Sleep comes in fitful bursts, my dreams filled with clicking mandibles and the sensation of something crawling beneath my skin. Each time I jolt awake, that strange pressure in my mind pulses like a second heartbeat—reaching, searching for something I can''t identify. It''s maddening, like an itch I can''t scratch or a word stuck on the tip of my tongue.


    I finally give up on rest when the cabin lights automatically brighten to simulate dawn. My body feels heavy as I swing my legs over the side of the bunk, rubbing my face with both hands. I need a shave, food, and answers, though not necessarily in that order.


    The small mirror in the bathroom reveals a face I barely recognize. I''ve always been ordinary—average height, average build, brown hair that never quite does what I want it to. But the man staring back at me now has a haunted look in his eyes, a tension around his mouth that wasn''t there before. Three days with the Nexari have changed me in ways I can''t yet measure.


    The door to my cabin unlocks with a mechanical click precisely as I finish getting dressed. A different junior officer than yesterday stands in the corridor, ramrod straight.


    "Good morning, sir. Lieutenant Voss requests your presence in Briefing Room 3. If you''ll follow me."


    His politeness doesn''t disguise the fact that this is an order, not an invitation. I follow him through the labyrinthine corridors of the Border Command vessel, trying to mentally map our route. Force of habit from my maintenance days—always know your escape routes.


    "Any chance of breakfast first?" I ask, my stomach rumbling audibly.


    "Food has been arranged in the briefing room, sir," he replies without breaking stride.


    We pass through several security checkpoints, my escort exchanging brief nods with the armed guards at each. The ship is on high alert, presumably due to our proximity to Nexari space. But there''s something else in the air too—a tension that seems centered around me.


    Briefing Room 3 turns out to be a sterile, windowless chamber with a large oval table surrounded by chairs. A spread of food sits at one end—standard military fare, but to my starved body it smells like a feast. Lieutenant Voss is already seated, reviewing something on a datapad. She glances up as we enter.


    "Thank you, Ensign. That will be all." She dismisses my escort with a nod.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The door slides shut behind him with the telltale sound of a security lock engaging. Not just a briefing room, then. An interrogation room.


    "Please, eat," Voss gestures to the food. "You must be hungry."


    I don''t need to be told twice. I pile a plate with protein, synthesized eggs, and what passes for bread in deep space, then take a seat across from her. The first few bites disappear before I even register the taste.


    "The doctor''s tests came back clean," she says, watching me eat with clinical interest. "No biotech implants, no neural parasites, no chemical alterations to your system. Physically, you''re untouched by your time with the Nexari."


    I swallow a mouthful of food. "But?"


    "But your brain scans show unusual activity. Patterns we''ve only seen in a handful of individuals before." She slides the datapad across the table. "Take a look."


    The screen shows two brain scans side by side. Even to my untrained eye, the differences are obvious. One—presumably a normal human brain—shows scattered points of light representing neural activity. The other—mine, I assume—shows those same points, but with luminous threads connecting them in complex patterns that span regions that should be separate.


    "What does it mean?" I ask, pushing the datapad back toward her.


    "We were hoping you could tell us," she replies, her eyes never leaving my face. "According to your file, you''ve been a maintenance technician on various transport vessels for the past seven years. Before that, records show you grew up in a mid-level colony on Taranis IV. Unremarkable academic performance, no military service, no specialized training." She leans forward slightly. "Yet your neural architecture resembles that of individuals who''ve undergone classified cognitive enhancement programs."


    I set down my fork, appetite suddenly diminished. "I''ve never had any ''cognitive enhancement.'' I''m just a regular guy who fixes things when they break."


    "A regular guy who somehow resisted Nexari assimilation when everyone else on your ship succumbed." Her tone isn''t accusatory, but there''s a hardness behind her words. "Do you know how many humans have managed that feat in the entire history of our conflict with them?"


    I shake my head.


    "Seventeen," she says. "Including you. Out of thousands who''ve been captured and assimilated."


    The number hangs in the air between us, its implications sinking into my consciousness. Whatever happened to me isn''t just unusual—it''s extraordinarily rare.


    "I don''t understand what you want from me," I say finally. "I don''t know why I''m different. I just... pushed back when their hive mind tried to get in."


    "How?" she presses. "What exactly did you do?"


    "I didn''t do anything," I insist, frustration bleeding into my voice. "It was instinctive. Like jerking your hand away from a hot surface."


    Voss studies me for a long moment, then sighs. "I believe you, for what it''s worth. But the Admiral might need more convincing."