Chapter 3
📚 Need to catch up? Here’s Chapter 1 and Chapter 2.
The Concern
“How was the final session?” a familiar voice chimes in.
“Fine,” Adam grumbles, turning away abruptly.
“Right. You always look this tense after a ‘fine’ session,” the voice teases, holding out a datapad. “Your dream journal, sir. Abandoned in the mess hall.”
Adam snatches it, increasing his pace across the vast hangar floor.
He doesn’t need this right now.
Not from it.
The android keeps close behind, its movements fluid and silent, yet still unmistakably mechanical. Pale ivory synthetic skin sheathes its frame. At a glance, it could easily be mistaken for a person.
“Did you discuss your trauma from the bombing?” it asks, its voice a blend of persistence and artificial concern.
Eyes fixed straight ahead as they approach the security checkpoint, he replies, “Yeah, we covered that.”
“And the nightmares you’ve been having? Did you discuss those, too?”
“Yes,” he lies, pressing his palm against the biometric scanner to exit the hangar. The door whirs open with an obedient click.
“And your concerns about working with Mr. Nabal?”
“Didn’t come up.”
“Is there a reason you were unable to discuss your concerns about working with Mr. Nabal?”
“Told you. It didn’t come up.” As the sliding door hisses shut behind them, his patience wears thin.
They move into a quieter corridor leading to the crew quarters. The harsh echoes of the hangar fades into the subtle hum of the environmental systems. The air here is cooler, more sterile, with a faint scent of disinfectant clinging to every surface.
“But sir,” it says, lowering its tone, “the mission’s Commander must be able to rely on his Systems Engineer—”
He stops abruptly, almost too fast for the android to react.
He locks eyes with its distinctive LED gaze. Large, circular eyes dominating its sleek, featureless black screen face, flickering from amber to bright yellow at his sudden halt.
“Listen, Tartar,” he says, irked, “I already told you: I’ll handle it. Levi and I are fine.” He turns sharply on his heel, boots scuffing against the polished floor.
Tartar jogs to catch up, undeterred.
“‘Fine,’ again, sir? Your cortisol levels beg to differ. They spike 23% whenever Mr. Nabal is around,” it insists, eyes flickering to blue ovals.
“You’re scanning me now?”
“I always have been. It’s part of my programming to ensure your well-being—”
“Well, don’t.”
“Very well, sir, but I don’t need to scan your biometrics to know how tightly wound you’ve become.”
Adam stops again, patience worn to nothing.
“You know what the problem is with you robots?” he asks, voice laced bitterness. “You can’t lie.”
Tartar tilts its head, processing.
“You are correct, sir. We are programmed, to be honest at all times. It is one of our core directives.”
A bitter scoff escapes him. His mind flashes back—to when an android’s honesty shattered his world.
“Yeah, that’s the issue. Sometimes, the truth is more deadly than a lie.”
Tartar’s eyes flicker.
“I do not understand. How can honesty be dangerous?”
Adam sighs. “Never mind, Tartar. Just... give me some space.”
“Of course, Commander. I’ll be here if you need me.”
It falls back, granting him the distance he requested while maintaining its watchful presence.
“And it’s not ‘Commander,’ at least not yet,” Adam retorts without looking back.
“But—” Tartar begins.
“Not until the crew knows,” he cuts it off, striding through sliding doors beneath a sign reading ‘CREW QUARTERS’.
A brief pause.
“Yes, Commander,” it whispers, as the door closes between them.
+ + +
He walks down the corridor, his footsteps echoing in the sterile silence. He stops in front of the door adjacent to his quarters. Pressing the call button, he waits, but nothing happens.
“Adam Elwin for Dr. Lilith Athalya.”
“Dr. Athalya is momentarily indisposed,” the door replies in a smooth, automated voice.
Adam narrows his eyes.
“It’s urgent. I need to talk to her right away.”
After a brief pause, the door responds, “One moment, please.”
He hears muffled voices, a conversation hastily concluding, followed by soft footsteps approaching. The door slides open to reveal Lilith, clad in a thin robe and slippers, towel-drying her damp hair.
“Morning,” she greets him warmly, her smile faltering as she notes his tension. “How’d it go?”
“I passed,” he replies with a shrug.
She tilts her head. “But?”
Adam sighs, words failing him.
“Come in,” Lilith coaxes, stepping back and placing a hand on his arm, a brief squeeze that says more than words.
The door hisses shut behind them. Adam sinks onto the sofa, his brow furrowing as an unfamiliar scent fills his nostrils. Gone is Lilith’s usual lavender oil; instead, a pungent mix of sweat—sharp and sour—and something else he can’t quite identify.
“Wasn’t expecting company this early,” she apologizes, quickly gathering the discarded gym clothes strewn next to an emptied water bottle.
“No worries,” he says, trying to smile.
He watches her glide through the room, tossing the clothes into a hamper before retreating into the privacy of her bathroom to change into her uniform.
“So, what’s bothering you?” she asks from the other room.
Adam rubs his hands together, the gesture betraying his unease.
“Something’s off, Lily.”
“Did that mandatory ‘shrink’ sesh mess with your head again? Because I swear, if they’re pushing you too hard—”
“No, it’s not that. This morning, Levi was waiting outside my quarters. Dressed to the nines, way too early.”
“Oh?” Lilith replies as she re-enters the room, her eyes tightening at the mention of Levi.
Her uniform—a smooth, midnight-blue fabric—hugs her athletic frame. She adjusts the reflective piping. The insignia on her chest gleams: a hexagonal base emblazoned with a central atom symbol, encircled by a DNA helix—a reminder of her rank as Chief Science Officer.
“Yeah. That guy was totally pushing my buttons, trying to get under my skin right before my last psych eval.”
“Well, that sounds typical for Levi," she says, smoothing down her uniform.
“This was different, though. Deliberate. Like he wanted me to fail.”
She pauses, fingers halting as she pulls her hair into a ponytail. “Why would he do that?”
Adam leans forward, bringing his voice down. “I’ve got this feeling, you know? Like he’s onto me. Like he knows that I know.”
“Hmm…” Lilith reflects, her gaze distant. Her lips press together, thin and pale, as though she’s chewing over something bitter. She turns abruptly, striding to the kitchenette. “Your usual?”
He makes a quick, affirming gesture with his hand.
She smiles, then commands, “Two black coffees, no cream, no sugar.”
A sleek device whirrs to life. Seconds later, two steaming cups appear.
Lilith hands Adam his cup, her fingers intentionally brushing his.
“Here you go.”
The smooth, cool ceramic of the cup grounds him as he wraps his fingers around it. He takes a cautious sip, his left pinky dipping into the liquid first, a habit born of past caution.
“So, what’s this dark secret of Levi’s?” she inquires, taking a seat close to him on the sofa, their knees almost touching.
Adam hesitates, staring into his coffee. Voicing this could tear the crew apart, but staying silent seems worse. Besides, if there’s anyone he trusts…
“It’s more of a hunch,” he admits. “I have no proof. But I think Levi is abusing Zoe.”
Lilith’s cup freezes halfway to her lips. She places it down, her face somber.
“Adam, that’s serious.”
He nods, unable to meet her eyes. “The signs are there—tension, discomfort, Zoe shrinking away when he’s around. And that bruise under her collarbone?”
Lilith nods, her eyes widening. “The ‘workout accident’.”
“Exactly. This morning, Levi was trying to rattle me. I think he knows I’m onto him.”
Lilith’s brows draw together. “Now that you mention it, Zoe has been acting off. Withdrawn. Teary. I thought it was just pre-mission jitters, but...”
Adam leans forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly. “We’re still so new to the team,” he says. “It’s hard to tell what’s normal.”
Lilith’s hand finds his knee, squeezing gently. “What’s not normal is the Systems Engineer sabotaging his Commander. Or abusing his Mating Pair.”
A heavy silence falls between them. Adam’s gaze drops to Lilith’s hand on his knee, his shoulders sagging. He runs a hand through his hair, releasing a slow breath.
Lilith’s eyes widen suddenly, her grip tightening. “Wait. They’re our only Mating Pair. Our Plan B if the embryos don’t work.”
Adam’s head snapes up, his eyes widening as he catches up with Lilith’s thought process.
“If Zoe speaks up, if Levi’s removed...” says Adam.
“...we might lose our back up plan,” Lilith finishes. “Humanity’s last hope, if things go sideways.”
The weight of the realization settles over them like a shroud.
Adam jolts upright, then paces the small room, his fingers drumming against his thigh.
“What now?” Adam asks.
Lilith rises, intercepting his pacing. She places a hand on his arm, stilling him. “We tread carefully. If we’re wrong, we jeopardize the mission. If we’re right…”
Adam stares at the floor. “‘Bear one another’s burdens,’ right? But how do you help someone if they won’t even admit they’re burdened?”
Lilith’s expression softens. “Maybe bearing a burden isn’t about taking it all on yourself. It’s about being there, you know?”
Adam sighs. “But what if it’s not enough? What if my being there isn’t enough?”
“Then you stay vigilant. Sometimes, that’s all you can do.”
“No,” he replies, “I need to talk to Zoe,” Adam says, guilt gnawing at him. He pulls away from Lilith’s touch, resuming his restless pacing. “I should have done it already.”
Lilith steps in front of him again, this time griping both his shoulders. “We need to be discreet,” she says. “I don’t want— I mean, Levi shouldn’t get any ideas about you being alone with Zoe. We can figure this out. Together.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes. Something flickers in Lilith’s expression—concern, sure, but also something deeper, more complicated.
“We’re a team, Adam,” she says, her hand comes up to cup his cheek. “Always have been. You and me.”
Just as he’s about to respond, a familiar automated voice interrupts the moment: “The presence of you and Mr. Elwin is requested immediately in mission control.”
“Privacy off,” Lilith says, directing her command at the room’s voice control system.
The walls shimmer as if an invisible layer of sound-dampening film has been removed.
“Not now,” she dismisses. “Tell them we’ll be there when the meeting starts.”
“My apologies, ma’am, I am prevented from relaying any message but the following: ‘The presence of you and Mr. Elwin is requested immediately in mission control.’”
Adam and Lilith exchange quick, alarmed glances. The ComSpec on Adam’s wrist vibrates violently, its urgent red light pulsing.
“Seems serious,” Adam says.
Lilith nods, already moving towards the door. “It does. We’ll have to continue this later.”
They both rush out, leaving their unfinished cups of coffee behind.
+ + +
The hallways are unusually quiet as they traverse the massive labyrinth of steel and concrete.
Suddenly, the sterile lights flicker and die, replaced by an eerie red glow.
“Emergency lights,” Adam mutters, quickening his pace. His heart pounds in his chest. “This can’t be good.”
An automated voice fills the building: “Security lockdown initiated. All personnel, proceed to designated safe zones immediately.”
Alarms blare through the hallways. The red lights pulse in a disorienting rhythm. Running footsteps and shouted orders echo from all directions, adding to the chaos.
Lilith grabs Adam’s arm, her fingers digging into his skin. “A security lockdown? How is that possible?”
“I don’t know, but we need to get to mission control fast,” Adam replies. He gently removes her hand, urging her forward.
As they round the corner, they pass a large, illuminated display. Adam’s eyes lock onto the sinister image: a busy pub overshadowed by a lurking figure.
“VIGILANCE SAFEGUARDS OUR FUTURE–Report Ecocentrist activity. Our silence invites their violence!”
“What if it’s another attack?” Lilith gasps between breaths. “What if they’re trying to stop us... again?”
Adam doesn’t reply immediately.
He can’t.
Memories of the bombing crash over him like a tidal wave—the deafening roar, the suffocating smoke, the screams, the blood.
He blinks hard, forcing himself back to the present.
“We don’t know anything yet,” he finally says. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
Even as he speaks, his heart hammers—not from running, but from rising dread. The specter of another attack looms in his mind, but he shoves the fear down.
Panic is a luxury he can’t afford right now.
“Let’s get the facts.”
Lilith gives a curt nod, her face pale illuminated by the pulsing red light. The entrance to mission control comes into view—a pair of heavy metal doors looming before them, a final barrier between them and the unseen crisis that awaits.