Kael dreamed of rain.
Not simulated rain, not the controlled precipitation cycles of the colonies—but the chaotic kind his father had described. Heavy drops striking uneven ground, soaking through fabric, cold and real and unforgiving.
When he woke, the ache remained.
Not just in his body—but deeper, threaded through thought itself.
"You've been out for eleven hours," Lysa said.
She sat beside the medbay console, dark circles under her eyes, fingers stained with diagnostic ink. She hadn't slept either.
"How bad?" Kael asked.
Lysa hesitated. That was answer enough.
"You didn't just resist them," she said. "You changed the Signal's behavior. Permanently."
Kael swallowed. "In what way?"
"It listens to you now."
The words settled like a weight on his chest.
Voss entered quietly, carrying a data slate he looked reluctant to share. "We've identified residual feedback loops in your neural patterns. They're… stable. But not human-standard anymore."
Ryn, leaning in the doorway, crossed her arms. "Say it plainly."
Voss met Kael's eyes. "Every time the Responders observe Earth, they see you first."
A liability.
A target.
A symbol.
Kael closed his eyes. "Then they'll come back."
"Yes," Voss said. "With purpose."
---
The ambush came sooner than expected.
Not from the Responders—but from humans.
Imani's voice cut through the facility on all channels. "All personnel to stations. We have inbound signatures—colony transponders, unauthorized."
Ryn cursed. "Command."
Kael was already moving, ignoring the protest of his body. "They're afraid."
"And armed," Imani added. "That fear doesn't come lightly equipped."
Dropships pierced the cloud cover, sleek and black, bearing the markings of the Outer Defense Council. Peacekeeping vessels—retooled.
"They want custody," Ryn said. "Of you. Of Unit-7. Of Earth if they can manage it."
Kael felt the Signal stir uneasily. It remembered this pattern. Control. Assimilation. Silence.
"Evacuation routes?" he asked.
"Cut off," Imani replied. "They jammed us clean."
Voss's voice cracked. "If they breach the core—"
"They won't," Kael said.
Not a promise.
A decision.
---
The first breach shook the facility.
Shock troopers flooded the outer halls, electromagnetic rounds tearing into old defense drones. The clash was brutal, efficient, human.
Imani took point, issuing commands with deadly calm. Ryn moved beside Kael, weapon drawn but eyes never leaving him.
"They're not here to kill you," she said. "That should worry you."
It did.
Kael stopped at the threshold to the core chamber.
"If they take me," he said, "they'll force the bond. Weaponize it."
Ryn's jaw clenched. "I won't let that happen."
"I know."
He reached out—not fully, not dangerously—but enough.
The Signal answered.
Lights dimmed. Gravity shifted just enough to disorient. Doors sealed and unsealed in sequence, turning corridors into mazes.
Not lethal.
Never lethal.
Imani stared at the shifting layout. "You could end this fast."
Kael shook his head. "And become exactly what they fear."
The troopers retreated—not defeated, but unsettled.
Command would call it a tactical withdrawal.
Kael knew better.
They had seen what he refused to become.
---
That night, as Earth rotated beneath unfamiliar stars, Kael stood alone again in the observation chamber.
The Responders were distant—but present.
Humanity was closer—and divided.
Ryn joined him quietly. "You're carrying this alone again."
He smiled faintly. "Seems to be a pattern."
She rested her hand on the railing beside his. "Just don't confuse 'alone' with 'isolated.'"
Kael looked out at the planet—scarred, silent, enduring.
The cost of saying no was clear now.
There would be war.
Not for territory.
But for the right to choose what humanity would become.