CHAPTER
9

In the hushed sterility of her lab, Aria sat in a cocoon of focused silence, reviewing her notes and scanning the latest genetic sequencing results of Specimen X. The readings danced across her screen, complex streams of data that spoke in a language only she could understand, and still, they gave her nothing she didn't already know. She sighed, taking off her dark, round glasses to rub her eyes, when a soft beeping interrupted her solitude. She looked up to see a holographic notification blinking on the wall to her left—her father was calling.

After a quick glance to ensure her lab's view of Specimen X's samples was obscured, she swiped a command on her wristband. A blue-green holographic shimmer spread from the wall, creating a translucent, life-sized projection of her father. The colors coalesced, pixelating momentarily, before his familiar face appeared with all the usual sternness etched into his gaze.

"Aria," he greeted, his voice as precise as his presence. Holographic calls had revolutionized communication—far more immersive than previous methods, they allowed every expression, every pause, to be captured with pristine clarity, almost as if the person were standing right beside you. But Aria could feel the distance between them even through this lifelike display.

"Father," she replied, inclining her head. "I didn't expect you to call."

He adjusted his glasses, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to scrutinize the lab behind her, as if inspecting her setup from afar. "I trust you're putting your resources to good use."

"As always," she replied. A pause lingered between them, neither willing to fill the silence first.

Her father clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze finally settling on her. "I wanted to discuss the updates from the Genetic Morphology Journal," he said, his tone clinical, devoid of the warmth she knew most fathers showed. "The latest research from Dr. Kline posits that double-bond sequences in certain gene strands can be shifted for selective adaptations, which is something I believe you'd find relevant."

Aria nodded, her scientific mind sparking with interest, even though his approach had always felt detached, as though science were the only language he deemed worthy. "Yes, Kline's work with mutative codon insertion was fascinating. But there's a significant challenge with mutation stabilizers—achieving specific control without disrupting fundamental DNA integrity remains elusive."

Her father's gaze intensified, as though pleased by her response. "That's the challenge we face, yes. Though Kline's model indicates that by targeting non-conserved regions of the gene with catalytic enzymes, we can theoretically avoid long-term stability concerns. I'd imagine you've come across this obstacle in your work as well."

Aria hesitated, her mind flashing to Specimen X and the near-limitless adaptability encoded within his DNA. She longed to share it, to describe the specimen's genome with its impossible fluidity, each gene capable of rewriting itself to adjust to even the slightest environmental changes. But Specimen X's existence was classified, locked behind security protocols that even she wasn't fully privy to.

"Yes, I've encountered similar issues," she said carefully, choosing her words as she held back the flood of knowledge she longed to share. "The process is... arduous. But I believe that with further refinements, it could be applied on a larger scale."

Her father gave a short, approving nod. "A mind as sharp as yours will be essential to making those refinements. As you know, the risk of genomic instability—introducing irreversible mutations, cascading errors through the genetic structure—is too high for uncontrolled applications."

"Yes," she murmured. "In most cases."

She noticed his gaze lingering, as if sensing the weight of something unsaid in her response. Aria felt a pang of frustration—there was so much she couldn't tell him, so many things he wouldn't understand. While genetics was their shared language, the words she'd have chosen weren't in his vocabulary. It wasn't only about scientific achievements for her; it was about fixing her own mistakes, repairing her vision, unlocking new paths where his rigid methods saw only dead ends.

"I trust," he continued, interrupting her thoughts, "that you're maintaining discipline in your research. These projects can be... unpredictable, as we both know."

Aria stiffened, her expression carefully neutral. She knew what he meant. Her entire life, he had valued order, control, precision—qualities she had spent years trying to emulate in her own work. "Of course," she said, managing a curt nod. "Discipline is essential."

The conversation lapsed into another silence, the unspoken words resting heavily between them. For a moment, she considered telling him about her project on eye repair. But the thought vanished almost as quickly as it had come. Her father wouldn't understand the depth of her personal need; he would see it only as a weakness, a distraction.

As she looked at him, flickering in shades of blue and green, she marveled at how holographic calls could make someone feel so close yet so distant at once. In this future they both occupied, with science capable of enhancing nearly every part of the human experience, there was still no innovation that could bridge the emotional distance between her and her father.

He finally broke the silence, his tone softening marginally. "Aria, your drive and dedication to this field are commendable. You've gone further than most could have hoped." His words hung in the air, and for a moment, she wondered if he was attempting something like pride.

"Thank you," she said, letting a trace of warmth seep into her voice. She wished she could tell him how deeply she wanted to succeed, how every breakthrough felt like it brought her a step closer to something intangible yet vital. But those words, like so many others, remained locked within her.

"Remember," he said, his tone shifting back to its usual formality, "our research is larger than us. If you succeed, it will be because you've remained committed to the principles of control and precision."

Aria felt the pang of distance again, like a gulf that widened with each word. "I understand," she replied, forcing herself to meet his gaze through the projection. "Thank you for the reminder."

He gave a short nod before ending the call, the hologram flickering briefly before dissolving into a million pixels. The lab fell silent, the absence of his presence leaving an echo in her mind.

Aria let out a breath, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. She knew that despite the limitations of her research, the barriers of silence between them would never fall. And as she turned back to her work, she felt more resolved than ever to push forward on her own terms.

She gazed at the samples from Specimen X, her mind buzzing with renewed determination. This project, this specimen, was her way of finally creating something meaningful, something that wasn't bound by the constraints her father had instilled in her. It was a delicate balance, but one she was more than willing to take on.

After the call with her father, Aria needed a break from the confines of her lab, from the weight of her work, and the unspoken pressures woven into every syllable of their conversation. She glanced around her lab one last time, made sure all her samples were safely stored, and left, letting the sterile, fluorescent lights fade behind her as she stepped out into the hushed corridors of the research facility.

She walked slowly, her thoughts drifting as her footsteps echoed in the empty hallways. The facility was vast, much larger than what her daily routines allowed her to see. She knew only certain wings intimately—the genetic labs, the bioengineering divisions, and a few break rooms where she'd eat alone or occasionally bump into colleagues. The walls were a sterile white, almost shimmering under the lights that hummed with a low, constant energy. The building had a life of its own—a persistent hum of ventilators, the soft whirring of unseen machines, and, occasionally, the faint voices of other researchers carried from distant labs.

As she wandered through a corridor she didn't often visit, her gaze fell on a large, glass-paneled window that spanned nearly floor to ceiling. It faced out into the night, a sweeping view of the dark expanse, scattered with stars that blinked like fragments of light drifting in the cosmos. She stopped, entranced by the vastness of it all, momentarily forgetting her research and the deadlines looming over her.

Aria pressed a hand against the cold glass, gazing out into the endless sea of stars. It was hard to comprehend sometimes, that they were truly out here, orbiting on the edge of a solar system billions of light-years from Earth, nestled in some far corner of the galaxy. The year was 2148, and while humanity had come an incredible distance since the days of early space exploration, the universe was still far too vast to grasp fully. They had made their way into deep space, established colonies, conducted research on planets far beyond their home, yet it was only a sliver of all there was to see and understand.

Aria's mind wandered to Specimen X, the alien that was at the center of her research. Despite the years humanity had spent searching the stars, Specimen X was unlike any extraterrestrial lifeform they had ever documented. His DNA was unlike anything on record—living, breathing code capable of rewriting itself on a whim, adapting to survive under any conceivable condition. He represented a step forward in evolution that humanity hadn't yet begun to imagine for themselves. If they could understand the mysteries contained within his genes, maybe they could unlock abilities far beyond their current capabilities.

And yet, as close as Specimen X was—just floors below her, behind a few inches of glass and steel—he seemed as unreachable as the stars she gazed at. She felt that same duality as she looked at the heavens: the proximity of answers, knowledge, the potential for breakthroughs that could redefine everything she thought she knew, and yet an agonizing distance that kept them out of reach.

The stars blinked back at her, silent and unfeeling, as though withholding the secrets of the universe out of some cosmic indifference. And yet, Aria felt an insatiable drive to reach for them, to find answers that lay just beyond the boundaries of human understanding. The knowledge she sought wasn't just scientific; it was existential. What else was out there? What other beings, with other forms and abilities, existed in this vast galaxy? Somewhere, she thought, there must be others who held the keys to life's deepest questions, answers to the mysteries woven into the very fabric of existence.

The stars had captivated her ever since she was a child. Back then, she had stared up at them with wonder, imagining worlds that looked nothing like Earth, populated by beings beyond her wildest dreams. Now, as an adult, she was a scientist, and while the curiosity remained, it had become tempered by the discipline and rigor of her work. But in moments like this, she allowed herself to embrace the awe of it all—to forget about the data points, the genetic codes, and the cold, logical constraints of her field.

She let out a quiet sigh, her breath fogging up the glass for a moment before it dissipated. Her gaze drifted to her own faint reflection, her violet eyes looking back at her. Her eyes, a constant reminder of the risks she'd taken in the name of curiosity and ambition. They were beautiful, and people had often complimented her on their unusual color, but she knew the truth behind them. A botched experiment in childhood—changing her own eye color with genetic alteration—had led to her deteriorating vision, her reliance on glasses, and her unwavering determination to one day fix it.

The irony wasn't lost on her: she'd set out to improve herself, to reach beyond what was "normal," and in doing so, had inadvertently created one of her greatest limitations. Specimen X's genes could change that, she was sure of it. But that prospect, too, felt distant, almost unreal. She needed more time, more access, more data.

As she stood there, lost in thought, a faint buzzing of activity echoed from the end of the hallway. Voices, machinery—the sounds of life at the edge of the galaxy, somewhere within the hollowed halls of the research facility. She had come here seeking solitude, yet somehow felt comforted by the presence of others in the distance. They were all here, on this shared journey into the unknown, each of them chasing answers in their own way.

Turning from the window, Aria resumed her walk, allowing her thoughts to continue flowing as freely as her steps. She passed other labs and familiar faces, most of whom were too absorbed in their own work to pay her any mind. It was a comforting kind of solitude, knowing that she was surrounded by people who understood the importance of focus and the weight of unanswered questions.

The next wing over was quieter. Few researchers worked there, as it contained specialized equipment that only a small team used. Aria remembered sneaking into some of those rooms in her earlier days, back when she'd been a newer member of the team and her curiosity had often outpaced her caution. She allowed herself a small smile at the memory, the echo of her youthful ambition and the paths it had led her down.

After a few more steps, she finally arrived at one of her favorite places in the facility—the observation deck. It was a hidden gem, tucked away where few people ventured, and it offered an unparalleled view of the stars. The glass here was slightly curved, creating the illusion that you were floating in space itself, and for a moment, Aria let herself feel as if she were adrift in the cosmos, one small life amid billions, surrounded by the universe in all its quiet, infinite beauty.

The minutes passed, and her breathing slowed, her mind settling into a calm she rarely experienced. Here, standing in the vastness of space, she could almost touch the stars, feel their distant warmth and the stories they contained. The galaxy was enormous, daunting, and yet it filled her with a kind of peace that she could find nowhere else. Out here, on the edge of the unknown, was where she felt most herself, most alive.

With a final glance at the stars, Aria turned and began making her way back toward her lab. There was work to be done, questions to answer, and mysteries to unravel. And even though those answers felt distant, as unreachable as the stars themselves, she knew that she was moving closer with every step, every discovery, every sleepless night spent poring over data.

When she finally returned to her lab, she paused at the doorway, taking in the sight of her equipment and the samples that lay waiting for her analysis. The questions that had weighed on her so heavily earlier now felt lighter, transformed into opportunities rather than obstacles. She walked to her workstation with newfound resolve, her fingers hovering over the instruments with a careful determination.

The stars, those distant guides, would wait for her. She had come too far, sacrificed too much, to turn back now. Somewhere in the silence of space, perhaps even within Specimen X, the answers lay dormant, waiting to be uncovered.