Therapy Planet No. 13

Therapy Planet No. 13 – Chapter 4: Nightmare (Pt. 2)

The two of them were a guardian and her ward, a pair of sisters, a couple of friends, a teacher and her student, a general and her soldier, and an authority figure and her subordinate. 

Perhaps they would become lovers, companions, the progenitors of future generations. 

After all, when she returned, she would undergo genetic testing. She was already at an age suitable for reproduction. They were both in their primes, and the chances of them matching were not insignificant. 

Louie’s head started to ache slightly. 

She thought that she may have had too much liquor, her drunkenness making her thoughts trail into inappropriate directions. 

Louie smothered this weakness of hers, and with a rush of cascading water, got out of the bathtub, dispersing the misty vapor somewhat. 

She languidly grabbed a bath towel and dried her body, and in a smooth motion, snagged the white bathrobe and draped it loosely on her body, carefully gripping that silvery ‘seed’ made of some unknown material in her palm. She narrowed her eyes, examining the object she had spent so much time concealing. She was not sure why the higher-ups sent her to complete this mission—it was even classified at the highest levels. 

Louie’s brow furrowed. She did not know why, but the object seemed a little dimmer than when she had just acquired it. 

But upon close inspection, there did not seem to be any damage; each and every curve exuded perfection and elegance. 

Had she remembered incorrectly, then?

Louie turned the problem over in her mind. The Crimson Sand Planet was relatively close to its respective sun. Not only was it hot, but even the sun’s rays were far brighter than on other planets. Could it have just been a trick of the light?

The logic was sound. 

Louie still felt that something was off, but every detail she retrieved from her memory was perfectly clear. She ultimately let go of her misgivings, let out a long sigh, and walked out of the bathroom barefooted. 

It seems that she really was ill. Should she go back and take a sedative?

The washroom was actually a personal space. 

After all, it was a vessel designed for covert use by the military. Instead of the monochromatic, impersonal rooms of the military academy, even the walls of the bedroom were painted a warm, pale yellow color. 

The ship’s ventilation system also added a scent into the air to promote sleep. The faint fragrance lingered at the tip of Louie’s nose, making her sneeze. 

Without the shield of the water temperature, her left arm was slightly warm to the touch. Louie thought that it was simply an effect of the hyperplasia ointment and added another medication, not thinking too much of it. She threw herself onto the soft blanket, her bones occasionally releasing satisfied pops. 

Perhaps it was because she had been compressed for so long, but her body cried out for a relaxing nap. 

The moment before she sank into a slumber, she struggled to send out a message to Martha. 

Succinct, with only a simple report:

“Mission complete. Selecting return date.”

The response from the other party arrived practically just as the previous message was sent. 

“Received.”

Another short message arrived through the private Star Link network immediately after the first. 

“Good job. I await your return.”

“Okay.”

Louie drifted into a dream. 

She dreamed of the first time she had gone out on assignment. Martha had sent her a “I await your return,” she had not done anything, but when she did return, Martha had, with the unperturbed countenance indistinguishable from those of the military academy, had asked her, “Why did you not reply to me?”

And so, each time she replied with an “okay.”

Afterward, regardless of her assignment, whether short-term or long-term, they had a tacit understanding. 

She dreamt of Martha dragging her into the abyss with those words. 

Her first time dreaming of Martha. 

Her second time dreaming of returning. 

Her third time dreaming of the abyss. 

Her infinite time dreaming of all the ways they fit together. 

The moment Louie struggled awake from the nightmare, the room’s induction lights began to glow dimly. 

The lighting system imitated the brightness of the sun as it rises from the horizon. Bit by bit, after a long time, the room was illuminated as bright as the daytime. 

Louie instinctively checked her notifications on Star Link and found that Martha had sent her a temporary message the previous night—An order from Almia. 

Almia was a name used in the past solely for addressing the supreme commander of the Almians. Each successive generation used this address. However, after the establishment of the military academy, the populace prefered to use the Federation address of Academy Commandant. 

“Your mission debrief will be personally handled by the supreme commander. You must report to the supreme commander as soon as you return to the Origin Planet.”

After Martha brought her back from Earth, she settled on Almia. Her bloodline and identity both became Almian. 

Louie’s gaze fell on the clock in the corner: 4:30 AM. 

No matter how she cut it, it really could not be called ‘“late.”

Louie was a little surprised. She had not expected to sleep that long this time. 

She had always been a light sleeper. Each time she fell asleep, she would not be able to sleep for long, as multiple nightmares would startle her awake. The test results stated that it could be due to the influence of her Earthen genes, but this undoubtedly made her become a natural weapon useful for undercover assignments. 

When Louie had attended AIMA, her classmates had been keen to give her the nickname “the sleepless sword of Damocles.”[1]

You never knew what she would do while you were sleeping. 

And this sleepless sword of Damocles was currently facing the problem of a century. 

The ship’s floating interface displayed a string of words in a strictly business-like manner: “Would you care to make breakfast for yourself? We will sincerely provide any raw ingredient you wish to use.”

Louie rubbed her forehead——the designers of the ‘freedom of manual operation faction’ even made the food self-serve. 

She really hated the taste of the nutrient packs. 

But if she were to cook for herself…

Let’s just go with the nutrient pack. 

The author has something to say:

Martha is not a cp. 

Those warriors who made it through the first three chapters, leave a comment so I can get familiar, thank you.