The lights in the holding bay changed again. The harsh interrogation-white softened to a soft amber glow.

  It was a subtle shift, but it signaled that interaction was coming. In the span of two sleep cycles, the aliens had gone from clumsy butchers spraying chemical solvents, to learning how to communicate and fill our basic human needs. They were learning. They were watching us breathe, watching us shiver, and adjusting the variables in real-time.

  They were hands-off, mostly. Giant, silent figures gliding along the upper gantries, or the lights that traveled through the walls.

  Except for one.

  The one designated P-TR33K had interacted with us more than any of the others. It didn’t just scan; it watched. It watched the mothers rocking their children. It watched the way we huddled. It seemed genuinely baffled, and genuinely curious, about how a species made of 70% water and trauma hadn't simply dissolved yet.

  When it spoke, its voice was smoother this time. The rust was gone, replaced by a cadence that was startlingly human.

  “Attention. Human units.”

  The room hushed.

  “The transit phase is complete. This ship, Trex, is a vessel of space transport and exploration, not habitation. Your biological needs exceed the ship’s synthesis capabilities.”

  A murmur of fear rippled through the crowd. They’re dumping us.

  “However,” the voice continued, “preparation is complete. Environments have been constructed. Domes. To help humanity recover and… thrive.”

  The word thrive sounded odd, like a computer trying to describe a flavor it had never tasted.

  “Processing will begin immediately. Relocation to follow.”

  The airlock doors hissed open.

  A wave of relief broke over the room. It wasn’t Earth… but it was off this ship. Anything was better than this cramped holding bay. People stood up, wiping tears, helping the injured. There was a sudden, frantic energy to get in line, to be counted, to be safe.

  Avatars descended to the floor level. They held datapads made of hard light.

  “Name,” an Avatar droned to the first man in line. “Function.”

  The group formed into slow, lazy lines, shuffling forward.

  Christine stood near the back, supporting Callum. He was slumped against her, his weight heavy, but his spirit was irritatingly intact. She had created a sled with spare space fabric that was surprisingly durable.

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  “I feel like a potato,” Callum wheezed, looking down at himself. “Like those short fat dogs… don’t they call those dogs a potato?”

  Christine adjusted her grip on his torso, trying not to hurt him. “You’re doing great, Cal. Just hold on.”

  “If I wiggle my butt just right,” he whispered, a wet rasp of a laugh bubbling up, “I’m basically a Corgi. You know? Low center of gravity. Herding instinct. Just need someone to scratch behind my ears.”

  Christine let out a short, choked laugh. “I am not scratching your ears, Doctor.”

  “We’ll see,” he grinned. “Desperate times.”

  They shuffled forward. The line moved with bureaucratic efficiency. Name. Function. Scan. Sort.

  When it was their turn, Christine helped prop Callum up so he looked dignified.

  The Avatar looked at him. “Name? Function?”

  “Dr. Callum Hartley,” he said, chin lifted. “Reproductive Endocrinology. I make babies.”

  The Avatar paused. “Clarification: You manufacture human units?”

  “I facilitate the manufacturing,” Callum corrected. “I’m a human reproduction specialist.”

  The Avatar tapped the light-pad. “Sector 2. Priority Medical.”

  They gestured for two drones to take him. The machines hovered over, lifting him gently.

  “See you on the other side, Red,” Callum winked as he drifted away.

  Then, the Avatar turned its featureless face to Christine.

  “Name? Function?”

  Christine opened her mouth to say Christine Reeves.

  She stopped.

  She thought of the porch. She thought of the stars. She thought of the stupid code names they had made up to make the scary things feel like an adventure.

  Copy that, Red Leader.

  She looked the alien in the eye.

  “Red,” she said. Then, swallowing the lump in her throat, she added, “Lando.”

  A signal for her Blue.

  The Alien Avatar didn't blink. It didn't care about legalities. “Red Lando. Function?”

  “Nurse,” she said.

  “Pause.”

  The interruption didn't come from the Avatar in front of her. It came from the gantry.

  P-TR33K had descended. He glided toward the line, his violet lights pulsing. The other Avatars stepped back, deferring to him.

  He stopped in front of her. He looked at her hands... shaking, but strong. He looked at the way she had helped Callum.

  “Nurse,” P-TR33K repeated. “This function... is maintenance? Repair of biological units?”

  Christine hesitated, terrified. “Yes. Medicine. I fix people.”

  P-TR33K tilted his head. “The previous unit... the Doctor... he requires repair?”

  “He requires care,” Christine said fiercely. “He needs help.”

  “And you provide this?”

  “Yes.”

  P-TR33K turned to the Avatar holding the light-pad. “The other human is a doctor of human replication?”

  “Yes.”

  The alien looked at its data pad.

  A beam of blue light washed over her. It tingled as it read her bone density, her muscle mass, the missing curve of her ear, and the empty space where her uterus used to be. It felt invasive, but also... official.

  “Assessment: High utility,” the Avatar chimed. “Assign to Dome, Medical.”

  P-TR33K looked at her one last time. “We require... understanding of the meat. You and the Doctor will teach us. Thank you, Red Lando.”

  He glided away.

  Christine stood there, stunned. Thank you?

  She walked toward the transport bay where they had taken Callum, her mind racing.

  Red Lando.

  Why had she said it? It was a risk.

  But then, the realization hit her...

  They were making a list.

  They were logging names. Designations. Functions.

  There was going to be a database. And if there was a database, she could search it. If she could search it, she could find Nathan.

  She stepped onto the transport shuttle, leaving Christine Reeves behind in the dark, and carried Red Lando into the light. She finally had a plan.