Page 106 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

And I just didn’t care.

Because I missed her.

It had not even been one full Earth day since we’d left Tammy, yet it felt like weeks… months… a lifetime of traveling to Earth’s deepest ocean trench, of collecting the water samples that might save our dying world, of enduring the silence heavy enough to crush us more thoroughly than the ocean pressure outside.

Kalith adjusted the external camouflage parameters. I watched through the view screen as our vessel’s exterior rippled and shifted, its surface perfectly mimicking the deep-sea environment around us, so we’d be shielded from view as we returned to the surface for take-off. We’d turned them off after passing four-hundred meters to preserve the ship’s core energy. Though Kalith had fixed the vessel admirably, we were all concerned with its distance capabilities and if we could make it home.

I walked over to the curved inner hull, raising a tentacle and pressing it against the panel which would widen the view screen so I could see outside better. I doubted we’d ever return to this place, this ocean, and I wanted to memorize the sight. It took only three beats of my hearts to wish I’d ignored the beauty outside. Bioluminescent creatures drifted past, their bodies pulsing with light that reminded me painfully of home—and of my own skin when Tammy touched me, triggering cascades of color I couldn’t control. Why did everything make me think of her? Why couldn’t I turn off my emotions like I used to and become the detached, objective Cyro again? The old Cyro had lived for one thing, and one thing only: knowledge. The new Cyro… was torn between more than one true love.

“I’ll start the final checks on all samples, in case we need to re-sample during ascent,” I flashed, not caring if anyone saw my communication. I began moving again, heading to the research console.

All samples were seated in a tank now, each of them slotted above an environmental stabilizer which would maintain the precise temperature and salinity of the trench depth from which they were taken.

Information scrolled across my station, confirming what I already knew—Earth’s waters held the key. The chemical composition of these deep-trench samples contained precisely the molecular structures our scientists needed to synthesize the compound that could restore our planet’s evaporating oceans. Because we’d come here, our planet could be re-aquaformed. We wouldn’t become a dry, inhospitable place. That had happened to a planet in our galaxy. Its inhabitants had largely died out, unable to adapt or migrate. I could not imagine my world without its vast seas.

This mission was a success by every objective measure.

So why did success taste so bitter?

A sudden groan from the ship’s hull interrupted my thoughts, like the vessel was voicing the agony I couldn’t.

“Structural integrity holding at eighty-seven percent,” Kalith spoke out loud from his station, not bothering to look up, automatically assuring me and Vantor that we were not about to be crushed. “Hull compression within acceptable parameters.” My youngest mission brother did not sound like himself. Drained of his normal humor. No energy in sight.

I glanced at him, noting how rigidly he maintained his human form. Only his smallest tentacle betrayed him, occasionally emerging to adjust controls before being hastily tucked away, as if he were ashamed of its existence again. I did not like seeing him this way—robbed of his vibrancy. Though the teasing, impulsive version of him grated sometimes, it was his authentic self.

Across the command center, Vantor stood motionless at the security console, his posture militarily precise. Three screens before him displayed different angles of our external environment, but his eyes were focused on some unseen object far beyond the crushing darkness outside. He had reverted completely to his security protocols—efficient, taciturn, impenetrable. The raccoon-loving, horse-tending softness that had emerged during our time at Sunflower Hills had vanished beneath layers of self-protection.

“The bioluminescent organisms at this depth display remarkable similarity to the deep-trench dwellers of our home world,” I ventured, speaking out loud, hoping I could break the tension. Someone had to. “The convergent evolution suggests fundamental constants in deep ocean environments across vastly different planetary systems.”

Kalith grunted noncommittally, while Vantor merely glanced at me before returning his attention to his screens.

“The dragon fish species we observed during descent showed particularly interesting adaptations,” I continued, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet command center. “Their light-producing organs were reminiscent of our planet’s Stomiidae Finn-Bachrus.”

“Fascinating,” Vantor flashed, not bothering to look at me again. One quick burst of light on his back. That was it. Worse than silence.

I stopped trying, my tentacles shifting restlessly beneath my human form. This was who we had become—three beings occupying the same space but separated by walls of unspoken grief. Before Earth, before Tammy, our professional relationship had been comfortable, productive, even occasionally friendly. Now, we were strangers united only by a shared loss we couldn’t acknowledge. I missed the brotherhood we’d started building on the ranch. I missed the feeling of a true family. What had Tammy called family units on her world?

Packs.

We had been so close to becoming a real pack, to being Tammy’s Alphas. And now we were three beings with nine broken hearts between us.

I returned my attention to the sample preservation protocols, forcing myself to concentrate on the technical details. The fourteenth sample—collected from the deepest point of our descent—showed the highest concentration of the crucial molecular compounds. Its preservation was paramount. I carefully adjusted the temperature stasis field, ensuring optimal conditions for transport back to our home world. If the ship failed us partway, we’d be able to use the emergency pod. It was outfitted with autopilot and the coordinates of G.E.F.’s research headquarters at the bottom of the Aquariun Sea. No matter what, the samples would get back to our home world.

Our home world. The phrase echoed hollowly in my mind.

For numerous planetary cycles, I had dedicated my life to finding a solution for our world’s ecological crisis. The gradual evaporation of our oceans had already displaced millions, forcing them into overcrowded water dome colonies that strained our resources and social structures. These samples represented salvation—the culmination of my life’s work, the achievement that would cement my place in our planet’s history.

Yet as I stared at the swirling darkness captured in the sample vials, I couldn’t summon the triumph I had always imagined would accompany this moment. Instead, I found myself calculating the exact distance between the Mariana Trench and Kansas. Between this moment and saying goodbye to Tammy. Between this moment and what? What did I want to do? What could I do? Did I even have a choice?

An unexpected memory surfaced—Artie, the elderly Appaloosa, gently nuzzling my palm as I fed him sugar cubes. The quiet dignity of his aging form, the trust in his dark eyes. The way Tammy had laughed when she caught me having what she called a “heart-to-heart” with the horse.

“I am nearly done,” I announced, struggling to keep my voice steady. I flashed my words across my body too, just in case I couldn’t finish speaking as emotions threatened to overcome me. “We can begin ascent procedures after final containment verification.”

“Acknowledged,” Vantor responded, leaving his post and striding to the auxiliary navigation controls since Kalith was manning the main.

“Hull integrity optimized for pressure decrease,” Kalith added, his fingers moving mechanically.

We worked in practiced coordination, our bodies going through motions we had performed countless times during training. The ship hummed around us as systems engaged for our return to the surface. Soon we would leave Earth’s oceans behind, break atmosphere, and begin the long journey home.