Chapter Fifty-Two: Doubts and Longing
After Archelix helped her established the connection. He quietly left her inside. The command centre was silent—its smooth metal walls pulsing with faint blue veins of light. The soft hum of power systems the only sound greeting her. It was late; the rest of the ship had dimmed for nighttime mode, signalling the crew to rest.
But Freya had one more thing she needed to do before she could sleep.
She approached the control panel with steady fingers, tapping in the access codes Archelix had shown her. The screen flickered to life, and she selected Axir’s encrypted whisperlink channel.
A few gentle buzzes later, the feed connected.
There he was.
Axir’s face filled the screen, slightly pixelated, but still unmistakably him—broad, noble features, the silver glow of Nimoan light softening the sharp lines of his jaw. His long hair was pulled back, and a tired smile curled on his lips.
“Freya,” he breathed. “Kai'thera…”
“I missed you so much!!!” she blurted, her voice trembling with joy. “How are you? How’s everything? Have you found the core? Are you okay? Eating enough?”
He chuckled deeply, and Freya felt it like a warm vibration through the screen.
“I ache for you, my Kai'thera,” he said tenderly. “We are still searching. One more day, I think. The core remains hidden… but we are making progress. Worry not—we will retrieve it before we return.”
She placed a hand on the side of the screen, wishing she could touch him. “Just be careful, Axir. Please.”
“I will,” he promised. “And you? Are you safe? Is Nerissa helping you? Are Sirius and Archelix ensuring you are well-fed, hydrated, and protected at all hours?”
Freya giggled. “Yes, yes, and yes. I swear I’ve eaten better here than I ever did on Earth. And Nerissa? She’s become a dear friend. We explored the entertainment hall today.”
Axir raised an amused brow. “Did you try the neural-helm game I told you about?”
“The treasure hunt one?” Freya’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I even won. Nerissa kept falling into the pits though.”
“I can only imagine the joy on your face,” he murmured. “It gives me strength.”
They continued for a few minutes—Axir telling her of the strange Nimoan architecture, Kehan’s flair for drama and hospitality, and Freya excitedly relaying her favorite part of the visual archives (excluding Peter Pan, which she was keeping close to her heart for now).
“Are you sleeping well?” he asked.
“I am,” she said softly. “Especially after hearing your voice.”
They fell quiet for a beat. Then both smiled.
“I love you,” she said, barely more than a whisper.
“I love you more,” he answered. “Now rest, my light.”
Freya pressed two fingers to her lips and then to the screen.
Axir mirrored the gesture.
The call ended.
And Freya stood there, heart full.
The ship was nearly silent as she made her way back to her chamber. The corridors were dimly lit in twilight hues, the soft lighting embedded into the walls giving the illusion of a sleeping beast—calm, watchful, and still very much alive.
Freya walked slowly, her fingertips trailing the cool metal railings as she hummed softly to herself, a melody from one of the alien films stuck in her head. Her steps were light. Her mind was even lighter.
She thought of home—her old cottage, the creaky wooden floors, the way the windows let in golden afternoon light. She could almost smell her favorite tea… which, thank goodness, Axir had stocked up on. If he hadn’t, she really would have lost her marbles.
As she rounded the curve of the hallway, something made her pause.
Movement.
She wasn’t sure if it was the soft flutter of a shadow or just her own reflection against the steel paneling. But instinct made her stop.
Then she saw it again—quick, subtle, and deliberate.
Not an illusion.
A figure.
Freya pressed herself lightly against the wall and watched.
The figure turned slightly under the overhead glow—and Freya’s breath caught.
Nerissa.
Freya blinked. “Nerissa?”
But she didn’t say it out loud.
Because something about the way Nerissa moved was… different.
She was no longer the dear alien friend Freya had spent the entire day with.
She was cautious. Quiet. Looks like almost secretive.
Nerissa reached into the pocket of her tunic and pulled something out. It looked like a metallic disc the size of her palm. She tapped it lightly against the wall—and to Freya’s astonishment, a hidden panel hissed open, revealing a narrow chute, which can fit a full adult size alien.
Cold air flowed from within.
Freya ducked back behind the corner before she could be spotted, her heart hammering in her chest.
What… in the galaxies… was that?
Nerissa glanced around quickly—thankfully, not spotting her—and then Nerissa swiftly climbed in and slipped out the chute before pressing the panel again, sealing it shut.
Freya peeked again.
Nerissa was gone.
Vanished into the shadows of the chute without a sound.
Freya stood frozen for a moment, thoughts racing. Had she imagined it?
No.
She had heard the hiss of the chute. Seen her slipped in. The air was still colder where the hidden panel had opened.
What was Nerissa doing?
And more importantly… why hide it?
Freya backed away, retreating softly into the shadows of a side hallway, heart pounding.
Nerissa had been nothing but kind. Sweet. Helpful.
But what if kindness wasn’t the full story?
Freya slipped into her chamber, sealed the door, and sat on the edge of her bed, staring into space.
A thousand thoughts collided in her head, but one rose above them all:
She had to find out the truth.
Before it was too late.