- Eight Months Later -

Abraham steeled himself to look out at the darkness greeting him every time he dared approach the shuttle’s windows. His stomach threatened to regurgitate the meager lunch he had, so he quickly sat back down. The shuttle’s spinning core at least kept his feet on the floor, for which he was grateful. Space was already terrifying without needing the discomfort of floating around without anchor. He looked beside him and was somewhat relieved to see that Randall too had seen better days. Only Ysadora was strangely immune, if only a little pale-looking and with fearful eyes.

The comm hissed and a voice uttered the guttural words that Abraham had gotten used to hear since eight months.

“We’re approaching the Ka-dymyrra,“ Ysadora translated.

Despite his disapproving stomach, Abraham looked once again out of the window. This time, it wasn’t just the never-ending darkness of space that greeted him, but a wicked-looking, monstrous sized ship.

“That’s merely a fregate,“ Ysadora softly said. “The bulk of its destination is far beyond our human reach.“

Abraham looked at her, surprised at her fear.

“Do you know it well?“ he asked.

“Yes,“ she breathed. Randall looked at her, and Abraham could swear that he looked pained as Ysadora took another breath, and attempted a small reassuring smile. “It’s where I spent my childhood and my adolescent training.“

Abraham stared, in shock.

“Here? You told me you...“ He paused; she never told him anything. Even Randall merely stated she was altered. A conversation that seemed so long ago came back to his mind. “Our first lunch together... you were furious at me when I suggested that... some people were better off dead. You...“

Ysadora smiled sadly, and stroked her platinum blond braid.

“The only physical proof of my genetic alteration. Progeria, was it?“ she asked Randall, who nodded. “Should have died before my thirteenth birthday. Instead, they healed me when no human doctor could.“

“And in return...“ Abraham understood.

She smiled proudly.

“I became stronger.“

He must have looked shocked and sick, as she gave him a quick peck on his cheek.

“Trust me, I don’t regret the training one bit. It’s just... they don’t allow weakness... and I was weak in the beginning. But now, I’m not, and it’s thanks to everything I was given.“

But Randall’s expression showed the opposite of her pride.

**********************

The clanking of weapons sparring, the grunts of the opponents, the rattling of their claws on the basalt flooring... Abraham’s mind reeled at the vision twenty feet below the mezzanine from which he observed a group of... them. At the sight of forty feet high halls, twenty feet high corridors, all with the same heat-retention basalt floors and walls, the same marine blue flag with its white winged ourobouros. Ky-dymmyra, the fregate of the Shiakar Empire... eight months away from Terra, leading them further away, further toward... Feeling sick, Abraham leaned away from the balustrade and fell into the comfort of the very human couch.

A knock made him rise his head; Randall was standing at the entrance of the room, weakly smiling.

“Come in, I’m not feeling particularly private anyway,“ Abraham smirked.

Randall sighed as he joined Abraham, remaining standing.

“I’m sorry for the alienation,“ he simply said, looking similarly uncomfortable.

Abraham chuckled at the very meaningful word; it was no longer a metaphor.

“If they know the true way of existence, I’m not complaining. But I don’t get what you’re planning to do from now on.“

Randall smiled enigmatically before looking down at the noise. Abraham rose from the couch and joined him.

“It must have been hard sending her here.“

Randall shrugged, attempting to look detached.

“It was necessary.“

Abraham picked on the unsaid.

“And her mother? Your wife? Or rather, ex-wife, judging from your lack of ring...“

Randall’s eyes slitted, and his left shoulder ticked.

“She preferred useless prayers to a God that never replied back, to the truth. But it’s the past.“

Randall sighed, and reached into his inside jacket pocket; his shoulders slouched, as if a great weight lifted. Turning to Abraham, he motioned him to extend his hand. Puzzled, Abraham did so, and Randall laid gently something small before closing it.

“I keep my words, Abraham Solomon. From this moment forth, my Redspear bloodline ends and begins with yours. Take care of Ysadora. Make my daughter happy. Give her, build her the world she deserves.“

Randall turned on his heels and left before a speechless Abraham could say anything, before he could look into his clasped hands.

**********************

Ysadora looked at the sparring tournament. Her body longed and feared at the same time to join, to spar those elegant moves, this deadly dance, to make sure her time with the humans had not dulled her. She felt Randall determinedly walk by her and turned to him. She saw something that made her heart clench, something impossible: he looked older than she had noticed. He met her gaze and smiled proudly, as if to say: we made it, we’re safe.

“What have you bargained in return?“ she simply asked. In return of safe passage, of another chance at another plan, was what she didn’t need to add.

He kept on smiling before resuming walking.

“What I have always bargained.“

Ysadora looked at his back before it disappeared behind a corridor’s frame. Her turquoise eyes gazed at the spar going on below her; it suddenly felt disgusting to look at. As if she should have looked at something else the entire time.