Page 64 of Ashes & Aether

They coddle her. They extract single, minuscule vials and fret over her red-cell count. They monitor her sleep cycles and offer her synthesized iron supplements, tiptoeing around her boundaries while our entire species faces extinction.

It sickens me.

Science does not cater to comfort. Science demands sacrifice.

Fools.

The Creators intended the Avaren to endure. They designed us with towering strength, dual hearts, and endless lifespans. They did not intend for us to dilute our pristine bloodlines across the stars, coupling with fragile, short-lived creatures merely to scrape a handful of hybrid offspring from the ashes.

I refuse to accept that mingling with mud-dwellers is our only salvation. The match registry is a crutch. A symptom of a dying empire desperate enough to accept genetic pollution.

Margaret holds the key to reversing the Ghorvek curse within her veins. If I isolate the exact mechanism of her immunity and apply it to pure Avaren physiology, we can restore our fertility.

We won’t need the match system. We won’t need humans.

But the spymaster plans to steal her away.

I have watched the sickening display between Orien and his little human pet. The possessive stares. The biological thralldom masquerading as romance. They are departing for Earth. The moment she leaves this planet and returns to her primitive bunkers, she will inevitably stop cooperating. A human rebuilding a ruined world will not subject herself to constant invasive extractions.

The samples I already possess are insufficient. Outside her body, the pathogen adapts faster than her isolated antibodies can respond. Whatever protects her depends on a process occurring within the living host.

I must act today.

I do not need her consent. I need her blood, her marrow, and unrestricted access to the biological mechanism keeping her alive.

She doesn’t have to be willing. She doesn’t even have to be conscious.

I tap a secure sequence into the console, bypassing the medical bay’s primary monitoring grid. The surveillance filament concealed above the entrance receives a manufactured loop of me working alone at the centrifuge.

Orien is cautious.

I am prepared.

Four operatives who never boarded the Pride on its final voyage escaped Kairen’s recent purge. None possess a traceable connection to me. They harbor no loyalty to Zeiran’s political delusions. Zeiran failed because he sought a throne.

I seek the survival of our race.

My operatives understand the difference. They remain hidden among the palace personnel, performing their duties and awaiting my command.

A green light flashes across my display.

They are in position.

Orien is currently occupied in a secure strategy briefing with Kairen. Margaret sits alone in the spymaster’s estate, packing her meager belongings for the voyage.

I program a standard S-class assistive unit and clone Lirael’s current authorization seal into its command matrix. I copied the credentials when she granted me temporary access to the laboratory aboard the Sovereign. Even the security grid surrounding Orien’s estate will recognize the summons as legitimate.

“Fetch the human,” I instruct the white mech. “Tell her Lirael and I have identified a possible weakness in the pathogen’s adaptive response. Inform her that we require one fresh baseline sample before she departs for Earth.”

The mech clicks its claws against the floor and scurries out of the lab.

I prepare the extraction gun. Then I replace the standard numbing agent in the dermal patch with a fast-acting neural sedative. The chemical will induce deep unconsciousness within seconds.

I place the modified patch on the silver tray and wait.

Less than a mark later, the laboratory doors hiss open.

Margaret steps inside. She wears her conservative, practical shoes, carrying herself with that absurd, rigid authority. She isn’t entirely stupid, but her arrogance makes her predictable.