Memory Transcription Subject: Relan, Venlil Exchange Participant Date [Standardized Human Time]: August 21, 2136

The deck plates thrummed as the shuttle kissed the bay—just a hush of weight, like a paw settling on a drum. Lights along the floor breathed in slow pulses, and the air carried that clean, metallic chill the filters always leave behind. I realized my ears were half-back and made myself loosen them. Breathe. Not a drill. Not an alarm. A hello.

Somewhere down the line, Siril stood very still, all edges and silence. I recognized the shape of bracing—how you build a wall from the inside and hope no one notices the seams. I wanted to tell her I understood, but words can bruise when they land at the wrong angle, so I kept my distance and let the quiet be kind.

My partner’s last message sat warm on my pad—Got it. Two words, steady. It tugged something hopeful in my chest I hadn’t named yet. Humans are a question with teeth, everyone says; dangerous in potential, not in essence. I’ve repeated that so often it tastes like a prayer. Still, a small voice asks what happens if the answer is both.

The doors began to cycle. A breath of colder air slid across my fur; my tail wanted to bolt, my paws stayed planted. Say something simple. Honest. I pictured a wave, remembered to flick my ears instead.

“Hi,” I practiced under my breath, softer than the machinery. “I’m Relan. I’m a little nervous, but I’m glad you’re here.”

The lock thunked. The line of light widened. I held onto that small truth like a handrail.