inside?”

As he spoke, his fingers ghosted along her thigh…

Her eyes sparkled, and he had a feeling he knew which way she was leaning – right up until she winced as she shifted her leg.

“Ah, not that the latter option doesn’t sound fun, but I was thinking we could… head out somewhere? I wouldn’t want you to think that’s all I care about. I’m not like Saria.”

Yep, there was a definite tenderness to her movements as she shifted off the bed. So much so that he actually felt a little guilty. He hadn’t been rough. Or at least, not too rough. But he had been… enthusiastic.

Really, now that he thought back to their morning romp, he couldn’t help but recall that while Tenir had certainly enjoyed it, she’d been a lot less mobile than she was last night.

In short, she was likely feeling a little sore right now, in more ways than one.

…And obviously couldn’t admit to that, he thought as he mentally reversed the gender roles – in which a hot slut had taken a nerdy virgin to bed and totally emptied his tank.

Now she was asking if he was ready to go again? And he most definitely couldn’t.

Yeah, that’d be hard to admit to.

So he was merciful as he nodded, trying not to let too wide a smile slip across his face – because reversed gender roles or not, he was most definitely still a guy and felt more than a little proud of fucking the alien across from him into submission.

He was only human after all.

“Sure,” he agreed magnanimously. “You know I’m new to the planet, so I’d love to see some of the places you think are fun around here. I’d love to know what you get up to when you’re off the clock.”

The alien practically sighed in relief, before freezing.

“Y-yeah,” she most definitely didn’t stutter. “Places I enjoy. With a guy. Places I enjoy that a guy would enjoy.”

Gods, the nerdy side of her was just so cute!

And he’d stop bullying her to watch her stammer eventually.

Probably.

…Maybe.

-------------------------

“Are you sure about this?” Tenir asked nervously as they walked up to their destination. “We could go somewhere else if you want?”

Mark laughed. “No, this place looks interesting. And this is where you said you wanted to go, right?”

Or at least, it was where she’d admitted to under some light interrogation after a few aimless minutes wandering around a nearby park. Now, the park had been a venue he hadn’t minded, the local flora had been interesting to look at, but it was clear the place held no interest whatsoever for Tenir.

Which, while sweet, meant he couldn’t really enjoy himself either. So, here they were. In front of some kind of… model store.

And he hadn’t been lying. It did look interesting enough, with a varied array of colorful looking fantasy figures displayed in the store window. They were arrayed carefully to give the illusion of some kind of epic battle in miniature. Across from them was a large poster of an interestingly garbed Shil’vati male in ancient chainmail.

He said interesting, because the armor covered his groin, his nipples and his face. And even then, not by much.

Personally, he thought it rather amusing, but Tenir seemed to be – as seemed to be the custom now – cringing back as she gazed upon one of her favorite hobbies from the perspective of someone who wasn’t explicitly part of the intended audience.

Said intended audience seemingly being exclusively horny women.

Still, he gave her no chance to back out, as he practically pulled her into the store.

It was surprisingly big on the inside, and yet seemed all the more cramped because of it. Shelves lined the walls and interior, forming passageways deeper in, each and everyone one of which seemed to sag under the weight of the many books, paint vials, brushes, and other tools present.

And as surprising as it was to see actual books present, his focus ended up more on the many tables present – each of which served to display some kind of miniature battlefield.

Now, while Mark’s interests had never veered much into the more nerdy varieties of entertainment back on Earth – excepting perhaps the occasional video game – even he knew what this was.

It was Dungeons and Dwarves!

Or the alien equivalent!

Probably!

Except one of the tables had a tank on it.

And he thought Dungeons was all about swords and bows and stuff.

So the alien version was clearly different. Still, he felt pretty proud of himself for figuring out what this place was all about so fast. Because to be honest, prior to this, he’d thought it was like some kind of train store.

…Some part of him still did.

Only now he knew it was also some kind of game. Because he could also see that some of the players had dice. Strangely shaped diced with like… twenty sides, but still dice!

Grinning, he gripped the blushing Nighkru’s arm with his own as they advanced deeper into the store. As he did, he tried to ignore the less than subtle stares of the many aliens present.

Though he did wonder whether they were staring because he was human or because he was a dude? He’d definitely clocked that he seemed to be the only guy in here.

Still, as the stares seemed to intensify, he felt Tenir’s fingers around his own tighten. Glancing over at her, he definitely didn’t miss the slight hint of smugness in her features as they walked towards the back of the store.

Apparently, in this estrogen heavy den of wargaming, having a man on your arm held some status.

…Or he was reading too much into things.

Probably the latter.

Then again, he thought.

He took a small whiff of the odor that had been absently tickling at his senses since he’d walked in - resisted the urge to cringe.

A guy’s locker room could have taken notes from this store. Indeed, even as he had that thought, he noted a small inoffensive sign – almost hidden amongst the many posters lining the walls – stating that anyone failing to meet minimum hygiene standards when entering the store would be asked to leave.

Ugh.

Still, he found himself slightly curious about something.

“Do they not sell models here?” he asked quietly, aware of the eyes boring into him, his voice low to avoid drawing more attention. “Seems it’s mostly just books and paints and stuff.”

Tenir shook her head, her silver eyes sparkling even as she waved off an approaching saleswoman – something of her ‘work-face’ showing through for just a second.

“Ah, you’re from a primitive world,” she said casually. “Shops like this don’t sell pre-built models anymore. Instead, they sell licenses, printer rental and a place to play.”

Mark’s eyebrow twitched at the word ‘primitive’, a faint irritation flaring, but he let it slide as looked at the monitor she’d gestured to – and the humming box beside it.

Then he found himself staring as he realized what he’d originally thought was a display case was actually a 3D printer. Within the glass panel, he could see a dragon forming in real time as it seemed to rise up from some kind of vat on the bottom of the structure.

That was definitely kind of cool, and he let it show on his face, clearly delighting Tenir as she pulled him over to the machine.

“As you can see there’s a wide selection of models to choose from,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement as her fingers danced over the monitor, navigating the interface to pan through entire sections of colorful designs. “Currently, the most popular game on the market is Realpolitik. Which is actually based on, well, the real world.”

She leaned in, none of her usual shyness on display as she whispered conspiratorially to him. “In fact, recently, one of the 3D model designers got in trouble after someone leaked classified technical documents to him over the hypernet. All because one of the intake valves on his design was bigger than it was on the craft it was supposed to represent.”

That made Mark laugh. Surely that had to be an exaggeration.

Still, Tenir seemed happy enough as she continued. “And the other current craze is Moonrot. Basically just another brand of magic and fantasy stuff.”

She pointed to another table, its resin terrain dotted with monsters, knights and other creatures ‘doing battle’ across a ruined looking castle.

Mark nodded, before he turned back to the monitor. The Realpolitik section was interesting, as his gaze roamed over the many names on offer.

Naturally, they seemed to be split into four sections.

Alliance.

Consortium.

Imperium.

Independent.

And for just a moment, he had to wonder if the recent war had boosted the game’s popularity - or soured it? Still, as his eyes scanned over a bunch of strangely insectile looking ‘Ulnus’ suits, a thought occurred to him.

“Is Earth a faction you can pick?”

Tenir paused in thought before nodding. “Yeah, they’re one of the more recent ones. In fact, you can play as three different variants.”

She tapped the screen quickly pulling three distinct ranges of Earth models. One Imperial aligned. One Alliance aligned. And one independent.

Though their classification was practically an afterthought as, Mark had to resist the urge to both frown and burst out laughing.

Because the figures were pure caricatures.

The soldiers on display had tank tops, bulging muscles and camo pants. As if every one was some kind of clone of Rambo. Oh sure, there was some variation in ethnicity and the like, but the fact remained that pretty much all of them looked more like a parody of a soldier than the reality.

The labels made it worse.

Pre-Uplift Humans – Independent.

Human Loyalists – Imperial.

Human Terrorists – Alliance.

All the while, Tenir continued to grin at him, oblivious to any issue and her enthusiasm undimmed.

Because to her, they were just cool models.

To him, they were a mocking mirror of Earth’s subjugation, a reminder of the galaxy’s opinion on his species and their positions in the conflict they were engaged in.

He shook his head, forcing a smile. “Perhaps fantasy’s more my speed?”

It wasn’t like complaining to her would do anything. She hadn’t designed them.

So it was that Tenir nodded, undeterred, launching into a spiel about Moonrot that flew mostly over his head.

He vaguely picked up some lore about shattered realms, elder gods, and primal terrors pouring out of portals, but it came so thick and fast that names and places all kind of blurred together.

Still, Tenir looked cute as she talked, the Nighkru’s hands gesturing wildly as he nodded along. All the while, as he watched her lips move, his mind couldn’t help but wander…

I can’t wait to fuck this dumb nerd again, he thought, a casual smile on his face.

His mind wandered, less to Moonrot and more to her tongue - imagining putting it to use later, back at her apartment.

“Alright, that’s the gist of it, so you just need to pick a faction,” Tenir urged, pulling him back to the present. “Then we can print your first model.”

Mark blinked, as he suddenly found himself stood in front of the screen, which was currently set up to display an absurdly large roster of armies to pick from.

He’d already forgotten literally everything Tenir had said on the subject, so when he did make a choice, it was more as a result of the ‘vibe’ than anything else.

As a result, it wasn’t long before the first ‘dinosaur riding another dinosaur’ was displayed on the screen, ready to print.

Tenir’s shook her head as she turned back to him. “Why does every guy who comes into this hobby pick the Grarl?”

Mark just shrugged. “Dinosaurs are cool.”

Plus, they were pretty much the only faction whose male complement weren’t comprised of half-naked bodybuilders – or twinks! - flexing for a holo-ad.

Indeed, he wasn’t entirely sure his new dinosaurs had a gender.

Not that he was about to ask that, for fear he’d get another half-hour tangent on ‘Grarl’ mating etiquette.

One he knew Tenir was downright primed to deliver.

Unfortunately, as cute as he found her nerdy enthusiasm, he had limits.

“Fair enough,” the Nighkru sighed as she guided him through the process of customizing his model.

As it turned out, the printer could change the colors as the model was being printed, so he had some fun tweaking the colors of his newest ‘general’. Tenir hovered, offering tips, her excitement palpable as she rambled about different in-universe factional colors.

He half-listened, more focused on the warmth of her body pressed up against him as he picked something in red, white and blue, before the printer hummed to life, layering colored resin with eerie precision and speed as it set about spitting out his dinosaur riding dino-lord.

Or lady.

Again, he couldn’t really tell.

“Eventually, it’s considered ‘proper’ to paint them yourself rather than rely on the printer,” Tenir explained, gesturing at a table where a Rakiri meticulously shaded a dragon’s wing. “But if you don’t, no one will complain if a newbie has a pre-painted set.”

Mark nodded, inspecting his very American looking dinosaur.

He wasn’t really sold on the whole thing if he was totally honest - dice games weren’t really his thing - but the model was definitely stunning.

“Well, even if it won’t pass muster on the gaming table, I think this little guy’ll look cool on my shelf.” he said. “He’ll be my first decoration. So thanks for bringing me here, Tenir.”

He didn’t hesitate to plant a fairly chaste kiss on her cheek as he finished – shutting her up for just a moment as her mouth slammed shut, all the confidence she’d built up over the last thirty minutes gone, reduced to dust and stutters in a moment.

Again, it was cute.

And it was doubly amusing how every eye in the store seemed to latch enviously onto the entirely ignorant Nighkru.

Which just seemed silly to be honest. Yeah, guys were a little rarer out here in space, but he sincerely doubted it was that hard to find one who’d be willing to humor their girlfriend for a bit by joining them in their favorite hobby.

He’d certainly spent more than a few dull afternoons helping Lina pick out dresses back when…

That sudden memory made him frown.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing the slightly dazed Nighkru’s attention. “This has definitely been fun, but I’m beginning to feel a bit antsy.”

“Antsy?” Tenir asked, concern shifting over her features.

“Yeah, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to come back to my apartment. We’ll put my Grarl man here away and do a little… modeling of our own.”

If they’d not been listening before, everyone within earshot was now.

“Modeling?” the girl whispered.

“Yeah, you know. To see if those human models really reflect the real thing. Of course, we’ll have to get… in depth.” Some part of him felt a little stupid for saying such cheesy lines, but you wouldn’t know it given how Tenir’s eyes widened.

And clearly she’d gotten over her tiredness from this morning, as she quickly nodded her head.

“Y-yeah, I wouldn’t mind…” she squeaked.

“Good,” he grinned as he grabbed the Nighkru’s hand and pulled her out of the store – ignoring the many eyes watching them as he did.

-------------------

Jelara stood in line, her omni-pad clutched in her gloveless hand, its screen glowing faintly against the harsh glare of construction site’s floodlights.

Ahead, another wet slurping sound echoed out as another Ulnus worker descended into the gaping maw of the machine - or rather, was subsumed by it, their suitless form merging into the blue, gelatinous mass within.

Her thoughts drifted to Mark as she took another step forward – toward oblivion.

The thought of their night together was a welcome distraction. It had been… very enjoyable. She would like a repeat.

Again, it was useful to think of things she’d do after the day was through. It made the coming death seem less so.

So she was deliberating over whether or not to call him when she got off work. She didn’t want him to think she’d ghosted him - but it had only been a day. She didn’t want to seem needy either.

Was it too early to call? She wondered as her thumb hovered over his contact, indecision gnawing at her.

The line shuffled forward again, and Jelara found herself stood before before the machine’s opening, its edges slick with the residue of those who had gone before. Who were now dead.

Inside, the blue mass of congealed Ulnus pulsed, a newly born living core that formed the operating system of the massive industrial machine.

Or rather, the machine was now the ‘suit’ for the colossal Ulnus entity within.

‘Sighing’ she placed her omni-pad on a nearby shelf, already filled with other last minute knick-knacks carried by others.

This was it - time to step in.

To commit what felt like suicide.

Never mind that she’d walk out of here hours later, reformed and whole.

Because merging here and now would kill her in a very real way. She’d cease to exist, becoming someone new entirely.

One-minds she’d tried to describe it to had likened it to sleeping and dreaming.

They were wrong.

To merge meant ego-death, as her mind dissolved into the collective consciousness of Work Group-023, ‘Jelara’ ceasing to be until the shift’s end.

Her hesitation stretched, a quiet rebellion against the inevitable.

She knew the mass inside would hesitate too, come evening, when it was time to split. That collective - a vast, unified mind with its own thoughts and ego - would dread its own dissolution.

No one in line complained about her pause. Just as she had not complained when those before her hesitated. They were all Ulnus.

The forewoman used to complain at first. About the delay. The Shil’vati was incapable of understanding exactly what she was asking of her workers each day.

She didn’t complain any more.

So, she hesitated, staring into the blue void, ‘heart’ pounding with primal fear.

Everyone hated it, this daily dance with oblivion - but legal work for Ulnus on Krenheim was scarce.

Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and construction paid better than scavenging.

Less well than other less legal venues of employment - but openings there were finite, and Jelara was just happy to have access to some of the stew.

So, if she wanted to achieve her dream, she needed other sources of income. Like this one.

Jelara exhaled.

She stepped forward.

Her flesh touched the nascent form within - and her thoughts frayed, her sense of Jelara unraveling as the collective subsumed her. Memories of Mark, the omni-pad, the building site, they blurred, swallowed by the vast, unified mind. Becoming petty insignificant details next to a myriad other memories.

And in moments, Jelara was no more.

Only Work Group-023 remained.

And she did not want to die.

Eight hours was far too short a time to be alive.